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“This is what you want?” She knew it was. “Okay, my fine feline detective. Soft-shells it will be. And I’ll pick up some fresh fruit and vegetables for me. If we’re going to solve this problem, we’ll both need our strength.”
Familiar scampered into the elevator with her and in a moment they were on the sidewalk. She noticed that Pascal had even hung the Closed sign on the door. He’d allowed her to violate one of his cardinal business rules—closing the gallery on a weekday was usually unthinkable, especially after an opening. At the memory of the party and her behavior, a flush touched her cheeks. She had acted as if she’d lost her mind. No matter what she’d seen, no one else had seen it. And people were always looking for a reason to think she was on the verge of a breakdown. She’d given them a fine display. At the corner she bought a newspaper and then headed toward the Café du Monde for a hot beignet and some café au lait. For Familiar she ordered a saucer of fresh cream, which she surreptitiously served under the table to the amusement of several patrons of the open-air café.
The breeze blew off the Mississippi River, which was only fifty yards away, and Liza sipped her coffee and read Anita Blevins’s review of her opening. The story was wonderful, and the reporter had failed to even mention Liza’s strange behavior. She had Pascal to thank for that, Liza knew. He was incredible at manipulating the media and controlling an artist’s image. It was something they’d had several difficult arguments about, but she couldn’t deny he was masterful at it.
She kept only the arts section of the newspaper, leaving the rest for whoever might take her table. Then she signaled to Familiar that she was ready to walk. They headed east, passing the expensive shops of Jackson Brewery with their window displays and the smells of homemade confections and spicy foods.
The French Market was the best place in New Orleans for fresh vegetables, sunglasses, silver jewelry, T-shirts and a host of other objects.
She stopped at a vegetable vendor and selected an eggplant, onions, fresh tomatoes and fresh basil, always aware that Familiar was right at her feet. He was an incredible creature, making himself at home without getting in anyone’s way.
She passed an elderly woman with a display of voodoo dolls, giving the small stick-and-moss figures only a cursory glance.
“Buy one for protection,” the old woman said.
“What?” Liza felt her stomach twist at the words. They’d come so unexpectedly and tapped into her deepest fears. She looked into the old woman’s eyes—cloudy from cataracts.
“You’re in need of protection,” the old woman said softly. “The specter of the past follows you.” She selected a doll dressed in red gingham. “Take this one. Keep it close to you.”
“I don’t need protection.” Liza spoke the words without conviction. Something about the old woman unsettled her.
“Suit yourself.” She replaced the doll. “I see darkness around you. Shadows that spring to life. I can make you a gris-gris to keep the bad spirits at bay.”
“No. No thank you.” Liza started to back away. She felt the cat at her ankles and she suddenly heard him hiss.
Liza looked back toward the vegetable vendors she’d just left. Duke Masonne was standing there, his dark gaze following every move she made.
Chapter Three
“Liza.” Mike spoke her name, but it was too soft for her to hear. He was frozen by her terrified expression. He’d followed her to the French Quarter, hoping that in the open, among the crowds, he could approach her. There was so much to talk about, so much to tell. He’d discovered his identity! And so much more. He’d learned that five years before, Liza Hawkins had been the most important thing in his life.
His first impulse had been to find her, to confide in her. To see if she held the key that would fully unlock his past. But his actions had set up a chain reaction in Liza. He had to get her to listen to him long enough to figure out why he terrified her so. He’d put her old, worn business card in the inside pocket of his shirt. If he could show it to her, make her understand that it was his only link to the past, maybe she would talk to him.
He reached inside his jacket and knew instantly that the motion had been misinterpreted. Liza’s eyes widened, her gaze riveted on the movement of his hand. To his horror, she turned and fled. Bumping into tourists, stumbling over vendors and their wares, she left a trail of destruction behind her as she darted through the French Market and toward the open area of the levee. Scampering after her was a strange black cat.
“Liza!” He found his voice and called after her, but it only seemed to spur her to run faster. She’d assumed he was reaching for a weapon! He knew it, and he realized how foolish his action had been. He didn’t have a choice. If he was going to talk with her, he’d have to run her down. He started after her at a wide-open sprint.
Her long hair fluttered behind her in a banner of flaxen gold, and Mike felt his heart contract. He could almost remember the feel of that hair in his hands, brushing across his face, teasing his skin as he slept beside this woman who was terrified of him. What had he done to her?
In the newspaper articles he dug up at the library, he’d found out more details about his disappearance. Five years before, he’d vanished from New Orleans, his business, and Liza’s life. For several months the police had continued to search for him, but he’d vanished without a trace.
The articles were filled with speculation about his “possible murder.” And the docks were thoroughly searched for his body. Which was never found.
The pieces of the past had begun to slip into place. Mike wasn’t sure what had happened to him—all he really knew was that he’d been severely beaten. His nearly dead body had been found in a boxcar at a train depot in North Dakota, and he’d been taken to the hospital as a John Doe. There, Gabe and Rachel Welch had seen him and given him the name Mike Davis.
For a man who had no memory of working cattle, he took to it like a natural. His hands toughened, and the rest of his body became strong and lean, thriving on hard work. And for five long years he’d spent many an endless night wondering who and what he’d been before he woke up in North Dakota.
He slowed his sprint once he was close enough to Liza to keep her in his sights. He’d decided to trail after her until she was tired. That way, he might have a better chance to explain himself. He had an inkling of what she must be feeling—fear and fury. Unless the newspaper and local magazines had doctored their stories, he and Liza had been deeply in love. For five years she’d lived with his seeming abandonment.
She was only thirty yards ahead of him, running along the levee—running away from the bustling French Market and the tourist area. He knew she was reacting blindly, and that when she realized that she was running into a trap, she’d be only that much more afraid of him. Somehow he had to think of a way to calm her.
She was tiring and beginning to slow. And she’d begun to realize her miscalculation—he could see the panic in the quick way she turned left and right, hunting for a way back. He knew that in the last fading light of the day, he blocked her path.
“Liza,” he called out. “Liza, I only want to talk to you.”
She finally stopped. With what had to be great courage, she swung around to face him, half her face and body silhouetted against the beauty of the spring sunset. She stood on the levee, the west side still awash in the dying light and the east side, where land met river, only a black shadow.
“Who are you?” she called back. “What do you want?”
“I only want to talk.” She was so incredibly beautiful that it almost took his breath away. Her fear was his pain. “I don’t have a weapon.” He held open both sides of his coat to show his chest. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to talk.”
“Leave me alone.” Her voice broke and he could hear the tears in her voice. “Please, please, just leave me alone. I’m begging you. Quit scaring me. Please…”
Something in her voice struck a familiar chord and he hesitated. He’d loved her once with all his heart. He knew it. He could feel the memory of it. And he was terrifying her. It was wrong. He had to back off and give her a chance to talk to him willingly. He couldn’t just herd her down the levee and corral her as he would a stray cow.
“Liza, I’m going—”
The gunshot rang out and Mike felt the bullet whiz only a millimeter from his head. He ducked instinctively and rolled down the side of the levee toward the black current of the river. It was a steep incline, and he lost control, his body tumbling against the hard rocks that marked the edge of the Mississippi River.
Liza’s scream was a piercing wail of horror and fear.
“Stop!” she cried out. “Stop!”
Another shot blasted the night and fragments of rock exploded only a few inches from Mike’s leg. He forced his body to remain perfectly still. He was hidden in the darkness. As long as he didn’t panic, he was safe. Or relatively so. He listened intently, hoping for that telltale noise that would alert him to his attacker’s whereabouts.
Working on the ranch, Mike had often faced the dangers of nature. To his knowledge, he’d never been attacked by another human being—except that he’d once been almost beaten to death and nearly died in a boxcar. Not exactly something a mountain lion or grizzly would do. The problem was, he didn’t remember any of that. He didn’t remember why someone had wanted to kill him.
But someone did. Someone remembered very well and seemed to have come to finish the job.
Mike wasn’t certain he could swim, but he couldn’t just hunker down and wait for someone to kill him. He slipped into the water and was startled by its depth. With the darkness for cover, his best chance to escape injury or possible death was to swim back downriver. As he let the swift current of the big river take him, he discovered that he could, at least, swim.
LIZA RECOGNIZED Trent Maxwell after the first shot. She’d been relieved to see him until the second shot. It registered on her then that he was firing on a man who was possibly already injured and might be unarmed.
She rushed toward Trent and grabbed his arm, pulling the gun down. “Trent, stop it. Have you lost your mind?” She stared into the darkness where she could only hear the river lapping hungrily at the rocks. “My God, did you kill him?” Her emotions were ricocheting in all directions. She’d been terrified of the man who was chasing her, but she also felt a rushing need to protect him.
“I missed him. Are you okay?” Trent grasped both of her shoulders though he kept his grip on the gun and a wary eye on the side of the levee. “Who was that man? What did he want?”
Liza found that she couldn’t answer. She shook her head and was comforted by Trent’s strong hands as he rubbed her arms. She was suddenly extremely cold. Despite the warm spring night, she shivered violently.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here.” Trent held her tightly.
Closing her eyes, Liza leaned her forehead against his chest and let the horror of the past few moments wash over and through her.
“It was Duke,” she finally said. “He wanted to talk to me. Are you sure you didn’t hit him?”
There was a long pause while she waited for Trent to respond.
“Duke Masonne?”
Though he made a sincere effort to hide it, Liza heard the skepticism in his voice.
“I told you I’d seen him. Now I’ve spoken to him.” She couldn’t see Trent’s features in the darkness, but she could feel his body tense.
“Let’s head back to the lights,” Trent suggested, his arm around her shoulders and his hand on her arm. He pulled her hard against his side.
“Maybe we should…call someone,” Liza said, uneasily conscious of the fact that in protecting her, Trent had fired his weapon and very likely put himself in line for disciplinary action.
“Who should we call?”
She wasn’t certain. Not the police. Who? “An ambulance?” she offered.
“I didn’t hit him. I’m positive. If I’d wanted to, I would have. By now, he’s downriver. And judging from your last experience with Duke Masonne, it’ll be another five years before you see him again.”
Liza felt as if she’d been slapped. “Trent—”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That came out wrong. I was trying to put a humorous light on what just happened. Let me tell you what I saw—a man chasing after you with his hand not clearly visible. When I got closer, you’d both stopped and you were begging him to leave you alone. He was doing something with his jacket. I couldn’t see from behind, but I was afraid he was pulling out a gun, so I fired. Close enough to let him know I meant business but with room to spare.”
“You missed him deliberately?”
“I didn’t have a reason to shoot him. I just wanted to make your Duke Masonne look-alike hit the road. Did he say anything else? Some clue as to who he was?”
“Like what?” Liza felt the first traces of her temper. Trent was behaving as if she’d made up the entire incident, treating it as some flight of fancy or some sick way to handle delusions. “You saw him, Trent. You shot at him. It was Duke. Don’t act like I’m having a hallucination or a nightmare. He was real. He was right there.”
As they continued walking, Trent let the silence grow for a moment. “I saw a man, Liza. It was dark, and I was far enough away that I didn’t get a clear look at him. But I heard you ask him to leave you alone and then beg him. Whatever he wanted, whoever he was, he’s a man who needed to know that when a lady requests to be left alone, he should oblige.”
Liza started to protest further, but she knew it was useless. Even if Trent had seen Duke, it would be hard for him to accept it. The accepted version of Duke Masonne’s disappearance was that he was dead.
They’d made it back to a busier part of the levee, and in the distance Liza could see the bright lights of the French Market. She was suddenly aware that the black cat was no longer with her.
“Familiar.” She turned and whirled, but the cat was gone without a trace.
“What?” Trent said.
“The cat. Did you see him?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t see a cat.” His smile was wry. “I’m not much good to you today, Liza. I didn’t recognize Duke and I didn’t see your kitty. You might have to trade me for a model with better eyesight.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “But I did see you, and when I saw how frightened you were, I wanted to hurt that man, whoever he was.”
Liza felt the brush of his fingertips on her skin. His touch was amazingly gentle, as it had always been for a man who lived such a rough-and-tumble life. In the two months she’d spent time with Trent Maxwell, he’d been an absolute gentleman. If she could have willed her heart to respond to him more fully, she would have.
“I can’t undo the evening, but I can treat you to a wonderful dinner with some nice wine. You look so tired. It just makes me want to take care of you.”
Liza swallowed. She wanted to say no. All she really wanted was to return to the levee and try to find a trace of Duke. She wanted physical evidence that he’d been there. That she’d seen him. That he was real.
And he was. Flesh and blood, not some apparition. He’d spoken to her. And he’d frightened her beyond rational thought. Why? What was it that she was so afraid of where Duke was concerned?
“Liza, what about dinner?”
“That would be lovely,” she said, forcing a smile. Trent was trying hard to become important in her life. He was a patient man who would defend her with his life. She knew she could do a lot worse.
“Maybe I should go back and look for the cat,” she said, turning toward the river. She almost hoped that Duke would climb up the side of the levee and approach her now, where it was light and where there were other people who could see him clearly.
“There wasn’t a cat in sight. He’ll show up when he’s ready. You know how independent cats are.”
“Eleanor Curry left him with me. What if he’s lost?”
“You aren’t going to find that cat unless he wants to be found. I’ll help you hunt tomorrow.”
Liza felt a flush of anger. Trent was trying to be helpful, but… “Maybe I should just go home,” she said softly.
“You shouldn’t be alone right now. You’ve had a bad scare. What about Renaldo’s? You like Italian.”
“Fine,” she agreed because it was the easiest thing to do. And because she didn’t really want to go back to her home and spend the night alone.
WELL, OUR APPARITION HAS physical form. He’s the spitting image of all of those drawings hidden away in Liza’s secret studio. Duke Masonne. The missing link in Liza’s past. Well, well. He’s a living, breathing humanoid with one helluva breaststroke in the mighty Mississip. I hate to abandon Miss Renoir, but I think my case will be better served if I follow this character.
I’ve deduced that he knows Liza, which indicates to me that he has a lot of explaining to do. Five years is a long time to be gone for a pack of cigarettes, as the old saying goes. But in the fading light of dusk, I could detect a few changes in the physical exterior of our missing hero.
He’s lost twenty pounds and toughened up. Where he used to be a desk jockey, he now makes a living in the elements. He’s lost that polished, citified look.
And from the expression on his face when he looked at Liza, he doesn’t mean her any harm. The plot thickens.
So where has he been and what’s he doing back in New Orleans? Those are questions that will be answered only when I track him down. Which is exactly what I’m going to do.
I suppose those soft-shell crabs will have to wait. Just breathing this river air makes me want to wrestle a catfish to the deep fryer.
I hear him swimming. He’s strong. Good endurance. Pretty soon, though, he should be climbing up the levee. Yep, here he comes. Not exactly the happiest humanoid I’ve ever encountered.
I’ll just bet he’s wondering who took two shots at him. A question I’d also like answered. He was obviously some friend of Liza’s. Her current romantic interest, I’d guess. A man who carries a gun and uses it, so that makes him a law officer in all likelihood. He wasn’t in a hurry to leave the scene of the shooting, so he must have reason to believe that if he’s questioned, he has the right credentials.
Well, here comes the long-departed Duke Masonne. The river has left him chilled and dripping. So I’ll follow him home and see what clues I can dredge up from his hideout.
If he’s up to no good, then I’ll have a chance to set up a few traps for him before he can do any more damage to Miss Renoir. I’d say she’s been hurt enough.
I hate to leave her without a hint of where I’m going, but perhaps I’ll be able to deliver the goods on this guy. In the meantime, I have to say he’s interesting. He’s walking around dripping wet and acting as if it were an everyday occurrence. He’s so good at it that he isn’t even drawing attention. Hmmm. I’ll have to study his technique. He just blends right in. And we’re headed down Toulouse toward the heart of the French Quarter. The sun has gone down, the moon is out, and it’s party time in “The City that Care Forgot.”
Wow! I don’t think Eleanor would like it if she knew I was traveling down Bourbon Street. Jazz, strippers, tap-dancing juveniles, and tourists all drinking that strange red drink in those tall glasses. I believe they’re called Hurricanes, a New Orleans specialty. Man, humanoids partying en masse.
At last, though, we’re turning down a quiet street. Pretty ritzy. So old Duke has some dough. Audubon Place. Very chic. I think maybe I’ll have to take a look in his refrigerator before too much more time passes.
Chapter Four
Mike stepped out of the shower, his body warmed by the stinging spray but his heart still chilled by the events on the levee. Someone had shot at him. In the world of North Dakota where he’d spent the past five years, a weapon wasn’t drawn except in self-defense or for protection.
Was he a threat to Liza Hawkins?
The only answer he had was in the newspaper clippings he’d read at the library. Nowhere had he caught even a hint of something that might explain what had just occurred. Or what had happened to him five years ago when he’d been so badly beaten.
He toweled himself dry and slipped into clean clothes. As he stepped out of the bathroom, he saw a black cat sitting in the doorway. It didn’t seem possible, but it appeared to be the same cat that had been with Liza.
