At Risk (13 page)

Chapter Twelve

Eugenia hesitated.
She knew she should simply enjoy this moment with Rafe. She had thought about making love with him so often, and they had finally done it. But she simply couldn’t keep silent. In a barely audible voice, she said, “Rafe, what happened to the two of us after you left?”

She knew the moment she’d asked the question that she should have waited until they were on firmer ground.

A moment ago, they had been warm and cozy in her bed. When Rafe sat up and looked down at her, his expression had hardened.

Feeling suddenly exposed, she reached down for the sheet and carefully pulled it over her naked body. Pushing herself up, she said,
“I wrote to you. But you never answered me.”

“That’s not the way I remember it.
You were the one who didn’t write. I . . . was in basic training and under a lot of stress. We’d agreed that I had to get away from New Orleans. I needed to know you were there for me, but you didn’t answer me. And when I called your house, your mother said you weren’t home.”

She shook her head in confusion, trying to rearrange her thinking.

“I called, and I wrote you,” he repeated, punching out the words. “By the time I came home on leave, you’d left for school in the East.”

Perhaps he was reacting to the dumbfounded look on her face when he said, “What?
Do you think I’m lying about it?”

“No,” she whispered, wishing with all her heart that she had kept her mouth shut.
But she’d been feeling so close to him that she’d thought they could finally talk. Or perhaps they should have done that before coming into the bedroom. But she’d been desperate to get him here.

Making love had been fantastic.
Now it was all falling apart.

She watched him climb out of bed and start looking for the clothing he’d tossed onto the floor.

While he was getting dressed, she got up and pulled on her tee shirt and jeans, trying to figure out why he’d come into the bedroom with her. Because he’d seen the chance to get what she’d denied him all those years ago? She didn’t want to believe that, but she couldn’t ask him about it. Or anything else. Not now.

“I should go,” he said.

She answered with a tight nod.

“But I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” she lied. Really, she was far from fine. In so many ways.

“I have to know you’re safe.
Is there someone you could stay with for a few hours?”

She struggled to get her equilibrium back.
“I think I could go to a friend of mine. Larissa,” she said. “She’s a lawyer. With her own practice.”

“How do you know her?”

“She—uh—handled my divorce. She’s Larissa St. Stephens.”

“Oh.”

He didn’t ask why she’d gotten married or divorced a couple of years later. Maybe he wasn’t interested.

She turned away and reached for the phone.

“Ms. St. Stephens office,” Cora answered.

“This is Eugenia Beaumont.”

“Hi. You’re not having any problems are you?”

“Not legal problems.
I’ve had some trouble here.”

“I read about it.”

“The detective I hired doesn’t want me on my own. Could I come over there for a few hours?”

“Of course.
Come on over.”

“Thanks.”

She put down the receiver and looked up. “All set.”

“Good,” he answered stiffly.

She and Rafe got back into his car, where she sat with her hands knitted together. They’d finally finished what they’d started years ago. She’d never been the kind of woman to jump into bed with a man. When she’d first met Rafe, she’d been cautious, and their sexual relationship had developed slowly. She’d been equally cautious with other men. But today, she’d wanted Rafe Gascon, and she’d pushed for what she wanted.

She thought she’d gotten it until she’d asked a question that had screwed things up between them again.

She gave him directions to Larissa’s office, but that was the only thing she said to him.

He pulled into a fire lane in front of the office building that had been converted from an old plantation house.” I’ll pick you up in a couple of hours,”

“What will you be doing?”

“Some stuff.”

Since he apparently didn’t want to talk about it, she got out. She was vividly aware of his eyes on her back as she walked toward the building.

Inside, she greeted Larissa’s assistant, Cora, in the outer office.

“That was fast.”

“I guess my bodyguard wanted some alone time.”

“What bodyguard?” Larissa asked, poking her head out of her office. She was wearing one of her tailored suits and the high heels that looked so great on her but would kill Eugenia’s feet. Her long blond hair was done up in a French twist. The two of them had gone to private school together and kept up their friendship into adulthood, which had made her a good choice for a lawyer when Eugenia needed to end a marriage that had been a mistake from the first.

“Well, it didn’t start off as a bodyguarding situation.
He’s from a detective agency I hired after those muggings down near my restaurant.”

“And now?”

“We found a nasty gris-gris on my doormat when we got home from the police station. And somebody was in the alley last night. We don’t know who.”

“Nice.”

“So he doesn’t want me to be alone.”

“Wise.
Come on in.”

“You’re not busy?”

“I’ve got a few hours between clients.”

When they’d stepped into the office and closed the door, her friend embraced her. “I saw the news report of what happened in your restaurant. I’m so sorry you’re in this mess.”

Eugenia made a low sound. “Drawing in customers with a voodoo ceremony seemed like a good idea at the time. You know, blending New Orleans traditions.”

“I would have advised against it.”

“I know. That’s probably why I didn’t ask you.”

“Was Villars murdered?”

Eugenia’s face contorted. “We don’t know yet why he died. Rafe will tell me as soon as he finds out.”

“Rafe?
You mean that sexy guy you used to hang out with?”

“Yes.” Eugenia felt a rush of heat to her face. “He’s with a firm called Decorah Security now.
I hired them to investigate the mugging outside my restaurant. They sent him.”

“How do you feel about that?”

There were so many things she could have said. She settled on, “He’s good at his job.” She plowed on. “He was on duty when Villars collapsed. Now the lead police investigator, Detective Cumberland, is giving both of us a hard time.”

“I’ve had run-ins with Cumberland.
He’s a real bastard—with ambitions. That’s a bad combination.”

Eugenia nodded.
Looking down, she ran her finger along the edge of her pocket.

“What else do you want to tell me?” Larissa asked.

“I guess you can see something’s bothering me—besides someone dying in my restaurant.”

Larissa waited and Eugenia finally said, “Rafe.”

The lawyer’s gaze sharpened. “What’s he doing to you?”

“Not what you think.”
She swallowed hard before saying. “You know, when he went away, we each promised to write to the other.”

“Uh huh.”

“But he never did, and I was so hurt. Now he says I’m the one who didn’t keep up the contact, and I have to believe he’s not lying.”

“And you’ve let yourself care about him again?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “As soon as I saw him, I knew I still had feelings for him.’

“You have to talk to him.
Try to figure out what happened.”

“That’s not so easy.
You know he always felt like . . .” She raised one shoulder. “I guess you’d say that his social position put him at a disadvantage.”

“Uh huh.”

“That’s changed. He’s got a career. And he’s good at his job, but there’s still a barrier between us.”

“Do you want to break it down?”

“Yes.”

“Then you may have to be the one to do it.”

“It’s hard. And complicated because we’re in the middle of this voodoo mess. Or a murder mess. I hope it doesn’t turn out to be murder, but Cumberland is acting like it is.”

She looked down at her hands. “Okay, I think I can’t talk about this anymore.”

“You should lie down, and try to get some rest. I’ve got a hideout in the back where I catch a power nap when I get a chance. You’re welcome to use it.”

“Thanks.
I appreciate that.”

oOo

Rafe had two people he wanted to visit and some other business to take care of. First on his agenda was Bennett Beaumont’s restaurant on Chartres Street, a few doors down from the famous K-Paul’s. Apparently Beaumont was thinking big.

He found a parking place a few blocks away and walked back. Unlike Eugenia, Bennett definitely wanted to trade on the family name.

Rafe stepped inside B. Beaumont’s, looking around at the clubby atmosphere that featured dark paneling on the walls, captain’s chairs with leather padding and burgundy carpet on the floor.

The man at the podium was wearing a suit. “I can give you a very nice table.”

“I’m not here for a meal. I need to speak to Mr. Beaumont.”

“He’s in his office in the back.
Whom shall I say is here to see him?”

“I’ll just go back,” Rafe said, striding down the hall without being invited.
He knocked on the door that said, “Office,” and walked in before the man inside had finished saying, “Come in.”

Beaumont looked up.
“Who are you?”

The restaurateur was a good-looking man, although he’d be better off losing about twenty pounds.
A few years older than Eugenia, he had wavy brown hair, light eyes and a startled expression on his face. He sat on a leather couch in a nicely furnished room, a room that looked familiar. Rafe was working his way through that, when Beaumont spoke.

“Listen, buddy, tell me what you want or I’m making you get out of here.”

“I’m Rafe Gascon, from Decorah Security.”

“And?” Beaumont asked as he set down the glass of whiskey he’d been sipping.
He looked soft, easy pickings for someone who had just issued a threat.

“We were hired to investigate the muggings occurring in the vicinity of Eugenia Beaumont’s restaurant.”

As he said the words, Rafe knew why the room looked familiar. He’d been here before—in a vision. This was where someone had put together the voodoo charm that had turned up on Eugenia’s doorstep. And that someone was almost surely Beaumont.

Rafe had the satisfaction of seeing the man blanch, but he said, “That’s none of my concern.”

Rafe kept his gaze on the guy. “I think it is, and I think that if they continue, you are going to be sorry.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a statement of fact.”

“You’d better get out before I throw you out.”

Rafe’s voice was steady. “You and who else?”

He studied the man, watching him take in the reality that he was no match for his visitor.

Finally Rafe said, “If there’s another mugging or another voodoo charm, you’re in trouble.”

He turned and walked back out the way he’d come, feelings of frustration and satisfaction clashing inside him. He knew now that Beaumont had made the gris-gris—as a scare tactic.
But that didn’t prove anything else.

Was Beaumont smart enough to heed Rafe’s warning?
He was half hoping the guy would try something again, because he was looking forward to teaching him a very serious lesson.

Rafe’s next stop was the administration building at Tulane University.

He found Jillian Hargrave in her office in the back of the building, along a hallway painted institutional green. The blond young woman was dressed in a brown suit and beige blouse. With no makeup and her hair cut short, she looked like she was trying to fade into the room.

The moment he walked in, he saw the wary expression on her face.

“Ms. Hargrave?”

“Yes.
What are you doing here?”

“You know who I am?”

“You were at the restaurant—when . . . that man collapsed.”

“Yes.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

Rafe studied her.
She was obviously on edge. Because she had something to hide? Or because she was naturally wary?

“I’m interviewing the people who were there that night, trying to find out anything they saw that I might have missed.”

“I didn’t see anything unusual,” she said quickly.

“Did you know Martin Villars personally?”