Goes down easy: Roped into romance (11 page)

She’d expected him to be ecstatic, to be juiced on adrenaline to the point where he wasn’t even feeling the cold. Instead, he sat hunched over, alone, as if he weren’t the victor but the victim.

The same victim Della had witnessed suffering when she’d done nothing more that morning in her kitchen than reach over and touch his arm.

“Jack? Are you okay?”

“I need to talk to Della. I need to know exactly what she saw. If it makes any sense in context.”

“If she saw chickens, you mean.”

He tossed back the rest of the coffee, threw the cup over his shoulder into the SUV’s back floorboard, and got to his feet. “Did Book say anything about how she was feeling?”

“No, but I can tell you she’ll be sleeping until the headache subsides,” Perry said, glancing up at the sound of footsteps approaching.

Book reached them and stopped, gripping the top
of Jack’s open door, his expression grim. “Well, it’s an official case now. Which means, we’ll take it from here. I need you to come with me to operations. Fill me in on what happened and what else you know.”

Jack grumbled under his breath, but said, “Sure. Just let me drop Perry off with Della first.”

“I need to get statements from both of you,” Book argued, one hand moving to his waist. “Kachina said she’d check in on Della until one of us gets back.”

“How was she when you left?” Perry asked.

“Sleeping. She went out fast.”

“Good. We’ll go and get this done while she’s asleep,” Perry said, circling the front of the vehicle on her way to the passenger side.

“Right behind you,” Book said to Jack before jogging back to the taped-off scene, and his own car parked just outside.

“Are you going to tell him what you know?” she asked, once Jack was settled behind the wheel.

“I don’t have any reason not to. But anything he gets from me, he could get from the Austin police.”

He shifted into drive and headed out. She waited until they’d turned and left the warehouse behind before asking, “What are you going to do now?”

“Once we’re done at the station, talk to Della, find out what she can tell me about what she saw. Assuming what she sees is even real.”

Perry knew he wasn’t going to like it, but tossed out the challenge anyway. “There’s one way to find out, you know.”

He cast her a wary glance. “What’s that?”

“Test her gift for yourself.”

“And how do I do that?”

“Have her do a reading.”

A
FTER
P
ERRY CHECKED
in on Della, Jack gave in to the insistence of both women that he schedule the reading for midnight. Della was confident she’d be feeling better by then, and Perry didn’t want to wait because, well, he wasn’t sure why except that she was intent on proving a point.

He wasn’t thrilled with the idea. Neither was he thrilled to admit that Perry
did
have a point, but there really wasn’t any way around it.

If Della could pick up enough vibes in his aura, or fluctuations in the cosmos, or woo-woo type echo things to see the truth of his past, then maybe he could get this case rolling again. And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t feel like such a putz for partnering up with a psychic.

Because that’s exactly what he felt like. A putz.

His investigator’s nose had brought him to New Orleans to look into Eckhardt’s roots, and his instinct for survival had led him to Café Eros.

His belief that he’d spotted a scam had taken him to Sugar Blues, his certainty that all trails went somewhere to the
Times-Picayune.

Refusing to believe in coincidences had sent him to Eckton Computing’s warehouse, which had turned out to be the end of his line.

He’d been able to run the investigation on his own as long as the official case was still in Texas. But now that it had crossed state lines, he had nothing left to go on but instinct.

Instinct, and a psychic. And if that didn’t define a putz, he didn’t know what did.

Leaving Perry at Sugar Blues once they’d finished giving Detective Franklin their statements, Jack put in another call to update Cindy Eckhardt, then spent the rest of the day tracking down friends of Bob and Dawn Taylor, as well as Eckton employees who had worked with Taylor.

What Jack found out was that the co-workers weren’t surprised Taylor hadn’t found work after the Eckton layoffs. His reputation as a hard-assed, hardheaded, hard-drinking bastard had made the industry rounds.

What had bowled them over was his suicide. No one thought a man that mean had it in him to take himself out. Nor did Jack get the sense that any of them mourned the man’s passing.

If Taylor were still alive, several had said they could see him scheming to get back at Eckhardt, but since he wasn’t around to sever fingers they really couldn’t help.

The couple’s personal friends Jack had managed to catch up with repeated what he’d already learned. Everyone was sorry for Dawn. The men were anxious
to do anything they could to her, uh, for her. The women knew that, and felt she would do better if they all gave her time to grieve. Twelve months’ worth of time.

Right. With friends like that…

By the time Jack returned to Sugar Blues, it was close to ten. He had no idea if the women had eaten, so he brought a bag of burgers and fries for three just in case.

He parked in the alley behind the shop and knocked when he reached the new back door. He saw Perry through the window over the sink, and seconds later she pushed the curtain aside to see who was there.

She was smiling when she opened the door. “You ought to give me your cell phone number. I just realized that I don’t have a way to get in touch with you.”

“You thought I’d skip town before you got the results of my reading?” he asked, setting the food on the table and thinking that he kinda liked the idea of being nagged if Perry was the one doing the nagging. She was sweet. She was cute. He could get used to having her around.

“Of course not,” she said as she closed the door. “Whatever happens tonight is between you and Della.” And then she sighed. “Mmm. Onions and mustard and grease. It smells wonderful.”

He gestured toward the seat next to his. “Pull up a chair. I brought plenty.”

“Ooh, thanks.” She beat him to tearing open the bag. “Della’s still sleeping, and Kachina had appointments until eight. I just finished closing up and I’m starving.”

He unfolded the waxed paper around his burger and dumped out his fries, then reached for a squeeze packet of ketchup. “I’m surprised you have enough business to work the hours you do. And that it’s enough for the two of you to live on.”

“Three,” she said, dragging a fry through his ketchup and shoving it into her mouth.

“Three?” he echoed, because there was something about a woman with an appetite that made him forget his worries.

“Kachina makes three.”

“Hmm. I’m not sure I can afford your services.”

She sputtered. “For you, cher? No charge.”

His cares went the way of his worries with the Cajun flavor she added to her offer. This was the first time all day he’d been able to relax, and damn if it didn’t feel great. “Thanks. I think.”

“What, you need client testimonials?”

“To prove I’m getting my money’s worth?” He took a bite of his burger, sat back and chewed.

“I was thinking more along the lines of proving that you’re not wasting your time.” She picked up another fry, attacked his ketchup again.

He frowned. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Only because it’s too late to bother any more of the Big Easy’s fine citizens. And,” she added, wrapping both hands around her hamburger bun, “because Book warned you to keep your nose out of his business.”

Yeah, it was his business all right. “He wouldn’t have half of what he does if I hadn’t given it to him.”

“And that just grates, doesn’t it?” she asked, a tad too smugly.

He reached over while her hands were full and filched a half dozen of her fries. “Only because Detective Franklin’s working with some sort of chip on his shoulder.”

“Oh, what? And you’re not?”

“Not really,” he said, and chomped down.

“Jack Montgomery.” She turned in her chair to face him. “Do I need to get you a mirror?”

Chewing, he glanced over, surprised by her incredulous tone.

He had baggage; who didn’t? But to call it a chip? Did he really heave his past around as if it might fall and crush anyone he allowed to get close?

He shrugged. “Maybe I am. It’s not such a big deal.”

“If you say so,” she said, and went back to eating. “Though you might want to make sure it doesn’t get so heavy that you end up getting hurt.”

He wondered what she knew about hurt. Then he remembered the death of her parents and wanted to kick his own insensitive ass.

Still, insensitive or not, he was curious. And so he asked, “Is that what happened to you? You carried a chip for too long?”

She gave a sharp, unladylike snort. “You mean why did I decide to sleep with you after six years of sleeping with no one?”

Well, there was that. He had to admit he was curious. “Sure. We can start there.”

“Okay, fine.” She reached for a napkin, wiped her
mouth and hands, then got up to get two sodas from the fridge. “Because of that chemistry thing. And because I like you. A lot. A whole lot,” she added softly, as if speaking to herself. “I like your honesty. Your integrity. You’re sexy as hell. Then there’s the fact that you’re good around the house.”

“Next, you’ll be saying I’ve got a super personality,” he said, though he couldn’t help but get a nice buzz from her comments.

She handed him his can and popped the top on hers before she sat back down. “I’ve spent most of my life in the company of women. And all of my formative years when I learned the differences a Y chromosome can make.”

Him? He liked the differences, and started to say so.

But she quickly cut him off, waving one hand, her other wrapped around her soda. “And I don’t just mean the differences in the equipment. I mean the differences in what using the equipment means.”

Oh. That. “So, that was the reason for your trip into the closet this morning?”

“No. I was just waiting for you to make coffee.”

“Right.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes. I was angry.”

“With me?”

“With both of us.”

“The crack about conserving water—”

“Wasn’t any worse than mine about rings.” She breathed deeply, then took a drink. “I was frustrated. And, yes. I was hurt. I wasn’t sure what to expect
from you the morning after. And I didn’t understand the one-night-stand vibes you gave off.”

He was an ass. Seriously. An ass in over his head with this particular gypsy woman. To be honest, she’d scared him shitless. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“But you did. We spent an amazing night and an amazing morning, and the first thing you say to me is that it was only sex.” She sighed, shrugged, sipped. “And maybe it was for you. But I let my emotions get in the way, and ended up with a big ‘what the hell am I doing?’ moment.”

“Because you leapt without looking.”

“Exactly. And I don’t leap. Not anymore.”

“What happened six years ago?” he found himself asking, when it shouldn’t matter and it wasn’t any of his business.

“I came to work for Della full-time and stopped playing at getting a degree.”

“Who was it? A fellow student or a professor?”

She stuck out her tongue. “A TA, if you must know. He was in it for the fun and games. And I wanted something more. See? The two just don’t mix.”

“I can’t imagine you writing off relationships based on one bad deal,” he said, almost choking at the “r” word he let slip. Was that where they were headed?

“And what do you mean, you can’t imagine me doing that? We had a one-night stand. I don’t see how that qualifies you as a Perry expert.”

He shook his head as he pushed away from the table.

She sat back—arms crossed, chin lifted—and he
knew the battle was on. “Fine. Then explain to me why you think you know what you know.”

The woman was driving him mad. “You, Ms. Brazille, are an open book.”

Her lips pruned up. “You don’t say.”

“I do say. Anyone who spends any length of time with you can tell what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, really?” she said, tapping one foot. “And what am I thinking now, Jack, huh? What am I thinking now?”

She was thinking he’d hit too close to a truth she didn’t want to admit, and she didn’t like it at all. She didn’t like being as easy to read as she was. She didn’t like that she’d allowed herself to be hurt—or that he was the one who’d done it.

She believed in astrological animals and ghosts that sang in stairwells and whatever the hell rune stones were, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe that he’d figured her out in only a matter of days. Neither did she seem to be buying that he’d never intended her harm.

And he’d about had it with that. He reached for the leg of her chair and hauled hers up against his. Then he planted his hands on either side of her hips, holding on to the seat as he held on to her gaze.

Once he knew he had her attention, once he saw the flutter of her pulse in her throat, he leaned closer, bringing his mouth inches from hers before saying, “I don’t know about you, but this is the only thing I’m thinking.”

And then he moved in for the kiss. She was warm
and willing. She smelled like the spices he knew, tasted like salt and ketchup and the same dinner they’d both eaten. The thought made him chuckle.

His laughter made her groan. “I know. Onions.”

“They’ve never tasted better,” he assured her, and went back for more. She brought her arms around his neck, and somehow ended up in his lap in his chair.

It was exactly where he wanted her, exactly where he needed her to be. She caught at his lower lip, pulling him into her mouth, bathing him with her tongue, nipping him with her teeth.

He liked the way she nipped, that she wasn’t afraid she might hurt him, that she let him nip her back and laughed when he did.

It was the perfect battle of wills, the perfect parry and thrust. Their tongues mating, teasing, playing. He didn’t think he would ever get enough.

He slipped his hand to her back, eased his fingers beneath the hem of her sweater, kneaded circles up her spine until he found the clasp of her bra. He freed it, and she gasped into his mouth. A gasp followed quickly by a giggle.

He didn’t think he’d ever met another woman who laughed at such inopportune times, and he loved every single sound that spilled from her throat. He also loved the way she twisted and turned until his hand covered her breast.

He thought back to the way she’d looked in the shower, how pale her skin, how dark her nipples, and he found her areola and stroked the puckered skin.

She moaned and squirmed, and he pinched her
nipple, kneaded her breast, shoved his tongue into her mouth and made sure she knew he was thinking about shoving it into a certain part of her body that tasted salty and warm and marine.

And then he was the one groaning, the one on the edge of coming apart. And he was the one wanting her mouth sucking on more than his tongue, licking at more than his lips.

Give him five seconds, ten seconds max, that’s all he needed and he could have her on the edge of the table, her skirt up to her waist, his fly open, her thighs wrapped around his hips…

A softly cleared throat brought him careening to a mental
coitus interruptus
. Perry unwound her arms from his neck and pushed back with her hands on his chest.

He did his best to slip his hand from beneath her sweater without drawing Della’s notice. But when Perry started to push out of his lap, he held her there, hiding the bulging proof of their indiscretion beneath her skirt.

“Don’t mind me,” Della said, thumping with her walking stick into the room. “I only came for a bottle of water.” She crossed to the fridge for her drink, then returned the way she came. “I’ll be in the reading room when you’re ready, Jack.”

Once the thump of the walking stick faded, Perry asked, “Are you ready?”

No, the reminder of what lay ahead had pretty much taken all the ready right out of him. “Shouldn’t you be asking me if I have any last wishes? Or what I want for my final meal?”

“I thought that’s what I just did,” she teased, climbing from his lap and waiting for him to gather up his balls and get on with it.

T
HE ROOM
D
ELLA USED
for her readings was small, no larger than the bathroom off the kitchen. He didn’t have a blueprint to go by, but Jack was pretty sure the two shared a communal wall.