скачать книгу бесплатно
“Back to the stalker?”
“Yeah. You’d better sleep here.”
“So you can …”
“Protect you.”
He held his breath while she considered the advice. If she said no, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.
Another lie. He would grab her arm to stop her. And then what? Give her another peek into his private fears and longings?
“You were here most of the time. Did you see anyone sneaking around?”
“I was inside most of the time—busy working.”
“But you didn’t see anybody,” she insisted.
“No, but in the absence of proof, I think you have to act cautiously.”
“Like you did when you started writing about Rudy Maglioni?”
“Somebody has to expose him.”
“Why you?”
“Because I’m willing to take the chance.” He could have added that nobody besides his editor would miss him if the mob caught up with him. Changing the subject, he said, “You can have my bed.”
“No, thanks.” She glanced toward the couch. “I’ll stay out here.”
“It’s not all that comfortable.”
“I’ll manage,” she said with an edge in her voice, and he warned himself not to press his luck. She was a woman with a strong will, and he couldn’t force her decision. It had to come from her.
“I’ll get you a blanket.” He hurried into the bedroom and glanced at the bed he hadn’t made in days. Well, maybe her coming in here wasn’t such a good idea.
After pulling the spare blanket from the top of the closet, he returned to the living room. He laid it on the end of the couch and stepped back. He wanted to say that they couldn’t keep from touching each other forever. Sooner or later it was going to happen again.
“You’re sure you’ll be okay?” he asked.
“Yes. Thanks. And …” She paused again. “Thanks for watching out for me.”
“It’s the right thing to do,” he said stiffly, then added, “You can have the bathroom first.”
“Thanks.”
“Your mom put an extra toothbrush in there.”
“Right. She liked to keep the cottages stocked with conveniences.”
“Yes. I appreciated the food in the cabinets.”
They were getting into inane conversation territory again because they still had no idea how to deal with each other.
Before he said any other dumb lines—or did anything else he regretted—he made sure the front door was locked and bolted, then picked up a lamp and entered into the bedroom.
Chapter Four
Outside in the darkness, George Camden gritted his teeth. Abandoning the protection of the tree, he’d crossed the weedy lawn and gotten as close as he could to the window. He’d been able to see them, but he hadn’t heard a lot of what they were saying because of the damned rain.
After a half hour out there, he was wet and cold, and he needed a smoke. Bad.
He’d been all set to get his hands on Gabriella Boudreaux tonight. Apparently that wasn’t going to happen. It looked as if she was spending the night in the cottage. But not in Buckley’s bed, for some reason.
So why was she there if they weren’t going to do anything fun?
Maybe because her mom had died today. However, if Buckley was smart, he could have comforted her and then offered more than back patting. Despite how he’d acted outside, Buckley must be too honorable for that.
George’s mind circled back to the earlier question. Why was she staying there? Did Buckley think he was protecting her?
If he was, that meant they were worried about someone snooping around. Or worried about someone causing the mom’s death. Or maybe she was just upset about staying alone after coming home and finding her mother had kicked the bucket.
Yeah, that made sense.
The phone in his pocket vibrated, and he jumped, then cursed under his breath.
The only guy who had this number was the Badger, the one who’d hired him to snoop around Houma and find out about the clinic.
The phone kept vibrating as he stepped far enough away from the cottage to avoid being heard.
“Yeah?” he said as he flipped it open.
“You haven’t reported in,” the curt voice on the other end of the line said.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Doing what?”
“I got a lead on one of the women who was treated at the fertility clinic. I came down to Lafayette to … question her.”
“And?”
He waited a beat before admitting, “She’s dead.”
The curse on the other end of the line had him holding the phone away from his ear.
“I haven’t heard about any murders in the news.”
“Because it wasn’t murder. She fell down the stairs,” he said, stretching the facts. “An old lady tripping and falling isn’t news.”
Again, he waited through a string of curses.
“But she led me to her daughter,” he said, putting the best spin he could on the past few hours.
“What’s the daughter’s name?”
“Gabriella Boudreaux.”
“And you’re going to pick her up?”
“She’s with a guy.”
“Who?”
“Someone named Luke Buckley. He rented a cottage on her mom’s property.”
“I’m paying you good money to get results.”
“I will.”
“If the Luke Buckley guy interferes, kill him.”
Even though he’d already thought of that, he snapped, “So now you’re saying you want the police investigating a murder?”
“Make sure it looks like an accident.”
“If I can.”
“You’d better.”
The line went dead, leaving George wondering what would happen to him if he didn’t fulfill this assignment. Would he be scheduled for an accident? Or would he just disappear?
IN THE BEDROOM, Luke put out the light and looked out the window. He couldn’t see much in the darkness, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was out there in the night. Someone who shouldn’t be on the property.
He was torn between slipping out the back door to investigate and staying inside. Either course made sense.
But he had told Gabriella he’d protect her, and if he went outside, someone else could come in.
Which made the decision for him.
He straightened the covers, then stood by the bed, listening to the sound of running water in the bathroom and then the toilet flushing. He’d been alone for a long time, and it was strange to have someone else in the house.
Finally, Gabriella settled down, and he pictured her lying on the couch. Probably she hadn’t taken her clothes off. He walked to the bedroom door and slipped out without looking in the direction of the couch. After making a quick trip to the bathroom, he returned to his room, laid down on his bed and tried to get comfortable, although he suspected that he wouldn’t get much sleep.
His mind was still processing everything that had happened since he’d thrown Gabriella to the ground.
He’d thought that maybe one of the wiseguys from New Jersey had found him. And he still didn’t know if he was in the clear. What if he had brought trouble to Gabriella just by choosing this plantation as a hideout?
And why had he come here, exactly?
He’d had the whole United States to choose from. Hell, the whole world. But when he left New Jersey, he headed south-west—and ended up in Lafayette. It had felt right to be here. Like the feeling when he decided to go after Rudy Maglioni.
He’d known the guy was dangerous, yet once he’d read about the mobster ordering the murder of a whole family because the father was in the witness protection program, Luke hadn’t been able to walk away from his investigation.
Did being drawn to the right story mean he had some of the same psychic power as Gabriella? Maybe not the ability to see the future, but the ability to set himself on the right course, whatever that meant.
Or was he making stuff up, giving himself reasons to think he was like her in some way?
After stopping in Lafayette, he’d looked at the bulletin board in a local real estate office and seen that the Boudreaux plantation had furnished cottages for rent. There were other places in town he could have selected. Some of them were cheaper, but he hadn’t looked at the others. Because, again, as soon as he’d read the listing, this was the one that seemed right. More than right. He’d felt as if he was on the brink of a discovery that had nothing to do with hiding out.
After weeks in the plantation rental house, he’d thought that he’d made up the notion about finding his destiny here— until tonight, when he’d touched Gabriella. And his world had turned upside down.
Another line of thinking reemerged. If he’d brought trouble to the plantation, he’d have to leave, although the thought of clearing out made his chest tighten. He couldn’t do it. Not until he and Gabriella had figured out why they’d gotten into each other’s minds when they’d touched.
GABRIELLA HADN’T EXPECTED to sleep. But the emotional upheaval of the day finally exhausted her. When she woke just before dawn, she lay on the couch staring at the gray light outside the window and thinking about why she was here instead of at the main house. If she stayed on the couch, Luke would come out of the bedroom, and she’d have to confront him. That would be a hell of a morning after, especially because they hadn’t done anything more than kiss.
They’d both wanted to go further. She couldn’t lie about that. In some mysterious way, they’d exchanged memories. Underlying that was the strongest sexual pull she’d ever felt, coupled with a headache that was worse than anything she could remember.
Usually, she didn’t even like being touched. When she’d made love with guys, she’d gotten drunk first to blunt the edge of her own reluctance. This morning when she thought about the sexual part with Luke, her body reacted. Which was reason enough to get out of here before the man in the bedroom woke up.
She hardly knew him. And she certainly didn’t like being at the mercy of sexual feelings she couldn’t explain.
Really, she should go back to New Orleans. Her mother’s refusal to have a proper funeral had given her that option, but there was something she had to do before she left.
Mom had fallen down the stairs. There had to be a reason why she’d been up there, and Gabriella wanted to know what it was.
And what about Luke Buckley? Did he represent something important to her, something she was trying to ignore?
Because she was afraid to explore it?
She clenched her teeth. She’d always longed for intimacy with someone. Now, here it was for the taking, and she was ready to walk away. Because she was a coward?
No, because she’d set herself on a life course, and she couldn’t imagine simply abandoning her plans on a whim.
That was probably the wrong word, but she wasn’t going to quibble about it now.
Quietly she picked up her shoes and tiptoed toward the door. On the porch, she stood in the chilly morning air, staring at the space between Cypress and the main house.
In the soft morning light, it looked just as it always did these days—in need of TLC. But she could imagine how it would look if she had the money to restore it’s former grandeur.
For a moment, she let a little fantasy run through her mind. She could tell Emile to go to hell. She could take a loan on the house, come back here and fix the place up, then start a restaurant that would be the showplace of Lafayette. She was working as a pastry chef now, but she had the skills to do the rest of it. And the vision. It would be fun to go around to auctions and flea markets buying furnishings. Fun to make the gardens here look beautiful again. And fun to grow her own herbs and vegetables for the restaurant.
But she knew how much work the whole project would take. Really it would be better to have a partner who could handle the business end of it. And who would that be—because she didn’t have any friends good enough to trust as a partner.
The image of Luke Buckley leaped into her mind. She saw again his dark hair, a little too long. His strong jaw. His intense dark eyes.
She made a dismissive sound. Luke Buckley? She had to be kidding. She barely knew the man. And a few minutes ago she’d been talking herself into leaving the plantation before he woke up.
But she did know he had integrity. The mob had tried to intimidate him into dropping his book project, and he’d gone into hiding so he could finish writing before they killed him.
