“Which one do you subscribe to?”
“Neither. I’m working on it without a theory.”
“Has anyone tried to develop a psychological profile of the man responsible?”
“There’s not even positive evidence only one person is responsible.”
“Do you think one man set the fire?” Antoinette felt Sam touch her shoulder. His hand lifted the heavy mass of black hair and pushed it behind her ear.
“Probably.”
“How about a psychological profile of him?”
“There’s too little to go on, and our staff is too small.”
“I could do it for you.” Since she was no longer hidden from Sam’s view anyway, Antoinette twisted so that she was facing him. “Gratis.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m interested in the whole case. The man who rescued Laurie isn’t your ordinary psychopath. If he’s really the one who set the fire, then he’s quite a complex individual. I already have some ideas about him. It won’t be a truly professional profile, more a series of hunches and impressions. But it might help.”
Sam examined the woman leaning toward him. Today she was dressed in designer jeans and a turquoise sweater that molded the slender curves of her body to perfection. The dappled sunlight emphasized the luminescence of her skin and the jet black of her hair. He remembered the day he’d come to her office to ask her to work with Laurie. He’d thought she was too beautiful to be truly professional. She was no less beautiful now, but today he knew better than to let that prejudice him.
He nodded. “I’d be glad to have your help.” I’d be glad to have you, he added silently, and then wondered why that thought had come so easily when the reality was much more complicated.
“Now I just need an uncle.” Laurie came back to the blanket and deposited the gallon jar filled with minnows at the edge. “There were lots of aunts but no uncles.”
“How about a shrimp instead?” Antoinette peeled one and held it out to the little girl.
“Minnows don’t eat shrimp.”
“Young ladies do, don’t they?” Antoinette patted the place beside her. Laurie dropped to the blanket and wiggled her way between them. She ate the shrimp Antoinette had peeled for her, peeling another for herself when it was finished.
“Will you come see me in Mississippi?” Laurie asked, her face lifted to Sam’s.
“Sure.”
Laurie turned to Antoinette. “You can come, too.”
“Thank you.”
“I like you. You’re the one who made me remember the fire.”
Antoinette looked at Sam, who was frowning at Laurie’s innocent comment. “So you remember it now,” Antoinette said with studied nonchalance. “Does it seem scary to you?”
“No. I don’t remember much of it, just lots of smoke and crying. Stuff like that. And I remember the man who carried me out.”
“He helped you.”
“He was a good man,” Laurie agreed. She turned to Sam, her eyes wide and trusting. “When you find him, will you tell him I’m glad he found me?”
Antoinette watched Sam’s face. Not a muscle twitched. “Sure will,” he promised the little girl. “Just as soon as we find him.”
“Good.” Laurie popped another shrimp into her mouth.
“Finish up and we’ll take you for a ride on the paddleboats.” Sam rummaged through the picnic basket, searching for napkins, and Antoinette shut her eyes and listened as he made sure Laurie got enough to eat. Sam Long, the man who said he wanted no ties and no changes, would make a wonderful father if he ever changed his mind. She wondered if, in his quest for absolute independence, he realized how many people he already loved.
“You look sad.” Antoinette stood in front of Sam on the porch of her house. The picnic had been a success with Laurie chattering freely to both of them. A full family of minnows had been returned to their watery home, an hour in a paddleboat had taught them more about City Park than they’d ever wanted to know and three of the old-fashioned horses on the carousel had been graced with their presence until Antoinette finally had pleaded motion sickness.
Laurie had clung to Sam at the end, aware that it would be a long time before she saw him again. He had kissed her on the forehead and promised he’d write. Then he’d sent her into the house and into the waiting arms of her mother and Mrs. Patterson. He’d had nothing to say on the short trip to Antoinette’s house.
The sun had gone down, and the sky was a collage of rose and apricot. The cool air was fragrant with sweet olive, and as they’d walked up the sidewalk, a mourning dove with a long string in her beak had flown across their path to add to a nest in a nearby hedge. Antoinette had experienced it all, as if every one of her senses was heightened to these ordinary events of a New Orleans spring. It was her twenty-eighth April, and she knew that it was the first that had affected her this way.
Now she moved closer to Sam and reached out to touch his hair. It slid through her fingers, each separate strand a tactile pleasure. “Laurie’s a lovely little girl,” she said softly. “I know you’ll miss her.”
“I can think of a great comfort.” Sam’s hands settled at her waist, neither drawing her closer nor pushing away. Both of them knew he was waiting for Antoinette to make the next move.
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“I’m in no hurry to go.”
Antoinette stepped closer, her fingers weaving among the golden tendrils until his face was only inches from hers. His expression was a mixture of caution and desire. There had been no promises made, no answers to the questions whirling through her head. For the first time in her life, she wondered if promises and answers were irrelevant. “Would you like to come inside? I think I have something we can fix for supper.”
“I’d like that.”
She continued to hesitate, sighing finally as she breached the distance between them by lifting on tiptoe to find his mouth with hers.
It was all the response he needed. His hands left her waist to slide into the pockets at the back of her jeans and fit her body against his. His mouth slanted over hers in a kiss that demanded everything she could give him. Antoinette clasped her arms around his neck and gave herself up to the peace of a decision made.
Sam could feel the exact moment when she relaxed completely, letting the kiss take them both somewhere they had never been together. Her lips parted willingly, and their tongues met in a mutual caress. He could feel his body tighten with desire; he could feel liquid fire pouring through his veins at her uninhibited response. He hadn’t known what it was like to go from wanting a woman to needing one, all in the space of a heartbeat. With his last ounce of self-control, he found her waist again and set her away from him.
Antoinette’s eyes were half-shut, and her face was still turned up to his. She wondered how she had lived for twenty-eight years without the wonder of the feelings that had suffused her body. She wondered why Sam had so abruptly ended them.
“Let’s go inside.” Sam released her and stepped back to put more distance between them.
Antoinette heard the caution in his voice. Fear flickered through her, and it became an antidote for the remnants of passion. She had been told often enough that she was a lovely woman. She had seen the approval in men’s eyes and heard it in their voices. And always, as she did now, she had wondered if all that was desirable about her was the empty shell of her beauty. Was the gift of herself, her heart, her soul, so worthless that when she gave it, it meant nothing?
She turned to find her key and unlocked the door. Fear continued to play its skillful, diabolical game with her confidence.
“Antoinette, if you’d like me to leave, I will.”
She could hear her own vulnerability in her answer. “Do what you want, Sam.”
He followed her inside, watching as she bent to greet Tootsie. The big dog was going crazy with joy, and some emotion he refused to name shot through Sam at the sight of Antoinette dropping to her knees to hug the wriggling bundl
e of fur. He’d had more women in his thirty-four years than he could remember names. Not one of them would have been seen on the floor hugging a dog. Not one of them would have cared about a man intent on killing himself or about a little girl’s fears or about one of his cases. Not one of them had ever kissed him with the same intensity, the same total giving of herself.
He wanted to run.
Antoinette stood and brushed dog hair off her jeans, laughing as she apologized. “I’m sorry she’s so awful, but she’s a sociable dog and she’s been cooped up all day. I should have brought her with me to the park, but she’s so exuberant I thought she might scare Laurie. Mrs. Patterson told me Laurie’s afraid of their dog.”
“When did you talk to Mrs. Patterson?”
“Last night.”
“You called her about the dog?”
“Well, actually, she called me. She’s got a new foster child who’s giving her problems, and she wanted my advice.”
“Does anyone pay you for what you do? Do you always give your services for free?”
“NOPD paid me. Remember?” Antoinette started toward the kitchen. She sensed something in Sam’s voice that she didn’t understand. It seemed to be a close relative to disapproval.
“Where are you going?”
She turned in the kitchen doorway, leaning there for support. “To find us something to eat.”
Sam counted all the sources of the anger welling up inside him. He was angry at Antoinette for being the person she was, angry at himself for wanting her even though he knew just how dangerous it would be to have her, angry at a world where people who could never be good for each other still fell in love. “Don’t make anything for me.”
Antoinette heard the anger. “What have I done?” When he didn’t answer, she moved to stand in front of him, her body a careful distance from his. “Sam, talk to me.”
The shake of his head was barely perceptible. “We’ve already said it all. And what good did it do? We’re standing in the same place, wanting each other, and neither one of us has changed.”
She thought she understood, and her face lit up in a smile of pure relief. “Not true. Did you think I was teasing you? Promising something I had no intention of delivering?” She laughed a deep, throaty laugh that went straight through him. “Is that why you pushed me away?” To test her theory she moved closer, circling his waist with her arms. “I wouldn’t do that, Sam.”
Nor would she give herself with no thought of tomorrow. He knew her well enough to understand that. “I haven’t changed,” he warned, even as he pulled her closer. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“I know. Shall we just take this one step at a time?”
He understood—even if she didn’t—that one step at a time meant you had to be heading somewhere. The only place they were headed for was trouble. He had the absurd desire to protect her from her decision, and at the same time he wanted to guide her into the bedroom and spend the night getting her out of his system.
“So what’s the next step?” he asked, one hand threading through the glossy hair cloaking her shoulders.
“Kiss me, and this time don’t push me away.”
His hands met under her chin, tilting her head so that her mouth was in line with his. He hesitated for a second, then brushed her lips lightly.
She leaned forward, capturing the next kiss and drawing it out until neither of them could continue. She felt his hand move down her spine, his fingers tracing the pliant ridge until they settled momentarily at her waist before lifting her sweater to begin the journey back up.
He stopped at the clasp of her bra, unsnapping it with a deftness that spoke of practice. His fingers fanned out to caress the sides of her breasts as his mouth worked a skillful magic on hers. Antoinette felt heat streak through her body, beginning at the very core of her and spreading out until it reached her fingertips. She knew she was trembling.
Sam opened his eyes to meet her gaze. Her summer-sky eyes were wide and vulnerable. He’d seen that look once today on the face of a little girl who thought the sun rose and set on him. He did not want to see it in the woman he was sure to hurt.
She smelled of spring, had the look of an innocent child and felt like the most desirable woman he’d ever known. Even the briefest kiss, the briefest caress, sent desire raging out of control.
The wariness had never left his face, but Antoinette saw it intensify, felt his hands drift back to her waist. She hoped she was wrong, and she waited for magic. When it wasn’t forthcoming, her body tightened with tension. Her words were traced with bitterness. “If ambivalence had a name, it would be Sam Long.” Antoinette forced herself to step back away from him. “Look, don’t feel obligated to make love to me. I’ve never thrown myself at a man before. I guess I don’t have the technique down yet.”
“Don’t kid yourself. I want you.”
“Yes, I could see that,” she said, tainting her words with sarcasm. “Look, I’ve misinterpreted what’s been happening here. I’m sorry, but I think we’ll both be better off if you leave now.”
Her voice was calm, but her eyes glistened both with anger and unshed tears. Sam wanted to make her understand. “Just tell me one thing,” he said. “How would you feel in an hour or two when I got out of your bed to go home? You’re not that kind of woman.”
“I expected that you’d stay the night.”
“I sleep alone.”
“I see.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, you’re telling me I’m not even worth a one-night stand. That’s all the humbling any woman would ever need.” She lifted her chin and willed the tears just below the surface to dry up. “And now I remember clearly why I sleep alone, too.”
“There are plenty of men out there who can give you what you want.”
“It’s a pity, isn’t it, that I never seem to want them.” She crossed her arms in front of her to ward off the sympathy she thought she saw in his eyes. “Thank you for the picnic. But don’t call me anymore, Sam. I’ve already had one man in my life who didn’t need what I was offering. God knows, I don’t want another one.”
It was over, ending just the way he had known it should. But if that was true, why did he feel as if a terrible mistake had just been made? He reached out to comfort her, to convince her she was not at fault in any way, but she moved out of the range of his touch. She stood stiffly, her chin still lifted defiantly, and met his gaze without flinching. He turned, almost tripping over Tootsie, who had stretched out behind him in anticipation of more attention.
At the door he paused, his hand on the doorknob. But there was nothing left to say. He stepped across the threshold and into the soft, scented darkness. Antoinette watched him go and cursed herself for being a fool.
Chapter 8
Antoinette forced herself to respond to the fervent affection of the dog at her feet. She thought again, as she had often lately, that she should find another home for Tootsie, one where the dog’s new owner wouldn’t leave her alone all day and most of the evening, too. Tootsie needed more than just an infrequent pat on the head. The dog needed love and attention.
“Don’t we all,” she said out loud, kicking off her shoes and stripping off the jacket of her blue suit. She snapped on the kitchen light and rummaged through the refrigerator, settling on a carton of yogurt. She stood at the sink eating it, too tired and too dispirited to bother setting the table.
The week had drained her vitality—taken what little had been left of it after the scene with Sam. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was on some supreme being’s hit list. Not only had she made a fool of herself over a man again, but in the same week she had also been forced to hospitalize one of her favorite clients and watch two others lose significant ground in their fight against depression. Setbacks were to be expected. If she weren’t depressed herself, she might have been able to cope with them better.
Lethargically she flipped on the VCR to catch a taped rendition of the evening news, which she
never got home in time to see anymore. Her mood quickly went from bad to worse as she watched nations war, people starve and politicians mouth platitudes. She made herself finish watching the show, certain that something that had happened somewhere in the world that day would cheer her up. When she’d been proven wrong, she stood to turn off the TV, just catching a lead-in for the local news show. Before the tape stopped and the screen went blank, the lead-in promised a report on another fire at Omega Oil’s refinery near the Mississippi River north of New Orleans. She dropped back to the sofa.
She had thought of Sam often in the past week. She had thought about his reluctance to get involved with her, her desire to get involved with him, the final scene that had been played out in this room. She had wondered what was wrong with her that she couldn’t give herself to a man without having her gift shoved back in her face, and she had wondered why she had twice chosen men who had nothing to give her except heartache. But in all her thoughts, in all her emotional wanderings, she had not once thought about the reason she and Sam had come together in the first place.
She had promised him that she would draw up a profile of the arsonist. True, she had very little to go on, but at this point even very little was something. She had been wallowing in her own feelings while the arsonist had plotted another fire. She wasn’t conceited enough to feel guilty; she doubted seriously that anything she could have done would have made a difference. But she was ashamed that she had not followed through on something she had promised. Even if that promise had been to Sam.
Tootsie came up and laid her head in Antoinette’s lap, as if to say, “I’m here. It’s going to be all right.” Absentmindedly Antoinette scratched the dog’s ears, wondering what other responsibilities she had forgotten. She had stopped eating properly, stopped sleeping normally, stopped feeling anything except exhaustion. She had to take herself in hand quickly or she was going to end up in a hospital bed herself.
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