by Joanna Wayne
She jumped back, fright hitting so hard, she had to fight to hold back tears. Books and files that had been stored in heavy boxes on the top shelf of the closet were scattered all over the floor. Coats had been yanked from their hangers and left to tangle with the rest of the mess.
No way could she blame this mess on Sin.
Someone had broken into the house while she was at the university. But who? And why?
She backed away from the closet as terrifying possibilities haunted her mind. She should call Detective Greene. He should know about this.
When she reached for her phone, she noticed a small placard on her pillow, the words on it neatly printed in black. She dropped to the side of the bed and picked it up.
Thou shalt not steal.
The wages of sin is DEATH!
She dropped the note as if it were poison.
Joy Adams’s killer had been in this very room today. There was no other explanation. Emotions raged inside her, shifting and changing so fast she didn’t know what she was feeling.
Her fingers closed around the nearest relief valve, a thick volume of historical vignettes. She threw the book against the wall as hard as she could. Then, shaking so badly she could barely stand, she kicked out of her black pumps sending them flying across the room and dropped onto the bed.
She should have never come back to New Orleans.
Chapter Eight
Nick was reaching for a mug from the cabinet when he heard a loud clunk coming from somewhere above him, as if something—or someone—had been hurled against the wall. Two more thumps followed, not as loud at the first.
His adrenaline kicked into overdrive. He grabbed his Glock from his duffel and raced toward the staircase. His training clicked in like instinct, his mind going over a mental checklist of how not to give the enemy the advantage.
Once upstairs, he noticed everything at once, but followed the sound of a low wail he wasn’t even sure was human that came from midway down the long hallway. He stopped just outside the open door to assess the situation.
He spotted Jacinth instantly. But no intruders. No spilled blood. No evidence of injury. No evidence of danger. Yet every muscle in his body grew rock hard as he faced the one situation his training hadn’t addressed.
Jacinth was facedown on the bed, beating her fists into her pillow as if she were training for a boxing match. Her blouse was bunched up almost to her shoulder blades. Below the waist, she was wearing nothing but a black thong.
His mouth went dry, and blood rushed to his head with such force he grew dizzy. He fisted and unfisted his hands, trying to get control of his libido before he walked over to Jacinth and really put temptation to the test.
“What happened?” he managed, his tone husky with emotions he didn’t want to feel.
She kicked her feet against the quilt like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum and then rolled over. When she saw him, her eyes flashed fire.
“We don’t have to talk, Nick. You don’t have to keep running over to protect me from a lunatic killer anymore. I give up!”
He placed his gun on her marble-topped dresser. “I’m not sure that’s an option.”
She threw her legs over the side of the bed. “I just made it one. I’m moving out. Tonight. And I’ll call Caitlyn and tell her to just keep traveling with Marcus to all his photo shoots because Grandmother Villaré bequeathed us a killer’s lair, not a home.”
Nick scanned the room, still with no clue what had caused Jacinth’s meltdown. “What just happened here? Did you get a phone call from someone?”
“Oh, way better than that. I got an anonymous note, personally delivered.”
“Where is this note?”
She felt around on the bed until she located it beneath the pillow she’d been attacking. “It doesn’t have my name on it, but I’m sure it was intended for me, sinner that I am.” She handed him the now creased and wrinkled note.
Nick read and reread it. “The son of a bitch.”
“I have worse names for him. He was here, Nick. In my bedroom while I was at work. Apparently he thinks this house he’s made into a morgue is his.”
“You have every reason to be upset, Jacinth.”
“You think?”
“Yes, but you need to settle down so that we can reason this through.”
“How do you reason with a madman?”
“We could stick to the facts. First, we don’t know for certain that the man who killed Joy Adams is the same one who left the note.”
“So there may be two murdering lunatics who come in and out of this house at will. That makes me feel so much better.”
“I’m just trying to figure why Joy Adams’s killer would insinuate that you stole something that was his.”
“Maybe he worked for Marie. He could be a plumber, or a yard boy, or a window washer. It takes a village to keep this money pit from collapsing. There’s a new catastrophe every day.”
“Working for someone doesn’t entitle you to their property.”
“Well, he was definitely looking for something when he trashed my closet.”
“Whoa. You lost me there. When did your closet get trashed?”
“Today, no doubt when the killer was delivering my love letter.”
The confusion started to clear. Jacinth had gotten a double whammy when she came upstairs tonight, and he was about to hit her again.
She stood and jerked her blouse together as if she’d just realized her bra and the soft mounds of her breasts were exposed. “You want the house, Nick? You take it.”
“How about I just move in with you?” That was not the way he’d rehearsed the offer. But she was thinking it over. He could see the deliberation in her eyes and the slight pucker of her brow.
“If you don’t want me to stay here, then come and stay with me,” he offered.
“Your apartment’s barely big enough for you.”
“I have a friend in Gretna with a house that’s sitting empty. He’d let us stay there until Joy Adams’s killer is behind bars. Or we can drive down the bayou to my fishing cabin. Your call.”
“Why do you keep rushing to my rescue, Nick? You barely know me. You’re not CIA anymore. You’re not a cop. You don’t even owe me a favor. Why risk getting involved with a killer? And don’t go with the overactive protective gene routine. I’m not buying it.”
Nick took a deep breath and reached for her hand. She held on tight and his breath caught in his throat. He was still just as turned on by her, but the fierce need to protect her overshadowed even that.
“I don’t know the answer to your questions, Jacinth. I just know that protecting you is the most important thing in my life right now.”
“Then I guess I’d be a fool to turn down your offer.”
“Biggest fool in town,” he said, finally managing a smile. “Now get some clothes on before you drive me out of my mind.”
She looked at her panties and ran a finger over the border of lace that stretched across the front. “Get over it, Nick. It’s not as if I’m naked. I don’t have on much more than this when I’m wearing a bathing suit.”
That was a bathing suit he’d pay to see. But if she touched herself like that again, they might both end up naked. He absolutely could not go there.
She strode past him, near enough to touch, though he didn’t dare. He turned away.
“Do you want to see this or not?”
When he looked again, she was standing at her closet door, thankfully pulling on a robe.
“I’ll check it out.”
“I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” she said.
He was good with that.
ICY FEAR SET IN CLEAR down to her bones as Jacinth processed the information from Nick.
Joy Adams, Cecelia Davis, Jewel Benet. Three young women who had disappeared from the French Quarter within months of each other. Joy Adams had been murdered by a madman. It didn’t take a detective to figure out that Cecelia and Jewel might well have met the same fate.
But strangely, instead of making her want to flee the house that had been in the Villaré family for generations, these new revelations made her determined to stay. She was still frustrated and afraid. But now she was also angry, spitting tacks and stamping spiders kind of angry.
How dare the monster kill innocent women for his own sick pleasure? How dare he invade this house and use it for committing his ghastly crimes?
How dare he threaten her?
And no matter that Nick had posed the possibility that the murderer might not be the one who’d broken into her house today, she was convinced it was him.
Jacinth was just thankful that Caitlyn was still on her honeymoon and didn’t have to go through this. And she was really glad Nick was here. He was her rock, her gorgeous, sexy, brave rock. She didn’t fully understand him, but had she known him for three years instead of three days, she couldn’t trust him more.
Nick stretched, walked to the counter and refilled his coffee mug. With all the caffeine he’d consumed, she didn’t see how he’d get any sleep tonight and she was starting to fade fast.
“There’s something in this house he wants,” Jacinth said. “Not the portraits Carrie mentioned, because they would have been too large to shove inside the boxes on my closet shelf. Besides, they’re already missing.”
“He could be looking for the murder weapon,” Nick said. “A bloodstained gutting knife or machete, one sharp enough to cut through flesh, muscle and bone.”
“If it was here, either Caitlyn or I may have thrown it out. We carried away a lot of junk from the attic. I don’t remember that type of knife, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t trash one.”
“A knife could easily have been hidden in the folds of old clothing or blankets,” Nick said.
“But why leave that kind of evidence where there was even a chance someone could find it when he could just as easily have buried that with the body?” Jacinth questioned.
“Maybe he was planning on using it again, and then you and Caitlyn moved in and he didn’t get the chance.”
“It may not be a weapon he’s looking for. He could have known my grandmother personally. She might have even promised him something and then forgot to include it in the will.”
“Which leads me to the rest of my story.” Nick reached into his pocket, pulled out an antique brooch and set it on the kitchen table between them.
“That looks exactly like the one Carrie Marks described.”
“Except this one is a gift from a prince.”
“Is the prince responsible for your lumps and bruises?”
“He could be.”
Jacinth listened while Nick replayed the Sarah Livingston rendezvous. There was a lot to cover for one brief meeting. Eric Ladeaux. A mysterious prince. And the shoe box full of jewelry he’d obtained only to lose again when someone had clubbed him from behind and sent him tumbling down the steep steps.
Her stomach rolled. “You could have been killed.”
“But I wasn’t.”
“Did you actually go to the hospital and get that head wound checked out? Don’t lie to me, Nick.”
“I went to the hospital, not in an ambulance like the woman who owned the antique shop and apartments wanted me to do, but I did let her drive me there.”
“No wonder I couldn’t get you on the phone.”
“I would have called you back, but somehow I lost my phone in the fall. I called and reported it stolen. I’ll pick up a new one tomorrow.”
After all he’d been through today on her account, he’d still come over, sat on her porch and waited for her to get home. And now he was here, ready to put his life on the line to protect her. A crazy kind of warmth flooded her senses.
She’d love to crawl into his arms right now, but even if he held her close for a few breathless minutes, he’d end up pushing her away.
“Were there any expensive jewels included in your grandmother’s estate?” Nick asked.
“None than I’ve come across or were listed in the will, but then the paintings weren’t listed, either. My grandmother left Caitlyn and me the house and all its furnishings. She may have decided that was enough for granddaughters who were virtual strangers.”
Jacinth picked up the brooch. It was truly beautiful. “I think we should have this appraised.”
“What we really need to know is if it was stolen from your grandmother, and, if so, by whom. If we found that out, I think we’d have our killer.”
“There is one other thing I should mention,” Jacinth said, “though it didn’t seem important at the time.”
Nick’s expression turned grim. “Everything’s important now.”
“I walked out on the second-story veranda last night for a breath of fresh air. I saw a man standing in front of the B and B who looked to be staring right at me. After a few minutes, he walked away. That’s all.”
He put his hand over hers and his thumb traced her knuckles. “If it happens again, I’ll be here. I’m yours, twenty-four/seven, if you want me, but definitely anytime there’s any risk at all. I’ll drive you to work in the morning and pick you up when you’re ready to leave.”
“Dr. Jefferies won’t like your cutting into his time,” she teased, trying to lighten the moment. At least she made a stab at teasing. She was so tired her words slurred.
She leaned over and laid her head on top of her arms. “Where are you going to sleep, Nick?”
“In the bedroom closest to you. If you make a peep, I’ll hear you.”
“There’s room in my bed. I promise I won’t attack you, unless I do it in my sleep.”
“But faced with temptation like that, I can’t promise I wouldn’t attack you.”
Nick kept talking, but she closed her eyes and his words floated aimlessly in her mind until they drifted away. Somewhere in the fog, Nick wrapped his arms around her and Jacinth knew she was safe.
JACINTH BARELY STIRRED when Nick lifted her in his arms. He carried her up the wide staircase beneath the canopy of nymphs and satyrs that danced about the cracked and peeling plaster of the ceiling’s fresco.
He suspected she hadn’t fallen into a sound sleep since the night he responded to her scream. Fatigue had finally caught up with her.
She was light in his arms and the wisps of hair that brushed his face and neck smelled of springtime. He’d have given anything to meet her under other circumstances. But, like Ron Greene had pointed out to him, even in the best of circumstances, she was way out of his league.
Wine in crystal stems to his beer in a longneck bottle.
Polite where he was blunt.
Soft where he was hard.
He tossed back the covers with one hand and eased Jacinth into bed. She was still in the silk robe. He debated tugging it off her shoulders but decided against it. A glimpse of her bare breasts would start the hunger for her churning inside him again. There was a limit to how much he could take.
He walked to the door and flicked off the light.
“Nick.”
“Go back to sleep, Jacinth. I’ll be right here.”
“There are clean sheets in the hall closet, but none of the beds are made.”
“Don’t worry about me. Just get some sleep and I’ll be here when you wake up, or before that if you need me.”
“I do.”
“You do what?”
“Uh-huh. You can sleep with me. I have a big bed.”
She was lost in the world between drowsiness and dreaming, her words drawn out and slurred. She had no idea what she was offering.
Still the invitation to crawl between the sheets with her and hold her close was the most tempting invitation he’d ever received.
He felt like a rat for not leveling with her now, but that door had closed. Jacinth needed his protection and if she found out who he really was, who his father was, she’d never accept his protection.
If he found evidence that implicated her mother in Micah’s murder while proving his father’s innocence, she’d
hate him for the rest of her life.
There was no way for a happy ending between him and Jacinth. The best he could hope for was keeping her alive.
Chapter Nine
He stood among the twisted roots of the oak tree and stared at the house. Bathed in moonlight and ghostly shadows, it stirred the memories that kept him going. He’d had his best moments there—and some of his worst. Joy Adams fell somewhere in between.
The house had turned on him now, spitting out Joy’s head and contaminating his victories. The cops were salivating, but the remains of the dead would never be enough evidence to tie him to the crimes.
Unfortunately, now that Nick Bruno was sleeping with Jacinth, getting in and out of the house would not be as easy as it had been before.
He’d have to move stealthily, choose his opportunities well and always be prepared to kill if it came to that.
Killing had been on his mind a lot lately. The urges grew stronger every day. And now his murderous fantasies always starred the beautiful Jacinth Villaré.
One day her prince would come.
He took one last puff of his cigarette, then snubbed it out with the toe of his shoe and walked away.
Chapter Ten
By one on Tuesday afternoon, Nick had picked up a new phone, had replaced the locks on every door that opened to the outside of the house, made sure all the window locks were secure, and trimmed some hedges that obscured the first-floor windows. He’d also called and made arrangements for the house’s outdated alarm system to be fully upgraded.
And he’d spent a half hour on the phone with Detective Greene, bringing him up to speed on yesterday’s break-in. Greene would be by momentarily to pick up the note and have it checked for fingerprints.
Nick hadn’t mentioned his informative chat with Sarah Livingston or his crashing departure from her apartment.
She’d asked to remain anonymous and he’d grant her that.
He had called Ron Greene and suggested he check into Eric Ladeaux as a possible suspect. Told him word on the street was that Eric and Joy were ex-lovers. He knew Ron would verify that if it was true.