Never Tell

by Selena Montgomery

  “A peace offering,” he explained. “You are a beautiful woman, Erin Abbott.”

  Surprised by the compliment, Erin cast a furtive glance down. She wore a black tank and shorts. Chagrined, she swept a hand over the hair she’d piled into an unruly heap atop her head, forgoing the tidy bun or taut braid.

  Female vanity urged her to rush into the bathroom and at least bundle her hair into a band, throw on a pair of jeans. Self-preservation warned her to keep Gabriel Moss outside her apartment at all costs.

  Gabriel stared, taking his time. Thin black straps suspended a scooped neck that framed the expanse of skin and appealing swell delightfully. Beneath the abbreviated hem of the shorts, he saw the roundly molded shape and lithe legs that had been successfully hidden by the morning’s unpleasant suit. It had been worth the risk to his pride to have his expectations proven true. He whistled under his breath. “I was right.”

  “About what?” Erin asked, against her better judgment.

  “Fabulous body.” He paused a beat. “And you’re hiding something.”

  Abruptly the warning became a blare and she remembered anew why she couldn’t let him inside. Reporter. She ignored the stab of disappointment, dismissed the sensation of loss. Gabriel Moss might be gorgeous, charming, and oddly appealing, but she barely knew him. “You have quite an imagination, Mr. Moss.”

  When Erin moved to slam the door, he easily blocked the move. Then he added silkily, “Honey, uncovering secrets is my specialty.”

  “I don’t have any secrets. And don’t call me honey,” she returned testily. Suddenly the endearment scraped at her nerves in a reminder of what she couldn’t have. With renewed determination, she tried to keep him out, wanting only to let him inside. But as she’d learned in the station, Gabriel Moss was not moved without effort. Despite her pressing against the door, it remained stubbornly open, due entirely to the muscled arm he braced against its frame. Refusing to concede defeat, Erin shoved against the immobile wood and huffed, “Get … out.”

  Gabriel flattened his hand against the door and leaned against the wooden frame. The sight of the determined diminutive professor, five-three in her bare feet, he guessed, amused him. Aroused him. She had no hope of removing him, yet she persisted. He’d always admired tenacity.

  It was one of his best traits.

  “Dr. Abbott, I came to apologize. I think you owe me an apology, too. But I’m big enough to forgive you without one.”

  Wheezing slightly from her fruitless exertions, Erin swept damp ebony curls back from her forehead. “Apology accepted. Go away.”

  “I cannot tell a lie. I have another motive.” Gabriel relaxed a bit more. The little engine seemed to be running out of steam. “I want to see the note, Erin.”

  “I’m not talking to you.” Erin sagged against the door. “I’m expecting company.”

  “In this?” He trailed a finger along a narrow strap that had fallen off her shoulder. The tingle skating along his skin eased away more of the sting from her barbs. Her nearly imperceptible shudder at his touch brushed it completely aside. She was fighting something, but it wasn’t him. Knowing that was enough. “I like the attire, but it is a bit informal for entertaining. Who is he?”

  “Um. His name is, uh …”

  His lips twitched in delight. “Cat got your tongue?”

  Erin blurted out the first name she could think of. “His name is Sebastian. And he’ll be here any minute.”

  At that moment, the buzzer mercifully sounded again and Erin dived for the intercom. Punching the buzzer, she prayed Gabriel would leave before he met Pao, the weekly deliveryman. “Come right up,” she urged into the box.

  No longer amused, Gabriel straightened from his position in the doorway.

  His eyes, as Erin watched in fascination, transformed from a calm winter gray to the angry color of hurricane storms. The chiseled jaw hardened into granite, and the grinning mouth thinned into a flat line of disapproval. The result was terrifying. Thrilling.

  “You’re just full of surprises, Dr. Abbott,” he said in a low voice that reminded Erin of Sam Spade movies and antiheroes. “Lurking in police stations. Late-night trysts.”

  Erin cast a desperate glance into the hallway. She needed Gabriel to leave before the real deliveryman made his way to the landing. “Please leave.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Professor.” Gabriel barred the doorway. Their bodies brushed, and he could feel her inhale. He, too, took a breath, absorbing the scent of jasmine and woman. “You can’t pretend there’s nothing more between us.”

  “There’s only murder.” She schooled her features into cool disinterest, ignoring the drumming of her heartbeat. “And I don’t need your help. I thought I made myself clear.”

  In response, he twirled a lock of hair around his finger, trailed it to the place where her blood pounded against the skin. “What you’ve made clear is that I disturb you. Your pulse doesn’t lie.”

  She sputtered, but he continued to speak. “Pushing me out of your apartment is usually a good signal. And for most men, your words are enough of a kick to the ego to have them backing off. Hell, it almost worked on me. Then I remembered something.”

  Erin steeled herself against asking the question. Instead, she thinned her mouth into a firm line of disapproval. It normally quelled the most fractious student.

  It had no effect on Gabriel. He watched the pout attempt to firm, and he fought the urge to kiss the rich curve of lips, enchanted. “What? you ask. Well, I remembered your hand.”

  “My hand?” she repeated involuntarily.

  Gingerly he lifted her right hand, examining the slender bones, the flawless skin. “For a second there, when you tried to push me away, your fingers curled into me. Like you wanted to hold on. Then you made yourself let go.”

  At that moment, the Thai Palace deliveryman rounded the corner. Smiling at his familiar patron, he greeted her by name. Erin responded shakily and made the exchange of cash for the plastic sack. As the young man descended the stairs, she looked everywhere but at her uninvited guest.

  Gabriel moved toward her, lifting her chin, forcing her eyes to his. Now he grinned, a curve of lips that was anything but reassuring. “Why do I get the feeling, darling, that you’re an expert on the subject of lies?”

  She forced herself to hold his gaze. “You’re not entitled to the truth.”

  “No, I’m not.” Delicately he traced the slim lines of her collarbone, exposed by the tank top. A faint shiver crossed her skin, and he smiled slightly. “But I will have it. You can tell me now, or I’ll find out.”

  “I don’t threaten well.” She lifted a hand to capture his. Brown eyes bored into gray. “I may want to hold on sometimes, Gabriel, but I’ve learned to let go. Sometimes holding on too tight can kill you.” With that, she dropped his hand, entered the apartment, and quietly closed the door.

  CHAPTER 7

  Erin stood outside the address listed as Julian Harris’s. His townhome nestled in the Lower Garden District, a neighborhood celebrated for its quaint cottages and stylish town houses. The home she identified as his jibed with the brief profile she had in her bag. Thinking about the outline she’d made at dawn, Erin rummaged in her bag for a steno pad. She uncapped a pen and wrote, “Refined. Elegant. Precise. Compassionate.”

  Articles about successful auction bids and civic awards drew a portrait of a young architect who’d left the private sector to serve the city he loved. And the devotion showed, she thought.

  Julian had obviously refurbished the narrow building, choosing golds and greens to complement the stucco façade. Stained-glass panels graced the asymmetrical windows of the three-story American townhome. On the second floor, wrought iron had been polished to a high gleam, catching the afternoon sun. In contrast, the houses on either side showed their age.

  “He was meticulous about historical accuracy,” she noted aloud, jotting the phrase down in her notebook. “I could swear I was in Paris.”

  Why would th
e killer have chosen Julian as his first victim?

  Architect, accountant, archaeologist, anthropologist. Language offered dozens of occupations for a killer to start with as a first target. But either horrible luck or terrible design had selected Julian Harris. Erin hoped that by sneaking into the house and poking around, some clue would show her which one it had been.

  Sweltering, she rearranged the gray collar and wiped at her forehead. Then she took a deep breath and hurried across the street. On the low stoop of the house next door, she knocked briskly. No one stirred. Since it was early afternoon, she wasn’t surprised. Normal people were still at work or out on errands. They weren’t likely to be at home or, she acknowledged with a touch of morbidity, invading the homes of the dead.

  With a grimace, she crossed Julian’s lawn and repeated her peremptory summons. This time, a man stepped out onto the cluttered front entrance. Her years among students pegged his age at eighteen, maybe nineteen. A dissolute, pampered nineteen. His outfit certainly fit the bill. It consisted of the bottom half of a pair of expensive silk pajamas. Greasy blond hair drooped down over bloodshot eyes and stopped above a reddened nose that had been broken at least once. Or, at least, the capillaries had.

  “You one of those church people?” He squinted at her, despite the shaded overhang of his balcony. “’Cause I’m an aesthetic.”

  Erin winced at the mangled declaration. “I believe you mean you’re an atheist.”

  “Yeah. Whatever. Look, lady, I don’t want to buy anything.” He leaned in, leering. “Unless you’re selling something good?”

  She took a hasty step back as fumes assaulted her. He apparently hadn’t brushed his teeth since classes ended. “I was just wondering if you knew my cousin?”

  “Your cousin?” The man looked around suspiciously. “Who’s your cousin?”

  Erin pointed hurriedly at the next house. “He lives there. Julian Harris.”

  He guffawed loudly, bathing her in a foul aroma.

  She took shallow breaths and waited for the stench to pass. “Do you know him?”

  “I know you’re not his cousin.” Dubious, he scratched at a furry chest. “Mr. High-and-Mighty was a lot lighter than you.”

  Thinking fast, she stiffened and pretended to be insulted. “He was from my mother’s side of the family.”

  He studied her afresh, looking for evidence, but he couldn’t really tell the difference anyhow. “Oh. Well.” Bored by the interview, he jerked his thumb toward the house. “Doesn’t matter anyway. He’s dead. Cops found him at work.”

  “Dead?” She gulped as though the news were new. “Do they know who killed him?”

  Interest renewed, he shifted toward her. In a rough whisper, he offered, “I heard it was drug related. Like the Mafia. They strangled him and everything.” He scanned her face. “Your mom Italian?”

  “No. She’s not.” In fetid proximity, odors from body and mouth attacked with coordinated, military precision. She pressed her hand to her stomach and tried not to retch. “When did he die?”

  “Weeks ago. House has been closed up since then. They said he had no family.” As he spoke, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “We’re distant cousins,” explained a familiar voice from behind her. “Related by marriage.”

  Erin spun around to face a smugly mournful Gabriel. It only needed this, she thought. It wasn’t enough that she was lying to neighbors and skulking around a dead man’s house. No, she supposed, her life of crime wouldn’t be complete without Genevieve’s loathsome brother to record her fall. “What are you doing here?”

  “Where else would I be, honey?” He fairly purred the words, daring her to challenge him. She couldn’t see the young man watching them as though he couldn’t decide whether to call the cops or not. Gabriel could. If the chips fell, he had the First Amendment to hide behind. She was on her own. Right now, the independent Dr. Abbott needed him.

  A similar thought occurred to Erin. There was no way to expose Gabriel without painting a bull’s-eye on her chest, too. Resigned to play along, she managed to say with saccharine sweetness, “I thought I asked you to wait in the car.”

  “You were taking too long, darling.” Enjoying himself, Gabriel snaked an arm around her and pulled her to him. His fingers pinched her waist in blunt warning. “Plus, I haven’t seen your cousin Julian in forever. Sometimes I forget I married into such an extended family.”

  “Big families are like that.” Trapped, Erin could do nothing but stand there and seethe. And try not to acknowledge how distressingly right his arm felt around her. Strong, steady, secure.

  “Why don’t we let our friend go inside? You and I can take a last look at Julian’s home?” When Erin nodded testily, Gabriel extended his hand to the young man. “Thanks for your help.”

  Suspicion gave way to lassitude. “No problem, man.”

  In silence, Gabriel guided Erin across the unkempt lawn to the nearly immaculate Harris property. Weeds had sprouted up along the sidewalk, poked through the bed of tulips at the front door.

  Reaching past Erin, Gabriel tried the doorknob, which refused to turn under his hand. He shook the polished brass, to no avail. Looking around, he figured they’d get inside faster through a window. “I’m going to look for an open window,” he explained. “Stay here until I get back.”

  Once Gabriel rounded the corner, she checked over her shoulder. Seeing no one, Erin removed her jacket and reached into the pocket. She removed a slim length of wire and crouched beside the lock. Using tricks learned from Sebastian years ago, she slid the wire into the opening. After testing the lock, she bent the wire and reinserted both tips. Soon the lock released with a slight click. Bingo.

  She turned the knob and walked inside. On a side panel, an alarm blinked green. The police had apparently not bothered to reengage it after their investigation. It made sense. There was no one to protect. Julian Harris had lived alone and had no family to speak of. In a few more weeks, the courts would declare his estate property of the city because there was no one to claim it. Erin understood the isolation.

  Quietly she wandered down the hallway he’d lined with jazz legends. Etta, Duke, Louis, Dinah and others greeted visitors from framed black-and-white photos. A couple even sported autographs. At the end of the short gallery, dust motes floated in the air, dancing on streaks of colored light. As she took measured steps, original hardwoods creaked beneath her feet. The townhome had the musty smell of abandonment.

  She poked her head into the main room on the ground floor. Shaker-style furniture contrasted nicely with lush accoutrements such as a vintage Chesterfield sofa in deep rose. Tiffany lamps perched on high pedestals of oak. Their motifs mirrored the pastoral scenes in the glass windows. Outside of which, Gabriel fumbled with the onerous locks that secured the windows.

  Erin reluctantly unlatched the heavy casement and lifted the hook holding the window in place. The glass swung out on its hinges, and behind the pane she heard a muffled curse.

  “How did you get inside?” Gabriel demanded as he hoisted himself over the side. Luckily, most of the townhomes had been built at ground level. The climb inside required only a short fall.

  “Through the front door.” She graciously helped him to his feet, pleased to have bested him. Gabriel seemed to be the type of man who was used to winning. He could stand to lose on occasion, she decided. Lifting a brow, she shrugged. “Seemed easier than the window.”

  “You had a key?” He advanced on her, equal parts amazed and maddened.

  Erin took a healthy step away. “No. I’m just good with locks.” Unwilling to say more, she whirled around and headed for the stairs. The damp heat inside mimicked the atmosphere beyond the door. In deference, she shrugged off the gray jacket that matched his eyes and hung it on the newel post. It amazed her that the color could be the same and yet so dramatically different. “I’ll be upstairs,” she announced, climbing quickly.

  “I’m coming with you.” Gabriel fell in step behind her.
>
  Erin halted on the step and turned to face him. “Let’s get one thing clear. We’re not here together. I’m here and you’re here. That’s all.”

  “That’s garbage,” he snapped. “I got you past Junior.”

  “Thank you. Now go.”

  “I’m not leaving, Erin. For a reason you don’t care to elaborate on, you’ve been able to spot a pattern no one else has seen. I heard you explain it to Sylvie. She’s too cynical about the lunatics in New Orleans to bite. But I’m desperate. So rest assured, I’m going to dog your steps until I find out what you know. You could save us both a lot of time if you cooperate.” He straightened his arm to cover her hand on the wood, and then he pounced. “Are you the killer?”

  The stark accusation almost made her lose her footing. “Of course not!”

  Gabriel grabbed her before she completely lost her balance. In a single, smooth motion, he towed her close to him. Certain she’d regained her equilibrium, he lifted his hands in apology. “Sorry. I don’t think you’re a homicidal maniac, but it had to be asked.”

  Catching her breath, she muttered, “I could learn to hate you.”

  Grinning at the straightforward announcement, Gabriel resisted the urge to kiss the angry mouth. “You have only yourself to blame, Doctor.” When she looked confused, he explained. “Your visit to the police station. Criminals like to confess in order to clear their consciences.”

  “I went to the police because I wanted to help. Not to confess or be laughed at by Detective Iberville or hounded by you.” She left no doubt as to which outcome irritated her more.

  She mounted the stairs with speed, having hiked the narrow skirt up to her knees. From his vantage point, he admired the curve of subtly muscled calves and the rise and fall of the pert bottom. What else, he wondered heatedly, was Erin hiding?

  The mystery tugged at him, and each encounter added a new layer. Like how a prim professor had learned to pick locks. Or why she had been chosen to find a killer. Any answers, he would have to discover on his own. He was looking forward to the search.