CATCH ME IF YOU CAN

by Nina Bruhns

  But he'd play it cool. Cool and logical. "Kit, you could be in serious danger. Until we know what's going on, I'm not taking any chances."

  "It's my decision whether to take chances or not. I have a life and a job in New Orleans. I can't drop everything just because some wacko takes a shot at me."

  He pulled out his ace. "But what about catching Remi? And getting your necklace back?"

  She huffed out a breath and stalked toward the hotel. "I'll figure out something."

  "You need me to get to him," he said, falling into step beside her. "He's headed for Verdigris, and I know where he'll go to ground."

  "Why would you help me? You won't let me get near him and we both know it."

  "Prove to me he's guilty and I'll arrest him myself."

  Her shoulders lowered. She glanced at him assessingly, as if gauging his sincerity, then shook her head. "It's not that I don't believe you…"

  "But, you don't believe me."

  "Beau, if I looked up 'family loyalty' in the dictionary, your picture would be there. That's a fine thing, but it's not conducive to arresting your cousin."

  He sighed. She might have a point. But that didn't change anything. She was still coming with him, even if he had to arrest her. Call it … protective custody.

  * * *

  "Kit, wake up. We're landing."

  The words came through a pleasant fog of champagne and sandalwood aftershave. Kit murmured something about being awake and burrowed into the solid, warm shoulder where her head lay.

  The leather seat creaked and she felt a kiss press onto her temple.

  "Viens, chèrie. You can go back to sleep in the car."

  "My car's not at the airport," she mumbled. She realized she was holding on to a muscular biceps and snuggled up against it. A streak of pain stung her arm.

  "Mine is."

  "Uh-uh. Not going with you. Too dangerous." She couldn't quite remember what was dangerous about the man she was nestling against. But she knew there was something…

  "You're not still being stubborn about this, are you?"

  "Nope."

  "Good."

  "Just prudent."

  A deep sigh soughed through her hair. The seat creaked again and her head was gently deposited onto it.

  "I'm real sorry to hear that. I'd hoped to avoid this."

  She felt warm metal enclose her wrist and her groggy mind registered a sharp click.

  Ah, yes. Now she recalled what was dangerous about him.

  She cracked her lids open to the sight of her rumpled, thoroughly disreputable-looking kidnapper. His lean, angular face bore a dark shadow of beard covering his strong jaw. A black lock of hair hung in disarray over his eyes, which looked down at her in challenge. She felt a pang of desire shoot straight to her center. What she wouldn't give to feel that sexy stubble rub all over her—

  Oh, no. He was doing it to her again. The man had some kind of voodoo magic.

  She straightened her spine, wincing at the pain in her arm. "Beaulieux, you'll never get away with this."

  His roguish smile appeared on cue. "Watch me."

  "Kidnapping is a federal offense not even chiefs of police are allowed to indulge in."

  "You mean protective custody, don't you?"

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she counted to ten. Good grief, the man was impossible. "Beau, I happen to know you can't take someone into protective custody without their consent."

  "Okay, I'll arrest you, then."

  "For what?"

  "Resisting arrest."

  She covered her eyes and tried without success to stifle a groan, which reluctantly turned into a chuckle. "Okay, okay. I surrender. I know when I'm beaten."

  "You are a wise woman, Kit Colfax."

  Maybe he'd be easier to convince tomorrow, when the throbbing in her arm wasn't interfering with her power to reason. Anyway, she could use a good night's sleep. She sighed and brushed the hair out of his eyes. "Don't think this means you can … take advantage of the situation."

  His answering smile was tired but genuine, with a little impishness tossed in for good measure. "I won't, baby doll. But you go right ahead, if you like."

  * * *

  Kit woke up the next morning in a cheerful yellow room, sunlight streaming through lace-covered windows. She vaguely recalled being carried up stairs and deposited in the cozy brass bed sometime in the middle of the night, after a long drive through the Louisiana countryside.

  She glanced over at the pillow next to her. No sign of Beau. Not a dent or a wrinkle, either. Give the man points for keeping his word. She sat up and looked around.

  It was a large room, light and airy, full of beautiful antique furniture. The wallpaper was a pretty concoction of posies and butterflies scattered on a pale yellow background. Lace surrounded several mullioned windows and canopied the bed she was in. There was also an abundance of lace on the bed itself—bedspread, dust ruffle, pillowcases.

  Her arm felt much better. The sharp pain had settled into a dull throb. A couple of aspirin and she'd be back to her old self, no worse for wear. The sound of a shower running steered her attention to one of four paneled wooden doors in her room.

  "Beau?"

  She slipped out of bed and only then noticed she was in her underwear, yesterday's dress folded neatly over the back of a chair. She silently commended him on his restraint. Or perhaps it was just exhaustion. By the time they'd gotten to Terrebeau, he must have been all but burned out.

  A smile crept onto her face as she reached for the black pajama top he'd left for her on the bedpost. It had actually been kind of fun last night, once she'd resigned herself to going with him—not that she'd let on. She remembered the shocked looks they'd gotten, being handcuffed together by the wrists. Beau had hung his badge from his jacket pocket, wet-combed his hair into a severe style so he looked even tougher than usual, and put on his mirrored sunglasses. He'd looked so sexy last night, she would have followed him anywhere, handcuffs or no.

  But this morning was a different matter.

  The water in the bathroom went off. She waited a couple of minutes and knocked. "Beau, is that you?"

  "Door's open."

  "Good morning. I'm sorry if I—" She opened the door, took one look at him and halted in her tracks. "Oh!" She backed out and quickly shut the door, leaning against the wall for support.

  He was stark naked. Magnificently naked, his virile body wet and gleaming from his shower as he brushed his teeth. She heard a gush of water in the sink, then the door popped open again and he stood there drying his face.

  Just as naked as before.

  "Mornin'. Sleep well?"

  "I, um…" She swallowed. "Yes, I, um…" He was close enough for her to feel the heat coming off his skin in waves. Close enough to touch.

  "Something wrong?"

  "You're naked," she managed to croak, swiping her parched lips with her tongue.

  He glanced down. "So I am. Does that bother you?"

  "Define 'bother.'"

  His mouth curved. "Serves you right. Look, I promised not to take advantage, and I won't. I won't so much as kiss you without your permission." He stepped closer. "But I didn't promise to forget what has already happened between us."

  Lifting a hand, he brushed her cheek with his fingertips. "I am your lover. You've seen me naked, and I'm not shy."

  I am your lover. He hadn't relinquished claim on her at all. Her words hadn't convinced him they had no future—he was doing his damnedest to make sure they did. And if her unruly body had any say, he'd succeed.

  She couldn't let it happen. Already he had taken over her life in a way that was totally unacceptable. "Beau, I—"

  A muffled knock interrupted her stab at reason. For a few seconds, time stood still as he gently smoothed his thumb over her cheekbone. Then he wrapped the towel around his hips and opened another door, right next to the one that led to the bath.

  He disappeared through it and she peeked in after him. It connected to the lar
ge room next to hers. A masculine room, done in rich blues and browns. Beau's room. She checked the door.

  Glass knob. No lock.

  "Delia, come in, come in." Beau's voice radiated warmth. "Here, let me help you."

  "Good morning, Mr. Simon. Good to have you back, sir."

  "It's great to be home. You know how I hate leaving."

  "That I do, sir. I brought coffee … for two, like you asked. Shall I put the tray out on the veranda?"

  He flipped the covers up on the bed and straightened them. "No, just set it here. I believe we're a bit too informal for the gallery this morning."

  Kit was on the verge of fleeing back to her side of the door when the matronly housekeeper spotted her. If the woman was shocked at seeing her lurking there in Beau's pajama top, she didn't blink an eye.

  "And you must be Mr. Simon's guest. I'm Delia. Anything you need, you just ask, miss."

  "Delia, this is Miss Colfax," he said, beckoning Kit to come to him.

  "Colfax?" Delia looked at him in surprise.

  Kit smiled. "Please call m—"

  "Thank you for making up the yellow room on such short notice," Beau interrupted. "I appreciate it."

  The housekeeper looked from Beau to Kit and back, then visibly collected herself. "I didn't say anything, just like you asked, so your mama don' know—"

  "You're a treasure, Delia." Beau gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek and herded her toward the door. "I'll take care of Mama, don't you worry."

  "Oh, I don't, sir. Will you both be down for breakfast?"

  "We'll be there. Anyone else expected?"

  "Deputy Wardlaw mentioned he might drop by," she said, glancing one last time over her shoulder as she went out.

  Beau chuckled as he closed the door, then gestured at the steaming silver pot and porcelain cups on the tray. "Best fortify ourselves. I have a feeling we'll need it this morning."

  Great. She went to the bed and perched gingerly on the edge. "What have you gotten me into, Beaulieux?"

  "Nothing you can't handle. Be a sweetheart and pour while I get dressed."

  Oh, terrific. He expected her to handle hot liquids while watching his bare—

  "Sweet and very white."

  Yes, indeed. She blinked. "Wha—?"

  "My coffee." He raised a brow, tossing his towel over the footboard.

  "Of course." Refusing to rise to his bait, she fixed her gaze firmly on the cup in her hand and kept it there. "What were you and Delia conspiring over? Something about your mother?"

  "I merely didn't want everyone waiting up for us last night. I've never brought a woman home before."

  She stopped pouring. "This can hardly be construed as 'bringing a woman home,' Beau. How does she feel about kidnapping?"

  "Oh, I'm sure she'd just say, 'Really, dear, what will they think at the club?'"

  His high, honey-dripping imitation made her laugh. "Oh, please. Nobody's like that."

  "If you say so."

  She heard a zipping sound and figured it was safe to look up. "Who else will be at breakfast?"

  Joining her on the bed, he leaned against the headboard and stretched his long legs over the quilt. "My father, my sister, Jolene, and Grandmère if she's feeling well."

  Kit groaned. "So many? And Delia said something about a Deputy Wardlaw, too?"

  "Doug. My deputy chief of police. He's officially in charge of all police matters until my leave's up on Monday. Apparently he couldn't resist the dual attractions of my little sister and a mystery woman."

  She handed him his coffee. "I see you were busy on that cell phone last night."

  "Oh, yeah." He took a sip. "Mmm. Perfect. Thank you."

  "You're welcome. And this deputy—Doug?" Beau nodded. "He's in love with your sister?"

  "Don't tell him. He might have to do something about it."

  She picked up her cup. "Sounds like you disapprove."

  "Doug's a good man, just not the right one for Jolene. She's had a tough time…"

  She watched as he got up from the bed and wandered over to the open window. "But if he loves her… Maybe love is just what she needs," she said.

  "Love?" He shook his head. "She needs someone to take care of her. A man who can indulge her and shelter her from the world. Not a rough cop who will bring it home in all its sordid detail. Love doesn't enter into it."

  "That's rather cynical, isn't it?"

  "Just realistic."

  A light breeze from the window ruffled his hair and her fingers itched to comb it back into place. "And what if she falls in love with him?"

  "She won't."

  Kit set down her cup and leaned her head back on the elaborate spindles of the footboard. "Obviously you've never experienced the full, insidious treachery of falling desperately in love."

  There was a little silence before he said, "And you have?"

  She shut her eyes and took inventory of her heart. Getting close. Getting dangerously close. Giving herself a mental shake, she sat up and poured herself another cup of coffee.

  "Me? I told you, I don't have time. If you don't let yourself get close to anyone, you can't fall in love." Which was exactly why she had to get away from him.

  "Ah, yes. I remember. The Novocain theory."

  "Works for me." Up until now, anyway.

  He stuck his hands in his pockets. "That may be, but I think I'll just rely on some good old-fashioned threats if Doug gets too close to Jolene."

  "Breakfast should be a real treat."

  He gave her a big smile. "Sit back and enjoy the show."

  "Sugar, in case you have any doubts, we are going to be the show."

  The smile turned into a grin. "What makes you say that?"

  "The fact that the first woman you've ever brought home is sitting in your bedroom, wearing your pajamas and drinking your morning coffee."

  "You slept in your own bed," he offered. "And I have to be nearby. I am protecting you."

  "Your family will certainly believe that story," she said sarcastically. "You know what everyone's going to think."

  "They'll think what I tell them to think," he said calmly.

  She studied him. No doubt true. Even lounging casually against the bedpost, clad in nothing more elaborate than a muscle shirt and slacks, he exuded power and confidence. This was not a man whose word would ever be questioned.

  A whisper of foreboding sneaked up her spine. "You're used to getting your own way, aren't you, Simon Beaulieux?"

  He regarded her levelly. "Always, chère. I always get my way."

  * * *

  Naturally, she was right. It was written all over every surprised face at the breakfast table as soon as Beau introduced his beautiful, shower-fresh, and somewhat nervous, "protectee." It didn't help the impression that she was clad in skin-tight leggings and an extra-large T-shirt proclaiming her to be Property Of The Verdigris P.D.

  He smiled. Could he help it if no one in the house wore T-shirts? She was lucky he'd been compelled to buy that one for the department barbecue last summer.

  His mother, Don, exclaimed, "Beau! Well, I never!"

  "Hello, Mama. How are you?" Bending to give her a kiss on the cheek, he couldn't miss her questioning glance at Kit, who hesitated in the doorway.

  "Why ever didn't you tell us you were coming home today?"

  "I called Delia." Jolene jumped up and he swung her in a hug. "Hi, precious. New dress design? Very lovely."

  His sister twirled in her latest concoction of lace and satin, showing it off as she, too, glanced curiously at Kit. Doug sat at the table watching Jolene with a lopsided grin.

  His father rose and offered his hand in a hearty greeting. "Welcome back, son. Who's your pretty friend?"

  "Daddy, may I present Miss Katherine Colfax. Come on in, darlin', they won't bite." Kit joined him and he introduced her around the table.

  "Welcome to Terrebeau, Miz Colfax. Please, call me Gunny," his father said. "Gunnery sergeant, don't you know," he added, slapping his ga
me leg. "It was back in Da Nang, I recall, that—"

  "Daddy was in the war," Beau explained, and Gunny wandered back to his seat.

  At the same time, his mama sang out, "Colfax? What an extraordinary coin—"

  Beau hated to be impolite, but this was one subject he was not about to allow. He'd just as soon not have to explain that old family legend to Kit, or endure the rampant speculation that was sure to follow.

  Just as he endured their astonishment when he cut his mama off by announcing, "Katherine will be my guest for a few days."

  Beau met the inevitable shocked silence followed by riotous questions with equanimity. He was home. He was head of the family, and his word was law. Once he'd explained, everyone would settle down and things would get back to normal.

  He led Kit to the empty chair Delia had set to his right. "Katherine's life was threatened. I felt she would be safer here with us, so I invited her to stay. Isn't that right, Katherine?"

  He stressed her name and prayed she'd go along with both the moniker and the story.

  She glanced up at him consideringly as he seated her, and his uneasiness increased. The family hung on her reaction. He took his place at the head of the table and shot her a warning look. For all the good it did.

  She picked up her juice glass and brought it to her lips, pausing dramatically. He cursed under his breath.

  "Well, if you consider slapping me in handcuffs an invitation. In my book, that's more like kidnapping."

  Jaws dropped like flies. Except for his mama, of course, who gave him a pained look.

  "Handcuffs! Well, really, dear, what will they think at the club?"

  Kit choked on her juice and caught Beau's amused look.

  Seeing her bandaged arm, Doug declared, "I understand Miss Colfax was shot. She's no doubt glad to be here in one piece."

  "Quite right," Gunny agreed, rising from the table. "A proper gentleman doesn't allow a lady to be shot twice. Speaking of the club, I'm late for my golf game. Beau, you'll be joining us Friday morning as usual?"

  Beau scrolled mentally through his schedule. It must be Wednesday. "I'll be there."

  His mama reminded him of several appointments he had over the next few days around Terrebeau and in town. He'd have to make sure they all got put in his monthly planner. One of these days he should hire himself a secretary.