скачать книгу бесплатно
“Well, thank you for your help.” She extended her hand. “Offering that woman free drinks all night was extremely generous of you.”
Rafe stared at her right hand. He should shake it and get her out of his life forever. “Tell the police. Let them check it out.”
She dropped her hand. “Of course, I’ll tell them.”
Good.
“But I also intend to search the flea market myself.”
Of course she did. He shook his head.
“If it’s anything like the flea markets back home in Missouri, this place will have hundreds of stalls. I doubt the N.O.P.D. will have the manpower to question each one of the proprietors.”
Rafe shrugged. He didn’t need to get any more involved.
She placed her hand on his forearm and he tensed reflexively. “Really, thank you.” Her lips curved in a small smile before she turned toward the front door.
“Hey,” he called after her. When she looked back he folded his arms across his chest, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in his gut. “Don’t stay out after dark.”
She frowned. “I can take care of myself.” Her expression became smug. “I have my trusty can of pepper spray.”
Pepper spray? She thought that would deter a gang during a turf war or stop a junkie jonesing for a hit? Damn it, what did he care what this woman did? He stared after her as she walked out of his bar and his life. Good riddance. He didn’t need her causing him any more trouble.
He went back to his bartending and didn’t give her another thought the rest of the night. Except for the times he glanced down at the tub of strawberries. Or when he had to pour Blondie another free drink. Or when the front door would open and he’d look over expecting to see her walking back in.
He cursed under his breath long and low the third time he caught himself feeling vaguely disappointed when it wasn’t her. What was wrong with him?
About four o’clock he locked the door behind the last straggling customers and headed for his office in the back.
Ro was lounging on his sofa, already changed into jeans and a tank top. “Free drinks, Rafe? All night?” She scowled and pursed her lips. “That’s your idea of handling it?”
“My bar.” He plunked down in his chair, pulled the bank bag out of the desk drawer and stuffed all the cash from the night’s take into it. He’d count it later.
“It’s just that I’ve never seen you take on a charity case before.”
“It’s not charity.” What was Ro’s problem, anyway? “I got her out of here with the least amount of commotion. Commotion is bad for business.”
Ro looked suspicious. “So, is she gone for good now?”
“Yep.” But something told him the doctor’s situation wasn’t going to be so easily solved.
“So… you want to…” Ro dangled her leg off the edge of the sofa. “Let off a little steam?”
Normally, he might have taken her up on her offer. “Nah, I better get the accounts payable since it’s almost the end of the month.” He opened his accounts book and grabbed a pencil.
Ro blinked, and then got to her feet. “Sure. Some other time, maybe.” She sauntered to the door, opened it and then turned back. “I got a bad feeling about that strange woman, Rafe.” He looked up at her and she seemed genuinely worried. Then she stepped out and closed the door behind her.
Rafe studied the spot where she’d stood for a moment, ran a hand over his jaw and then turned back to his desk. He worked the books for half an hour, but he couldn’t concentrate. He was restless. Something did feel wrong, but he couldn’t place what.
Disgusted with himself, he slammed his accounting book closed and trudged upstairs to his tiny apartment. He rubbed his stomach, trying to ignore that hollow pit feeling he always got when the shit was about to hit the fan. The way it always did, sooner or later.
Things were going pretty well with his bar right now though.
For seven long years he’d worked like a dog on offshore rigs in the Gulf to save enough to buy his own place. Then, it’d taken months to find real estate he could afford in the perfect location for his bar. And after signing the papers for this place, he’d overseen a complete remodel, spending six months getting it decked out just the way he wanted it.
The old man had drummed into him night after drunken night that he’d never be worth anything. Turning a profit on this place had been a big “Screw you, you old bastard!” to the man who’d raised him from the age of twelve. And though his pappy had been long dead, it’d still felt good.
By the time Rafe stepped out of the shower and got in bed, the sun was almost up. He laced his fingers behind his head and stared at a spot on the ceiling. He’d done what he’d set out to do. He’d proved his pappy wrong. He had everything he wanted. So, naturally, something was about to take it all away. Story of his life.
That’s what was bugging him. Things had been going too well lately. And now some tourist had disappeared from his bar.
Oh, the cops would love that. They’d finally get that no-good, juvie, banger Rafe Moreau and lock him away where he belonged.
All because of that woman. Dr. Claire Brooks.
He’d known she was nothing but trouble.
At least she hadn’t pushed the cops on him yet.
But the last thought he remembered having before he fell asleep was what would the good doctor look like without her glasses?
3
“THE BLUE BAYOU FLEA MARKET, please,” Claire informed the cab driver after sliding into his backseat. As the cab pulled away from the police station, her stomach growled, but she hadn’t been able to eat this morning. Fear, anxiety and dread all churned inside her, and food would only have added nausea to the mix.
She’d gone to the police station first thing this morning. Now that it had been officially forty-eight hours since Julia had gone missing, Claire had hoped to be taken more seriously. But the desk sergeant hadn’t seemed particularly interested in her information about the necklace and the flea market.
He’d acted as if he still believed Julia was merely holed up somewhere with a Mardi Gras lover and would show up soon. At least he’d opened a case file and taken down all her information, Julia’s cell number, printed up her DMV picture and promised they’d check out the flea market. They even sent her to a sketch artist to describe the guy Julia had left the parade with, and put an APB out with the artist’s rendering.
Claire hadn’t mentioned Once Bitten. She wasn’t sure exactly why not, except Rafe had gone above and beyond helping her deal with that woman who’d had Julia’s necklace. If he’d had anything to do with Julia’s disappearance, would he have helped her like that? Or was she letting his masculine appeal blind her to any signs of guilt? When she was around him, she had difficulty concentrating. He made her… flustered and self-conscious.
But that was no reason not to be thorough. She owed it to Julia to do whatever it took to find her and save her. Just as Julia had saved Claire so long ago.
After checking with the cab driver to ask if he’d come back when the flea market closed, she paid him a generous tip from her fast disappearing emergency cash.
After tonight, she’d need to make arrangements for alternative accommodations. One of the most historic hotels in New Orleans, Les Chambres Royale wasn’t exactly the most frugal of lodgings. But she’d hated to leave the hotel in case Julia showed up. Claire had even requested the same room after returning from the airport in the hope that Julia still had her key. She’d been surprised the hotel still used the old-fashioned brass keys, but now Claire was glad. Maybe Julia was in their room right this minute…
The hotel knew to call her cell if Julia came back.
With a sigh, Claire headed for the first stall she saw. Who knew? Maybe she’d get lucky and hit the first person she asked.
Five hours later, Claire felt the urge to kick herself for being so naive.
She’d systematically approached each flea market stall beginning with the southwest corner and traveling north along a row and back south down the next, working her way steadily east. At every establishment she would produce the necklace, the picture of Julia and describe the guy with the blood drops tattoo.
No one had seen Julia or the necklace or the guy. To make matters worse it had begun drizzling a half hour ago and despite her trusty umbrella, Claire was bedraggled and shivering from the icy dampness. She didn’t even want to think about what her hair must look like in this moisture. Frankenstein’s bride had nothing on her when it came to frizz. But none of that would’ve mattered if she’d found whoever sold Julia’s necklace.
The rain finally stopped. She folded up her umbrella, took off her glasses and cleaned them with a piece of tissue from her tote. She needed to regroup. The aroma of Cajun spices drifted around her and her protesting stomach finally forced her to stop at a vendor.
Crawfish etouffe, shrimp gumbo and several varieties of jambalaya made Claire’s stomach growl and her mouth water. She chose a bowl of jambalaya with chicken and sausage and sat to savor the Southern flavors with a large chunk of French bread.
Her first bite made her moan in pleasure. She could learn to love a place that produced food like this. The people down here took polite to a whole new level and, despite the daily afternoon drizzle, the air held a soft fragrance that Boston could never match. A heady fusion of magnolias, even when not in bloom, and the earthy scent of mud from the Mississippi flowing along the city’s border.
With a wistful sigh, she threw her empty Styrofoam bowl and plastic spoon into the trash, wiped her hands and mouth with the travel-size wet-wipes from her tote, and trudged back to the row of booths where she’d left off.
The sun was setting and Claire only had one row of booths left to question. Almost on autopilot, she held out the necklace to the elderly lady sitting in a folding chair behind a card table. “Did you sell this necklace?” The crocheted doilies and afghans on display didn’t give Claire much hope.
The old lady’s face transformed into a mask of suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”
Claire’s heart tripped and then raced to a double beat. “It belongs to a friend of mine. Where did you get it? Who gave it to you? Was it this woman?” She pulled up the picture of Julia on her phone.
“Nah, I was doin’ a favor for my grandson. He asked me to sell it.”
“Y-your grandson? Does he have three blood drops tattooed down the left corner of his mouth?”
The lady scrunched up her face. “Heavens, no. He’s a good boy. Not like that Shadow.” Straightening, her eyes widened in fear. “Oh, lordy, you ain’t the police, are you? He’ll hurt me for sure for telling you.”
“No.” Claire shook her head. “No, not the police. Do you know where I can find… Shadow?”
Her eyes narrowed again. “No. And I don’t want to.”
Claire let out a breath. The woman clearly suspected her. “Would your son maybe have mentioned where Shadow hangs out or where he works?”
The woman guffawed. “He don’t work.” She shook her head derisively.
Claire squeezed the pentacle in her fist until it dug into her flesh, sharp and painful. She was too close to give up now. Her best strategy was the truth. “Ma’am, the fact is my best friend went off with Shadow a couple of days ago and I haven’t seen her since and I’m worried something happened to her. I need to find Shadow and ask him before—” How embarrassing. Her voice caught and her lip trembled.
“Hush, child.” The old lady stood and came around the table to put her arm around Claire. “I’ll tell you what I know, never you mind the tears.” She leaned close to Claire’s ear. “That Shadow is no good. I told my boy not to hang around that trash, but he keeps coming around. Wanting me to sell stuff for him.”
She leaned close and cupped a hand around her mouth. “Uses the money for drugs, I’m sure. But he scares me so I don’t tell him no. One time I heard him trying to get my boy to go to this bar with him. What was the name…?” She tapped a finger to her lips. “Something about caves or holes or… I remember it sounded disgustin’…” She snapped her fingers. “The Pit!”
Claire nodded, surreptitiously wiping a tear from her cheek. “O-okay, thank you so much for your help.”
She bought a set of doily coasters from her, thanked her again and then headed for the entrance to look for her cab.
Her mind was working rapid-fire, deciding what to do next. Go to that bar, see if this Shadow guy would even show up there and—And what? Call the police? Maybe Julia would be at The Pit with him. Claire’s breathing hitched. She almost hoped Julia wouldn’t be there with this Shadow person.
It was almost dark. Stalls were closing up. She stood alone in the parking lot. The place had been crowded earlier. She shivered as the hairs on her arms stood out. She glanced to her right and left, feeling someone’s eyes on her.
That was absurd. No one knew she was here.
Except Rafe Moreau.
CLAIRE WHISPERED A SHORT prayer of thanks when she saw the cab pull into the flea market parking lot. She was more than a little spooked. Chiding herself that she was letting her imagination run wild didn’t help. She’d never really thought of herself as having much of an imagination.
Digging into her purse, Claire pulled out her cell phone and the card the sergeant in charge of Julia’s case had given her. She dialed his number and his brusque, “Mulroney,” calmed her fears slightly. She told him what she’d learned about “Shadow” and that he might be hanging out at a bar called The Pit.
Mulroney promised he’d send an officer to check it out, but his tone still suggested they were being sent on a wild goose chase.
If that was Mulroney’s attitude, she probably ought to check out the bar herself. But going alone could be dangerous. Look at the trouble she’d gotten into at the more tourist-friendly vampire bar. If Rafe hadn’t stepped in to stop that crazy guy from choking her…
Perhaps he could be persuaded to help her one more time. Was she crazy to ask a complete stranger for help? For all she knew Rafe Moreau could be involved in Julia’s disappearance. Logic dictated she not trust him. But after the way he’d come to her aid, she couldn’t bring herself to think he was the bad guy.
“Once Bitten, please,” Claire instructed the cabbie as she climbed in. Relying on instinct was foreign to her. She usually made decisions only once she’d ascertained all the facts. But in these circumstances, her choices were limited.
When the cab pulled up to Once Bitten, there was a line of people at the door waiting to get in that ended half a block away.
It was closed! She tried to see if there was an hours of operation sign. Peering between a guy with a huge mohawk and a fang-wearing Dracula look-alike complete with tuxedo and black cape, she saw a plaque by the door that read:
Open: Sunset
Close: Sunrise
Well, that was informative.
Maybe Rafe wasn’t even working tonight. If he wasn’t, how would she find him? And if he were, why on earth would he want to go with her to some place called The Pit after his shift was over?
This had been a stupid idea. Maybe she should just let the police handle it. What did she think she could do, anyway? What did she think Rafe could do?
Except… The look in his eyes when he’d threatened that crazy man… As if he’d seen things, had done things she wouldn’t want to know about. There was something dangerous about Rafe Moreau.
If she could just get him to come with her. He’d dismissed her bribe the other night. But surely a large sum of cash could convince him. She hadn’t seen a tip jar on the bar, and this crowd didn’t seem like big tipper types. She’d have to have her dad wire her the money from her savings account. For Julia, she had to try.
Reluctantly Claire made her way to the end of the line. It was past sunset. Evidently the owner didn’t keep a strict sense of time.
“Claire?”
She spun at her name spoken in that husky Southern drawl. “Rafe!” A burst of joy filled her chest. Then astonishment that she could feel such an emotion for a stranger. This situation was making her irrational.
“What are you doing here?” Rafe glanced around as if making sure no one he knew saw him speaking to her before his gaze settled solidly on her.
“I’ve come to make you a proposition.”
His brows shot up.
“Not that kind of—It’s not what you think, I mean, I wasn’t—” God, she was stammering. Her cheeks were warm again.
His mouth slowly quirked up until he was smiling. Then he shook his head and chuckled. He took her arm and tugged her out of line. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” She allowed him to pull her along past the line of people waiting. He stopped at the front door.
“Inside.” He dug into his jeans pocket, produced a set of keys and fitted one into the dead bolt of Once Bitten. He didn’t stop the crowd from following them in, but he didn’t head for the bar, either. Instead, he led her beyond the lounge area to another door, fitted a different key to its lock and ushered her through it.
“Take a seat.” He dropped the keys on a sleek metal computer desk and shrugged out of his worn black leather jacket, hanging it on a coat rack by the door. “Give me a few minutes, and then we’ll talk.” And he headed back out to the bar.
Claire blinked, taking in the room around her. The decor from the bar did not extend to this room. It was small, utilitarian. Obviously an office. One wall of exposed brick held a window covered with cheap beige blinds.
Dropping her purse, she sat in the black rolling chair and ran her hand over the desk. His scent lingered in the air. He must be more than a bartender for Once Bitten. This was his office.
