Never Tell

by Selena Montgomery

  That night, he had locked her in her room. After he released her two days later, she never rode again.

  Refusing to succumb to memory, Erin sipped at the glass of thickly sweet tea pressed upon her by Mrs. Littlejohn. “Do you know why anyone would want to harm her?”

  “Absolutely not! Phoebe was a darling, with that lovely accent. She was from the islands, you know.” Mrs. Littlejohn swelled with pride. “My family was from Barbados. Nicer than Jamaica.”

  Erin smiled weakly. “Barbados is a beautiful country. Do you ever visit?”

  “Shucks, no. I took a boat over here. I’m too old to return by boat and my feet ain’t left the ground in eighty-two years. The Good Lord wants me home, he’ll send me there like they do on that Star Trek program. Beam me up.” She chuckled over her witticism.

  “I never had the pleasure of seeing Phoebe perform. I understand she danced calypso.”

  “Down in that devil’s lair, yes.” The lady sniffed. “But on Sundays, she played for the Antioch Baptist Church. You know, she first came over to the United States to attend that fancy school for music in New York.”

  “Ju-Juilliard?” Erin stuttered out the question, but Mrs. Littlejohn failed to notice.

  “That’s the one. But she broke one of her fingers on the subways there, and that was the end of it.” Fierce with loyalty, she added, “I still think she played like a dream.”

  Erin barely heard the passionate defense. She concentrated her energy to fight off a smothering blanket of panic. Out of hundreds of books, she’d found one written by Nathan. His last one. Burleigh Singleton had grown up in San Cabes, a remote town where Nathan kept a cabin. And now, she found that a calypso dancer named Phoebe Bailey had once attended Juilliard. Like Nathan.

  It couldn’t be coincidence.

  Gulping down the rest of her tea, Erin got to her feet. She set the glass on a coaster decorated in butterflies. “I appreciate your time, Mrs. Littlejohn.”

  Erin helped the older woman to stand. They walked together to the front door. “No bother a’tall. Don’t get many visitors at my age.”

  “That’s a shame. You’re a wonderful lady.” On impulse, she kissed the woman’s wrinkled cheek.

  Outside, Erin grappled with the implications of what she’d learned. Nathan Rhodes was dead. She’d shot him, felt his blood thick and cold on her hands. Together, she and Sebastian had tossed the body into the canyons of San Cabes.

  Someone had seen her do it.

  Someone who had tracked her to New Orleans. Lost in bleak thought, she retrieved her bicycle and pushed it forward. The notes, the obituaries and clues that pointed to Nathan. Clues only she would understand.

  The murderer wanted her to see him. To find him.

  Murder, to him, was a means to an end. A means he enjoyed. For all the linguistic maneuvering, at the core, she thought, he was just a killer. Julian Harris, she’d bet, hadn’t been his first victim.

  Then there were the clues themselves. Burleigh and Phoebe had natural ties to Nathan. But Julian’s link had been manufactured. A book slipped onto a shelf, waiting for her to stumble across it.

  Nathan Rhodes had terrorized her, controlled her. She’d broken free, and the killer hated her for it.

  Who are you? Erin wondered. What do you want from me when I find you?

  “Why don’t you drive, Erin?” Erin heard a voice say beside her.

  Jolted from her thoughts, she stopped the bike and took a fortifying breath. Certain she wouldn’t curse, she turned to glare at her shadow. “Go away, Gabriel. There are thousands of other women for you to chase.”

  “They wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.” Like the sight of Erin in an outfit that didn’t swallow her whole. Today the horrible suits had disappeared. In blessed contrast, she wore sleek black track pants and a white T-shirt. Curves he’d only speculated about were terrifically displayed. “Much better outfit today.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Gabriel touched her shoulder, pleased by the absence of shoulder pads. “I hate your suits. The lines are all wrong for you.”

  “They’re Chanel,” she protested, though she agreed with him. But the idea of admitting even the obvious galled. “My suits are classics.”

  “Maybe at Harvard in 1953.”

  Impossibly, Erin’s ramrod-straight shoulders stiffened further. The voice he’d described to himself as sultry emerged on a river of ice. “Mr. Moss, I do not take fashion advice from a man who thinks denim lasts forever.” The cutting glance at the frayed waistband and thinned fabric should have brought him to his knees. Instead, the obvious scorn enchanted.

  “Touché.” Duly chastened, he skated a hand down her forearm to cover hers on the bike. She tugged at it, discreetly, but Gabe pretended not to notice. He lifted her left hand and examined the graceful lines and the absence of jewelry. She wore a wide band of silver on her right ring finger, with a raised onyx in the center. Indecipherable inscriptions surrounded the band. “What does this say?” he asked, tilting the ring into the light.

  This time, her sudden jerk was successful. “It’s nothing,” she insisted, too forcefully. “Just a pretty design I liked.”

  “In the spirit of partnership, I won’t call you a liar. Plus, I’m hungry. Any interest in having lunch with me? I spar better after I’ve been fed,” Gabriel teased.

  Erin struggled against laughter and, he hoped, caring more than he should, against saying no. Laughter wrought a transformation in her that captivated him. The soft brown eyes danced with merriment. The lovely, haughty face transformed into beguiling. Again he thought of fairies and angels and other unearthly beings of loveliness. “Have lunch with me,” he repeated softly.

  “Mr. Moss,” she began.

  “My name is Gabriel. Gabe to family, a few close friends, and those who think I owe them money.”

  Sidetracked and unwilling to break the fragile concord, she inclined her head quizzically. “Are you a gambler?”

  “Depends on the stakes. And the prize.” Gabriel studied her then, his eyes running over her in an almost physical caress, a look that promised delights she could scarcely fathom.

  Beneath his silver gaze, her blood quickened and her breathing stuttered.

  “Have lunch with me, Erin.”

  Captivated, she moved toward him. It was a single step, taken despite logic and consequence.

  It was folly.

  Erin halted. Nothing had changed. The handsome, tempting man who entranced her with laughter and kindness could never be more than the brother of her friend. “I can’t,” she declined with genuine regret.

  “Why not?” Gabe worried that his insistent demands bordered on the frantic, but he could feel her slipping away from him. In the space of a breath, she’d altered again, from lighthearted angel to stubbornly earthbound woman. Damnably, he was fascinated by both women.

  He was a man who appreciated women, in face and form. He enjoyed the challenge of their minds, the intricacies of their emotions. Yet in thirty-four years he’d never felt such a powerful, immediate connection to one woman. He was lured like Odysseus by her husky laughter; the compulsion had begun in a heartbeat. Gabriel couldn’t imagine it ending without their full and sated exploration. “My car is in the lot. I’ll pack up your bike; then we can grab a late lunch.”

  “I need to go to the museum where Juan Johnson was attacked.” And I can’t be alone with you.

  “Then we’ll go together. I’ve already missed Singleton and Bailey.”

  Immediately her hackles rose and her eyes narrowed. “I don’t have to report my movements to you. I am free to do as I please.”

  “Yes, you are,” he replied evenly. “But I thought we were partners on this.”

  “I never agreed to that.” Erin toyed with the handlebars. “How did you know where to find me?”

  Gabriel noted that she hadn’t said no to partnership. That was a huge step with someone as prickly as Erin was. He’d worm an affirmative out of her later. “I’m an invest
igative reporter, Erin. I tracked you. When you wouldn’t answer your phone, I went to the bank. The distraught Ms. Weems told me you stopped by. I checked his house and you weren’t there. This was the next logical place.”

  She hated to admit it, but they’d made a good team before. Without knowing what she was looking for, she might miss an important clue. But it wouldn’t do to give in so easily. “I told you I didn’t want to help with your story.”

  “I’m the only one who’ll listen. Why don’t we see what we find, then we’ll argue?”

  Erin’s shoulders dropped. She was in no mood to wrestle with Gabriel and the unwilling sensations he inevitably evoked. “I assume you’ll follow me to the Heritage Museum whether I want you to or not.”

  When he took her hand, Gabriel whispered conspiratorially, “It’s like you’re reading my mind.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Erin and Gabriel entered the African Heritage Museum together, and Erin wondered how he did it. How he had so deftly inserted himself in her life that she couldn’t dislodge him. This morning, she had been bound and determined to finish this without him. It was only midafternoon, and he stood next to her in the lobby, chatting with the new docent.

  How did he do it?

  “Come on, Erin.” Gabriel nudged her with his elbow. “Ms. Young has graciously agreed to let us see the gatehouse.” When Erin frowned, he explained, “Where Mr. Johnson resided.”

  A guided tour of the home of a possible victim? “Coming.”

  Gabriel walked beside the docent and thought of the puzzle that was Erin. Partnership frightened her, he realized. What he didn’t know was the origin of that fear. They wound through the exhibits, where Bantu ritual masks mingled with twentieth-century paintings. He remembered coming to the museum as a child, pulling Gennie along as they trailed behind their parents. A memory of an older gentleman with shocking white hair and a patient smile surfaced. “Lynnette, how long had Mr. Johnson been the docent here?”

  “He became docent in 1982. Trained me when I was a student at Xavier. We all miss him terribly.”

  Erin caught up with the pair. “Had he worked here before then?”

  Lynnette shook her head, smiling sadly. “No, though it seems like it. Mr. Johnson loved to talk about his adventures. He served in the army during World War Two and came back to New Orleans. Put himself through Burkeen on the GI Bill. Before he became chief docent, though, he was proudest of integrating the elevator operators’ union in New Orleans in the nineteen-fifties.”

  Erin felt her pulse trip. “He was an elevator operator?”

  “To pay for school. He worked in the Grammercy Hotel in the Quarter.”

  Gabriel glanced at Erin. He could see her mind working. The trio emerged into the sunlight, and Lynnette led them to the small carriage house behind the museum.

  “Juan lived on the grounds of the museum for decades. Said it made it easier to get to work.” The air was stale, the interior gloomy, when she unlocked the door. Lynnette flicked on a light and backed away from the entrance. “I haven’t had the heart to clean it out. I can’t even go inside.” She touched Gabriel’s arm. “You’ll help find the person who did this to him, won’t you?”

  Gabriel patted her hand reassuringly. “Yes, ma’am. I promise.” Looking at Erin, he corrected himself. “We promise.”

  Satisfied, Lynnette left them, after they agreed to secure the door and return the key. Erin poked her head inside, then entered. The house was small, a single-bedroom with the door ajar. They stood in the living room, where he’d decorated the space with more art. Erin wandered over to a corner area near the kitchen. A half-finished sculpture stood on a pedestal that rested on a drop cloth. Work tools gathered dust on a table nearby.

  “He was an artist.” On her heels, Gabriel whispered, “Do you have any idea what we’re looking for?”

  Erin turned and put distance between them. “The police found a chisel at the scene. The type of chisel they found is probably an ebauchoir.”

  “To rough-hew sculpture.”

  Erin’s gaze flew up to meet Gabriel’s amused look. “You’re not the only one who knows obscure facts, Dr. Abbott.” Running his hand along the unfinished piece, he said, “The killer knew about his job in college.”

  “And about his hobby.” The grisly conclusion had occurred to both of them. Erin gave it voice. “He stabbed him with his own ebauchoir.”

  Erin pointed at the implements lying on the table. “The police blotter described it as a chisel. I wasn’t sure about the link.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and stared at the sculpture. “C was taken, so it had to be D, E, or F. Elevator operator … ebauchoir. He’s making it easy.”

  Dropping a hand to her shoulder, Gabriel snorted. “There’s nothing about this that’s easy, Erin. Five, no, seven people have lost their lives because of a madman. And he’s sprinkling bread crumbs around the city that only you can see.”

  Erin spun around. “But I can’t see it! I can’t see what he’ll do next! Who he plans to kill!”

  To calm her, Gabriel said, “You’re working as fast as you can.”

  “I don’t know how long we have. And it could get someone killed.” Erin rushed out of the house to the courtyard where flowers bloomed in wild profusion. A magnolia tree stood in the center of the cobblestones and she stopped at its trunk.

  Gabriel followed. Unable not to, he pulled her to him, compelled to soothe. She struggled in his embrace, but he refused to loosen his hold. “Accept it, Erin,” he murmured against her temple. “Accept that you’ve got someone who cares about you. That for a minute or two, you have someone to lean on.”

  “I can’t,” came the tortured whisper. Still, she wound trembling arms around his waist, rested her head against his shoulder. One minute, she thought. Then she’d be strong again.

  “Tell me what’s going on, Erin.” Tension simmered in his voice, and he didn’t bother to disguise it.

  “I can’t. You don’t understand. I simply can’t.”

  “Won’t.” He shifted his hands to grasp her upper arms. “What are you afraid of?”

  You. Him. Everything. “Isn’t a serial killer enough reason?”

  “There’s more. And you and I both know it.”

  She lifted her head and met his insistent look squarely. Courage, a recent addition to her armory, demanded she protect him from the nightmare that had tracked her across a continent. “I don’t want to spend time with you.”

  The pronouncement, so baldly stated, neatly pricked his impenetrable heart. But he hadn’t become a seasoned reporter with a Pulitzer under his belt by accepting rejection without probing for more. “Why not?”

  If we spend time together, I’ll probably want to know more about you. Erin remained stubbornly mute.

  Despite the growing ache, Gabriel smiled. “Strangely enough, relationships often grow with such treacherous knowledge.”

  She spun away from him, staring at the tender white petals of the magnolias in bloom. The flower, a staple of the region, was foreign to her. As foreign as buying groceries on her own and renting an apartment and feeling safe.

  It had taken nearly her entire lifetime to accomplish the first two, and now a specter from her past, determined to strip safety away, had found her in New Orleans.

  Gabriel made her feel a million things, but safety wasn’t one of them. “We don’t have a relationship. We’ve just met.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Gabriel closed the distance between them and turned her to face him. The look of abject misery compelled him to tease. “Is it my hair? I usually get it cut more often.” He brushed his thumb along the edge of her jaw, savoring the glide of velvet flesh.

  Laughing sadly, Erin shook her head.

  “Then what? Why are you so determined not to push me away? You like my sister. We’re practically the same.”

  “Your sister doesn’t make me nervous,” Erin said dryly. “She doesn’t insist on touching me.”

  “My sister has poor
taste in women.”

  “Why are you pushing this? I’ll give you your story, but you have to let me investigate on my own.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Erin demanded. “You’ll have what you want. A way to save your paper.”

  “I want more than the paper. I want you,” Gabriel said before he realized the words had formed. Abruptly he dropped his hand from her skin as though singed, and this time, it was he who widened the distance between them. He paced off the walkway, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He returned to where she waited silent beneath the magnolia. He ground out, “I know you. I don’t understand it, but I know you, Erin Abbott.”

  At the sound of her name, Erin recoiled. There it was, lying between them, and he had no idea. How could she talk with him, laugh with him, dream of him, when he had no idea who she really was?

  And by his very nature, he would need to know. When she continued to resist, as she must, he would ferret out the truth of it. All of it. But she wouldn’t allow that to happen.

  The woman she’d once been had disappeared into the California mountains, and she would do anything to leave Analise Glover there forever. She had already possibly committed the worst act imaginable, and she wore his ring as a constant reminder.

  No, Gabriel didn’t know her, but if she pushed him away, he’d try to find out. She had one hope of protecting her secrets and protecting him from her past. “You can have the story, Gabriel. But that’s it. I have nothing else to offer.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I give up. It means we’re partners until I can get enough evidence to make the police pay attention. Then we’re through.”

  Gabriel watched her, watched the grim determination thin her mouth. Her eyes were flat, though an emotion flickered in their depths. Carefully, he cupped her chin. She jerked at his touch, but he ignored the movement and tilted her scowling face into the sunlight. The banked temper flashed, and inwardly he relaxed. It wasn’t over, he thought. Didn’t she know whatever was between them had barely begun? “Let’s finish going over Mr. Johnson’s apartment; then we’ll go somewhere for dinner.”