by Wendy Rosnau
“Stop it!”
“You can’t be everyone’s saint, Ry. Some of us have to save ourselves or choke on our own poison. You were my poison—I admit that. But like other addictions, recovery is a simple process once you learn the rules.”
“And you learned the rules? You’re smart?”
“Smart enough to stay away from you.” Again feeling vulnerable, Margo rescued her pride in the only way she could. “I really should thank you—the entire experience was quite an education. Best of all was the sex education. A straight-A student, you once said. Brodie agrees and compliments me often.”
The look of hurt in his eyes should have made Margo feel ashamed, but she refused to let it. After all, he was the one who had rejected her. The one who had walked away and never looked back.
The sudden ring of the telephone made Margo jump. Settling back in her chair, she waited for Ry to answer it, hoping all the while that it was Blu or Brodie.
He reached for the phone where it hung on the wall above the kitchen table. “Archard, here.”
Margo watched Ry’s scowl disappear.
“Tonight? No, I won’t be there.” He offered a false laugh as he cradled the phone next to his ear. “No, I can’t.” His gaze locked on Margo. “No really, I can’t. Why? That’s right, I’m working on a case. Yes, this very minute.”
Margo sensed the caller was a woman, a persistent woman who obviously wasn’t used to taking no for an answer.
“Time off? What’s that?” Another put-on laugh. “It goes with the job, I guess. Most days I’m about as reliable as—”
“Cheap rubber soles.” Margo’s voice was clear as a bell.
Ry mouthed for her to keep quiet, which she responded to with a cheesy grin, then her tongue. Moments later he hung up the phone.
“Don’t let me ruin your evening.” Margo pushed her half-eaten supper aside and stood. “I’ll just—”
“Take off the minute I walk out the door. Don’t kid yourself, baby. I know exactly what’s running through that head of yours.”
Margo hoped not. She should be formulating an escape plan, or racking her brain trying to think of a way to help Blu. Certainly, she should be coming up with a fail-safe lie to tell her mother about why she wouldn’t be at her apartment for the next few days. But instead all she could think about was that phone call and who the woman was on the other end.
She shouldn’t care, not one damn bit. Then why did she?
Chapter 6
“Hi, Mama, it’s me.” Margo stood at the window with the phone cupped to her ear while Ry cleaned the supper dishes off the table. “I got your message. Is everything all right? Yes, I know I always call you before nine every morning.”
Margo turned to catch Ry watching her, and she lowered her voice. “What? I’m sorry, Mama. Angie—you remember Angie, don’t you? I introduced her to you at the Toucan months ago. Yes, she’s the pretty blond waitress with the twins. That’s right, the one who’s husband left her. Well, she’s sick, so I volunteered to help her out with the kids. That’s why my morning routine got thrown off. Yes, Mama, kids are a lot of work. What was that? No, it doesn’t look like her husband is coming back. Yes, I know, Mama, the men in this city are all tomcats. Except for Papa, that’s right. And Blu. Yes, you raised him to respect women. Brodie? Yes, Mama, he respects me.”
Margo heard Ry swear, then slam a cupboard door harder than necessary.
“The noise? Of course I heard it, Mama.” Margo gave Ry an angry glare. “It’s the twins. You know how kids are, they’re as bad as grown men sometimes, acting up when someone’s on the phone.”
Another cupboard door slammed.
“A good swat on the behind? Yes, I intend to the minute I get off the phone. What was that? Blu didn’t call you today, either. Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s…he’s fine.” Margo squeezed her eyes shut. She hated lying, hated having to pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t fine at all. “If I see him I’ll give him a piece of my mind for worrying you, okay? Good night, Mama. I love you, too.”
When she hung up the phone and opened her eyes, Ry was standing over her right shoulder, so close she could feel his breath on her ear. Margo stiffened. “Learn anything interesting?”
“Actually, I did.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and forced her to face him. “You don’t know where he is, do you?”
“He?”
“Blu.”
“No,” Margo admitted easily. “But that’s nothing new. Blu’s as busy as I am.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice. You’re worried sick about him. He’s in some kind of trouble, and he’s dragged you into the middle of it, hasn’t he?”
Margo tried to brush past him, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist and reeled her in close. “I can help you. Let me.”
“Let go!” Margo jerked her arm free and headed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She heard him behind her. When she reached the bathroom, she whirled around and faced him. “I’m taking a bath. Go away.”
“Give me a chance, Margo. I won’t let you down this time.”
“It’s too late.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“I don’t care what you believe.”
“You used to.”
“I used to share my bath with a rubber duck, too. That doesn’t mean I still do.” That said, Margo stepped inside the bathroom, closed the door and locked it.
She was lying on his bed, swallowed up in his navy blue robe. She looked beautiful, sexy as hell, and in no better mood than when she’d slammed the bathroom door in his face.
“I told you I don’t want you gawking at me or my arm. It’s fine.”
Ry ignored her protest and eased the robe off her shoulder. He noticed the redness around the stitches immediately. “Your arm isn’t fine, dammit! It’s infected. Swollen, too.” Suddenly his own anger, the anger he’d been wrestling with for the past hour, was redirected at himself. “I should have taken you to the hospital last night. I never should have let you talk me into sewing you up. Come on, get up and I’ll help you dress. We’re going to the emergency room.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Especially to the emergency room,” she argued.
“Listen, Margo—”
“No, you listen. We’ll hot pack it. That’s what Mama would do.”
Ry eased down next to her on the bed. “Infection can be very serious business, baby. Are you sure a hot pack will fix it? Maybe I didn’t clean it well enough, or maybe I should have—”
“Oh, stop it. I won’t sue you if my arm drops off. And besides, I’m taking the antibiotic, remember?”
Instead of easing his mind, her joke infuriated him. Ry stood quickly. “Get up. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“What? What did I say?”
“I resent like hell you making jokes about something this damn serious.”
“You’re overreacting. With all the gloom and doom you deal with every day I’d think this would just be routine for you. I always said you could use an overhaul on your sense of humor,” she chastised. “You’d think it was your arm in danger of getting chopped off.”
“No one’s going to chop off your arm!”
“Okay, no more bad jokes. But it’s my arm, so we’ll do it my way and hot pack it.” When Ry attempted to argue, she held up her hand. “Quit! You’re going to sprout gray hair if you don’t lighten up.”
In the end Ry hot packed her arm the way she suggested, then bandaged it carefully. When he was finished, he said, “I got your clothes out of the Blazer and hung them in the closet. I cleaned out a couple of drawers in my dresser for the T-shirts.”
“I don’t want to stay in this room with you.”
Ry strolled to the dresser. “You don’t have a choice. This room has the only bed in the house.” He pulled a peach-colored T-shirt from one of the drawers, draped it over his arm and came back to the bed. “Lets get you out of my robe and in
to something you can sleep in.”
“Let’s not.”
Ry watched her pull his robe closer. “Are you cold?”
“No, just capable of dressing myself, thank you. Besides, you ogle me every chance you get.”
“I don’t ogle. I appreciate.”
“Drooling like a dog isn’t appreciation, it’s disgusting.”
“So I enjoy the sight of a naked woman in my bed. Most men do.”
“Get out,” she said, flaring up.
“You’re kidding, right? I’ve seen all of you dozens of times. I know every inch of your body. Last night, I—”
“Last night I would have let Jack the Ripper take my clothes off. Leave or turn around.”
“This is crazy, Margo.” When she just sat there clutching the robe tighter, Ry sighed, laid the T-shirt next to her, then turned his back and crossed his arms over his chest. “We used to take showers together,” he reminded. “Hell, we used to eat breakfast naked in bed.”
“Used to are the important words. It means not any longer.”
He heard her climb out of bed, heard his robe drop to the floor. He turned to make sure she was all right—okay, so he knew she was all right. He caught a glimpse of her nakedness as the T-shirt drifted over her thighs and his guts tightened. She was so damn beautiful, and he was such a fool; a fool to think he could be this close to her and keep his hands off her. She’d called him her addiction. Well, the shrink he’d seen for six months had called Margo his. And the shrink had been right, at least about that much.
She glared at him when she realized he had turned around too soon. “I hope you don’t plan on sleeping in that chair again tonight.”
“Is that an invitation to share the bed?”
“In your dreams.”
Every night, Ry wanted to say.
With a sniff she pulled back the comforter and climbed into the center of the bed, giving him a quick glimpse of her sweet backside covered in white satin. When she was comfortable, she glanced at him and said, “Haven’t you left yet? Your partner kept watch from the veranda. It’s just an idea, but it sounds good to me.”
Ry unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it on the chair. “You want me to sleep outside?”
“This is New Orleans, not the North Pole. If that doesn’t suit, you have four other bedrooms to pick from.”
“Four empty bedrooms,” Ry reminded.
She rested her back against the headboard. “Look at it as a way for you and one of the floors across the hall to get more intimately acquainted. Which hardwood floor sparks your fancy, Detective Archard?”
God, she was stunning to look at, Ry thought, letting her taunt go by unanswered.
“Isn’t it considered a little odd to have bedrooms with no beds in them? What do your houseguests say? Or do they stay in this room with you when they visit?”
By the look on her face, she had surprised herself with the question. Ry watched as she took a sudden interest in the bed covering, her hand reaching out to smooth its surface. He considered lying, was tempted to offer a tall tale about the dozens of women he’d had as houseguests. So many, in fact, he couldn’t remember their names.
The truth came easier. “Outside of Jackson hanging around a few evenings a week, you’re the first houseguest I’ve had since I moved in here.”
“Not even one blonde?”
There had been one blonde, but she hadn’t stayed that long. “No, no blonde overnight.” Again he watched her hand absently stroke the comforter. “If you need anything—”
Her hand stilled as if she’d just realized what she was doing. She met his gaze. “At the moment, just you sleeping somewhere else.”
The moonlight highlighted her sleekness, outlined her shapely curves. Yes, Taber had to admit the Blu Devil’s cruiser was worth taking a moment to admire. It wasn’t new by any means, but the Nightwing had been kept in immaculate condition. At least forty-five feet long, she was equipped with a full-length spray rail and a roomy cabin below deck. It was small by Taber’s standards, but her power-reaching lines and the craftsmanship were well defined.
No, Antos hadn’t exaggerated—the cruiser was a rare beauty—but the Nightwing wasn’t what Taber had on his mind as he signaled his driver to pull off the road. They still hadn’t found Blu duFray or the missing merchandise, and though his men were working around the clock to produce both, they had come up short.
There were hundreds of rat holes in the city to disappear into, and from what Taber had recently learned about duFray, the man likely knew where all of them were. Still, it paid to be a demanding boss—his men knew what it would cost them if they didn’t find duFray, and find him soon.
At least luck had been with him where the woman was concerned. Antos had brought him the information he’d anxiously been waiting for early that morning. It was the reason he’d been lured out to endure the sticky heat. He seldom went out; everything he wanted could be delivered to him. Even women could be obtained by a single snap of his fingers.
Only, the woman he wanted right now was being as elusive as her brother. Yes, the mystery woman on the pier was none other than Blu duFray’s sister. More surprising—she was someone Taber knew. Not well, but he had enjoyed listening to her sing at the Toucan Lounge. He’d even gone so far as to name the little songbird “Beautiful” weeks ago.
Taber reached for the ice-blue chemise that lay in the seat beside him—one of the mementos Antos had brought to him from her dingy apartment. He lifted the satin to his nose and inhaled deeply. The erotic scent aroused him like nothing had in a long while and his newfound obsession gripped him harder.
So where was she hiding? Taber mused, refusing to believe the talented little singer was at the bottom of the river, that her valiant efforts had ended so tragically. He’d instructed Antos to check the hospitals and safe houses, but no one fitting her description had been admitted last night or this morning.
“There’s movement on-board, sir,” Antos informed.
Taber’s gaze drifted to the cruiser riding the calm tide and the man who had suddenly appeared topside in the moonlight. The man was six-foot tall and thickly muscled. He stood looking off toward New Orleans, his shaggy brown hair tied back, his hands braced on the railing.
Brodie Hewitt was the foreman for Blu duFray’s fishing fleet. Taber recognized him from the Toucan. Hewitt was also a close friend of the woman’s. Did he know where she was hiding? Did he know if she’d survived the river?
The questions prompted an idea so rich and ingenious, Taber laughed out loud. Pleased with himself, he stuffed the blue silk into his pocket and got out of his car, ordering Antos to follow.
It was after midnight when Margo slipped from the bed and into a pair of jeans. As luck would have it, Ry had decided to sleep elsewhere. The noise across the hall an hour ago suggested he’d bedded down on a floor in one of his empty rooms.
Smiling, feeling confident about her planned escape, Margo crept into the hall and slowly descended the stairs. She let out her held breath as she reached the last step and walked past the living room entrance. The house was dark, but a small amount of moonlight shining through the windows fed her confidence, and she reached the kitchen without mishap. A few short steps brought her to the back door.
The night was sultry, the smell of jasmine heady as Margo slipped out the door onto the veranda. The quiet backyard gave her pause, and she hesitated to appreciate the solitude. Ry’s home was like a secret hideaway, the tranquil eye in a turbulent storm. It was crazy, but Margo felt safe here. She had from the moment she’d slipped through the hedges last night. The two huge oaks that boarded one edge of the backyard reminded her of giant sentinels, their spidery limbs dressed in feathery Spanish moss. And ironically, the white ornate iron swing between the trees resembled the one in her childhood dreams.
It was everything she had ever wanted as a little girl—a home hidden away from the people who frequented the fish market. A house large enough to afford her children rooms of th
eir own, with space enough in the backyard for them to climb trees, or simply breathe fresh air without being watched.
As a child Margo’s family of four had lived on top of each other in a tiny three-room apartment above the fish market—the market crammed between two larger buildings on either side. The upstairs bedroom she’d shared with Blu had one window and it had overlooked an alley.
Oh, her family had loved each other fiercely, and that had been the most important thing. But a private place of her own had always been Margo’s secret passion.
She inhaled deeply, then walked to the iron railing that wrapped the house with nostalgic charm. She should hurry and leave, but for just a moment she would imagine herself in the swing, and that this home was—
“Running off without saying goodbye?”
Margo gasped then whirled around. Ry lay sprawled in the large hammock only a few feet away. “I didn’t see you,” she blurted.
“No, I guess not.”
He swung his legs over the side of the hammock and slowly stood. His bare chest gleamed in the moonlight, his long legs still encased in soft, worn jeans. They rode low on his narrow hips. His feet were bare, and there was an empty whiskey bottle beneath the hammock.
“I thought you were sleeping upstairs.” Margo tried to ignore how good he looked in the moonlight.
“That’s what I was hoping you’d think.”
“So you pretended to go to sleep across the hall, when all the time you intended to sleep out here?”
“The best place to catch a thief, or a sneak in the middle of the night, is next to the door.”
“I’m no thief and no sneak, either,” Margo argued. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought—”
“No more games, baby. We both know what you were about to do. Where were you going, back to your apartment or to the Nightwing?”
Margo didn’t like the way he was looking at her. It wasn’t the way a man looked at a woman he no longer cared about.
“Apartment or the Nightwing?” he asked again.
“The Nightwing,” Margo admitted.