"Sit here, Miss Q." He steered her toward a bench.
Lennon sank to her knees before her, searching her great-aunt's face with obvious concern. "Are you okay?"
Miss Q smiled gamely. "Lost my balance, that's all."
"Olaf, bring the car around to the emergency exit," Josh instructed the man who hovered over the bench like a mountain. "I'll call security and have them unlock the door."
Olaf took off toward the main museum, and Josh crossed the foyer to use the house phone. Spotting a watercooler, he filled a cup and brought it to Miss Q. "Here you go."
"Thank you." She took a sip.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Lennon touched a delicate hand to her great-aunt's wizened cheek. "You still look pale."
"I'm fine, dears. Just a bit weary." She returned the cup with a reassuring smile, then patted Lennon's hand. "I'll manage a nap before the masque."
"You'll manage a nap now, Auntie. We've got to head back to the hotel anyway, and no one will notice if you skip the musicale and slip upstairs. You've been running nonstop and you'll never make it through the night...oh no." Lennon's smooth features twisted in abject horror. "We have a problem." She sliced her whiskey gaze toward Josh, eyeing him with an expression as sharp-edged as a knife. "The masque."
"What about it? Am I interfering with a date?"
"No. But I don't want to show up with the only man who's not in costume. Did you bring one?"
Josh's turn to frown. "No."
"Do you even own one?"
"No."
"Oh, dear," Auntie Q said, frowning at him as though living in New Orleans without owning some sort of costume was a crime. "I wonder if Olaf has anything at home?"
Josh immediately spotted a problem with that idea, but before he could point it out, Lennon shook her head and said, "I'm afraid I don't see how anything of Olaf's would fit him."
"I wish I'd waited before donating Joshua's costumes to the Krewe. He had some wonderful outfits, which would have fit."
"What about a costume shop?" Josh suggested.
They both peered at him as though he'd lost his mind.
"It's Mardi Gras," Miss Q said. "Even if you were lucky enough to find anything, I don't think you'll track down a costume of someone who contributed to the erotic art world."
Lennon rocked back on her heels and snapped her fingers. "I've got it. The Feminine Touch."
This didn't sound good. "What's the Feminine Touch?"
"A sweet little boutique right around the corner. I'm sure Toni can come up with something. We'll dress him in drag, and he can go as Lady Chablis."
It took Josh a minute to place the character from the wildly successful book Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.
"What do you say, Josh Three?" Though Miss Q sounded quite serious, Josh didn't miss the twinkle in those big blue eyes. "Lady Chablis wore the loveliest clothes. I saw a picture of her in this exquisite cream silk with a tiara and feathers--"
"I don't think so, ladies."
Miss Q shrugged. "Then you're right. We have a problem."
"Wait a sec. I've got another idea." Shooting to her feet, Lennon made a beeline toward the house phone. Just as quickly, she stopped and pirouetted back toward them. "Darn. I can't dial out and I don't have my cell with me."
"I'll give you mine if you swear to lose any and all thoughts of me wearing a dress."
"A tiara would be divine with that silky black ponytail," Miss Q said with a grin.
He scowled, wondering if there was a barbershop next to the boutique, because he was getting a damned haircut.
"I swear," Lennon said.
"I'm taking you at your word." Retrieving his cell phone from an inside jacket pocket, he handed it to her.
She dialed with impatient stabs of her slim fingers, then retreated out of earshot. Watching her, Josh sat beside Miss Q. "She's not lying to me, is she?"
"Lennon doesn't lie. Remember that. It's a very good quality in a woman." Miss Q placed a fragile hand on his knee and squeezed. "You were wonderful today. Your grandfather would be very proud of the man you've grown up to be, Josh Three. Now he'd want to see you happy." She squeezed his leg again as Lennon whooped, attracting their attention. "Remember what I said about Lennon."
"What did you say about me?" Lennon asked, returning his cell phone with a satisfied smile.
"How proud Joshua and I are of you both today. You've handled yourselves beautifully."
"Especially since we've been maneuvered into some very awkward situations," she pointed out.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Miss Q said.
Lennon bent over and kissed her great-aunt's fluffy white head fondly. "Right. And I'll believe that when they open an erotic art gallery in the Smithsonian." Before Miss Q could reply, Lennon said, "But I've solved our problem. Vittorio has a costume. He's going to drop it off at the hotel later."
"Vittorio?" Josh wasn't entirely sure what sort of costume a man named Vittorio might produce.
And apparently he wasn't the only one with questions. Miss Q asked, "Who's Vittorio?"
"He's the model my writers' organization hires to dress up as a hero when the national romance convention comes to town."
"Good idea, dear."
Josh could be a romance hero. It suited his mood, and he knew no self-respecting hero would be caught dead in a dress.
The security guard arrived. Josh helped Miss Q up while the guard disabled the alarm on the emergency exit. Olaf had pulled the car up in the back alley, making the walk for Miss Q not as long as if they'd exited through the main museum entrance.
"Wait inside," Josh directed the ladies, scoping out the alley and the roof of the next building before he allowed them outside. Satisfied, he turned to Miss Q. "Shall we?"
She took his hand, and as he led her toward the waiting limo, his last image was of Lennon's smile. He'd barely settled Miss Q in the car and turned to assist that smiling beauty when three shots rang out.
9
LENNON JUMPED at the sharp blasts of sound, hadn't even comprehended what had happened before Josh spun around and thrust her back toward the museum entrance.
"Go," he yelled, reacting instantly.He slammed the door shut just as the limo lurched into motion, tires screeching as it pitched down the alley, the cumbersome frame of the long vehicle rocking sharply as it sped toward the street.
The security guard yanked Lennon back into the doorway. She stumbled, but his strong hands held her, pulled her into the gallery, though her stunned gaze remained riveted on Josh, who sprang at them, clearing the door and--by a narrow margin--her and the security guard. Pulling the door shut behind him, he raked his green gaze over her so perfunctorily that it took a moment to realize he was checking her for damage.
"I'm okay." But she trembled, unsettled by the hard expression that had carved Josh's features into granite.
Swinging an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close, held her tightly between his chest and the wall while barking orders at the security guard.
"Secure that door. I'll take her out the delivery entrance in the cafe. You go deal with security."
"Come to the security office while I call the police," the guard returned.
"For all we know those could have been fireworks. It's Mardi Gras." Josh waved him off and guided her into motion, his arm tight around her shoulders. "Do what you need to do. I've got to get her back to the hotel, and I just sent her ride off."
The guard still looked skeptical, but Josh didn't give him a chance to argue as he swept her into the museum.
"Were they fireworks?" she asked.
"I don't know. You'd be surprised how similar a bottle rocket and a nine-millimeter sound. Either way, they were too close for comfort."
"Shouldn't we stay inside where it's safe?"
"Two choices, chere--stay trapped in this museum with a bunch of strangers, any one of whom could be after you, or hit the streets with a bunch of strangers who might be after you, but wh
ere you'll have a chance to run for it. Your call."
She didn't even dignify the question with a reply and dutifully followed as he whisked her toward the cafe, thrusting open the glass-paneled door with such force they drew attention from the patrons. Josh didn't seem to notice. Or care.
She wasn't the only one to perceive his no-nonsense expression. The young man working the cash register gaped openly as Josh swept her through the line of patrons and around the counter. His mouth slackened beneath a wispy mustache barely worthy of the name, and he yelled something, but Lennon didn't catch what, for Josh was hurrying her into the kitchen, clearly familiar with the cafe's layout.
Her heart thumped madly as he shot through the rows of preparation tables and startled cooks. His body was tense, and his movements radiated such coiled aggression that though protests and questions rang out from the white-aproned staff, no one made a move to stop them.
Suddenly they were bursting through the back door in one of those startle-them-then-sweep-the-perimeter moves she'd seen a thousand times on television.
The French Quarter burst around them, noisy, bright and filled with meandering tourists, street vendors and locals.
Within seconds Josh had them moving away from the museum, secreted among the ranks of a group participating in a walking tour of haunted buildings in the French Quarter. Most of the tourists were cooling themselves with paper fans depicting the haunted tour's telephone number in creepy red letters. The tour guide kept up a steady flow of information as they walked--a man who should have drawn attention in his high boots, black leather pants and flowing chambray pirate's shirt, but as this was the French Quarter during Mardi Gras...
Lennon and Josh heard tales of vampires sealed in a convent's attic with a thousand blessed nails, and the details of one of the city's more gruesome historical homicides, before they ducked out of the tour and into a novelty store along Decatur Street.
Adjusting to the dim light after trekking through the sunny streets took a minute, and Lennon fell into place behind Josh as he snatched a hat from a rack, then grabbed sunglasses from a display.
With his profile silhouetted against the sunlight glaring through the open shopfront, he looked like a stranger, a man focused, intent, a man who reacted quickly to danger.
A man so unlike any she'd met before.
He possessed a hard edge beneath a civilized veneer, a tension that made him seem ready for action, a professional confidence that made Lennon feel safe. He obviously thought on his feet, didn't seem at all fazed by gunshots and getaways.
After tossing some bills on the counter in front of a startled clerk, he pulled on the cap and jammed the sunglasses on. Lennon put on her sunglasses and then followed him back into the street, blending in despite their business clothing.
"Why are we heading out of the Quarter?" she asked.
"We've got time to kill. If those were gunshots directed at you or Miss Q, the shooter might expect you to head straight to the hotel. I want to talk with museum security and hear what they've found out before we head back."
"Olaf knows to keep Auntie Q away, too?"
"He's driving across Lake Pontchartrain as we speak." A hint of a familiar grin took the edge off his expression. "We had a contingency plan. He'll contact me before he brings her back."
Lennon only nodded, relieved and so very appreciative that Josh had agreed to help them out this weekend. The idea of someone shooting at Auntie Q, or herself for that matter, scared her so much she wasn't sure how to deal with it. Lennon managed her fear because of the strong man who held her hand tightly.
He led her off the street and into the dim interior of a multistoried hotel parking lot. Attendants veered toward them, their protests echoing eerily against the vacuous walls of the parking garage. Indeed, Lennon read a sign in bold letters deterring pedestrians from entering the garage under threat of prosecution. Josh whipped a leather case from an inner jacket pocket and flashed some sort of official-looking badge to stem the protests, and they emerged a block south of where they'd entered, a neat little shortcut that sent them in another direction entirely.
Canal Street traffic on a Mardi Gras Saturday wasn't something Lennon would have normally cared to tackle, but she had no choice as Josh launched her into the street and the flow of oncoming traffic without even looking both ways. Enormously grateful she wore pumps that fit snugly on her feet, she hurried along beside him.
They dodged the cable car grinding into motion after stopping on the medium between the north-and southbound lanes of traffic, and after another breathless crossing against the pedestrian light, Josh steered her down Peters Street.
They barely got halfway down the block when he directed her across another street and up stairs circling a valet ramp.
"In here," he said.
Lennon recognized the low building with the multicolored domed roof. "Harrah's? Are we stopping to play the slots?"
"Those might have been gunshots, chere." He pulled off his hat. "I don't think today's the day to try your luck."
Lennon had no chance to comment as he plunged them into the dim world of a legalized casino.
After their race through the French Quarter, Harrah's was like stepping into another world, with its life-size Mardi Gras floats, twinkling lights and perpetual hum of sound, complete with tourists and a real pirate ship.
Josh seemed to know his way around the casino as well as he'd known his way through the museum, nodding at costumed attendants as he led her through the place as if scoping out a winning slot machine.
"What are we doing?" she asked.
He cut her a distracted glance. "Casing the joint."
Oh. She supposed she should have known Josh would want to make sure they were safe here. With a little guidance, she could help, too. "What should I be looking for?"
"A machine ready to pay out the jackpot," he replied with a quicksilver grin that made her roll her eyes.
Okay, so he didn't want her help. Fine by her. Let him play big-hero man while she took in the sights.
"Oh, look at that, they host weddings here." She noticed a marquee listing amenities. "I didn't know that. I bet it's a spin-off of the Vegas thing."
She could only smile at the idea of hosting a wedding here. After the ceremony, the guests could run loose through the casino, eating, drinking and gambling to their hearts' content. A giant party. Polite society would think she'd lost her mind.
Auntie Q would book the room herself.
Two piano players dueled beneath a starry sky in the Jazz Court, filling the place with lively Dixieland above the beeps and clinks and buzzing of the slot machines. Lennon was more than ready when Josh steered her out of the action.
"We're clear," he said, drawing her to a stop in front of a wooden door with a gold plaque announcing the VIP Lounge. An attendant dressed in formal wear greeted them.
He swung the door wide, saying, "Good to see you again, Mr. Eastman."
"How are you, Nigel? Staying busy?"
"You know it, sir." Nigel flashed a grin that sparkled white against the polished ebony of his skin.
Josh preceded Lennon into the wood-paneled lounge, which hosted cozy arrangements of tables, and a buffet and bar. After checking out the room and greeting the bartender, who also addressed him by name, Josh led her to a table against the wall at the back, pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit.
"Come here often, do you?" she asked.
He just inclined his head, but then again, what could he say? His VIP status pretty much said it all.
He shrugged off his jacket, laid it over the back of his chair and sat across from her. A waiter immediately appeared, but with her adrenaline pumping, Lennon couldn't conceive of eating, even if she'd been hungry. She asked for spring water. Josh ordered a double bourbon, straight.
Well, well, well. Even though she couldn't read a thing in his steely expression, Lennon would venture a guess his double bourbon summed up his emotional state quite clearly. And since
he obviously didn't have a problem dodging bullets, was he bothered because he'd been dodging bullets with her?
Here was a question to consider.
"Why would someone shoot at us, Josh? To frighten us?"
"I can't be sure those were gunshots."
But she couldn't miss the way Josh's jaw clenched, throwing the firm lines of his face in sharp relief.
"They sounded like gunshots to me."
Josh didn't comment, only glanced up at the returning waiter and accepted his bourbon.
He lifted his glass in a toast of sorts. "Gunshots or Mardi Gras fireworks, you and Miss Q are safe."
So he had been worried about her. Lennon clinked the rim of her glass with his. "Thanks to you."
Josh only held her gaze with a stoic one of his own, as though saving damsels in distress was all part of a day's work. Lennon supposed it was. However, as a woman intimately acquainted with the minds of heroes, she knew he wasn't as unaffected as he tried to appear.
That double bourbon, straight, said it all.
A few deep swallows later, Josh asked, "Have you annoyed anyone lately?"
"Enough to try and kill me?" she asked dryly. "No."
"You're sure?" A hint of a grin lingered around his mouth.
"I'm sure."
"Tell me about your fan mail."
Lennon sat back in the chair, toyed with the edges of her moist napkin in an attempt to control the rush of adrenaline that was fading from pulse-pounding fright to a pulse pounding of an entirely different sort beneath Josh's steady gaze.
"What about it?" she asked. "Some readers like my books, others think I'm too emotional and chuck them against the wall. Normal stuff. Why?"
He drummed blunt-tipped fingers against the wood tabletop. "Just trying to assess all the angles. If those were gunshots today, the attempt wasn't random. I cleared that alley, which means if someone did pull a trigger they had to be lying on the roof waiting for someone to come out the Eastman Gallery back door. Given that Miss Q has a penchant for disabling the system and letting herself out..."
"If they were gunshots and not fireworks."
He nodded. "If."
Lennon wished they knew for sure, but the sudden image of Auntie Q with a bloody gunshot wound in her pretty pastel chiffon convinced her she'd much rather deal with at least the possibility of fireworks.
One-Night Man Page 11