Angel at Risk

by Leann Harris

  She grabbed the nightgown and robe and threw them into the suitcase, slammed the lid shut, then yanked it off the bed. She started toward the door, but Jean-Paul didn’t budge.

  “Move,” she commanded through gritted teeth.

  “Non.”

  Their gazes clashed.

  “Ask me, Angeline.”

  “What am I supposed to ask you? Why did you lie to me? Why did you betray the trust I gave you?”

  He grasped her upper arms. The suitcase slipped out of her hand, falling to the floor with a thud. “You never gave me your trust, Angel.”

  She jerked out of his hold. “Then what would you call my spilling out my heart to you? I opened myself to you like I’ve never done with another human being. And how did you repay me? You lied.”

  “I never lied to you.”

  A harsh laugh escaped her lips. “That’s the answer a lawyer would give, Jean-Paul.”

  “That’s what I am. Or was.”

  She went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. “You didn’t lie outright. No, you simply chose not to tell me everything.”

  “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d react the way you are now. And you needed my help, Angel. Whether you want to admit it or not, you needed me. I got you a lawyer, helped uncover the mystery of who you are. And I protected you. Do you think you would’ve fared better without me, against the sheriff and Roger, hein? Answer me that.”

  A sob caught in her throat, and she turned her back to him. Seeing her hunched into herself, Jean-Paul reached out to touch her. She pulled away from him, moving toward the window.

  “You see how easily Roger has divided us?”

  “It was you, Jean-Paul. All you talked about was trust. Over and over again. You cajoled, teased, seduced. And fool that I was, I began to believe you were right.”

  He had wounded her, whether intentionally or not. She was hurting and needed some sort of explanation. But he was also angry that his actions over the past few days weighed so little with her that she needed the verbal reassurance. “So you want me to share my sordid past?”

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t.” Moisture glistened in her eyes. She tried to go around him. Again, he blocked her path.

  “Well, that’s too bad, because I’m going to tell you. I was a fast-rising star in the Louisiana government. I was appointed to a commission to investigate corruption of state officials. I went after Roger. I’d built a good case and was close to an indictment.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling again the bitter taste of betrayal. “One day, state troopers came into my office with a search warrant. In my desk they found a stash of cocaine. I was accused of taking it as a bribe from a major underworld figure. I was arrested, convicted and sent to prison.” He looked directly into her eyes. “Everyone in this town believed I was guilty. They believed a Delahaye could never amount to anything, and the conviction proved it. Marianna was the only person who didn’t give up on me. She never wavered in her belief. And I held on to that trust the entire time I was shut behind those prison walls. Sometimes, that was the only thing that kept me sane.”

  She glanced down at her hands.

  Disappointment shot through him. He’d hoped she would understand. Apparently she didn’t. “I was set up, Angel. Somehow Roger discovered what I was about to do and stopped it. The evidence I had on him disappeared. No charges were ever brought. And I was disbarred.” He shook his head. “Of course, some people might say having one less lawyer in the world is a good thing.”

  He tried to bury his pain in his anger. “I was stabbed in the back by someone who knew about the investigation and was close to me. Do you know how that feels?”

  “Yes.” The word slipped from her trembling lips.

  “Aw, hell.” Of all the stupid questions to ask her!

  She darted around him, picked up her suitcase and ran from the room.

  He listened to Ted and Angeline get in Ted’s car and drive off. When the noise of the car engine faded, Jean-Paul glanced around the room. There on the dresser, he discovered a tube of lipstick.

  He picked up the gold-tone container and examined it. The shade was called primrose. Wrapping his fingers around the metal, he closed his eyes and saw the mouth that this lipstick covered.

  He should walk away now and leave her to her righteous anger. A bark of laughter erupted from his chest. Who was he fooling? He wouldn’t leave her to Roger’s machinations now, any more than he could have from the moment she stumbled into Pierre’s garage.

  “Who’s the fool now, Jean-Paul?” he whispered to the empty room.

  He was afraid he knew.

  Chapter 9

  Ted stopped his car at the end of Jean-Paul’s drive. After a moment he asked, “Which way?”

  To Angie’s dismay, she couldn’t give him directions to Marianna’s house. “I want to go to my mother’s house, but we’ll have to drive into town and find someone to tell us the way.” Her face flamed. “I’m sorry. I was there only once, and Jean-Paul drove me that time. While we are in town,” she added, “I can make arrangements to turn on the utilities.”

  Ted’s understanding smile eased her embarrassment. He turned onto the paved road.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing your argument with Jean-Paul.”

  The blushing in her cheeks intensified. “I guess we were rather loud.”

  “This isn’t any of my business, but I’ll say that I think Jean-Paul was framed. I’ve known him since we were in law school together. He was a crusader. The white knight trying to slay evil dragons. No matter what anyone says, Jean-Paul is a good, honest man and a damn fine lawyer.”

  She glanced at him. “He wasn’t honest with me.”

  “He had his reasons. Compelling reasons, I’d say.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’d trust Jean-Paul with my life.”

  “Yes, but would you trust him with your sister’s life?”

  “In a minute. I just wish my sister had picked as fine a man as Jean-Paul. Unfortunately she didn’t. She picked scum.”

  * * *

  “What happened here?” Ted asked, setting Angie’s bags inside the front door of Marianna’s house.

  The interior didn’t look any better today than it had Saturday afternoon. Of course, who did she expect would clean up the mess—the sheriff? “Someone broke in and searched the place.”

  “Why?”

  She wished she knew. “Who can say? Everyone in town knew the house was vacant. Maybe vandals, or kids looking for something valuable to pawn.”

  From his frown, Angie knew what was coming. “Maybe you should stay somewhere else,” he said.

  Angie picked up the cushions from the floor and put them back on the couch. “There isn’t anyplace in Mirabeau. That’s why I was staying at Jean-Paul’s.”

  “It wouldn’t be a bad idea if you went back.”

  The man didn’t know what he was asking. She turned to him. “I can’t.” Extending her hand, she said, “Thank you for all your help.”

  “I really didn’t do that much. It was Jean-Paul who did most of the work.”

  She moved to the front door and opened it wide. Ted took the hint.

  “Good luck, Angeline. I’ll be in touch. And remember what I said about Jean-Paul.”

  As she watched him drive away, Angie wished she could forget Ted’s words. Jean-Paul is a good, honest man.

  She fought back the tide of tears. She would not think about what had happened today in court, because if she did, she’d shatter into a million pieces. Maybe later she could deal with Jean-Paul’s betrayal.

  Turning, she surveyed the mess before her and decided that if she cleaned up Marianna’s house, then maybe she’d be too tired to think.

  She worked her way through the living room, righting lamps and chairs. Unfortunately, she became a victim of her own success. Her mind was so focused on what she was doing that when she picked up several unpaid bills scattered on the floor, the significance of her wor
k finally hit her.

  These were her mother’s things that she was touching and holding. And all that was left of the warm, vibrant woman.

  Angie glanced down at the envelope. It was a statement from a national department store. With trembling fingers, she pulled out the bill.

  Shoes. It was for a pair of leather pumps.

  Moisture gathered in her eyes, making it hard to read the print. “Oh, Marianna, why?” she whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve understood and loved you.”

  A tear splashed onto the paper.

  The roar of a car engine and the screeching of brakes broke into her sorrow. She put down the bill and walked to the window expecting to see Jean-Paul’s old truck. Instead, a new beige Cadillac was parked in the driveway. She hurried to the front door and opened it the same instant a man emerged from the car. She recognized him as the man who’d been sitting by Roger Boudreaux at the court proceedings.

  Walking to the edge of the porch, she asked, “May I help you?”

  The man’s head jerked up and he froze.

  The glazed look in his eyes alarmed Angie. She moved down the steps. “Are you all right?”

  He slammed the car door, but the momentum caused him to stumble. She rushed forward to prevent him from falling. The overpowering smell of whiskey nearly knocked her off her feet. Once they were both steady on their feet, he grasped her shoulders.

  “I didn’t know.” His words were slurred and hard to understand. “I swear, I didn’t know.” Tears filled his eyes.

  “Didn’t know what?” Angie asked.

  Before he could reply, another car, a limousine, came barreling down the road.

  “The old witch,” he grumbled.

  The limo stopped beside them, kicking up a cloud of dust. Angie stepped back, coughing.

  From the back seat stepped a well-groomed woman. Angie couldn’t tell her age, but something hard in her eyes warned her that this woman had seen and experienced a lot.

  “Get in the car, Guy. Monroe will drive you home.”

  Guy leaned toward Angie. “See, I told you she was a witch. She’s got eyes in the back of her head. Sees every time I take a sip.”

  The older woman’s expression never changed, except for a slight tightening of her thin lips.

  “Monroe, help my husband into the car.”

  Instantly, a burly man in a chauffeur’s uniform climbed out of the limo and headed straight for Guy. Clamping his beefy hand around Guy’s upper arm, he escorted the drunken man into the limo.

  “Get his keys,” she commanded Monroe.

  Monroe wrestled the keys from Guy, locked him in the back seat, then handed them to the woman.

  Angie watched in amazement as the limo disappeared around the bend in the road, leaving behind the imposing woman.

  “It was quite a shock to learn Marianna had a child. Sometimes old sins and secrets are best left buried.”

  The haughty tone in which the advice was given made Angie bristle. “I’m not the one who has any secrets.”

  “We all have secrets.”

  The comment didn’t deserve a reply. Instead, Angie silently studied the woman. From the top of her head to the bottom of her small feet, every inch of the woman screamed money. Old money.

  “I think it would be best for all concerned if you go back to where you came from.”

  Who had died and made her queen? Angie wondered. “Better for whom?”

  “This town. If you stayed, you would be a constant reminder of how our dear Marianna fell. Her reputation has been greatly damaged by what happened in court today.”

  “The only thing that’s been damaged, Catlin—” Jean-Paul’s voice rang out “—is Roger’s plan to get his hands on Marianna’s estate.”

  Both women turned toward his voice. Jean-Paul emerged out of the long shadows cast by the house in the late afternoon sunlight. He strode up to them, stopping before the older woman.

  A cold fury darkened Catlin’s eyes. “What do you know?”

  “I know that Angeline’s appearance has foiled Roger’s plans.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She drilled Angie with a hard look. “If you’re smart, you’ll take my advice. It will be very uncomfortable for you, in a town that knows the circumstances of your birth.”

  She climbed behind the wheel of the Cadillac. Jean-Paul lunged, grabbing the side of the door.

  He leaned into the car. “It’s an ugly threat, Catlin. But what could I expect out of a cold-blooded woman like you who loves only money and power? I have a threat of my own. If anything, anything happens to Angeline, if she so much as stubs her toe, I’ll know at whose feet to lay the guilt. And you’ll pay. Believe me, you’ll pay.”

  He stepped back and Catlin yanked the door closed. Dust and gravel rained on them as she sped away from the house. Jean-Paul pulled Angeline toward the steps, out of harm’s way.

  “Are you all right, Angeline?”

  Angie didn’t know whether to be grateful for his timely interruption or to be offended that he had come to spy on her. She freed her arm and backed away from him.

  “How did you get here?” She hadn’t heard his truck, and didn’t see it parked anywhere.

  “I followed Guy’s car weaving through town, figuring he was up to no good. I parked off the main road and walked across the field, so I wouldn’t be seen. I suspected the Boudreaux might give you trouble.” He leaned his hip against the porch railing. “I’m glad I was here to run off Catlin. She’s got a heart of stone, that one.”

  His assumption that Angie couldn’t take care of herself irritated her. What did he think she’d done up until the time she wandered into town? Did he think she went looking for some male to solve all her problems?

  “I was handling everything quite well until you charged in.”

  He pushed away from the railing. “Ha. That old bat was chewing you up.”

  “Not all of us, Jean-Paul, approach a problem with the attitude that whoever shouts the loudest wins. I was about to tell Mrs. Boudreaux that I don’t run from problems.” And that she could take her snooty tone and sit on it. But not in such delicate wording. Of course she wasn’t going to share that with Jean-Paul.

  “Her kind doesn’t respond to a mild rebuke. Catlin Boudreaux might appear to be the embodiment of a genteel southern woman, but a meaner female hasn’t lived in this parish.”

  “You’re exaggerating, trying to scare me.”

  “You’re damn right I’m trying to scare you. I’m trying to frighten you into being careful.”

  She gazed defiantly up into his eyes. “Well, I’m not scared, and nothing you say is going to make me turn tail and leave this house.” Lifting her chin, she gave him a final determined look, then turned toward the door.

  Jean-Paul’s hand shot out and snagged her arm. “If you have any sense, chère, you’ll heed my words and be frightened of that den of thieves. They’ve killed before, for their own personal gain. And will do so again without hesitation.” His grim tone made her shiver.

  He was succeeding admirably at frightening her, but he had to be bluffing. “Who did they kill?”

  His grip on her eased, and some emotion crept into his eyes. “Your maman.”

  His words were like a slap across her face. The emotions that had gripped her when he first told her Marianna was an only child hit her again. “You think they were responsible for Marianna’s death?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have any proof?”

  He jerkily ran his hands through his hair, then shoved them into the back pockets of his jeans. “No. I have suspicions and coincidences. Too many to ignore.”

  Her heart was yelling for her to believe him. Jean-Paul might have held back certain truths in his own life, but he had not ever been wrong about Marianna. And because she knew how he felt about her mother, Angie was willing to listen to him. “Tell me.”

  He seemed surprised. “All right.” He pointed to the top step. “Why do
n’t we sit?”

  She settled beside him. His large form so close to her made her feel safe...at least for a few minutes.

  He rested his elbows on his knees. “There are a lot of things that don’t add up.” He held up his index finger. “First, there was no autopsy done on Marianna’s body, so we don’t know if she drowned or was killed and then placed in her car and pushed into the bayou.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “Yes. An autopsy should’ve been ordered on a questionable death like that, unless someone had something to hide. Second, within a day of the doctor signing the death certificate, Marianna’s body was cremated.”

  “Well, maybe she wanted her burial handled that way.”

  Jean-Paul shook his head. “I never heard her say anything about cremation. She once mentioned a family crypt in the next parish. But, what’s questionable here is, why hurry everything unless someone had something to hide and didn’t want the body examined?”

  His reasoning made sense. “I don’t know. But why do you think Roger Boudreaux is behind these coincidences?”

  “Because he’s the only person in this parish who has the power to override the law.”

  Was Jean-Paul being paranoid? she wondered.

  He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Another thing that bothers me is the sheriff claims that Marianna’s car probably skidded off the road during the rainstorm we had that night. And I believe him. So that means Marianna was coming back from New Orleans. What if someone followed her and forced her off the road?”

  “But she didn’t meet with Edward.”

  “What if she did? What if Edward lied?” A dawning knowledge darkened Jean-Paul’s eyes. He slammed his right fist into the palm of his left. “Damn, I feel responsible for her death. If I hadn’t arranged that meeting, maybe Marianna would be alive today.”

  Suddenly, Angie wanted to comfort him. He had given her emotional support over the past few traumatic days. Now she wanted to give in return. She laid her hand on his forearm. “You don’t know that. You never would have intentionally hurt Marianna.”