by Joanna Wayne
John sat next to her, sipping a glass of wine and staring at the unopened present she’d brought him. “It’s not my birthday.”
“Birthdays aren’t the only time people get presents.”
“It’s the only time we ever got them. That and Christmas, and you’re much too thin and pretty to be Santa Claus.”
“Wait until I show you a little of my ho, ho, ho-ing later.”
“You could ho for me now and we could open the present later, or wait until I have one for you.”
“No. Actually, I got a present of sorts today myself.”
“From whom?”
“Dad. He’s resigned from Conner-Marsh. It was either that or get fired, but he seems okay with it.”
“Is he still seeing Babs Michaels?”
“No. She’s taken another job with a company in Boston. He wants to sell the family house. He asked if I minded.”
“Do you?”
“No. I want to always remember the good things about Mom, but I don’t need the house for that.”
“What will your father do?”
“Learn to relax, he says, but I don’t believe that for a minute. He’s taking some time off, but he’s already been contacted by a London firm. I think he’ll probably take their offer. I don’t mind. I think getting away from Houston will be good for him.”
“Is his moving to London the present you mentioned?”
“No, but his moving on with his life is. A person has to move past the pain and the mistakes or life is wasted. It’s too short as it is and too precious to squander on regrets.”
“I’m sure Annabeth, Norman and Fred would agree with that, especially since they’ll be spending the next twenty years or so in prison. Angela will face charges, too, as soon as she’s deemed ready by her psychiatrist after that failed suicide attempt.”
“The secret destroyed all their lives,” Cassie said.
“Not surprising,” John said. “A conscience can only take so much.”
“All that hype over the Flanders’s lawsuit, and it never happened. The fact that Guilliot settled out of court practically went unnoticed when the much bigger story broke.” Cassie experienced the same chill that always hit when she thought of her mother’s death and the inhumane way it was handled. The DNA testing had come back positive. The hand found at the edge of the bayou had belonged to Rhonda.
“Knocked your ex right out of the limelight,” John said, swatting at a mosquito buzzing about his ear. “The next trial won’t end with a settlement. You can count on that. Even Babineaux’s acting like a real lawman now that the FBI is on the case, scrambling around to hide the way he shrugged off the murders and the attempt on your life.”
“I’m glad, but I’d have never guessed Annabeth and Fred were behind the murders,” Cassie said. “She seems so sweet when you meet her.”
“I’m just thankful she only claimed it was Dennis’s child she was carrying, to get back at her husband.”
“And that she admitted everything,” Cassie said, “since Fred didn’t live to talk.”
“She wouldn’t have if she wasn’t going for a temporary insanity plea. The latest according to the six o’clock news is that Fred had been blackmailing her to keep quiet about an affair she was having with a used car salesman in Houma. Then when she learned through her eavesdropping what had happened on May tenth, she’d paid him extremely well to help her make sure the secret wasn’t leaked. She had him kill Dennis and Susan and he was supposed to get rid of you after she broke into your cabin and decided you were a threat. Luckily, Fred decided it was too risky to kill you that day in Cocodrie and then his shot at the cemetery missed its mark.”
“And that you poled your pirogue to my rescue before I became food for the alligators.”
“The once renowned Magnolia Plantation Restorative and Therapeutic Center destroyed by diabolical secrets, lies and greed.”
“Annabeth claims she did it for love,” Cassie reminded him.
“Then it was a very sick love.” John set his glass on the dock. “Guess I should open the present.”
“I think you’re afraid of it.”
“A little.” He pulled the tape and paper from the package, wadded it into a ball and tossed it behind him. Finally, he lifted the top from the box. The nameplate stared back at him.
John Robicheaux, Attorney at Law
“For your new office,” she said, leaning close and trailing his arm with a couple of fingers.
“I start day after tomorrow.”
“Right there in the New Orleans’s D.A.’s office, just a few blocks from my office.”
“I’m giving it a try, Cassie. Not just for you. For me, too. But I can’t promise anything.”
“I know, John. And I’m not pushing. Lawyer. Fishing Guide. Burger flipper. I don’t care. I just need you to work at us, to work at a future instead of being buried in the hell that used to claim your soul.”
“There may be days I slip back into the old nightmare.”
She nodded and scooted closer. Things weren’t perfect yet for either of them. She still missed her mother, some days so much she walked around in a blue funk that she couldn’t shake. He not only had his own past to deal with but the fact that Dennis had gotten involved in such an abhorrent conspiracy. At times John pulled away and crawled so far back inside himself she couldn’t reach him.
But they were making progress. The sexual attraction was as strong as ever and the love just kept growing. John put his arm about her shoulders and kissed her, a long, wet, sensual kiss that thrilled her to her toes.
There were no guarantees, but she had John Robicheaux at her side, a lazy bayou at her feet and a sliver of a moon already climbing in the sky.
She’d take her today and hold the promise of tomorrow in her heart.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-2410-0
ALLIGATOR MOON
Copyright © 2004 by Jo Ann Vest
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, M3B 3K9, Canada.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.eHarlequin.com