New Orleans Noir

by Joanna Wayne

  “No, but I can stir water into a box of mix.”

  “I’m impressed. I’m dynamite with a spatula,” he claimed. He pulled one from Mia’s utensil holder and twirled it like a baton before dropping it to the counter.

  In minutes, the front of Helena’s pajamas was sprinkled with the pancake mix. Hunter grabbed a dish towel and wiped it away. When his fingers brushed her nipples through the soft fabric, desire hummed through her.

  What a difference a few hours could make. No, it wasn’t the hours, it was all Hunter. Right after the phone call from the killer, Helena had felt as if she was on the verge of disaster, apprehension choking the life right out of her.

  Hunter showed up and within minutes, the gloom had given way to teasing, laughter and the inevitable sensual tension. Cooking had never been this much fun. All the problems she’d been faced with earlier were still there, but they were coated with raw craving now.

  Hunter defrosted the bacon in the microwave and then fried the slices until they were crispy, just the way she liked it. In between flipping her pancakes on the griddle, Helena brewed a pot of decaf coffee in case she ever got around to going back to bed tonight.

  By the time they were ready to eat, the sensual tension was sparking like electricity. It was bound to lead to trouble. She dropped her fork while trying to take the first bite.

  “Let me help you with that,” Hunter offered. He speared a bite of his pancake, dragged it through a puddle of syrup and fed it to her. A drop of the warm, sweet syrup settled in the corner of her mouth.

  She reached for her napkin, but not before Hunter leaned over and captured the syrup with his napkin. She felt light, frothy, as if gravity might not be able to anchor her to earth.

  “I better get my own fork,” she whispered, “or we may never get around to consuming our feast.”

  “Would that be so bad?” he asked.

  She ignored the loaded question. There was no doubt in her mind that she was falling in love with Hunter again—if she’d ever been out of love. But this wasn’t just love for the man he used to be, it was for the man he’d become. He was brave and confident, more sure of himself than when they’d been together. She’d never felt more protected.

  But had he really changed? Was he capable of a forever commitment this time—if she got to that point herself? Or was she already there and only fooling herself?

  Hunter devoured his food. She picked at hers. By the time they’d finished eating, her sensual excitement level had cooled but not by much.

  It was late. Hunter had to be exhausted and who knew how much sleep he’d get before he felt compelled to get back on the job?

  He insisted on helping her clean up the kitchen. He was rinsing the syrup from their plates when his phone buzzed. He picked it up. “Have to take this,” he said. “Police work.”

  He set the plates in the sink and answered the phone as he walked out of the kitchen. She couldn’t stop the thought from entering her mind—being married to a homicide detective probably meant a lot of nights of eating and sleeping alone.

  But then being single did, too. She was used to that, but she doubted any spouse of a cop ever got used to the dangerous risks.

  “Good news or bad?” she asked when he rejoined her in the kitchen.

  “Semi-good. Another witness who was also in the parking lot at the time of the incident called in with what he says is the suspect’s license number.”

  “I’d think that deserved more than a semi-good,” she said as she wiped down the counter.

  “It would be except the witness mainly wanted to know about the award money, so the license number could be a hoax.”

  “Don’t they know you’ll figure it out quickly if they lie about something so easy to check?”

  “I think they have so many dollar signs in their eyes, they can’t see anything else. But it’s a busy parking lot so it wouldn’t be unusual for someone to see trouble and jot down the license number.”

  “Hopefully that’s true in this case.”

  “I should be going,” Hunter said. “Sorry I woke you, but I really wanted to see you tonight. I had to make sure you were okay after visiting the crime scene in the swamp and then dealing with that bizarre, disgusting phone call.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. “It’s late and you must be exhausted. The couch is still available if you want to crash there again.”

  “Sounds good.” Instead of making a move in that direction, he walked over, poured himself another cup of coffee and sat down at the table. He looked serious and even a little apprehensive, which spiked the air with tension, no longer sensual.

  “You asked me what happened to make me walk out on you just before our wedding.”

  Now she recognized the awkward aspect of the tension. It was dread.

  “I wasn’t completely honest with you,” he admitted. “I think I owe you that.”

  So did she, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to deal with the truth. “Was it another woman?”

  “In a way, but not what you’re implying.”

  “Then how?”

  “I don’t know if you remember, but I had killed my first person since becoming a member of the NOPD. Everyone assumed that was what had me so upset. They were wrong. My regret was that I hadn’t killed him sooner.”

  “I know you were temporarily suspended, but then all charges were dropped when the shooting was ruled self-defense. I must be missing something.”

  Hunter stood and began to pace. “My partner and I were sent out to respond to a 911 call from an eight-year-old who said his daddy was drunk and was about to kill his mother. When we got there, the father came to the door. His wife and the kid were standing behind him.”

  Helena didn’t interrupt. It was almost as if Hunter were no longer in her kitchen talking to her but had slipped back into a troubling past.

  “The man had been drinking. The curses he hurled at my partner and I were slurred. He assured us there was no problem. He might have gotten a bit rowdy, but he would never harm his wife and boy.

  “The woman backed him up, but we knew she was lying and so frightened of the guy she was shaking. She put her arm around the boy’s shoulder and encouraged him to lie, as well.

  “The boy insisted he made the call, but he knew his daddy wouldn’t hurt them. His voice broke. Clearly, the kid was scared to death.

  “I tried for thirty minutes to persuade the mother to press charges. She refused over and over, insisting they’d only been arguing and the boy had gotten upset. Finally, the man ordered us off his property.”

  “And by law you had to go?”

  “By law and by policy, but even then, I’d turned around and was heading back to the house when we heard gunfire. We kicked in the door and found the man standing over his wife who he’d shot through the head. The boy was stretched out over his mother’s bleeding body.”

  Tears filled Helena’s eyes. No wonder that had hit Hunter so hard. She’d not known these details.

  “You tried to save her,” Helena said. “It was out of your control. The man must have still held the gun.”

  “He didn’t,” Hunter said. “He was unarmed. He’d tossed his weapon to the floor. When we burst through the door, the kid picked it up and pointed it at his dad.”

  Hunter stopped pacing but still avoided eye contact with Helena. “I couldn’t let him do it. Not because I gave a damn about the man. My first impulse was to shoot him myself so the boy didn’t have to live with that.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  “No. I jumped the kid and wrestled the gun from his hands. In the process, his drunken father was killed from a ricocheting bullet.”

  “No wonder you were hurting. I just wish you’d have told me that back then.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Because you didn’t trust me?”

&
nbsp; “Because that boy was me, Helena.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hunter’s words made no sense to Helena. “I don’t understand.”

  “I lived through that very same horror, except I was only six at the time. I called the police and then lied to them just like my mother told me to do. If I hadn’t, he would have beaten both of us like he did almost every night, at least that’s how it seemed to me then.

  “That night he didn’t beat her. Instead, he blew out my mother’s brains. And then he came after me, beat me until I was unconscious.”

  “What happened to your father?”

  “He went to prison. I never saw him again. I tried to find him when I finally started dealing with this after our breakup. He’d been released years before. He’d never come looking for me.”

  Things were starting to make sense and Helena’s heart ached for the boy of six who’d faced such tragedy. But then she looked at the brilliant, dedicated detective standing in her kitchen and she knew he’d faced the worse and made it through.

  “What happened to you after that?”

  “I went from one foster home to another. Nobody let me stay for long. I had a giant chip on my shoulder and I was a troublemaker.”

  “Who later became a cop and then a Marine and is now a fantastic homicide detective.”

  “It took me years to get to this place. The problem was I never faced what I’d been through. I don’t remember ever crying. I told friends at the new school I had to attend that my mother had died of cancer and that my dad was a fatally wounded war hero. The first time I remember weeping for my mother was the day I ran out on you.

  “That’s why I couldn’t marry you then. I had nothing to offer you until I came to grips with my past. I had to prove to myself I could face the truth and move past it. I had to understand that I would never become the monster my father had been.

  “As a kid, I had wanted to kill my dad and as a cop, I had wanted to kill the man who blew his son’s mother’s brains out. The past was destroying my future. I couldn’t pull you into that.”

  “And you feel you’ve moved beyond that?”

  “I do. It may sound corny, but the Marines did make a man of me. The intensive counseling I finally got helped, too.”

  She walked over and put her arms around his waist. “Welcome back, Hunter Bergeron. You were always that man to me.”

  He held her without talking for long minutes. “This is the real me,” he whispered. “As good as it will likely ever get. Lots of faults, but I’m crazy in love with you. Always have been. Always will be. No pressure, I just wanted you to know.”

  She had never loved him more.

  “Now, does that offer still stand to sleep on your couch?”

  “No. I don’t think so. You’re not couch material. But there’s room in my bed for two.”

  * * *

  HELENA CHANGED INTO a teal-colored satin cami pajama set in lieu of her flour-splattered ones while Hunter showered in her bathroom. The sliding doors to her balcony were already closed and locked; the heavy, noise-trapping drapes were pulled tight.

  She plumped both their pillows and dimmed her bedside lamp to a soft glow. Anticipation swirled inside her, as she slid between the sheets.

  The bathroom door opened, and Hunter stepped into the bedroom, only wearing one of her white, fluffy towels knotted at the waist. She stared at his broad chest as if seeing it for the first time.

  In a way, she was. The ex-Marine at thirty-one was more muscular, his pecs and abs far more defined than they’d been the last time she and Hunter had shared a bed.

  She thought his body was perfect then. Now he’d taken masculinity to a whole new level. If he didn’t make a move on her soon, she’d explode.

  He stepped closer to the bed then loosed the towel and let it fall to the floor. He was already hard, his erection proof that he was not too fatigued to feel the same desire that was vibrating through her.

  Instead of climbing into bed with her, he lifted the top sheet and pulled it to the foot of the bed. She reached over to turn off the lamp.

  “Please don’t,” he whispered. “Just let me look at you and drink all this in. You’ve walked through my dreams for six years, but it was never like this. You were never more beautiful, never more ravishing than you are at this minute.”

  She slipped her fingers beneath the spaghetti straps of the cami and slowly tugged them off her shoulders one at a time. Her breasts swelled above the fabric until she lifted the top over her head and tossed it to him.

  “Want to help?” she tempted.

  “I’m not sure I can and keep control.”

  Keep control. She was so caught up in the moment that she’d lost control. “I don’t have any protection,” she blurted out.

  “I do,” Hunter whispered, “though I haven’t been intimate with a woman in almost a year. And only in my wildest dreams did I imagine a moment like this.”

  He removed a condom from his wallet and slid it onto her bedside table. Then without another word, he slid into bed beside her, raised up on one elbow and worked his hand beneath the elastic waist of her shorts.

  His fingers brushed her coppery triangle of hair, finally dipping inside her. When she grew slick with desire, he slid the damp pajama shorts down her legs then twirled and shot them across the room.

  He kissed her mouth, softly at first and then hard and relentlessly until her lips felt ravaged yet hungry for more. The kisses grew deeper still, stealing her breath until they both came up for air.

  His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs massaging her nipples before taking one at a time into his mouth. He nibbled gently and sucked until she moaned in voracious pleasure.

  Then, trailing her abdomen with sweet kisses, his lips reached the erogenous area that took her to the edge of orgasm. Her body writhed and arched toward him.

  He rolled away and raised on an elbow again. “I’m human, you know, and you’re making it impossible for me to hold off until you’re completely satisfied.”

  “I’m ready, so ready. I want you now. All of you.”

  He took a minute to encase his desire in the condom, then straddled her and fit his erection inside her. He thrust faster and faster, driving her delirious with desire.

  Helena moaned and bit her lip, giving in to the thrill as they exploded together in savage release.

  Hunter stayed on top of her for glorious minutes, his face flushed, his breathing coming in quick gasps. She closed her eyes, letting the perfection of the moment caress her soul.

  “I love you, Helena Cosworth,” he whispered, as he pulled her back into his arms.

  “I love you, Hunter Bergeron.” At that moment she knew she always would.

  Hunter was soon fast asleep.

  Helena lay awake, relishing the sound of his rhythmic breathing and the warm glow of her body after the loving.

  The contentment was short-lived. Quivering tremors attacked in the dark as the killer’s words came back to haunt her.

  Please, God, don’t let me have to say goodbye to Hunter or let him be forced to say goodbye to me.

  The promise of happy-ever-after was within their grasp. Don’t let it be stolen from us now.

  * * *

  SAYING GOODBYE ON a sticky note after the most memorable night of his life was a damned shame. Walking away from the bed where Helena lay sleeping was pure torture.

  But he’d chosen this life and felt honored to be one of the youngest homicide detectives with the department. Having been named to head up the serial killer task force was lagniappe.

  The task force was organized shortly after the third victim and gained momentum after Elizabeth Grayson’s murder. They’d covered every angle, questioned hundreds of people, delved into the backgrounds of everyone who had a shred of evidence against them.

  The killer had ou
tsmarted them at every turn. He seemed to know what they were thinking before they acted. He was knowledgeable about their limitations within the law and made fools of them repeatedly, as he was doing with the repetitive phone calls.

  They were desperate for a break and they may have just gotten it. Or they might be dealing with another kook.

  Hunter finished writing his note.

  Sorry I had to cut out like this. A new lead just in that might go nowhere. Don’t go away. I’ll be back. Love you.

  It didn’t even touch on what last night had meant to him. No room on the small paper square. No time to write it. Mainly, he’d never been good at putting his emotions into words.

  He’d work on that.

  He leaned over and let his lips brush Helena’s. She stirred but didn’t open her eyes. As much as he ached to crawl back into her bed and into her arms, he tiptoed away and left her sleeping.

  * * *

  HELENA WOKE TO a gentle ache in her thighs and heart-stopping memories rambling through her sleep-dulled brain. She rolled over and reached for Hunter. Her hand swept across empty sheets. The house was silent.

  He was gone.

  For a second she thought it might all have been a dream. And then she saw the yellow note attached to his pillow. She picked it up and flicked on the lamp.

  She read the short note twice, hoping to find some hidden hint of how their lovemaking had affected him. “Love you” was as close as it got but she’d settle for that. She knew love wasn’t a word he threw around carelessly.

  The house seemed incredibly empty with him gone. Mia’s absence magnified the feeling. It was as if the home where she’d spent so many happy hours was revolting against her.

  After all, she’d come here to close this chapter of her past and turn Mia’s beautiful house over to strangers.

  Only houses didn’t think or feel, and the real estate possibilities were at least temporarily in limbo. Besides, she’d be crazy to let anything distract from the ecstasy she’d shared with Hunter last night.