by Jean Thomas
“The thump I heard before the engine stalled. How bad is it?”
“Punctured holes in the oil pan. I can flush out the system and replace the oil pan. Only thing is, I don’t have me an oil pan for that model. It would take a couple of days to order and get a new one. Then at least, oh, say another day for the repair. You want me to go ahead with it or what?”
“I don’t think I have a choice. Yes, go ahead with it.”
“Fine.” He placed one of his business cards on the table. “Best you call me to make sure it’s ready. Oh, there’s this here, too. Found it in the glove apartment when I was looking for the car manual. Figured you’d want it back.”
He laid Clare’s cell phone beside the business card, wished them a good day and, with another of those dazzling smiles, departed. The mechanic’s news had Clare looking so miserable he didn’t think she could possibly have a good day.
“What now?” he asked her.
“I can’t wait around here for the car. I’ll have to find transportation back to New Orleans.”
“You might do that. Except in a place like this I don’t think you’d have any luck in renting another car. Probably not on any bus route, either. Looks like you’re stranded. Unless...”
She gazed at him, those terrific blue eyes registering her realization.
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yeah. Face it, you’re desperate. You need me to drive you to New Orleans, and I need to go there.”
“Why?”
“Only way you and I together can visit this Malcolm Boerner. I want all the answers, Clare.”
Her alarm at his proposal was immediately evident. “I can’t show up there with you in tow! He’d never give me the tape!”
“He will if he wants the amulet.”
“You’d do that? Give him the amulet in exchange for the tape?”
“I’m considering it.”
“But to sacrifice it when it’s so important to you...”
“My amulet, my choice.”
What the hell was he doing? He had no intention of surrendering his amulet. All he wanted was an explanation that satisfied him. He certainly hadn’t gotten one from Clare Fuller. For all he knew, everything she’d been telling him was nothing but lies. And if she thought he’d forgiven her for last night...well, he hadn’t.
Yeah, he wanted answers, but there was another reason for going to New Orleans with her. Mark was a soldier, a career man who’d been idle long enough. He needed action, and fishing wasn’t going to do it for him. But here was a challenge that could.
He’d been a ranger too long not to sense trouble. There was something wrong about this whole business and, yeah, he wanted it sorted out.
That all it is, Mark? Go on and admit it to yourself, why don’t you? Sure, your arguments are valid ones. Except they don’t include your urge to be with her for a very personal reason. Whatever she is, this woman has gotten under your skin.
Mark rocked back in his chair with a casual “So that’s the deal, teacher. The amulet goes to New Orleans, but I go with it.”
Chapter 4
“Is that all I was to you? Nothing but a target?”
They had left the coast behind them and were traveling north toward the interstate. Neither of them had spoken a word during these first miles to New Orleans. That alone was explanation enough for Clare being so startled by this question of his coming out of nowhere.
Except that wasn’t the only reason for her surprise. It was the content of that impulsive question that had her turning her head to stare at him. His own gaze was fixed on the highway. She couldn’t see the expression on his face, but there had been something in his tone...
What? Purely the result of a male ego that didn’t want to believe she hadn’t been interested in him last night on more than one level? Or was it actually possible that under his tough, army ranger exterior, Mark Griggs was capable of something more sensitive than that? That maybe he’d been genuinely hurt by what he perceived as her heartless rejection?
Clare didn’t know what to answer him and was relieved by his curt “Forget I asked. It doesn’t matter.”
She had the feeling it did matter but that perhaps he was too proud to pursue an answer, maybe even embarrassed now that he’d ever introduced the subject.
They lapsed into another long silence. It wasn’t an easy silence. There was an uncomfortable strain between them. And why not when he obviously didn’t trust her? Nor did she trust him. If that was the only explanation, it would be both understandable and acceptable. But there was something else much stronger than that. A disturbing sexual tension.
Clare couldn’t deny it. It had been there from the beginning last night, this awareness of his potent masculinity. How the very air inside the car was charged with it, making it difficult to breathe when she was so conscious of the heat and scent of his body so close to her own.
Was he experiencing something of the same effect where she was concerned? She didn’t dare to make any effort to find out. There was too much of a risk in that.
There had been another soldier in her life. He was long gone now, but she hadn’t forgotten the ache of losing him. There was a lesson in that.
You don’t permit yourself to get mixed up with men in uniform, Clare.
It was a piece of wise advice, only she wasn’t obeying it. She was already involved with one of those men now. No choice. As long as there was still a chance of getting her hands on that amulet, she had to endure the company of Lieutenant Mark Griggs, whatever her dangerous attraction to him.
They had reached the interstate now. Clare trained her gaze on the much safer view outside her passenger window as the SUV sped along the elevated four-lane highway, crossing a maze of bayous and cypress swamps. It was a flat, monotonous scene. Or would have been, if its vegetation hadn’t been so rich with the new, tender green of spring. There was a promise in that, though she had no chance to wonder what it might be.
Her companion chose that moment to rupture the silence again, his deep voice firing off a brusque “Why isn’t she out on bail?”
He had lifted her so sharply out of her reverie that his question confused her. “What?”
“Your sister. You said she was behind bars. Why wasn’t she released on bail?”
“Because Joe was a cop in the parish where they lived. Louisiana’s origins were strongly Catholic, so parishes are equivalent to counties in other states.”
Mark turned his head, favoring her with one of those bold, wicked grins guaranteed to accelerate feminine pulses. “Playing teacher for me, are you, Ms. Fuller?”
Clare wished he would stop sparring with her, but she didn’t think that was likely to happen. He was enjoying himself too much. “Just thought you might like to know. Most outsiders don’t.”
“Uh-huh. So her husband was a cop. Why did that matter?”
“He was well liked by all the other officers, popular, too, with the judge who denied Terry bail. None of them were ever willing to believe there was another side to Joe Riconi.”
Clare couldn’t prevent the bitter note in her voice, and Mark was shrewd enough to understand it.
“Don’t tell me. He was abusive to your sister.”
“When he was drinking, yes.”
“How abusive? Physically?”
“Terry maintained it was never anything but verbal, but I had my suspicions. She wouldn’t leave him, though.”
“They never do. Familiar story.”
“Anyway, that’s why she’s waiting for her trial behind bars.”
“These other cops and the judge. They must have guessed something about this abuse, if that was the motive your sister was charged with for her husband’s murder.”
Clare could only shake her head, not knowing how much serious investiga
tion had been conducted in the case, if any.
Mark was silent again for another long minute, but she knew he wasn’t finished with his questions. He was testing her, of course. Probably not ready to accept her story or, for that matter, to forgive her for stealing his amulet. Well, she was ready for those questions.
“So what does all this have to do with this Malcolm Boerner character? Anything?”
“Everything.” Clare explained the connection to him. “Joe and Terry were down in New Orleans shopping the day before he was killed. She’d left him waiting for her on the sidewalk while she went into a boutique to look at purses. When she came away from the store, he’d crossed the street and was talking to some guy on the corner. Not anyone Terry recognized.”
“Boerner?” Mark guessed.
“Yes, Malcolm Boerner. Terry asked Joe about him when he rejoined her outside the boutique. He was casual about the whole thing, said that Boerner had a shop in the French Quarter where he sold antique firearms. They’d known each other in the old days when they were mercenaries in the Mideast. ‘Haven’t run into him in years,’ he told Terry. ‘We were just doing a little friendly reminiscing.’”
“But?”
Yes, there was a but, Clare thought, and Mark had sensed that. “Terry had the impression their conversation had been too intense to be just some friendly reminiscing.”
“So she heads back down to New Orleans the next day to pay a visit to Boerner in his shop. That the way it went?”
The lieutenant was astute all right. Far more so than Clare was comfortable with. “While Joe was on duty back home, yes.”
“Why?”
“Because of the drinking that put him in those vile tempers. Joe refused to discuss it with her, but Terry was convinced the drinking was a result of those years he’d been a mercenary.”
“So your sister figures what? That Boerner will have answers for her?”
“Something, anyway, that would help her to help her husband.”
“Were there? Answers?”
“If there were, Boerner wasn’t willing to share them with her.”
Mark had no response to that. He seemed to be considering something. “I’m just wondering,” he finally said.
“About?”
“Whether all of this could have any connection with the amulet Boerner is after.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible. They’re separate issues.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Well, if you can think of an explanation let me in on it, because you know all that I know now.”
“Do I?”
The man was exasperating. “And just what haven’t I told you either now or back at the café?”
“You went to Boerner yourself after your sister was arrested.”
“You already know that.”
“Yeah, but what I don’t know is whether Boerner offered you his deal then and there, the amulet for your sister’s alibi.”
“As a matter of fact, he was cagey about it. Hinted he might have something that would interest me, and if he did he would call me. I left him my number, and he phoned that night and asked me to come into his shop the next morning. That’s when he explained what he wanted me to do.”
Mark was thoughtful again before asking her slowly, “Did it ever occur to you, teacher, why Boerner failed to give the cops the alibi your sister needs when they went to him? What did he have to gain by lying to them when he hadn’t even met you yet and realized he could use you? And how is he going to explain that lie if he turns around and provides you with the tape?”
“I don’t—”
“Right. You don’t care. All that matters is getting your hands on that tape. Well, I don’t have the answers, either. But I know one thing for sure.”
“And what would that be?”
“Something is definitely screwy about this whole business.”
* * *
To Clare’s relief, Mark had no more questions for her after that. Possibly because he needed to concentrate on the traffic. It had thickened considerably when they left the Baton Rouge area behind them and began to approach the urban sprawl of Greater New Orleans.
No more questions, but he’d left her with plenty to think about. And feel. Like the hope when they reached Boerner’s shop that Mark would be satisfied, would agree to exchange his amulet for the tape. And after that? What then? Would she be able to rid herself of the daunting Lieutenant Griggs whose mere presence evoked emotions that confused and troubled her.
“I’m getting confused,” he said.
There he went, startling her again. Was he able to read her mind?
When all she could do was gaze at him in bewilderment, he prompted her with an impatient “Directions. I could use some directions here. The route is getting complicated. Too many choices.”
“Oh, right. Take the exit after this next one.”
The traffic was heavier than usual when they left the expressway, plunging into the heart of the city. New Orleans, Clare realized, was a popular destination again now that Katrina was a thing of the past. All of the out-of-state license plates testified to that. There were as many of them as during Carnival and Mardi Gras.
Springtime in New Orleans, with all of its festivals celebrating the season and the azaleas everywhere in full bloom, was an irresistible attraction.
Clare was no more immune to the charms of New Orleans than the crowds of visitors. She demonstrated that when, stopped at a traffic light, she lowered the window on her side, inhaling the warm, humid air of the city she loved with all its heady aromas of roasting coffee and damp, mossy earth mingling with the fragrance of sweet olive.
“Can you smell it?” she invited her companion.
“Smells old” was his only comment, though he smiled at her with tolerance when he said it.
“That’s the flavor of New Orleans.”
“Yeah, that and the exhaust fumes. Which way now?” he asked as the light changed.
Clare knew that parking in the Quarter itself was always a problem. Today would be no exception, which was why she directed him to a high-rise garage on Canal Street.
“We can walk from here,” she said after they left the SUV on an upper floor and descended to the wide thoroughfare that was Canal Street. “It’s not far.”
Even Mark was impressed by the sharp, sudden contrast of the modern city and the historic district as she led the way directly into the French Quarter. She was careful to set a pace that wouldn’t stress his leg as they headed along the narrow Royal Street with its brick paved banquettes, shuttered windows and lacy, wrought-iron balconies.
The tourists converging on all the shops were out in full force here, along with the familiar, sightseeing carriages and the street musicians wailing a jazz that, though in no way equal to the music heard at Preservation Hall, added to the atmosphere.
They had covered almost two blocks when Clare halted Mark at the mouth of an alley. “Boerner’s shop is just a few doors away.”
“So why are we stopping?”
“I have a request.”
“What is it?”
“You’re probably not going to like it.” She drew a deep breath to fortify herself before naming it. “I’d like you to wait outside and out of sight while I go into the shop.”
Those distinctive, dark brown eyes of his that were capable of registering a seductive ardor in one minute and a disarming anger in the next narrowed suspiciously. “You’re right. I don’t like it.”
“Look,” she said quickly, “if you go in there with me, it could ruin the whole thing. Just give me a few minutes to prepare him, and then I’ll call you in. Otherwise...”
How was she supposed to explain to Mark that the unexpected sight of him at her side could have Malcolm Boerner so un
easy he might deny he’d ever sent her after the amulet? It was certainly a possibility when Mark Griggs’s size and air of authority made him an intimidating figure. One that was making her nervous herself at this moment with those hot eyes boring into her like a pair of lasers.
“You know,” he said, “for a woman who’s both intelligent and self-reliant, as I’ve been thinking you are, you’re not using good judgment where the subject of Boerner and my amulet are concerned.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you’re playing a dangerous game, and you don’t seem to realize it. Suppose you had gotten away with my amulet and left me behind, just as you’d planned. What were you going to do? Just march into Boerner’s shop and hand the amulet over to him? How could you be sure once he had it in his possession he wouldn’t go and refuse to give you the tape? Provide that alibi for your sister that, like I said before, could get him into trouble with the cops?”
“You think I would have been that naive? You’re wrong, soldier, because I had it all worked out beforehand. I wouldn’t have gone alone to Boerner’s shop. I would have phoned him, told him I had the amulet and that if he wanted it he was to bring the tape and meet me in a very public video store I know and trust over on Esplanade.”
“Where you would have proceeded to do what?”
“Had the store run the tape for me to make sure it was genuine. I would have also insisted Boerner sign a written alibi that Terry was in his place at the time of her husband’s murder. And then, only then, would I have surrendered the amulet to him.”
This time Clare could detect admiration in Mark’s gaze. A look that, against her will, stirred a warmth inside her.
“Okay, so you’re no fool, but I’m still not standing by while you go into that shop on your own. Even for a few minutes. We don’t know what you’d be walking into.”
The man was impossible. Where did he think he was? In a war zone issuing orders because he was anticipating an ambush? There was no arguing with him. She would just have to hope that Boerner was too eager to get his hands on the amulet to object to Mark’s presence.