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THE MAN INHALED SLOWLY, taking a shred of solace from the half-smoked cigarette. This was no way to live, a one-room apartment with nothing in it that belonged to him except a few changes of clothing.
He should be flying to some exotic port by now. And he would have been if things had gone as planned. But they hadn’t.
He took a last puff on the cigarette and then ground it into the ashtray. With trembling hands, he picked up a half-empty bottle of pills and shook several into his hand. Deliberately, he placed them between his dry lips, chasing them down with a swig of whiskey.
But he knew the headache wouldn’t go away, not until the whiskey did its job. Until it let him pass out and block the memories from his mind.
He hadn’t wanted to kill. He’d loved Roxy. But she’d double-crossed him, left him no choice. Still, there wouldn’t have been any problems if he’d only noticed that she had pushed back the heavy drapes and opened the window, leaving nothing but the sheer curtains to hide them from view.
Damn. The pounding in his head was growing stronger. He picked up the glass and gulped down the rest of the whiskey before letting out a string of curses. He was feeling the liquor now. It wouldn’t be long until he got some blessed relief.
Chapter Four
Graham paced the floor of the narrow office. This was just what he needed, the return of Lindsey Latham, so damn close there was no escaping her. She had been planted in that same chair for over an hour, futilely poring over photographs of every hood who plagued the streets of New Orleans.
He shoved his fists deeper into his pockets. She was cool and collected, sitting there in designer jeans that fit in all the right places and a crisp tailored blouse that opened at the neck, revealing tempting glimpses of soft flesh.
Damn, he should have known enough to run like hell when he first saw her name on the police files. She had been out of his league ten years ago, and becoming a cop sure hadn’t improved his social standing.
“Your plane leaves in little more than an hour, Lindsey. You need to get out of here if you’re going to be on it.”
She looked up, but made no move to go. “Just a few more minutes.” She bent back over the mug book, her brows wrinkled into serious furrows.
Graham dropped to his chair and lifted his loafer-clad feet to the top of his cluttered desk. He’d warned her that the chances were next to nil that she’d find a suspect this way. For the most part she was skimming through shots of common street hoods. The guy she was looking for was probably a different breed altogether.
He’d already checked out the LeBlancs. High society, filthy rich. The kind of people Lindsey had grown up with. The kind that had always made it clear Graham Dufour was a few rungs below them, not fit to date their daughters.
He picked up an almost empty mug of coffee from his desk and downed the last drops, trying to swallow with it the bitter memories that gnawed at his gut.
He’d spent years trying to forget Lindsey Latham, determined to block every thought of her from his mind. Most of the time he’d been successful. But not always. In weak moments, the traitorous memories had crept back in.
How many nights had he lain awake, wondering what it would be like to see her again? Wondering if the relentless heartache would still wring the life from him, the way it had in the first painful weeks and months after she packed up and headed off for a new life that didn’t include him.
Well, now he knew. It wasn’t a damn bit easier today than it had been then. If anything, it was worse. And even now he didn’t have the good sense to stay away from her.
He walked over and stood behind her. She still smelled of honeysuckle and summer mornings. So many things about her were the same. The soft, wispy hair that fell in dark cascades about her slender shoulders. The same dancing eyes beneath lush lashes.
But there were changes, too. Some were almost imperceptible, like the deepening of her voice, which was sexier, more self-assured than ever. Some differences were strikingly visible, like the full breasts, the sensuous curves of a woman’s hips.
At eighteen, she’d been cute and vivacious, a girl with lots of promise. At twenty-eight, the promises had all been fulfilled. He stepped away from her. The promises were for somebody else. And somebody else was welcome to them, he reminded himself.
Finally Lindsey reached the last page and closed the book. “I hate to leave like this, with nothing settled, not even a suspect for you to look for.”
“You told us everything you could.”
“I know, but it doesn’t make sense. I can see the girl as clear as day, every detail, down to the way her blond hair was swept up on top of her head, loose curls tumbling down around her cheeks.”
“It happens that way sometimes. The trauma of seeing a murder leaves you too shaken to focus on the perp.”
“But that’s not it. I do remember him. I watched him take her in his arms and kiss her. I remember the way his uniform fit his broad shoulders. I remember thinking how dashing and handsome he looked.” Her shoulders fell dejectedly. “But his face...it’s as if it didn’t exist. There were so many faces that night.”
“Maybe his back was to you.”
“No. I saw his profile. They were framed in the window. Two beautiful lovers.” She stood up and walked over to the coatrack. “I don’t understand why I can’t picture the facial features. I’ve always been so good with details. I make my living making observations.”
Funny, he knew Lindsey was a researcher, but somehow he’d never actually pictured her going to a real job. One thing was for sure. It wasn’t working so you could eat and put a roof over your head, like it was for him and his colleagues. Her father could buy and sell most people with his pocket change.
No one knew that better than Graham. Good old Frederick Latham had even tried to buy him. He hadn’t been for sale. Of course, as it turned out, he might as well have been. He walked across the room and waited for Lindsey by the office door.
“Police work is a little different, Lins. So why don’t you leave this one to us? We’ll find the killer. It may take a while, but sooner or later, he’ll slip up. When he does, we’ll nab him.”
“I hope so. But I can’t get it out of my mind. She was so pretty, so alive—”
Her voice broke on the painful words, and Graham clenched his hands into fists. What was it with him? One minute he wanted to wring Lindsey’s pretty neck for bringing old memories home to roost. The next, he was struggling with his hands just to keep them from pulling her into his arms.
Keep cool, he reminded himself. Keep everything in perspective. She is here strictly to identify a murderer. The woman has no more need of you now than she did ten years ago.
She reached for her coat, and he moved closer, helping her with it as he would any other woman who happened to be in his office. Strands of satiny hair brushed across his skin, and his hand tightened on her shoulder.
Lindsey didn’t pull away, and he couldn’t. Instead, he eased her around to face him. Her eyes stared into his, dark and moist, and her full lips curved into a half smile.
“Thanks, Graham, for believing me when no one else did.”
“No problem.” She was doing it again, making him purr, when it would be much safer to stick to his usual growl. He slid his hands down her arms and took both her hands in his. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you to the airport?”
“No, I still have Grace Ann’s car. She said to leave it in the parking garage. She’ll send someone for it.” Lindsey turned and studied the wall clock. “If I’m going to make my flight, I’ll have to leave now.”
“I know.” Reluctantly he let go of her hands and walked to the door. “Remember what I said, Lins. Don’t talk about what you saw. And if anything unusual happens, anything at all, I want you to call me at once.”
“I remember, Detective.” She gave a tiny salute. “Now you get busy and find the killer.”
“I’ll do that.”
I could do it a lot more easily if I just knew where to begin, he thought as he forced himself to turn away from the door. He had to turn away. Letting Lindsey walk out of his life again was more painful than a strong right to the gut. Watching her do it would be much worse.
* * *
LINDSEY SKIPPED hurriedly down the steps of the crumbling brick building that housed Graham’s precinct station. She had to have air, had to put some heart-saving space between herself and Detective Graham Dufour.
Her fingers shook as she reached into the compact leather bag that hung from her waist. The car keys had slipped below her wallet, and she worked her fingers down to retrieve them, scraping across the gold mask pin Grace Ann had given her as a souvenir of the krewe’s parade.
She grimaced. Fate had been unbelievably cruel the past few days. It had ruined her visit with Grace Ann, Brigit and the rest of her high school friends with a senseless crime. And as if that weren’t enough, it had struck the crowning blow, reuniting her with the one man she had hoped never to see again.
Everything had ended between them long ago. He’d told her that if she left him to go away to college, he’d be out of her life forever. She’d thought he was only bluffing. She should have known better. His threats had never been idle. Three months later, he’d forgotten her so completely he married someone else.
She shook her head to clear it and slipped the key into the Mercedes’ lock. It went in easily, but the key wouldn’t turn. Lindsey fiddled with it, slipping the key in and out several times before she finally got the door unlocked. So much for her friend’s fancy car. Even Lindsey’s old Toyota opened without a problem.
What a weekend. Now she even missed her car, she mused, sliding into the driver’s seat. She checked the rearview mirror and then maneuvered her way into the sparse Sunday-afternoon traffic. In a few short hours, she’d be home again. Then she could begin to put this bizarre weekend behind her.
Not that she’d ever forget it. Not that she wanted to until the killer was in custody, locked away so that he couldn’t kill again. That might take a long time without a description of him, identifying details she should have been able to provide. She had watched the whole thing, and she was letting everybody down, especially a young blond woman who should have had her whole life in front of her.
Lindsey glanced at her watch and then pulled over into the left-turn lane. She’d be cutting it close, but she had to drive by the LeBlanc house one more time. It was a long shot, but returning to the scene of the crime just might trigger some memory that would lead to a positive identification of the killer.
A warning nagged at the back of her mind. She’d promised Graham she’d butt out and let him handle things. But this wasn’t breaking her promise, she assured the nag. She was just going to drive by for one last look before she left town.
Lindsey eased her foot from the accelerator as she neared the house. She didn’t have the address, but she had no trouble locating it this time. She drove by slowly. There were lights in at least one window.
That was odd. The LeBlancs were supposedly out of town, and surely Ruby wouldn’t be working at six o’clock on a Sunday evening. Lindsey pulled around the corner and parked. It wouldn’t hurt to take a look. She could take a brisk walk by the house and still make it to the airport in time.
She dropped her keys into her pocket and scooted out of the car, stepping over the roots of an ancient oak. The house was about half a block away, enough distance to give her time to study it as she approached.
There were lights on the first floor, in one of the rooms facing the street. The second floor was bathed in total darkness, and so was the turret that topped the house like a crown. Lindsey stopped at the edge of the property and bent over as if tying a loose shoelace. She lingered as long as she could, but there was nothing to see but the impressive architecture of a St. Charles mansion.
She walked slowly past the house, trying not to be too obvious in her spying. There was a car parked in the drive, old and sporting a front end that had weathered a few New Orleans fender benders. It might belong to Miss Ruby, but it hadn’t been there yesterday.
A car door slammed somewhere behind her, and her heart crashed against her ribs. She turned and watched a family of four climb from a van and enter a house down the street. She took a deep breath, forcing air into her lungs. The murder had left her jumping at shadows.
By the time her gaze had returned to the LeBlanc house, a male figure was walking out the front door, his silhouette framed in the soft glow of streetlights. Lindsey slipped behind one of the oaks that lined the avenue. The man couldn’t see her here. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see much, either.
Angry voices carried across the manicured lawn, and Lindsey strained to hear them above the traffic noises. Eavesdropping was not her style, but the volume wasn’t making it much of a challenge.
“You lied to me again. I told you about that. I can’t trust you anymore!”
The voice was Miss Ruby’s. Lindsey scooted around the tree trunk until she had a partial view of the action. Growing darkness masked their features, but there was still enough light to make out their shapes and movements. The young man with the housekeeper looked to be in his mid-twenties, overweight, and with scraggly hair that hung to his shoulders. So much for honest Ruby’s vow about never inviting anyone to the house. Or maybe she hadn’t invited him.
“I told you I’m sorry. I took the key one time. That was all. I just wanted to show the place to someone.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Her voice became a whine. “You were with that girl you’ve been hanging out with. She’s nothing but scum. She and all her friends. I told you to stay away from them, but you just won’t listen, will you?”
“They’re not scum. They’re my friends. But you won’t have to worry about Roxy anymore.”
“Like I believe that, any more than I believe the rest of your lies. You move into your own place and take up with riffraff. Just like Jerome. You forget your raising and take up with worthless scum. You’re breaking my heart, and you don’t even care.”
Lindsey stretched to her full height and peered over an overhanging branch. Miss Ruby followed the boy down the walk, her shrill voice whistling through the twilight air.
“Friends, humph! They’re just using you. That’s all. You better wake up before they get you in a lot of trouble. And I might not be able to help you this time. Mr. LeBlanc doesn’t like getting involved with the law, and I promised him you’d keep clean.”
“I am clean, Mama. I told you. I didn’t take nothing. Just the lousy old key, and you got it back, didn’t you?”
Mama. So Miss Ruby had a son, one who had taken a key. She’d have to tell Graham about this. He couldn’t be mad at her for coming here once she gave him some helpful information. Not that it mattered if he was mad or not. She was a private citizen with a perfect right to stop on a public street.
“Sure, I got the key back. But I don’t want you lying to me. I don’t want you ending up like Jerome.” Now she was all but pleading.
“No, Mama. I won’t. I promise.”
“And I hope you mean it. I sure hope you mean it. Now why don’t you come in and get a bite of supper? I’ve been cooking all day, getting ready for Miss Katie. She’ll be coming in tomorrow, and soon as she does, she’ll be filling the house with company. That woman thinks about nothing but having a good time. Not like the late Mrs. LeBlanc. God rest her soul. Now that was a lady.”
“You save your cooking for Miss Katie, Mama. I’m not hungry.”
“Of course you are. I made pecan pie. You know that’s your favorite.”
Shoulders down, the boy turned and headed back up the stairs, following meekly behind his overbearing mom.
Lindsey started back toward her car, but a strong hand grabbed her shoulder and swung her around.
“Did you miss your plane?”
“Graham, you frightened me! I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I could say the same for you. There’s a little difference, though. I’m a detective. I’m supposed to be here. And if I remember correctly, we made a bargain.” His fingers dug into her flesh.
She pulled away. “I’ve kept my part of the bargain, although it was a stupid agreement to begin with. I was just driving by, and I wanted to take one last look. Just to see if it would help me remember anything.”
“You only have to remember one thing, Lindsey. Stay out of this.”
Same old Graham. He had been understanding at the police station, but that had been when she was doing things his way. Now she had acted of her own accord, without his permission, and he was jumping right down her throat again.
“I’m an adult, Graham, and I’m perfectly capable of making decisions about where I go.”
“Excuse me, I guess I just expected you to keep your word,” he growled through clenched teeth.
“Sure, I just need to go home and leave the big, bad criminals to the tough guys. This may come as a surprise to you, but I’d like to do just that. Unfortunately, I don’t have that option. I’m the one who witnessed the murder.”
Graham pushed up a sleeve to look at his watch. “So your option was to miss your plane deliberately so you could hang out in front of the LeBlanc house like some two-bit private eye. Real smart.”
She glanced at her watch. Damn. Twenty minutes until takeoff. She’d never make the flight. And it was the last one tonight. Okay, she’d made a mistake—but she didn’t have to admit it to Graham, not when he was in the know-it-all mood he was right now.
“As a matter of fact, stopping by here was pretty smart,” she quipped, tossing her head back and glaring at him. “I found out that Miss Ruby has a son.”
“She has two sons, to be exact,” he told her. “Garon and Jerome Oleander. Ages twenty-two and twenty-four.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s all a matter of public record, if you know which records to look at.”
“Well, I bet you didn’t find this in any public record. One of the sons has been in trouble. I don’t know exactly what, but apparently Mr. LeBlanc had to come to the rescue.”
“Garon Oleander. Busted for possession of marijuana. Two years ago. Paid his fine and got a suspended jail sentence.”
Graham’s smug manner was growing as irritating as the mosquito that was buzzing around Lindsey’s face. She slapped at the pesky insect and wished she could do the same to the good detective. His present manner was making it a lot easier to forget their past. At least the good parts.
“Well, you might be interested to know, Mr. Detective, that Gargoyle, or whatever his name is, stole a key from Miss Ruby, and I’m sure it was the key to the LeBlanc house. And somehow I doubt if that’s public record.”
“The name is Garon. And what makes you think he stole a key?”
“I’ve been standing right here listening to them arguing. And Mama Ruby doesn’t like his friends, either. They’re all scum. Her assessment, not mine.”
