Dark and Twisted Reads: All the Pretty GirlsA Perfect EvilBone Cold (A Taylor Jackson Novel)

by J. T. Ellison

  “As much as I love you guys, I value warmth more. In other words, no way and get a grip.”

  Dalton pouted. “But we want to hear about your date.”

  “Then come up. I’ll make café au lait.”

  She ducked back inside, not bothering to latch the French door. She hurried to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, then went to the kitchen to get the coffee started.

  Just as the she dropped the frozen coffee cubes into the mugs, she heard her friends at the door.

  She let them in and they tripped over one another in their rush to get inside, shedding their coats and rubbing their hands together.

  “Mother of God, it’s cold out there!”

  “I’ve lost feeling in my hands.”

  Anna arched an eyebrow, taking their coats. “What happened to mind over matter?”

  “It froze its ass,” Bill replied, irritated. “I’m sick of this weather. This is New Orleans, for God’s sake. Southern Louisiana. Practically the tropics.”

  Dalton gave his partner a brief, conciliatory hug. “Forgive him, Anna. He’s on a tear. You know how much he loves dining al fresco.”

  “And wearing short-shorts. What’s the point of having Buns of Steel if I can’t show them off?” Bill handed her the plate of fruit and pastries. “Think about it. We live through July and August so we can avoid this freeze-ours-butts-off crapola. How fair is that?”

  Dalton agreed. “It could almost bring one to violence.”

  “Exactly.” Bill rubbed his hands together. “A killer who only strikes when it’s cold.”

  Dalton flapped his hands, all but dancing with excitement. “It starts out as a game. Or out of boredom. It escalates until people are dropping left and right.”

  “Like flies.” Bill clapped his hands together. “You should use this, Anna. It’s good.”

  Anna poured the steaming milk into the mugs, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Inspired stuff, guys. Keep those ideas coming. I need all the help I can get these days.”

  They carried their coffees to her kitchen table and sat. For a moment, they sipped their drinks in silence.

  “How was the date?” Dalton asked, curving his hands around the mug.

  “It wasn’t a da—” She bit the words back, because it most certainly had been a date. So why had her immediate response been a denial?

  Because it hadn’t felt like a date.

  She shook her head, picking at the croissant. “It was fine. Really good.”

  Bill and Dalton looked at one another, then returned their gazes to her, expressions expectant. “Tell us every juicy detail.”

  She told them instead about the surprise revelation Ben had sprung on her when he’d driven her home.

  Dalton let out a long breath. “Damnation and blueberries.”

  “No joke.” She pushed away the plate and what was left of the croissant. “He’s certain one of his patients is behind it. But he hasn’t a clue which one or why.”

  “Did you give him the name your mother—”

  “Yes. He doesn’t have a patient named anything remotely similar to Peter Peters.” She let out her breath in a frustrated huff. “He promised to find out who had left the package.”

  “A regular hero.” Dalton brought the mug to his lips. “I enjoy that in a man.”

  “Thank you.” Bill blew his partner a kiss, then turned back to Anna. “Do you like him?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “I do. He’s nice.”

  Her friends groaned and she frowned at them. “Nice is good. It’s fine.”

  “Hot’s better.”

  “Much better.”

  She laughed and shook her head; silence fell between them. From the corners of her eyes, Anna saw Bill nudge Dalton. The man shot him a dirty look and mouthed something that she guessed to be a warning.

  Anna frowned. “You two look like a couple of cats who swallowed canaries. What’s up?”

  The men exchanged glances.

  “We didn’t want to upset you.”

  “We know how distressed you’ve been about Jaye.”

  “The last thing you needed was another one of those letters—”

  “From your little fan.”

  Anna’s stomach clenched. “When did it come?”

  “Just yesterday afternoon,” Dalton said. “I could have brought it after work—”

  “But you had that date last night and—”

  “We didn’t want to ruin it.”

  “I appreciate your concern, boys, but I’m not made of whipped cream. Hand it over.”

  “I think Dalton left it at The Perfect Rose,” Bill offered, not meeting her gaze. “In fact, I’m certain of it.”

  “Nice try, but I know better.” She held a hand out. “Give it to me. Now, please.”

  Dalton looked sheepish as he dug the letter out of his back pocket. He handed it to her. “You’re not mad, are you?”

  “Not if you and your cohort in crime promise to stop trying to protect me. Otherwise, I’m furious.” She moved her gaze between the two men. “Agreed?”

  They did, though she didn’t really believe they would stick to their promise. She figured she would cross that bridge when she came to it. For this moment she had another, much more distressing bridge to cross.

  Anna opened the envelope, a knot of apprehension in the pit of her stomach. Her hands shook, and she wished she could scrawl Return To Sender across the front and put Minnie and her disturbing letters out of her mind forever.

  She couldn’t do that. Minnie needed her, and although Anna didn’t know how she was going to help the child, she couldn’t stop trying. She couldn’t abandon her.

  Anna drew the single sheet of lined paper from the envelope and began to read:

  Dearest Anna,

  So much has happened since I wrote last. He knows we’ve been communicating. Whether he just found out or knew all along, I’m not sure. If he knew all along, why did he allow it? What does he have planned? I’m afraid he means to hurt me. Or the other one. The one who’s been crying.

  Be careful, Anna. Promise me. And I promise to be careful, too.

  As she always did, Minnie decorated the envelope with hearts and daisies and the letters S.W.A.K.

  “My God, Anna,” Bill murmured, laying a hand on her arm. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What did she say?”

  Silently, Anna handed the letter over. Both her friends read it, then met her gaze.

  “Do you think this is for real?” Dalton asked her.

  “Well, sure. I mean…don’t you?”

  “At first I did, but now…I don’t know.” Dalton looked at Bill. “That detective could be right, Anna. This could be a sick prank. It’s a little over the top.”

  “I agree,” Bill murmured. “If this mysterious ‘He’ of the letters knows you’ve been corresponding and is angry about it, why let it continue? And if this child really is a prisoner, how is she able to write and send letters anyway?”

  “And why would you be in danger, Anna?” Dalton shook his head, a frown marring his handsome face. “That’s just too much for me to swallow.”

  Bill concurred. “And if this man recently kidnapped a child from this area, why haven’t we heard anything about it?”

  “Right,” Dalton concurred. “Kids don’t go missing without an alarm being sounded. It’s just not making sense anymore.” He gentled his voice. “I’m sorry, Anna.”

  Anna looked from one to the other of them, considering their argument, realizing they were right. It was over the top now—just too much.

  Someone had deliberately set out to try to terrify her. And she had fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.

  Just the way he—or she—had wanted her to. Just the way they had known she would. Because of her past.

  She crumpled the letter and tossed it onto the table. “I feel like an idiot. A total patsy. My God, I went to the police about this.”

  “Don’t do this to yourself, Anna! Bill and I fell for it, t
oo.”

  “But you weren’t the target. You weren’t a victim. Again.”

  Dalton stood, came around the table and gave her a hug. “At least it’s over, Anna. You can put it out of your mind and focus on other things.”

  “Like Jaye and my nonexistent writing career. Gee whiz, I’m thrilled.”

  “Please don’t be upset,” they said in unison. “We hate it when you’re upset.”

  “That’s why we want you to come out with us tonight.”

  “We’re going to Tipitina’s.”

  “Tonight’s zydeco night.”

  “The Zydeco Kings—”

  “Straight from Thibodaux—”

  “Are playing. And it’s Saturday night. So, why not?”

  “I don’t know, guys.” She shook her head. “I’m really not in the mood—”

  “That’s exactly why you must come! It’ll lift your spirits.” Dalton grabbed her hands. “You’re a stabilizing influence on us, Anna. If you’re with us we won’t drink or eat as much. We’ll get home before dawn.”

  “You can invite your doctor friend. And if you do, I solemnly swear not to grab his butt.”

  Anna laughed, she couldn’t help herself. “I love you guys.”

  “Does that mean you’ll come? Please.”

  She capitulated. “Yes, that means I’ll come.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Saturday, January 20

  The French Quarter

  At 7:00 p.m. sharp, Bill and Dalton knocked on her apartment door. Anna sashayed out, feeling sassy, sexy and more than ready for a night out with her friends. She deserved it, she had decided. For tonight, she would put everything that had happened in the past days out of her mind. She had even taken Bill’s suggestion and invited Ben to join them.

  “Couldn’t your handsome doctor make it?” Dalton asked as if reading her mind.

  “He’s going to try.” She locked her apartment door, dropped her keys into her purse and turned to face her friends. “He had several late appointments.”

  “His loss,” Bill murmured, taking in her tight blue jeans, soft black sweater and leather jacket. “You look good enough to eat tonight, darlin’.”

  “Thank you very much, kind sir.” She laughed and then the threesome linked arms. “It sucks, however, that the two nicest and best-looking guys I know are gay. Doubly sucky is the fact that they also happen to be the two men I spend the most time with.”

  “All the more reason to fais do-do,” Dalton teased.

  “Or cha-cha-cha,” Bill added, his smile devilish. “Maybe tonight’s your night for a trip to paradise.”

  Anna laughed with them, but she had no plans of cha-cha-chaing with anybody tonight. Not Ben—if he even showed—or anybody else. Casual sex was definitely not her style.

  The three exited the building and started toward Tipitina’s. The club, a famous fixture on the local music scene, was located only a dozen or so blocks from their apartment. Though cold, they chose to walk instead of cab, warmed by each other’s company and the night’s many possibilities.

  Tipitina’s was in full swing when they arrived. The Zydeco Kings drew crowds wherever they played, and particularly on a weekend night in the French Quarter. The crowd was a mix of locals and tourists, ranging in age from those barely of legal age to those one step from the grave—and everything in between.

  Bill spotted some folks he knew from the arts council and they headed that way. They had a table, to which they added more chairs. Some friends of theirs from the neighborhood joined them, they brought some friends of their own. They dragged over another table, then added more chairs.

  For the first hour Anna watched diligently for Ben. After that, she gave up, accepting that he wasn’t going to show. Although disappointed, she let herself be pulled into the carnival-like atmosphere of the night.

  The beer flowed. The music poured forth, a toe-tapping combination of guitar, washboard and harmonica. In true New Orleans fashion, Anna and her friends ate and drank too much, laughed often and too loudly. Anna’s group became loud, then rowdy. She found herself having more fun than she’d had in ages, dancing with one partner after another, laughing until her sides ached.

  Anna returned to the table, hot, out of breath. “Water,” she gasped as she sank onto the chair beside Dalton, fanning herself. She grabbed her glass and downed it.

  Dalton slid her his. “No sign of the good doctor yet?”

  “Nope.” She sighed and eased against the chair back. “I’ve been watching.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “I see that.”

  She glared at him. “I have. In between dips and twirls.”

  “Mmm. It’s probably for the best anyway.”

  She took a swallow of Dalton’s water. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

  “Because,” Dalton murmured, “there’s an incredibly good-looking guy staring at you right now. A real stud.”

  “Me?” she said, twisting in her seat. “Where?”

  “Over there.” He pointed. “But wait, don’t look yet. You don’t want to appear too eager.”

  She looked anyway. All she could see was a sea of bodies. She turned back to her friend, pouting. “He’s probably looking at you, Dalton. In this town, it seems like the best-looking guys are always gay.”

  “No such luck this time, my sweet. This one’s one hundred percent hetero, unless my gaydar’s gone haywire. He’s looking again… Uh-oh he’s coming this way. Be still my heart, this one’s a wet dream.”

  “Coming this way?” She craned her neck to see around a couple who had decided to two-step directly in her line of vision. “Are you sure—”

  The man twirled the woman; the crowd parted. Her heart stopped.

  Detective Malone.

  And he most definitely was heading her way.

  She swallowed hard as she watched him approach, unable to tear her gaze away. Dear God, Dalton was right. In his blue jeans and chambray shirt, he really was a wet dream.

  Anna decided that she had danced one too many two-steps and downed one too many Abita beers.

  “Hello, Anna,” he said, stopping beside her table.

  “Detective Malone,” she replied, her voice sounding high and nervous to her own ears. What the hell was wrong with her?

  “Call me Quentin.” He flashed her a quick smile. “Or just Malone, like everybody else.”

  Dalton nudged her. “You going to introduce me to your friend, Anna?”

  Her cheeks warmed. “Of course. Dalton, this is Detective Quentin Malone. The detective I told you about.”

  “Oh, that detective.” Dalton smiled and held out a hand. “Anna didn’t tell me you were a stud.”

  Quentin shook his hand, apparently unfazed. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “If you ask her to dance, maybe she’ll give you the opportunity to prove your stuff. If you’re lucky.”

  “Dalton!” She glared at her friend, irritated. “I suggest you switch to something nonalcoholic or go home and sleep it off.”

  Quentin ignored her comment and held out his hand. “I’d love the opportunity to prove my stuff. Dance with me, Anna?”

  She opened her mouth to refuse but found herself being pushed to her feet by Dalton. As he did, he whispered “Paradise,” in her ear.

  “Funny guy,” Quentin murmured, drawing her into his arms. “A good friend?”

  “Yes.” She met his gaze and tipped up her chin, challenging him to make some crack about gays.

  He didn’t. Instead, he drew her a little closer. “You smell good.”

  “Cool it, Casanova,” she murmured. “If Dalton hadn’t all but dragged me to my feet, we wouldn’t be dancing right now.”

  “I’ll have to thank him later.”

  He swung her around and their thighs brushed. Her pulse jumped, and she frowned. “Save it. I promise you, tonight is definitely not your lucky night.”

  “Aw, cher,” he murmured in a Cajun patois, pressing his mouth close to her ear, “you’re breaking my
heart.”

  His breath stirred against her ear, warm, sensual. She steeled herself against the small flame of arousal it ignited inside her. “Sorry, Detective. Devastating as that patented charm might be to other women, it’s not working on me.”

  “Really?” He lowered his voice to a husky caress. “I thought it was working quite well.”

  He was right, dammit. She met his gaze, feigning cool irritation. “Actually, I find overconfident men a bore. I suggest you go lasso a malleable, willing little thing who’ll buy your shtick, because it’s wasted on me.”

  She made a move to break away; he brought their joined hands to his heart. “Aw, cher, cut a good ol’ Cajun boy some slack. Dance with me.”

  “With a name like Quentin Malone, I doubt you have a Cajun bone in your body. More like a good dose of Irish blarney.”

  He laughed and drew her back into his arms. “You misjudge me, Anna.”

  “Dalton said you’d been watching me. Why?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “Don’t play games with me, Detective. And don’t feed me a line about me being the most beautiful woman in the room. I’m not naive or self-deluded enough to buy that.”

  His smile faded. “Maybe I thought you needed protecting.”

  “From whom? Dalton?” She made a sound of derision. “Please.”

  The hand at her waist tightened. “From the kind of man who comes to a place like this to hunt. A predator looking for a woman like you, shaking it on the dance floor, uninhibited. Oblivious to his attention. Waiting.”

  “As far I know, you were the only one watching me.”

  “But I’m one of the good guys.”

  “How do I know that?” She tipped up her chin, angry at his attempt to frighten her. “Because you wear a badge?”

  “Yeah, because I wear a badge.”

  “Sorry if that doesn’t inspire my confidence.” She broke free of his grasp, suddenly more than angry. Suddenly, she was furious. “And what’s that supposed to mean, ‘shaking it on the dance floor’? What are you saying? That I’m loose? Some sort of a cocktease?”

  “I didn’t mean that. Look, Anna, two women are dead. Both redheads. Both spent the last night of their lives out with friends, having a good time. Nothing wrong about that. Nothing except they caught the attention of someone they shouldn’t have. Someone who was watching.”