Out of Body coa-1

by Stella Cameron

She flushed, that lovely bright blush he was getting to like a lot. “You go on. I’m already out so I’m going to do a few things first. Better than breaking away from work again later.”

  Marley, he decided, was perfect to look at. And she’d be perfect in bed.

  He actually sucked in his gut. When was the last time he had thought about sleeping with a woman and felt as if someone had punched him? He couldn’t remember.

  “Bye then,” she said.

  He grinned. “Bye then, Marley. We’ve still got a date for tonight, remember?”

  She all but danced in place. “We do? Oh, yes, we do. See you then. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Marley jogged away and ducked down a side street.

  Gray’s attention switched at once to a police cruiser heading his way. It swerved to a stop at the curb beside him.

  “What are you doin’ here?” Nat Archer said through the open front-passenger window of the car. He threw open the door and got out.

  “You tell me first,” Gray said. He didn’t like it that he hadn’t been able to hang on to Marley longer.

  “According to you I was keeping you out of bed earlier. When you left, you said that’s where you were heading—bed.”

  “I changed my mind. Is that a new crime?”

  “Only if you make it into something I don’t like,” Nat said. He wasn’t known to be argumentative, but no one would know that here and now.

  Bucky Fist climbed from the other side of the car and crossed his arms on top. He wore dark sunglasses. “Hey there, Gray. I bet you think we’re followin’ you around.”

  He did. “Why would you do a thing like that? I’m boring. You making any progress with the case?”

  “Nope. Nothin’s movin’, not one damn thing. Except the phones. Those phones are ringin’ off the hooks. Lemon’s ready to quit if somethin’ doesn’t happen soon.”

  Gray wrinkled his nose and thought about it. “What would make you happy? More bodies?”

  “Don’t goad me,” Nat said.

  “Me?” Gray feigned shock.

  “Where’s your lady friend?” Nat said, catching Gray unprepared.

  “Who would that be?”

  “Don’t get cute with me. You know who I mean. Your new psychic amour. Is she still inside?” Nat indicated the Caged Bird.

  They hadn’t seen Marley on the sidewalk. That was something positive.

  “How the hell do you know who I’ve been with or where I’ve been? Or where to find me?”

  A slow smile spread over Nat’s memorable face. “You got a short memory? I’ve got my ways—you found that out earlier.”

  Bucky came around the car and onto the sidewalk. He hitched his wrinkled suit jacket across his chest and did up a button. He wore a shoulder holster and it bulged.

  “You go on in and make sure nobody leaves,” Nat said to his partner. “I’ll be right there.”

  Like the good command-taker he was, Bucky walked into the club, his pant legs flapping. Gray noticed he kept on his sunglasses. Maybe he used them to look inscrutable.

  When they were alone Nat said, “Now you can answer the question—what were you doing in this club?”

  “Visiting old friends,” Nat said.

  “When did Pipes Dupuis get to be an old friend of yours?”

  He ruckled his brow. “Who told you she was there?”

  “Anonymous tip.”

  “Ah, of course. So how about letting me in on who you’ve got following me around.” The idea irked Gray. When he’d been with the department his ability to lose tails was legendary. “I must be losing my touch.”

  “I doubt it,” Nat said, suddenly really interested in the sky. “Now and then a real talent comes my way, that’s all. I want you with me. Let’s get inside.”

  He ought to tell the man Pipes had already left with Sidney and Danny. “Would it be okay if I wait out here?”

  Nat hesitated.

  “It’s a stuffy place and I’m tired,” he said. “I don’t want to drift off on you.”

  “Yeah,” Nat said. “It wouldn’t look good, you asleep on a barroom table. Leave this sidewalk before I get back and I’ll have you picked up so fast you’ll think it’s yesterday.”

  “Nice,” Gray said. “I’m not leaving.”

  Nat shrugged his big shoulders inside a gray seersucker jacket. He strode across the sidewalk and into the club.

  Gray rested his arms on top of the police vehicle, just the way Bucky had. Too bad he didn’t have a pair of cool shades. He grinned and let his eyes close. Damn, he was tired.

  A tap on his shoulder sent a shock down his spine. He maintained his casual position and looked over his shoulder.

  “Hi,” the man who stood there said. “Gray Fisher?”

  Giving out his name or any other personal information to strangers was at about the bottom of Gray’s list.

  “I’m looking for Marley Millet,” the man said. “I was told she might be with you.”

  “She’s not.”

  “Is that never, or not anymore?”

  “It’s ‘I’m on my own right now,’ which you can see, and I don’t like people who sneak up on me. Are you a friend of Nat Archer’s?” As a tail, this guy would have a hard time. He would be difficult not to see.

  “Never heard of him,” he said.

  Tall, dark and handsome was a cliché, but it described the dark-haired, blue-eyed man Gray was looking at.

  “Where do you live?” the other man asked.

  “I didn’t tell you my name when you asked. What makes you think you’ll get my address?”

  “Worth a try.”

  Gray rolled to lean his back on the car. He crossed his arms. “Who are you?”

  “Sykes Millet.”

  Not one response came to mind.

  “Marley’s brother. Her only brother,” the guy said.

  Gray straightened up and slowly extended a hand. “Gray Fisher.”

  “Yes, I know.” Sykes Millet shook Gray’s hand.

  “Uh-huh. You already said so. Marley left.”

  Sykes smiled very faintly. “Mmm. I’m very fond of my sister.”

  Gray wasn’t slow. “It must be nice to have siblings you get along with.” He was being warned off—or at least told his intentions had better be honorable.

  “You don’t have any family?”

  “Just my dad.” As far as he knew, and it was none of Millet’s business.

  “Are you married?”

  Shit. “No. Never did get around to that. You?”

  Sykes laughed and Greek gods came to Gray’s mind. Now he was getting fanciful. He had better watch himself if he kept on hanging around with the mystical Marley.

  “I take it that’s a no,” Gray said.

  “You take it right,” Sykes said. “I watch out for Marley.”

  Gray didn’t doubt it if this “call” was typical for Sykes. “That’s a good thing.”

  “You used to be a cop.”

  “I’m starting to think everyone either was or is a cop. You’ve been doing a little investigating yourself.”

  “That’s a yes?” Sykes said.

  With a sigh, Gray said, “Yes.”

  “Now you’re a writer.”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t get too deeply into my siblings’ affairs,” Sykes said.

  Unfortunately I’m not having an affair with Marley. The car was heating up against Gray’s back. He stayed put. “I’m a big believer in respecting personal boundaries,” he said.

  “I agree, unless safety is involved.”

  “You’re suggesting I could be a threat to Marley?” Gray said. “Get that right out of your mind. I’m a pussycat.”

  Sykes grinned. “That would be a really big cat, Gray. But I’ll trust you till you give me a reason not to.”

  “You’ve got four sisters,” Gray said. The other man would assume Marley had shared family details, which she hadn’t. “How does that feel?”

  “Crowd
ed sometimes,” Sykes told him. “Very female and emotional. I like it. I like them.”

  Sykes didn’t look like Marley. There wasn’t a hint of red in the man’s hair that Gray could see. But the manner reminded him of Marley. Self-assured and with a quick mouth, but someone you wanted to know better.

  “Marley always knows she can call on me,” Sykes said. “We make sure we look out for one another—all of us.”

  “Nice,” Gray said.

  “I thought you’d like to know that.” Sykes smiled broadly. “If you see her before I do, give her my love.”

  Gray nodded.

  “Hey, Fisher!” Nat strode from the Caged Bird. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  With his hands in his pockets, Gray dodged a kid on a skateboard and walked to meet Nat.

  “You are one meddlin’ son of a gun,” Nat said. “You knew Pipes wasn’t in there anymore. Why didn’t you say so up front?”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “Does obstruction ring a bell with you?” Nat said.

  “It might if it was relevant. You’ve been on my case since I walked into your office yesterday. I’m one of the good guys, Nat.”

  Nat passed a hand over his face. “This one is getting to me,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve got people on my case in every direction. They think things are moving fast so I should sew it all up fast. I hate dealing with politicians.”

  Gray didn’t have to ask who Nat was talking about. In New Orleans there were plenty of folks looking out for their elected positions and with women dropping out of sight, or showing up as alligator bait, public pressure would be running high.

  “Bucky’s bringing Bernie out,” Nat said. “He’s got a big mouth, but he doesn’t say anythin’ unless it’s to his benefit.”

  “That pretty much sums up Bernie,” Gray said. He was aware of Sykes behind him, but didn’t want to introduce him to Nat.

  Bucky Fist arrived with a sullen-looking Bernie in tow.

  “You can’t just haul me in like this,” Bernie said. “I haven’t done anything.”

  “We’re gonna make sure of a few things,” Bucky said.

  “Like what?”

  “If your dancing permit’s in order,” Bucky said, grinning.

  Bernie shook his head heavily from side to side. “You are shitting me.”

  “Would we do that?” Nat asked.

  “There ain’t no dancing at the Bird,” Bernie said. “Except for invitational and I don’t need no permit for that. I don’t need no more permits at all. I got permits comin’ out my ears.”

  “Invitational dancing?” Nat asked.

  “The cages are open,” Bernie said with a shrug. “Anyone feels like climbing in there and strutting their stuff, they can consider themselves invited.”

  “Get in.” Nat opened the back door of the cruiser and let Bucky deal with settling their guest.

  “Dancing permit?” Gray said.

  “Bernie thinks he’s got a right to know everything and share nothing,” Nat said. He narrowed his eyes at Gray. “Maybe he isn’t the only one.”

  Nat hopped into the car beside Bucky and they drove off.

  “Sorry about that,” Gray said, turning toward Sykes Millet.

  There was no sign of him.

  Gray looked up and down the sidewalk. A man like Sykes shouldn’t be hard to spot—if he was around. Gray hadn’t seen him move from the spot where he’d left him.

  “He didn’t just disappear,” Gray muttered.

  Chapter 17

  By the time he saw the last of Nat and Bucky’s vehicle, Gray was pumping his legs along North Peters Street and breaking a sweat.

  The sweat had as much to do with praying that he could catch up with Marley before she got into trouble as with running hard on a muggy day.

  He must be losing his touch. When she had announced she had “places to go and people to see”—more or less—she might as well have admitted she was going after Sidney and Pipes—only he hadn’t immediately put the two things together. Allowing himself to be sidetracked by Nat hadn’t helped.

  And how did he know if he’d really met Marley’s brother? She hadn’t mentioned him other than in passing and never said what his name was. Sykes Millet sounded like a made-up name to Gray. The man had been built like a strong, lean athlete and a little woman like Marley would be no match for him if he decided to grab her.

  Hell, where was his head? Even Bernie Bois had talked about all of the Millets being redheads. Gray had met one of Marley’s sisters already and the woman’s hair had been an amazing coppery-red.

  The man who called himself her brother had dark hair. He had also been in a hurry to take off the moment Gray’s back was turned—a cop was in sight. A lot of people could tell a cop when they saw one.

  Marley could be irritating with her overgrown attitude, but she wouldn’t be the first small woman to pretend she could look after herself no matter the circumstances. If so-called Sykes had a mean streak and was on his way to use it on Marley, she would be no match for him.

  Pedestrians crammed each sidewalk and the narrow streets were clotted with cars, trucks, bikes and motorbikes; anything wheeled that would move. People yelled, and laughed—and jaywalked. And the street bands played, confident of their right to gum up progress as long as they kept toes tapping.

  Damn. Depending on how fast she could move, he might have no chance of catching up with her. He didn’t want her following Danny and the two women into Scully’s. Until he was sure Danny wasn’t involved in whatever had happened to Liza and Amber, he didn’t trust him.

  He hardly knew this woman, but he cared about her. That almost stopped him in his tracks. Keep moving and quit thinking. He did care about her. There was something different about her, and not just her psychic talents—which he was less and less inclined to doubt. Marley didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about herself—that was different. She cared about other people and it showed.

  Gray cut through an alley. Marley had deliberately tried to throw him off by making it look as if she had headed into the Warehouse District rather than toward Scully’s. He was betting she didn’t go far off the track before doubling back and making directly for the other club.

  The traffic was slow. He ended his sprint at Canal Street.

  A fresh spurt of honking turned him around. At the entrance to Chartres Street, someone in a bumblebee suit pushed a double-decker cart loaded with hats of every shape, color and size into the intersection.

  At any other time, Gray would laugh. Not now. He was too strung out. He didn’t have any options left but to head straight for Scully’s.

  He stopped a block short and mingled with the strolling tourists. Ahead, the neon club sign flashed, its colors anemic in the daylight. A cab stood at the curb outside the Hotel Camille, alive now that guests came and went through the revolving front doors.

  Not a single red-haired woman, tall, short or in between, could he pick out in the crowds.

  Scully’s didn’t serve food in the daytime so only a few hardy drinkers straggled in. There wasn’t any music until the evening. Danny said the reason was that any daytime tourists in search of a meal headed for Bourbon Street. The regulars were all he got.

  He had to go in, Gray decided. And he’d think of something to say by the time he got there.

  At the curb, waiting for an open-topped tour bus to pass, he had an interrupted view of the door at Scully’s. Riders’ heads got in the way, then breaks came and he glimpsed his target through grubby windows.

  Not so grubby that he didn’t see the sun catch on the polished brass door handle when two women left Scully’s. One tall, dark haired and dressed in beige, the other shorter with long, blond hair.

  He readied himself to erupt across the street as soon as the bus was out of his way. To his right sat another taxi, just idling away, its filthy noxious exhaust trembling in the heat.

  The women across the street got into a black BMW that surged away, threading through i
mpossibly small spaces and skimming the sidewalk when necessary.

  Why such a hurry? he wondered.

  Gray dithered an instant, deciding whether to try following.

  Most likely an instant too long. He decided to go after the women and waved in the wing mirror of the cab closest to him.

  A small woman nabbed it before he could reach the handle. Intent on securing the ride, she didn’t look in his direction, but she wore a black T-shirt and shorts. Even if a stray red curl or two at the back of Marley’s neck, beneath the wide brim of a veiled, black hat hadn’t given her away, the flash of her long trailing leg would have.

  Up ahead the BMW made a right turn followed by Marley’s cab.

  Gray felt doom bearing down on him. He was going to lose Marley and he didn’t want to think about the potential outcome of that.

  A bicycle messenger ran down the steps from a military model shop. “Hey,” Gray said, hopping in front of the lanky, blond kid. “Can I borrow your bike?”

  “Do I look stupid?” the kid said.

  Gray grabbed the handlebars of the messenger’s rusted-out bike. “I’ve got to get somewhere. I’m desperate.”

  “I gotta get back to base or I’m toast.”

  Whipping out some bills, Gray flapped them in the blond boy’s face. “Would this buy the bike?” It was three times what the heap of rust was worth.

  The kid was moving a wad of gum from one cheek to the other and closing his fingers on the money when Gray leaped on the bicycle. As he rode away, he grabbed the messenger’s black baseball cap.

  “What’s that?” the kid hollered. “Now you gotta get extra with the deal.”

  “Why not,” Gray shouted without turning back. “Don’t we all expect a little lagniappe with our deals? I gave you extra, didn’t I?”

  He pedaled away with the sound of disbelieving laughter in his ears.

  The BMW, with Marley’s cab on its tail, made a loop and headed away from the French Quarter. Gray pulled the baseball cap down over his eyes and pedaled like hell, making sure he didn’t get too close, or a traffic light too many behind. He soon saw their route led back through the warehouse and business areas toward the Garden District.

  Bikes were good things in tight spots. Somewhere in the back of the garage at the Creole cottage he shared with Gus in the Faubourg Marigny there was a bicycle. He’d check it out and keep it handy.