The Nicci Beauvoir Collection: The Complete Nicci Beauvoir Series

by Alexandrea Weis

  “Fishing,” came out before I could stop it. “I like to fish,” I added.

  David laughed. “I don’t see you as the type of girl who would string a worm on a hook.”

  I smirked. “What would you suggest I string on a hook?”

  “I won’t even begin to comment on that.” He rolled his eyes. “You honestly like to fish…hmm.” He gazed around the room.

  “I don’t like that look.”

  He checked the clock on the far wall. “I think we can just make it.”

  “Make what?”

  Raising his hand, he summoned our waitress. “I’ll get the check and we can go.”

  “Go where?” I lowered my voice, as the waitress approached.

  “Do y’all want a second round?” she inquired.

  “No, just the check. Thanks.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

  The waitress nodded and then tore a slip of paper from her notepad and placed it on the table. “See you soon,” she added, smiling at David. She turned and walked away.

  “I’ll get it.” I grabbed for the slip of paper, but David was too fast for me.

  “Allow me,” he said. “I owe you for saving me from Eddie at the lawn party.”

  I made another vain attempt for the tab. “David, I will pay the bill. I don’t want you to pay for me.”

  “You can bully your other men around, Nicci, but you’ll find I can be just as stubborn as you.” He stood up, placed the money on the table, and looked over at me. “Are you coming?” he demanded.

  I made no attempt to get up. “Where?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Forget it.” I folded my arms across my chest and hunkered down in my chair. “I have to get back for a class.”

  “Nicci, I am bigger than you and I can drag you out of that chair, but then you would make an awful scene, embarrass yourself forever, and never be able to return here with me for coffee.” He arched over me, his wide shoulders blocking my view of the room behind him. “I, on the other hand, have no problem with picking you up, throwing you over my shoulder, and carrying you out of here if I have to.” He was trying to stare me down.

  “Where are we going?” I growled.

  “All right, if you insist.” He picked me up out of the chair, and threw me over his shoulder like a slab of meat.

  “Put me down!” I was almost screaming. “David, put me down or I swear—”

  “Thank you, ladies,” he called to the waitresses, gathered at the door.

  They were laughing hysterically at our display. One opened the door for him and stood there shaking her head.

  Despite my loud protests, David carried me out of the café and into the street. Titters followed us as we walked by, and I swore that I would never show my face in the Quarter again. Some workmen in front of the café broke into a round of applause as David passed by with me on his shoulder. I punched him in the kidney.

  “Play nice,” he advised, patting my bottom.

  “This is not the way to win friends.” I could barely get the words out because his shoulder was wedged into my diaphragm.

  “With some people the direct approach saves time.”

  He walked over to his car, or Sammy’s car. I wasn’t sure.

  “If you don’t put me down soon, I swear I will puke all over your nice shoes.”

  He dropped me onto the front seat of the Jaguar. “Just don’t puke on the seat,” he countered, closing the car door.

  When he climbed into the driver’s side, I punched him in the arm with all of my might.

  “Like to punch and kick, eh? I’ll have to remember that.”

  “Is this a formal kidnapping, or do you want to hold off contacting my father until you have painted an appropriate ransom note?” I glared at him while my foot was furiously tapping on the floor of the car.

  “Not a kidnapping. More like a borrowing. Relax.” He placed his hand on my bouncing knee. “I only kidnap woman who wear pasties and work on Bourbon Street.”

  “Very funny.” He turned the key and the engine hummed. “Where are we going?” I implored.

  He put the car in gear. “To have some fun.”

  David drove along Esplanade Avenue, heading away from the Quarter. It was a glorious day. The sky was pale blue, with only a few clouds and there was a gentle breeze. I sat back and decided not to ask any more questions.

  As David expertly maneuvered the car through the traffic, I found myself comparing him to many of the men I had dated. There had been the boring dates, the interesting dates, and the dates I swore I would never survive. Of all the men I had been with, I had never felt as comfortable with any of them as I felt at that moment. David gave me an uncanny sense of ease, like knowing someone for many years, even though this was only our third meeting.

  One thing that always impressed me about a man was his ability to drive a car. I didn’t like a wimpy driver that followed all the street signs and was courteous to everyone. No, a man that was relentless behind a wheel was a real turn on for me. I guess I compared it to the man’s ability to take control of the forces around him. Most of the men I had dated had driven like blind grandmothers off to Sunday church. David was a ruthless, risk-taking driver. He drove like he lived, on the edge.

  We approached the end of Esplanade Avenue and turned into the entrance to City Park. The park was located on the outskirts of the city, just past the famous above-ground cemeteries, frequented by tour groups. It was a vast fifteen hundred acre complex that offered golfing, horseback riding, tennis courts, and other outdoor activities.

  I glanced curiously at David as the car followed one of the narrow streets in the park to the Casino. The building had been a casino in the early part of the last century and the name had never been changed. David parked in the first available spot and was out the door before the engine had even stopped. I followed quickly behind him.

  “What are we doing here?” I implored, noting the rather simple white building before us.

  He grasped my hand, pulling me toward the Casino. “Come on.”

  Once inside, the smell of stale popcorn and burnt hot dogs accosted my nose. When David dragged me in front of the City Park license desk, I finally began to comprehend his true intentions. This was the place to purchase a license for fishing in the numerous stocked lagoons located throughout the park.

  I halted several feet away from the desk. “You have got to be kidding!”

  “Oh come on, Nicci. It’ll be fun.”

  “Is this just because you don’t think I can string a worm on a hook?”

  “No, I just want you to have some fun.” He came up to me. “I think you need it. I think we both need it.”

  “What makes you think I need to have fun?”

  “All right, if it makes you feel better, I desperately need to have some fun. Okay?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he proceeded to the desk and purchased two fishing tickets. He then went into the tackle store that was adjacent to the license desk. A few minutes later, he emerged carrying two bamboo fishing poles.

  “We have to dig our own worms,” he said, sounding like an excited schoolboy. “The guy in the store told me about a good spot to find them.” He held one of the long poles out to me.

  “All right.” I took the tall pole and frowned. “I refuse to clean anything we catch.”

  “Deal. I’ll clean. You cook.”

  ***

  Worm hunting was not as easy as David expected. He found a hefty tree branch and began digging in several shady spots under some great oaks just off the road. The afternoon sun was climbing in the sky and the temperature was getting warmer. By the time David had dug his third hole, his shirt was clinging to his torso. I could see every muscle underneath the soaked fabric, straining with each powerful pull of his arms.

  After about twenty minutes, David had gathered what he felt were a sufficient number of worms to make a good fishing expedition. To me, it looked as if he had dug up half the
worms in the city. He dropped them in his brush pot and we wandered off to find a shady spot to fish the afternoon away.

  We searched until David decided that he had found the perfect spot, next to a towering oak whose branches extended into a small lagoon. The water came right up to the roots of the tree, which provided the perfect platform on which to sit and dangle our poles over the water.

  David picked up the brush pot and handed it to me. “I’m waiting.”

  I took the pot from him, removed a worm, and began impaling the poor creature on the hook without flinching. He watched my every move with disbelief.

  “I didn’t think you had it in you,” he finally said.

  I dropped my hook into the water. “What? You were expecting a show of repulsion and then a feigned attempt to throw myself on your manhood to get you to bait my hook?”

  He reached into the pot and selected a worm. “I thought at least you would squirm a little.”

  “I didn’t realize this was a test. Do you subject all the women you know to this?”

  “No.” He put his line in the water and sat down on the widest root of the tree. “I usually buy them an expensive meal and ply them with booze. Conversation is not the main objective.”

  I discovered a cozy spot on a smaller root a few feet from David. “Any particular reason why I got the worms and not the six course dinner at Antoine’s?”

  “Because, my dear Nicci, my objective with you is conversation.”

  “Well, conversation and fishing don’t go together. If you haven’t heard, it scares the fish away. So shh.” I raised my finger to my lips.

  He frowned and looked away into the water.

  My cork would occasionally bob, but every time I removed my hook from the water, the worm was gone. David’s luck was not much better. He caught one small bass and threw it back, claiming that not even the ducks would want it. I sat and watched the tall man beside me as he peered out over the water. He was not at all like my first impression of him. The silent sophistication had been replaced by an intelligent humor that would have repulsed, more than attracted the likes of Sammy and her friends. His once well-manicured hands were now muddy from digging worms. His always immaculately groomed brown hair was now disheveled and sweaty from the afternoon heat. He looked more at ease in the park with his shoes off and his feet dangling in the water. The pretenses were gone and I was finally getting to know the real man.

  “How long have you been in New Orleans?” I asked.

  “A while.”

  He tried tempting a curious duck swimming by. “Where did you live before you came here?”

  “Oh, all over. New York. London. Amsterdam. Paris. I spent a few short months in Hawaii and other big cities around this country.” He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Living out of a suitcase is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “And in all these places you found…a friend to help you out?”

  “Is there a point to this? Do you really want to hear this, Nicci?”

  “No, David. Forget it. Knowing who you were then would never change how I see you at this very moment.”

  “And how is that? As a worthless fisherman?”

  “No.” I paused and analyzed how his smile complemented his face. “I see someone who is a wanderer. Who is perhaps tired of wandering?”

  He sat silent for a moment, studying me. Then, he turned away. “How did you get so smart for one so young?”

  “I’m not that much younger than you.”

  “Let’s just say there are more than a few years between us.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  He shook his head. “No, because you’re more mature than people I know who are twice your age. I like that about you.”

  Standing up, I put my pole down and walked over to a patch of clover next to the lagoon bank and sat down. “You have to grow up fast to survive in this town.”

  He retrieved his pole and sat down beside me. “Yes. I can understand that, especially after dealing with Sammy and her friends.”

  The breeze from the west was cooling to my skin and the sun above beat down on my head, chasing away any chill. David reclined on the green clover surrounding us.

  “I can only imagine what it has been like for you. I bet you have some great stories to tell.”

  I tugged at the clover underneath my hand. “They’re not pretty romances or tidy tales of intrigue. They are simply ugly reflections of the human species. The pettiness and the greed, that’s what I mostly see or hear about.”

  “You sound like a writer.” He paused and sat up. “Are you a writer, Nicci?”

  “I’m no writer. I’m just…well, a dabbler.”

  “Like I dabble in painting?” he chuckled.

  “No, you are a painter! You’re good enough to make a living at it. I don’t think anyone would want to read about the misadventures of a disillusioned debutante. No, I decided long ago that being a writer was not a practical profession. I wanted something steady, like nursing. Maybe one day, I’ll become more than just a dabbler.”

  “Be a writer now, if that’s what you want. Don’t be fooled by the lure of a practical and steady existence. It’s also a very empty one.” He moved his face closer to mine. “Is that your dream, Nicci, to become a writer?”

  I felt the warm embrace of his eyes. My stomach danced with butterflies, and I quickly turned away.

  “I’d better get back.” I stood and went to collect my pole.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “It’s getting late.”

  ***

  We drove back to the Quarter in silence. His playful mood was gone, and he didn’t try to continue the light banter we had shared earlier. It was anger I sensed from him now. I noticed the way his hands tightly gripped the steering wheel, and how his arm tensed every time he shifted gears. These were not the effortless motions I had observed at the park. I studied him, as the car purred along Esplanade Avenue, wondering what I had done or said to invoke his ire. Before I knew it, we were back in the Quarter, in almost the same spot we had left.

  “I’ll walk you back to your car,” he grumbled, without turning to look at me.

  I gathered my things and got out of the car. “No, I’ll be all right.”

  He hurried from the driver’s side and came around to me. “I’m glad we had a chance to talk and get to know each other today, Nicci.”

  His features remained blank. His eyes showed no warmth. The cool professional was back. There was no hint of the playful boy I had seen in the park.

  “Yeah, me too.” I directed my eyes to the tourists walking by, the buildings surrounding us, anywhere but at him. “Thank you,” I added, as I made my move to walk away.

  He held my arm. “I’m not angry with you, I’m angry with myself. Don’t walk away thinking that today was not special to me.” He let go of my arm and wiped his face in his hands. “Oh, Nicci! What am I to do with you?” His eyes searched mine, and then he gently caressed my cheek.

  Chills ran down to my toes. “Good-bye, David.”

  He stiffened and pulled his hand away. At first, I thought he would get into his car without another word, but with his hand on the car door, he peered over at me.

  “I’ll see you again,” he pledged.

  “Might just. New Orleans is a real small town.”

  He climbed into the car and drove off. I walked away without turning back to watch the Jaguar head down Royal Street. I hoped to never see the man again. It was best to keep someone like David Alexander at a distance. My past experiences had proven that people were guaranteed to do one of three things: lie, leave, or let you down. I knew any relationship with David Alexander would eventually end up reaffirming those beliefs. No matter how much I wished he would prove me wrong.

  Chapter 4

  I arrived at home later that evening, and found my father in the middle of a heated argument on his cell phone with some man named Phil. Dad was not a screamer. To upset him, you had to be either stupid, or rude. Phil was obviously a
combination of the two, because the more my father spoke, the hotter his temper got.

  Deciding the best place for me to be was out of his way, I avoided his study and went directly to the kitchen to search for something to eat. There was some shrimp pasta in the fridge, and I was about to sit down at the table to begin my meal when my father bounded through the kitchen door.

  “Your Uncle Lance is a complete idiot,” he shouted.

  “No argument here.” I filled my mouth with a forkful of pasta.

  My father stopped in his tracks and gave me a curious look. Without saying anything, he walked over to the refrigerator door and opened it. Several minutes later, he was still standing there.

  “Dad, the lettuce is wilting.”

  “Oh, right.” He closed the door and sat down next to me at the kitchen table, giving a heavy sigh as his body sank into the chair. I had seen this behavior before. It always occurred with Uncle Lance’s larger than usual screw-ups.

  “What did he do this time?” I asked.

  “The usual, made promises he didn’t keep. So, I will have to spend my day tomorrow cleaning up his mess. Right now is just a bad time.”

  “Why should now be any different?”

  “There are a lot of rumors flying about town. It’s nothing for you to worry about.” He stopped and touched my cheek. “You look sunburned. What did you do today? Play hooky?”

  “Would you be surprised if I did?”

  “No, I’d be glad to know you kept your nose out of a book for a change.” His face softened. “What did you do?”

  “I went fishing.”

  His jaw dropped. “Fishing? Nicci, you haven’t wanted to go fishing since you were eight. Who in the hell talked you into fishing?” He stole a few pieces of my pasta.

  “No one you know. Just a guy.”

  “A guy? What sort of a guy? Can I have some details?” He nudged me with his elbow. “As the father who has watched you grow up taking little to no interest in the opposite sex, I must demand that I at least get some information about my potential son-in-law.”