A Younger Woman

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“I was just doing my job, Margo.”

“I might be young, but I’m not stupid. You’re a homicide detective, remember? You don’t investigate assault charges.”

“Okay, so I volunteered for that one. Blu’s temper being what it is, most of the guys down at the precinct would prefer tangling with a copperbelly.”

Margo brushed the covers aside and slid her long, bare legs over the side of the bed. “I would really like to stay and chat about my brother’s faults with you, but I don’t have time. Would you mind getting my clothes for me?”

“You think you’re leaving?”

“I don’t think I’m leaving, I know I’m leaving.”

Last night Margo had made a decision to head back to the Nightwing if Blu hadn’t rescued her from Ry’s home first thing in the morning. Yes, this was the perfect place to hide—that is, if she could keep her mind off the past. But she’d been trying and it wasn’t working. Staying here would be emotional suicide.

She saw Ry’s stubborn jaw lock. “Well, you didn’t think I was going to stay, did you?”

“Actually, I did. Most people take a few days to recuperate after being shot.”

“And I will.”

He stood. “You’ve got nine stitches in your arm. You live alone. Who’s going to look out for you?”

“Brodie.”

“But you can’t reach him.”

“I haven’t tried yet today,” Margo argued. “Now, I’m grateful for your doctoring skills, Ry. If I forgot to mention that, it was an oversight. But now I have to go. I’ll call a cab, and—”

“Forget it. You’re not leaving.”

Margo inched her backside to the edge of the bed and stood. She didn’t feel the best, but well enough to make it out the door. She hoped. “You can’t keep me here against my will, Ry.”

“Can’t I? Look at you, you can hardly stand up straight. And since no one knows you’re here I control the situation. The way I see it, you’re a gunshot victim. A criminal is still at large. It’s my duty to protect you.”

“This is ridiculous. Do you think I won’t be missed? If I don’t show up for work tonight, or at least call, Tony will send someone out to look for me. I have friends and family who really care about me, you know. You can’t just lock me up and think no one will notice.” Margo circled back to the crux of the matter. “Keeping someone against their will is called kidnapping, Detective Archard, and that’s illegal.”

He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket. “Right now the best thing for you is plenty of bedrest.”

Margo’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare chain me to this bed like a dog, Ry. You wouldn’t dare!”

“If you don’t think so, then you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

Margo eyed the portable phone on the nightstand. “I have a job. If I don’t show up for work, Tony will fire me. He’s already…” She snapped her mouth shut, aware she was about to mention how unhappy he had been when she’d called and asked him for last night off.

“Tony’s already what?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re Tony’s meal ticket. He’s not going to fire you, not after the increase in business you’ve given him over the past year. You’re the best thing that’s happened to the Toucan, and everyone knows it. I’ll have someone call and explain you’re sick.”

Margo wanted to scream. Instead, she said, “There is no reason I can’t work tonight.”

“I’ve seen you perform, baby. Your act includes playing the piano. Damn hard one-handed. Not impossible but…” He rattled the cuffs. “Back in bed, or be prepared for what happens next.”

He couldn’t do this to her. Furious, Margo shook her head. “No!”

“The cuffs or a promise to stay inside my house until I get back. That’s the deal, Margo. Choose.”

Again Margo eyed the phone, considering her options. Fine, she’d do as he said, and then once he left she would be on her way one way or another. She eased down on the bed and swung her legs back on the mattress. “I hate you.”

“Say it. Swear to me you won’t leave.”

“You’re a jerk, a creep and a sadistic—”

“Swear on your father’s grave.” He rattled the cuffs.

“I swear, okay!”

Satisfied, he stuffed the cuffs back in his pocket. “Hungry?”

“For a piece of your liver,” Margo spat.

“Seriously, you need to eat something. What can I fix you?”

“You’re going to cook for me? You can’t cook, remember?”

“I’ve learned. At least I can get by until you can cook for me,” he taunted. “How does that sound?”

Margo didn’t bother to remind him she wasn’t going to be around long enough for that. She simply sneered back with a honey-coated grin and said, “Do you have arsenic in the house?”

He chuckled. “No, but I have eggs and shrimp. Still like shrimp for breakfast?”

The question and the memory it manifested had Margo biting the inside of her cheek. The pain reminded her of how dangerous it was to reminisce, as well as how vulnerable it made her feel.

“With shallots and chives?” He added, twisting the knife a little deeper.

“Cook what you want,” she snapped. “Start the kitchen on fire for all I care. Better yet, how about yourself?” Margo squeezed her eyes shut and pretended to tune him out. Suddenly she caught the scent of him, felt his hand on her forehead. Her eyes popped open. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t have a fever.”

When his hand left her forehead, he shoved it into his back pocket and pulled out a key. A twinge of panic knotted Margo’s stomach. My God, she’d forgotten all about Blu’s key.

“Recognize this?”

Margo clamped her mouth shut.

“Of course you do, it came from your pocket.” He was no longer grinning, his blue eyes razor sharp as he held Blu’s key up so she could see it clearly. “After breakfast we’ll discuss what it unlocks.”

He slipped the key back into his pocket, then reached for the portable phone on the nightstand and pocketed that, too. On his way out the door, he said, “I almost forgot. There’s a tape recorder in the drawer next to you. While you’re waiting for breakfast why don’t you listen to it?”

“I don’t feel much like listening to music,” Margo sniffed.

“It’s not music, but it’s just as entertaining. You don’t sound like yourself, but you were in a lot of pain last night. Well, maybe it wasn’t so much the pain as the whiskey talking, you think?”

He walked out of the room then, leaving Margo to wonder if the liquor he’d poured down her throat, had, in fact, done the dirty deed and loosened her tongue. And if that was the case, just what had she told Detective Archard that she shouldn’t have?

Chapter 4

His instructions had been specific—no one was to die. Not until he’d gotten his shipment back, that is. And maybe not even then if there wasn’t a good enough reason. Keeping a low profile, even in a city this size, had always been the key to his success and survival.

Why, then, had his wishes been ignored and the job bungled so badly? The answer was simple—it was impossible to find good help these days. More to the point, his cousins were idiots.

Swearing crudely, Taber Denoux lifted his glass of cognac to his lips and swallowed the expensive amber liquid. He’d just finished talking to his best customer, and the man was livid. His merchandise was missing, and Taber hadn’t been able to promise a recovery date. Oh, he had promised the merchandise would turn up, but without a date, the customer had threatened to buy elsewhere.

Damn Blu duFray to hell, Taber thought. Was the man an idiot like Rudy and Raynard, or the very devil his name implied? A more important question was, how had a going-broke fisherman pulled off a heist worth millions?

Unable to believe his merchandise was gone, Taber slammed the empty glass down on his desk. Blu duFray was either damn lucky, or his fisherman guise was the perfect cover for a well-connected thief.

Taber still didn’t know how the cop fit into the scheme of things. And he conceded that he might never know. But, what did it matter now? The cop was dead. It seemed the only thing that had gone right last night was Raynard shooting low and wounding Blu duFray instead of killing him along with the cop. duFray dead would have only magnified the problem, since it seemed he was the only one who knew where the missing merchandise was.