[Bayou Gavotte 03.0] Heart of Constantine (11 page)

“Last chance, babe,” Constantine said, amusement in his tone.
You can still change your mind
, said his voice in her head, not laughing at all. Aloud, he added cheerfully, “Better run while you can.”

Oh, no, you don’t
, thought Marguerite. This was a dangerous game, but anger trumped all. “I’d much rather let you catch me,” she said coyly and felt like throwing up.

“Ooh,” Nathan said, eyes wide, big grin. She took a deep breath. She would
not
allow him to get to her.

Constantine put a warm hand on her shoulder. “Come on, babe. Let’s go shower and have some fun.”

An image of herself and Constantine, wet and naked, slid into her mind, and Marguerite shivered in spite of herself. Had that image come from him, or was it her own? His image, she thought, but it fit naturally, perfectly in her mind. She had never been so receptive to sexual suggestion before.

“Beat it, Nathan,” Constantine said. “Or else.”

“Yikes!” Nathan took off down the sidewalk. “When Constantine says, ‘or else,’ it pays to obey.” The kids and neighbors continued to gawk. Nathan got into his pricey little car and zoomed away.

Finally, Marguerite got the blasted door open.

Constantine pushed her gently inside. Lawless shoved in after her and slumped to the floor again. Constantine removed the key from the lock and shut the door. He rested the bag of dog food against the wall.

“Oh, no!” Marguerite said, barely above a whisper. A boom box stood to one side of the door, and the DVD player had been unhooked and half pulled off its shelf. Books and CDs were all over the floor. She set the grocery bags down.

“There’s no one in here,” Constantine said. “I already checked.” Seeing all those music CDs strewn around hurt just as much now as a half hour earlier when he’d checked out the house. He would replace anything that was damaged—if she let him. She wouldn’t have let him in the house if he’d given her a choice. He got out his cell and texted Gideon O’Toole.

“Oh my God.” She picked her way through the debris on the floor.

“Sorry about delaying you, but Nathan didn’t need to see this. The kitchen is a mess.”

She headed straight there without a word and gaped at the smashed canister and flour all over the floor. “What could someone possibly want to steal from the kitchen?”

“Nothing,” Constantine said. “I think your dog came indoors and surprised whoever it was, and the intruder threw the canister at him. He has one humdinger of a headache this morning.”

“Oh, poor baby! You’ve already had enough trauma in your life.” Marguerite went down on her knees beside the dog.

“Below his ear,” Constantine said. “I cleaned him up.”

She separated the shaggy hair to examine the abrasion. “Thank you! He must have been outdoors, probably outside the fence, when the house was broken into. Since Pauline died—she was my roommate—he’s worse than ever about digging his way out and wandering in the woods.” Her voice choked up a little, but she swallowed it down. “You came in through the doggie door and surprised the bad guy, huh?” Lawless licked her hand, and she wiped it on her shorts as she stood. “He was Pauline’s dog, and they’d really bonded,
and then she died. I wish I knew more about taking care of dogs.”

I wish I knew more about taking care of women
, Constantine thought. Looked like he was stuck taking care of this one whether she liked it or not—until he defeated the Enemy. But now, at last, he had a witness who knew something. Zeb
had
to talk. There was no other way.

He had to keep Marguerite close and safe and also maintain his distance. He had to make her trust him, but he couldn’t risk trusting her, even though surprisingly—stupidly—he kept wishing he could. Not that it would accomplish anything. He couldn’t have sex with her if he trusted her because he couldn’t risk hurting her, and he couldn’t have sex with her if she was untrustworthy because—

Because you might
really
hurt her. You’re going to confuse yourself to death and save the Enemy the trouble,
said some cheerful, self-satisfied, and wisely distant bird.

He followed as she glanced into all three bedrooms. “They don’t seem to have touched what little jewelry I have. Pauline had even less. Why waste their time burgling such an unpromising house?” She turned and bumped into Constantine, who had been wondering much the same thing.

As well as inhaling the scent of Marguerite and her bedroom. He’d known immediately which one was hers when he’d gone through the house earlier, and not just because one of the other bedrooms was an office and the third had no sheets on the bed. Now her scent assailed his nostrils, and his prick rose rapidly to attention. Damn. Usually, he had complete control over his libido. Maybe Lep was right, and it had been just too un-fucking long.

“Get out of my way,” she said, her voice quivering.

“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, shoving at him. “Stop looking at my bed. What I said out there on the porch is irrelevant. The answer is no.”

What?
“I didn’t mean what I said out there either. That was for Nathan’s benefit.”

“Maybe, but you meant it all the same. You may not intend to do anything about it, but you want it. I can tell, and it’s really getting on my nerves.” Pause. “And not in a good way!”

“What do you mean, you can tell?” He was certain his cold demeanor was as secure as always. He was keeping his thoughts corralled inside his head. He looked down at his jeans. Sure, there was a bit of a bulge, but…

She looked down as well, and a beautiful blush rose up her throat. “Move!”

He backed away down the hall, hands raised. “Sure, you’re an attractive woman, but I didn’t come on to you. I kissed you this morning because it was a good way to get rid of Nathan.”

“No,” Marguerite said. “You kissed me because you wanted to. You were pretending you weren’t interested, but…” She shook her head. “You are just plain weird, and you’re creeping me out.”

Not enough, evidently; she was way more pissed off than scared. “How could you possibly know whether I wanted to kiss you? I gave no sign. I didn’t give one now either, until you gave me the once-over.” Women were always giving him the once-over, but he never responded in such an alarming way. He’d learned to be totally Zen about sex. It wasn’t a
need, just a drive, and one could sublimate one’s drives if it mattered enough. In his case, it mattered way too much.

“I just know,” she said gruffly.

Huh. So she was affected, too, more than she cared to admit.

Grumpily, she added, “You’re so horny it hurts, and it’s making me extremely uncomfortable. You need to leave. I appreciate your checking out my house, but I need to call the cops and get a police report.” Her eyes widened. “Hey! How did you know about this mess?” She drove him ahead of her into the living room. “What were you doing in my house earlier, and how did you get in?”

“I picked the lock,” he said. “I’ve already informed Gideon O’Toole, a friend of mine in the police force. He’ll be over shortly. I asked him not to come until I got rid of Nathan.”

“Gideon O’Toole,” she said. “He’s the one I spoke to when my roommate died a couple of weeks ago. He was sweet.” Pause. “He’s a friend of yours?”

“Why not?” Constantine was used to incredulity—how could a vigilante be cozy with a cop?—but in her, the surprise annoyed him enough that he added, “His wife has been one of my closest friends for years.”

She stared at him, brow wrinkled, as if trying to read him. He resisted the temptation to smooth that worried brow. She had a lovely face, thoughtful and determined, with warm hazel eyes and kissable lips that tempted him every time he looked at her.

“Even murderous vigilantes have friends,” he added.

She nibbled her lip, blinking. He wished he were the one doing the nibbling.

“I can produce references,” he added plaintively.

“Are you suggesting we should be just friends?” She huffed. “I don’t think so.”

“Since you seem determined to support my sorry ass, we’ll have to be just something for at least a day or two,” he said. Why was she so sure he lusted after her? “I told Gideon about what happened this morning on the mounds, by the way. Wanted him to hear it from me first.”

“Fine, but why did you decide to check out my house?”

Evading the question, he said, “Either the guy was skilled at picking locks or he had a key. I saw no sign of forced entry anywhere.” The thoughts ticking through her mind showed clearly across her face—chagrin, worry, anger, a touch of fear. “I’ll replace the lock for you,” he said.

“That’s not necessary,” she said immediately. “Where was Lawless when you arrived?”

“The dog? He was hiding under the house.”

“He doesn’t usually like strangers,” she said, picking up a few CDs, shuffling them, dropping them again.

Constantine winced; he believed in treating CDs with respect. “Animals like me.” He didn’t care much about what most people thought of him, but he had to stifle a wish that Marguerite…

No.
He squatted, gathering the CDs, gently sorting them and restoring them to their cases. Marguerite’s eclectic taste included all of his own CDs. He probably shouldn’t find that encouraging, but…

He shouldn’t want to be encouraged, period. Next he would be rationalizing, telling himself it would be different this time. Then he would come on to her, and when she succumbed to his advances, all hell would break loose.

One of his own early CDs had been broken in two. He would definitely replace that one whether she wanted him to or not.

“You don’t need to tidy my stuff,” she said. He ignored her, and she added, “Why did you decide to check out my house? How did you even know where I live?”

“I’ve seen you at the Impractical Cat a couple of times. I wondered who you were, so I found out. You teach linguistics part-time at Hellebore and do faux finishes to supplement your income.” He flashed his rock star smile. “Gorgeous honey-colored hair and hazel eyes aren’t exactly a dime a dozen.”

“That’s mighty close to coming on to me,” she shot back. “Now answer my question.”

“I walk along the bayou quite a bit. That’s why your dog knows me. I’ve been watching you on and off for a while.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really.” Why didn’t she seem rattled?

She just looked at him. “If you wanted to attack me, you’ve had plenty of opportunity. And if you only want to look, well, looking’s free. Stop trying to freak me out like you’re some wacko stalker, because I don’t believe it, and you still haven’t told me why you checked out my house.”

“You’d be a lot safer if you did get freaked out.” He should just telepath her some really scary shit and get it over with. He waited for the bird to lambaste him. It said nothing.

He sighed. “I was concerned about you after what happened on the mound. I sent Jabez, my bodyguard, over to snoop around and make sure you weren’t endangered here, too. He realized something was wrong and let me know.”

“Why would my being drugged on the mound suggest that my house had been burgled? That makes no sense at all.”

“But your house
was
burgled,” Constantine said. “Maybe it didn’t make sense then, but it sure does now.”

Marguerite watched Constantine put the cushions back on the couch and processed his remark. “But
you
thought it made sense then. And you’ve been watching me, and not for sex.”

That wasn’t entirely true. She was good to look at, and looking was all he’d ever get to do—that and using his imagination—so why not? The bird must have gotten tired of contradicting him, but he knew better than to think it might have changed its mind. It would simply wait until proven right. Which, in hindsight, it often was.

He just couldn’t take the risk that it wasn’t, especially not now.

At a low growl from Lawless, Marguerite went to the window. “Detective O’Toole knows something about this, too, doesn’t he?” She opened the door for Gideon. Constantine put a hand on Lawless, and he subsided, closing his eyes.

The cop came in, gave a silent whistle, and asked the obvious question: “Is anything missing?”

“I don’t know.” Marguerite led him through the kitchen and then into the hall. “I haven’t had time to go through anything, but there was very little of value. At first glance, the other rooms look fine, but some of Pauline’s stuff looks as if it may have been disturbed. I’ve been going through it over the past week, and I’d put it all in tidy piles.” Her voice faded down the hall, and Constantine stayed where he was, finishing with the CDs and going for the bags of groceries. In
the kitchen, he put the perishables in the fridge and freezer, neither of which held any unpleasant surprises. The last bag was from the bookstore; on a whim he peeked inside.

Jesus Christ. Why was she reading that tripe? On the other hand, it did show interest, right?

Shit.

Some damned bird or other cackled in the distance.

He left the book in its bag on the kitchen counter and returned to the living room just as Marguerite and Gideon finished their tour. “I put your perishables away,” he said.