by Leann Harris
“Who can say? But I can help protect you. That you must believe, Angeline. The Boudreaux family do not wish you well. For your protection, I want you to come and stay at my house tonight.”
That she couldn’t do. The wound of his deception was too new and fresh to allow her to be with him. “I’ll be all right, Jean-Paul.”
From his look, she knew he wanted more from her. An explanation.
“I don’t doubt what you’ve said. But I need time, Jean-Paul. Time to myself, to think and sort things out.” When he looked as if he would press his cause further, she added, “Please.”
He relented. “You win. But if anything happens or you hear something you don’t like or just get scared, you call me, you hear?”
He sounded like a disgruntled parent. “Yes.”
“Bien.”
“Jean-Paul.”
“Yes, chère.”
“That man that was here. His name was Guy?”
He nodded.
“Did you hear what he said?”
“No.”
“He was mumbling that he didn’t know. What do you think he was talking about? And why did he come here?”
He intently studied her. “I wish I knew. I think it would’ve answered a lot of questions you have.”
“Like who my father is?”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah.”
He stood, then reached down and pulled her up. She could read in his eyes his intention of kissing her and backed up a step, putting herself out of his reach. “Good night.”
“Bonsoir.”
He’d taken a couple of steps, when he stopped and reached into the front pocket of his jeans. He brought something out, then held out his hand to her.
“This is yours. You left it on the dresser.”
He didn’t say in my bedroom, but that phrase rang through her head. Her lipstick looked ridiculous lying in his palm. She took it, wrapping her fingers around the tube. The metal was still warm from the heat of his body.
“Thank you.” It was rather odd to have a man return something so personal.
He nodded.
She watched him walk across the yard and disappear into a growth of tall vegetation. He believed her mother had been killed. His arguments had been sound, his questions valid. And tomorrow she intended to get some answers.
* * *
Jean-Paul didn’t know whether to shout for joy that she believed him or curse because the stubborn female thought she could take care of herself when pitted against the Boudreaux family and their minions.
When Angeline had run from his house this afternoon, Jean-Paul knew he couldn’t just leave her to her fate. It had taken him a while to get his bearings after their bitter exchange. Once he could think clearly, he knew he’d have to go and check on her. He feared that someone would show up at Marianna’s to hassle Angeline.
He hadn’t been wrong.
He’d purposely held back, to hear what Catlin would say to Angeline. When the threat spilled from her mouth along with the ugly things she said about Marianna, he saw red. It had taken several seconds for him to control the rage before he could speak.
His little northern wren probably thought all her troubles were over. She hadn’t seen a tenth of the fallout from today that would come her way. If he didn’t miss his guess, Angel was fixing to see hell on earth.
Chapter 10
Jean-Paul pulled the rag from his hip pocket and wiped his greasy hands. He had spent the morning fixing Angeline’s rental car. He’d gone by her house first thing, to make sure she was all right and nothing unusual had happened during the night, then he’d come to work. After talking to the rental people in New Orleans and getting their okay, he’d done the repairs. Now all he had to do was drive the car out to Angeline.
He strolled inside to call her.
“Hey, Jean-Paul, how you are?”
“Fine, Jock. How’s everything goin’ with the taxi business?”
Jock’s plain face broke into a large grin. “Mais excellent, especially after spending this morning driving that new lady all over town. Key awau!” Jock shook his hands. “She paid me fifty dollars for takin’ her to the doctor’s, then to the funeral home.”
Jean-Paul froze, stunned and panicked at what he’d just heard. It couldn’t be true. The woman couldn’t be so naive as to go around town asking delicate questions and not know she was putting herself in danger. “Hell.”
Jock frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“What did she think she was doing?” Jean-Paul murmured to himself.
“I don’t know. But she seemed upset after she talked with Neil at the funeral home.”
Well, why didn’t she just take out an advertisement in the newspaper and tell the entire town that they suspected Marianna was murdered? Of course, having Jock drive her anywhere was as good as advertising in the newspaper.
Pierre came around the counter. “Is something wrong, Jean-Paul?”
“I’m going to drive Angeline’s car out to her.”
“Do you want Martin to follow in the truck to bring you back?”
Glancing at the teenager, Jean-Paul knew he didn’t want Martin to witness his meeting with Angeline. Martin was as big a gossip as Jock. “No. I’ll let the lady bring me back.”
Jean-Paul didn’t wait for Pierre’s reply, but strode into the bay and got into Angeline’s car.
Visions of her lying dead in that house ran through his head as he drove through town. He gripped the steering wheel so hard, his fingers ached when he stopped in front of Marianna’s house.
“Angeline,” he bellowed as he got out of the car.
No one answered.
“Angeline,” he called, leaping onto the porch.
Still, there was no answer.
With his heart pounding, he reached for the doorknob. It was locked. He fished Marianna’s key, which he’d kept from the previous day, out of his pocket. It was a good sign, he told himself, that the house was locked. No killer would bother to lock up after committing his nefarious deed. That is, unless he wanted things to look normal.
His mouth dry, fear throbbing in his brain, Jean-Paul walked into the house.
The living room had been restored to its former tidiness. But more important, Angeline was not lying on the floor dead, in a pool of her own blood.
He crossed the room and glanced into the bedroom. It also had been straightened up. Then he heard it. The most wonderful sound to ever reach his ears—a running shower. After a moment the water shut off, letting Jean-Paul know she was alive.
The relief sweeping through him made him so light-headed, he sank down onto the corner of the bed before he fell flat on his face. He held out his trembling hand, watching in amazement the reaction of his body.
The bathroom door opened and his gaze flew to the woman emerging from the steamy interior. She was wrapped in a towel that barely covered her from breasts to hips. Like a bolt of lightning hitting him squarely in the chest, living heat—powerful and sweeping—flowed through every nerve ending in his body.
He jumped to his feet and took a step forward. “What the hell did you think you were doing this morning?” The angry words flew out of his mouth, surprising him.
His outburst startled her as well, and her grasp on the towel faltered and it fell to the floor.
She was even more beautiful than he had imagined—and he’d done his fair share of imagining. There wasn’t a single ounce of fat on her sleek body. From the fullness of her breasts to her small waist to her gently flaring hips, Angeline was all woman.
She snatched up the towel. “Would you care to wait for me in the other room while I get dressed?” she asked with icy formality, but he felt the rage beneath the polite words.
Feeling like the backwater Cajun he’d been called at that fancy eastern boarding school, he nodded and walked into the other room, pulling the door closed behind him. Well, he certainly had acted like a grand fool, he admitted to himself. He flopped down onto the so
fa. Maybe he should apply for prize fool for the Mardi Gras parade. But, damn it, didn’t she understand that the fear he felt for her was still pumping heavily through his veins?
When she walked into the living room a few minutes later wearing jeans and a blouse, the light of battle was in her eyes. “How dare you barge in here like that?” Her civilized tone had evaporated. The lady was hot. “Who do you think you are?”
She had every right to her anger, Jean-Paul told himself. But in spite of that calm logic, the tumult of emotions inside him demanded a release. And the lady was offering a good fight.
“Me?” he asked, rising to his feet. “You’re asking me what I’m doing? I came here after Jock told all of Mirabeau where you went this morning. I was expecting to find you dead on the floor, shot or stabbed.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “What were you thinking about, to go and question those men?”
“Oh, it’s me? I’m the one at fault?” She poked him in the chest with her index finger. “Who put those questions in my head, huh? Who filled my head with doubts? I believed you, Jean-Paul. Since I needed answers to those questions, I decided to investigate for myself. And since I didn’t have a car, I called the only taxi in town.”
“You didn’t just call a cab. What you called was our local version of the phone company. Every house will know about your activities by dinnertime. Whoever pressed those men to turn a blind eye to the law will know that you were questioning the procedure surrounding Marianna’s death.”
She paled, even as she countered his argument with one of her own. “If you’ll stop and think, those men will probably tell this person or persons about my visit without Jock’s two cents’ worth.”
“Oh, I’ve thought of that. I’ve thought of nothing else since Jock told me about your little trip.” He gripped her arms. “Why did you do it, Angeline? Why?” His anguish rang through the room.
“I told you, Jean-Paul. I did it because I wanted answers.”
He brushed back a strand of damp hair that had fallen over her eye. “You should’ve called me. I would have gone with you.” He crushed her to his chest. “If anything happened to you, chère, I would never forgive myself.”
His hands moved over her back. It had never occurred to him that she would put herself in such danger. He tipped her chin up and his mouth covered hers. His tongue slipped into her mouth, wanting to taste the sweetness that was hers. He wanted to reassure himself that she was all right by touching her, tasting her, warming his chilled soul in the living warmth of her body.
His hands came up to cup her head, his thumbs rubbing gently over the strong pulse in her neck. He lifted his head and gazed down into her blue eyes, which had turned indigo with passion.
“Your kiss makes me forget where I am and what I was saying,” Jean-Paul whispered.
Her lids lowered, shielding her emotions from him. She cleared her throat and took a step back.
He cursed himself. She looked so alone and vulnerable, standing there, obviously embarrassed by her response to him. She moved around the couch, putting it between them.
He walked to the window and saw her car, and remembered the reason he’d raced over here. The danger she put herself in this morning was his fault.
“I’m sorry I barged in here. But last night when I told you of my suspicions, I only meant to scare you into being cautious. Never in my wildest dreams did I think you’d take it upon yourself to go and talk to those men. The idea frightens me spitless.”
Her brow arched. “So, you admit you meant to scare me.”
“Of course. There’s nothing wrong with caution, chère. But my suspicions are not made up.” He held up his index finger and shook it at her. “Apparently, you didn’t heed my warning.”
Her fingers picked at the loose weave of the couch. “Then you don’t want to know what I learned from the doctor and mortician?”
Oh, she was a cutie, this one. She was smart, too. She knew she held all the cards, and was seeing if he’d call her bet. “You know I want to know what they said.”
She motioned for him to sit. When he complied, she came around the sofa and sat next to him. Leaning forward, she said, “Well, I went to the doctor’s first. He seemed surprised that I would ask why an autopsy wasn’t done. But when I pressed him, he said that there was no need to do one.” The gleam in her eyes told him she wanted him to ask what she did next.
“And what was your reply?”
“I asked about the law. Since Marianna’s death was suspicious, didn’t the law require an autopsy? He turned pale and said he only followed the sheriff’s order and signed the death certificate.”
Jean-Paul cursed. “Why am I not surprised? And what did the mortician say?”
“He claimed that Marianna wanted to be cremated. When I asked why they did it so soon, he said that there was no reason to wait—since they didn’t know Marianna had any living relatives. But do you know the funny thing?” She didn’t wait for his reply. “He acted so nervous, like he had something to hide.”
“Mais sho’, they all have something to hide. The question is, what? And who are they covering up for?”
There was something here that he was missing. What?
Angie watched Jean-Paul turn over in his mind the things she’d just said. When she’d come out of her shower and found him sitting on her bed, her mind had gone blank. Then when he started yelling at her, her anger had surged. But as quickly as her temper flashed, it died, when she heard the fear in Jean-Paul’s voice and his words of concern.
She laid her hand on his forearm. “Who do you think they are covering up for? What do you think my mother discovered, that caused someone to murder her?”
He looked down at her hand, then up into her eyes. When she started to pull back, he laid his hand over hers. Little prickles of electricity raced up her arm.
“I’ve racked my brain over that. When Marianna came to me, I asked her why she wanted to see someone on the state corruption panel. She said she’d come across some evidence that was explosive.” His thumb absently rubbed across her knuckles, making it hard for her to concentrate on what he was saying.
She tugged at her hand. He seemed surprised that he still held it captive. He smiled and released her.
Angie exhaled, trying to bring herself back under control. “Maybe it had something to do with her job? I mean, being a librarian would bring her into contact with a lot of different information. If she ran across something, it might have set off an alarm in her head.”
He shrugged.
“Could we call the current librarian and ask?”
“Sure.”
They walked into the kitchen, and he punched in the number for the library. After speaking for a few minutes, the tone of his voice changed. “Thanks, Mattie. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention our little conversation to anyone.” He hung up.
“Well?” Angie asked, eager to know what he’d learned.
“Mattie says Marianna wasn’t working on anything for the library, but several months before her death the historical society asked her to write a history of the parish.” He leaned back against the counter. “I’ve got a feeling, Angel, that we may have come up with a good lead.”
She propped her shoulder against the wall, taking in the sight of him. He was tall, well muscled and incredibly handsome. His thick, dark hair fell over his forehead, drawing her gaze to his green eyes, which danced with the vibrancy of life. It was almost too much to take in that he might be attracted to her. And yet if his kisses were any indication, he definitely was interested.
“Tomorrow, we’ll go see M’sieu Colton at the society.” The wonderful, rich sound of his voice filled the room, making Angie want to close her eyes and bask in its sensual quality.
“Why not today?”
He placed a kiss on her nose. “Because it is Tuesday. The society’s center is only open Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. And because M’sieu Colton will not open up the doors on any other day for anyone, not even
for the pope.”
His teasing was like a gentle rain falling on a parched earth. She couldn’t resist bantering back. “Not even the pope? Are you sure?”
He braced his hands on the wall on either side of her head. Startled by his nearness, she turned, pressing her shoulder blades into the solidness behind her. The heat of his body surrounded her like a cocoon.
“It’s rumored that the only time M’sieu Colton left his houseboat on a Tuesday was in 1956 when he voted for Eisenhower. He didn’t like Stevenson. Why, it was the talk of the parish. M’dame Eleanor nearly fainted dead away when he showed up at the polling place to cast his vote. It was the only time in the last fifty years anyone’s seen him on a Tuesday.”
“Really?”
He took a step forward, bringing his thighs in contact with hers. Little sparks of energy zipped over her, making her skin seem too tight for her body.
“I swear. Of course, everyone wonders what that man does out there on the bayou by himself.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “M’dame Eleanor’s convinced he turns into a bat and flies up and down the bayou, sucking the blood out of anything he can catch.”
The warmth of his breath on her neck stretched Angie’s nerves taut. Her gaze collided with his, and her heart skipped a beat at the passion darkening his eyes. She was tempted to reach up and stroke his cheek, maybe even give in to the desire pounding in her chest. Instead, she ducked under his arm to escape the blinding heat.
“I can’t believe that sweet, old woman would say anything that mean about anyone.”
Jean-Paul folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. “Don’t let her ladylike ways fool you. M’dame is very opinionated and not afraid to voice those opinions.”
Her body still churned with the aftereffects of his nearness. Her pulse refused to slow, her heart pounded, and the tingling heat that curled deep in her belly didn’t subside. She needed more distance, she reasoned, and the living room looked like the best place.
As she passed by Jean-Paul, his hand shot out, capturing her arm. He pulled her flush against his body, anchoring her in place with his hands behind her back.