Close To The Edge

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She tilted her head back to look at him. “Why not? I know of some dog groomers who work that way. They go to the customers’ homes and provide the service in the back of their vans. You might even want to offer some of the same services they do—I’m sure some of the ‘clients’ you’d acquire could benefit from a good flea dip.”

Lucky’s chuckle joined her laughter, even as he lowered his face to hers to growl in mock menace, “You’re a cruel woman, cher, to trample a man’s dreams that way.”

“Dreams? Don’t you mean fantasies?”

“Oui, and now I have a far different fantasy in mind, one that involves…” He broke off as he heard a sound in the outer office. In the next moment the door to Jacey’s office was pushed open, and a man filled the doorway.

Time stilled for an instant as the three of them froze. In the next second Jacey straightened abruptly, in a move designed to dislodge Lucky’s hands. He was just contrary enough to keep them in place. “Brummond.” His fingers resumed their kneading motion. “Haven’t seen you around for a while.” His grin was as careless as his words. “Can’t say I’ve missed you.”

Peter Brummond stepped into the office, his gaze first taking in the placement of Lucky’s hands, then the bottle in Jacey’s hand.

“Jacinda.” The word was stiff. “I apologize if I’m interrupting.”

“We just finished a working dinner.” Jacey tried to rise, but Lucky’s placement behind her chair prevented it. She turned and shot him a telling glance. “It’s after five, Lucky. Lock up on your way out, will you?”

As a dismissal it was fairly obvious. There was no reason for it to burn the way it did. “Are you sure?” As far as he could tell, dropping Brummond a few months ago had been one of Jacey’s smartest moves. “We really weren’t finished here.”

Her smile was tight, but her eyes held a plea, one he couldn’t help but respond to. “I’m sure.”

He didn’t have to feign his reluctance. He didn’t know what Brummond’s presence here after all this time meant, but he was pretty damn certain it couldn’t be good. Slowly, he let his hands drop from her shoulders and rounded the table. The other man stepped aside, allowing him room to pass, then shut the door behind him.

“What was that all about?”

If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought there was a note of jealousy in Peter’s voice, but that was ridiculous. Peter was getting married. He’d made his choice. Both of them had.

“Please sit down.” The graciousness in her voice would have made her mother proud. “I must admit I’m a bit surprised to see you, though.”

The man had the grace to flush. He lowered himself to a chair opposite Jacey’s. “Believe me, I know I’ve handled this badly. I wanted to talk to you a dozen times, but I just…I didn’t know what to say. Or how to say it.”

“I understand congratulations are in order. Have the two of you set a date yet?” She had the distant realization that she’d never seen Peter Brummond so discomfited. It would have been satisfying if she weren’t so intensely uncomfortable herself.

“We’re…it will be a small ceremony. Private. That’s why Mother insisted on the engagement affair. You know how she likes a party.”

What Audrey Brummond loved most, Jacey recalled, was having the spotlight on her and her family. She couldn’t imagine that a private wedding ceremony had been Peter’s mother’s idea, hence the engagement party.

Peter fidgeted in his seat. His blond good looks were just as polished as she remembered, saved from conventional handsomeness by a chin that was a shade too weak. “This thing with Celeste…well, it took me by surprise, too. That is, it all happened so quickly…”

“You and I were no longer seeing each other,” Jacey put in smoothly. “You had a right to date other women.”

His expression eased a fraction. “That’s true. I still felt though, that as a courtesy I should have informed you, but there never seemed an opportune moment.”

“The announcement did take me aback,” Jacey conceded in masterful understatement. Never had Miss Denoue’s deportment classes come in so handy. She was hardly tempted at all to brain the man with the paperweight on the desk behind her. “But we’ve known each other a long time. I’m happy for you, Peter. I’ll be there at the engagement party with the rest of your friends wishing you and your fiancée all the best.”

For some reason his face grew pained. “About that…Mother told me that she’d sent you an invitation. And of course I want you there, you have to believe that. But it’s bound to be a trifle awkward, don’t you think?”

Little bubbles of anger fired through her veins as comprehension washed over her. Jacey’s fingers tightened on the bottle in her hand. The insufferable jerk hadn’t come to apologize at all. Oh, he’d done an excellent job with the downcast eyes and contrite expression, but the man had always been a master of getting what he wanted.

And it was obvious that what he wanted was for her to stay far away from his engagement party.

Because the temptation to use the bottle on him was growing too strong, she set it aside. The polite thing to do, of course, was to agree. In their world, appearances were everything. Her absence from the event would certainly ease things for him and his fiancée.

The fact that it would almost certainly worsen things for her wasn’t a matter either of them were supposed to discuss.

“Awkward? Do you really think so?” She hoped the smile she sent him revealed none of the smoldering anger she was experiencing. “I tend to think we’d do a better job of quieting the gossips if people see us together. Then they’ll realize we remain friends and the rumors will die down.”

One of his hands went to his jacket pocket, a sure sign of his nerves. She could hear the faint jingle of keys. “Of course, that’s logical. And that’s exactly what I’ve told Celeste. But she’s a bit on the shy side, and she’s afraid the whole matter will become uncomfortable. She’s not as adept with these situations as you and I are.”

“Oh, dear.” She hoped her tone sounded appropriately sympathetic. It was difficult to summon real empathy for a man she could quite cheerfully push in front of an oncoming bus. “I wouldn’t distress your fiancée for the world, but I really think it’s best if I made an appearance. You know how pesky the rumor mill can be. And while your marriage will end the talk about you, I think my absence from the party will fan the flames of gossip about me. And I’m really not willing to undergo it, Peter. I’d hope you’d want to spare me that.”

There was a sort of remote pleasure in watching the man squirm. Quite literally. “Of course not. That wasn’t my intention at all.”

“Good.” She smiled at him, rose. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could maintain this charade. “So I’ll see you…when was the date again?”

“This Saturday.” He was slower to get to his feet. Having failed at what he’d come here for, he was clearly not anxious to leave. But he was too much of a gentleman to press his point. A shallow, weak-willed, stuffy mama’s boy, but a gentleman, nonetheless. “You’re certainly welcome to come. I hope I didn’t give the impression that you weren’t.”

The man couldn’t even manage to imbue the words with a scrap of sincerity. That made it almost easy for Jacey to nod and say, “Wonderful. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Five minutes later when Lucky stuck his head in the door, his eyes widened comically when he saw her drain the bottle of now-warm beer and slam it on the table. Catching his gaze, she lied, “Delightful. Too bad you didn’t bring a few more. Did you lock the front door?”

“About ten minutes too late, but yeah.” He came into the room, his face quizzical.

“Good.” She pushed away from the table and went to her desk. “I’m going to stay a while longer, but there’s no reason for you to hang around. You’re always whining about me working you too hard. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She looked down sightlessly at the file folders arranged in neat piles on her desk. What she needed right now was to get lost in her work. There were still numerous details about the Garvey case to work out. It would probably work best if she and Lucky divided up the four potential heirs and then consulted daily on their findings. Although perhaps it would be smarter to…

With two arms braced on her desk, Lucky leaned toward her. She hadn’t even heard his approach. The man moved like a cat. “What happened?”

Striving to recapture the insouciance she’d managed with Brummond, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “You mean with Peter? Nothing at all. Why do you ask?”

But unlike the other man, the cool tone didn’t seem to fool Lucky. His dark gaze intent, he said softly, “Don’t lie to me, Jacey. You don’t want to tell me, then say that. But no lies. I think we owe each other better, n’est ce pas?”

Feeling a bit ashamed, she gave up the pretense of interest in the files and met his gaze. “Peter is getting married. Soon. As a matter of fact, there’s going to be an engagement party for him and his fiancée this weekend.”

His face was watchful. “He came here to tell you that?”

The knots were back in her shoulders. She leaned back in her chair, suddenly weary. “I would have found out for myself if I had opened the invitation that came to my house. As it turns out, I learned from my mother last night.” She made a face. “She’s not happy that I let him slip through my fingers.”

“So…what was he doin’ here?”

She gave a humorless smile. “Well, that depends on your interpretation, I imagine. Since I’m not in a particularly charitable mood, I’d say he was dispatched by his fiancée to make sure my appearance didn’t mar her special night.”

Pushing away from the desk, he rounded the corner and propped his hips against the side. Arms folded, he inquired, “And you told him…what?”

“That I wasn’t willing to give the gossips more fuel. Damn.” Lucky’s eyes widened a fraction as the unfamiliar curse passed her lips. “I’d rather face a ten-inch needle than put myself through facing all those people at his party.” Every one of them would be watching, judging her every expression and word. Just the thought had dread snaking through her belly.

“So don’t go.”

“I don’t have a choice.” Hearing the words, she corrected them. “I mean, I have choices, but I don’t like either of them. When it comes down to it, I refuse to allow myself to be the target of speculation. I’ll go, hold my head up and put on the show of my life. And I’ll detest every minute of it.” She met his gaze. “I guess that means I have more of my mother in me than I thought.”

“It means you have pride. There’s nothin’ wrong with that.”

As awful as the beer had tasted, Jacey wished she had another. There was a sort of pleasant haze drifting over her, blunting the edges of her emotions. She’d never been much of a drinker. “What would you do if it were you?”

“I’d do exactly what you plan to. People will talk regardless. At least this way you can direct what they’re going to say.”

She considered that, before nodding. “Exactly. I’m not going to take my mother’s advice, though. She gave me a carefully prepared list of eligible bachelors from which to choose an escort. I had the impression they also met her requirements for a son-in-law.”

His face went impassive. “For once, Charlotte and I agree on something. If people think you’re involved with someone else you remove the drama from the scene. You don’t need her list, though. I’ll take you myself.”

A wave of warmth flooded her at the mere thought. Showing up with Lucky in tow wouldn’t stem talk about her, it would only stoke it. But there’d be no pitying looks directed her way with him by her side. Just because she was immune to his brand of charm herself, didn’t mean she was unaware of his effect on most other females. He’d be fortunate to escape the party without landing several propositions from the women, and more than a few hostile exchanges from the men.

A smile played across her lips. It would be almost worth suffering her mother’s wrath just to watch the impact he’d make accompanying her. With a reluctant shake of her head, though, she dismissed the idea. “You’d hate that sort of thing.”

“So you will owe me, c’est tout.” The wicked glint in his eye gave lie to his nonchalant shrug. “What’s a favor among friends?”

“I’d hate to guess what you’d demand in return. No, I’ll think of something.” Something, she hoped, that would leave her with a measure of dignity intact. And if it also included a way to maim Peter, she’d consider that a bonus. The situation was uncomfortable, but hardly rose to the level of catastrophic, no matter what her mother feared.

All she had to do between now and Saturday was to come up with a way to convince her friends and acquaintances that she was unaffected by the whole turn of events.

Piece of cake.

Chapter 4

Lucky walked down Bourbon Street, taking in the familiar sights. T-Bone was on his regular corner, clad in silver clothes with silver paint covering his face, neck and hands. The pose he struck was so still he could have passed for a discarded store mannequin. He was one of many street performers who dotted the corners, depending on the largesse of tourists for their living. By the looks of the small crowd gathering, T-Bone was having a good night.

Jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Lucky strolled up and stared at the unmoving man. T-Bone did an excellent job of ignoring his presence.

“How does he stand so still?” one woman wondered aloud. “He hardly seems to be breathing.”

“Oh, that’s easy, ma’am.” Lucky smiled wickedly. “See, T-Bone here is deaf and dumb. Mostly just dumb.” He thought, he was almost certain, he saw the man’s eyes flicker. Warming up to his story, he donned a thick good-ol’-boy accent and told the crowd, “How I know that is, we’re cousins, him and me. You can’t see the family resemblance ’cuz of the silver paint and all. Not that we look all that much alike because, well,” he looked around at the rapt people, and lowered his voice conspiratorially, “T-Bone here is the ugly one in the family. Our granny used to have to tie a pork chop around his neck just to get the dogs to play with him.” There was a snicker, and T-Bone’s lips compressed a fraction. “Plus he’s lazy as a tarred hog, so standin’ around on street corners is about all that boy is up for.”

“Damn you, Boucher, keep on trash-talking me and I’ll stomp a mudhole in you.” T-Bone dropped his pose and stepped down from the upside-down bucket he was perched on. The tourists, giving him a wide berth now, hurried away. The man looked after them mournfully. “Now why’d you want and go and do that? Some people appreciate art.”

“So maybe they’re headin’ for a museum. Hey, have you seen Remy today?”

T-Bone gave him a crafty look. “What’s the information worth to you?”

“I’ll let you keep those bills in that box there.” The cigar box in front of T-Bone’s bucket was filled with a few bills and coins. He knew the bulk of the money would already have been placed for safe-keeping in an inner pocket sewed inside T-Bone’s shirt.

The other man made a sound of derision, but he was careful to shove the box behind him with one foot. “Yeah, I saw Remy earlier. Maybe an hour ago. He was in some hurry, too. I think he was working.”

Lucky nodded. At ten o’clock at night, he’d expected no less. “Which direction was he headed?”

With his eye on a couple of pairs of tourists headed in their direction, T-Bone abruptly lost interest in the conversation. Climbing back up on the pail to assume his position, he jerked a thumb in the opposite direction and said, “That way. Now beat it before this next group gets here. And don’t be telling people no more that we’re related, either. Out of all the lies you told there, that was the worst.”

“From what I hear of my pauvre defante maman, we just might be.” Lucky chuckled at the man’s muttered epithet and headed down the street and around the corner in the direction he had indicated.

The streets were still full of people. Tourism would be brisk for another couple of months, then slow until Mardi Gras. Unlike some of the city’s residents, Lucky didn’t mind sharing his city with the visitors. He understood their fascination with the place. There was a slight air of decadence to the city that never failed to intrigue. Beneath a thin veneer of polish there was an aura of decay that could never be completely disguised. The city fathers preferred to believe it didn’t exist. But as one who’d spent more than his share of time living on these streets, he could attest that it did. In spite of it, or perhaps because of it, he’d been drawn to the city from the first time he’d come here from bayou country when he was nineteen. He’d never wanted to live anyplace else, although there had been plenty of times when just living had been a constant struggle.

Lucky looked up in response to some calls overhead, and took a second to grin appreciatively at the sight of scantily clad women enticing passersby in to the strip club where they worked. Their faces were painted as garishly as the flickering neon sign out front. They couldn’t tempt him, however. He needed to find his friend, and the sooner the better.

He stopped at a corner where an elderly black man was playing a mournful jazz tune on the sax. He waited until he was finished, and set the instrument down. “Lucky. Where y’at?”

“Hey, Grayson. I’m lookin’ for Remy. Did he come by?”

“Saw him a while ago. Looked to be in a hurry, too.” The old man’s wrinkled face took on a thoughtful air. “Maybe forty-five minutes ago. Headed that way.”

Lucky’s gaze followed the old man’s gnarled finger. Dropping some money into his box, he continued on his way. “Next time bring me foldin’ money, not rollin’ money, Boucher,” the man called after him. He hunched a shoulder in response.

The farther he strayed from the tourist destinations, the narrower the streets became. Many of the streetlights had been broken out long ago. What appeared as a slightly seedy reminder of a bygone era in the French Quarter deteriorated into indisputable roughness in this neighborhood. There was a time when Lucky had belonged on these same streets, had known them as well as he knew his own reflection in the mirror. Even after three years, they still felt like home.

He stepped into the street to avoid tripping over the body sprawled across the sidewalk in front of a tavern. In doing so, he almost missed Remy altogether. A barely audible sound caught his attention. He turned and scanned the area. Spying the alley ten yards away, he backtracked and crossed close enough to it to peer in.

Two men were on the ground rolling in the dirt, trading blows. Although the interior of the alley was too dark to identify either of them, Lucky did recognize his friend’s style. He sent a quick glance up and down the street to assure himself there was no law enforcement in the area, and then stepped into the alley. Leaning a shoulder against a bordering building, he waited.

The other man with Remy was no slouch when it came to street fighting, Lucky noted. His friend seemed to have his hands full. He winced a little when the stranger sent a fist into Remy’s face, nodded in approval when his friend countered with a double eye-gouge. Niceties of battle were rarely used in back alleys. Lucky should know. He’d spent enough time in them.

His casual air was shattered a moment later when the stranger rolled away to pick up a large brick. One moment he was raising it threateningly above Remy’s head, and the next he froze.

“Not a good idea, mon ami.” Lucky pressed the tip of his knife closer against the man’s throat. “I suggest you set it down. Slowly.” When it appeared the stranger needed a bit more convincing, he exerted enough pressure to have blood welling from beneath the blade. With exaggerated care, the man set the brick to the ground.

Looking at his friend, Lucky inquired, “How much does he owe?”

Remy wiped a smear of blood away from his mouth, and grunted. “Two hundred. But you should just leave me to finish him with that brick.”

“Two hundred?” The man started toward Remy until the pressure of the knife stopped him. “That whore wasn’t worth the hundred I got quoted, much less two.”

“It’s an extra hundred for my trouble, Cap.” The familiar address was its own kind of slur, uttered as it was while Remy was expertly removing the man’s wallet, extracting the money he sought. “It’s not healthy in these parts to welch on a debt owed. These are people it doesn’t pay to antagonize.”

“You’re gettin’ off easy,” Lucky affirmed. He stepped away, keeping the knife ready in case the man decided to be stupid or brave.

The stranger cast a sullen glance at the two of them before taking the opportunity to back away. When he’d exited the alley, Lucky wiped the knife blade on his pants leg and bent to replace it in the sheath strapped above his right ankle. “How long you been doing collections?”