In Your Wildest Dreams (15 page)

"Okay then," he said, sending her off.

Scruff followed behind, and as she walked down St. Ann toward Café Du Monde, she realized how much his gentle panting and the click of his claws on the concrete comforted her. She might get by fine on her own, but it was nice to have a friend. Maybe two. She just wasn't as sure of Jake yet as she was of the dog. She'd even let Scruff share her mattress these past couple of nights. When the only sound was an occasional siren, she felt a lot less alone with him by her side.

Reaching the cafe's outdoor window, she placed the same order she had on the other days Jake had sent her, glancing down at Scruff, whose tongue already hung out one side of his mouth. "Just stay cool a minute, then you can eat yours on the way back."
Had
to eat his on the way back, actually, so Jake wouldn't find out she was slipping pastries to the dog.

A few minutes later, they were headed to Jake's building, Shondra stopping every block or so to stoop and feed Scruff half a beignet. He ate the last of his order not long before they reentered the courtyard.

Realizing her hands were dusted with powdered sugar, she reached into the white bag she carried and drew out a pastry, taking a big bite. It was only to cover for Scruff, but it tasted good to her hungry stomach. She'd gotten used to eating once a day or less, but when she did get to eat, it was like heaven.

Heaven must hold different things for different people, she thought, and after the past few months, she knew that heaven, for her, would hold food.

And dogs.

And her daddy.

Her mama and daddy together, like they used to be, like they were
supposed
to be.

When she and Scruff made their way into the courtyard, Jake sat on the half-rusted metal bench someone had parked in front of the dilapidated fountain that didn't work. He didn't see her coming—had his head leaned back toward the sun, his eyes shut, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, and his denim-covered legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles.

She lowered the bag and drinks to the metal slats at his side. "I'm back," she announced, settling on the other end of the bench.

When he opened his eyes, he looked amused. "Couldn't wait to eat with me, huh?"

"Hungry," she said past a mouthful of beignet; it wasn't a he.

As he uncapped his juice, his eyes fell on Scruff and his happy expression disappeared. "Looks like somebody else had a nice breakfast, too."

Scruff sat at her feet, peering up at them, his little dog
lips
covered with white powdered sugar. Uh-oh.

She bit her lip. "He must've, uh, gotten into a trash can at the Café Du Monde."

"Those cans are a little tall for him, no?" He gave her a come-clean-with-me look.

Finally, she sighed. "What? I'm supposed to make him watch us eat without givin' him none?"

Jake's eyes scolded her. "So you're tellin' me I been buyin' breakfast for all three of us these past days?"

She shrugged her shoulders and waited for him to come down on her.

Instead, though, he just leaned over and shook his finger in Scruff's furry brown face. "You best thank your lucky stars you got her lookin' out for you, dog." Then he shook his head, letting out a short laugh. "Damn dog needs to learn to wipe his mouth if he wants to keep a secret."

Shondra breathed a sigh of relief, laughing, too.

As their laughter faded, though, the merry mood seemed to die with it—and he turned to pin her in place with his dark gaze. "Tell me somethin' else,
'tite fille.
What are you doin' here?"

She blinked, nearly choking on the thick dough and hoping he couldn't tell. "Here?"

"You know what I mean. On the street."

Her face heated in a way that had nothing to do with the hot French Quarter day. She peered down at the white bag in her lap, fiddling with the edge. "Just, you know, gettin' by." Her voice hadn't come out as strong as she'd intended.

He sighed. "No, I mean really. Why aren't you at home?"

She gave a little shake of her head, wishing he hadn't asked. Things had been going so good—her, him, Scruff, beignets—and now this.

"Why'd you run away, darlin'? You can tell me."

She raised her eyes at the unexpected endearment. But he was wrong; she
couldn't
tell him. She couldn't tell anyone. "Just
...
couldn't deal."

"Bet your folks are real worried."

She glanced down, trying to ignore the empty feeling in the pit of her stomach—it wasn't about hunger. Closer to loneliness, even with Jake and Scruff right here. "My mama don't care. Probably glad I'm gone."

"What about your dad?"

She let out a snort of sarcasm. "He ain't even around no more. Don't even know I left."

He stayed silent so long she felt her own words hanging in the air. On a good day, she didn't think about home, didn't even let it cross her mind. At the moment, it seemed the biggest part of her.

"You know, there are places you can go that can help you work through your problems, give you a better place to sleep than that old mattress."

"No," she said, and this shake of her head came with vehemence. "Joints
li
ke
that just wanna make you go home, and I ain't goin'."

"What was so bad there?" His eyes on her, looking perhaps kinder than ever before, seemed to drill some sort of hole into her that the truth might leak from.

But no, she
couldn't
give voice to what had made her run. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"I'm just tryin' to help, you know."

"I know," she said on a nod. "And I'm down with the food, and the place to sleep. But that's the only help you can give me." Then she reached down one powder-laden hand to the fur at Scruff's neck, giving a gentle scratch and letting his warmth comfort her again.

* * *

Jake walked the three blocks to Esplanade, worrying.

Worrying about Shondra, wondering what terrible secrets she had.

Worrying about Tony, wondering if
his
ex-partner would ever realize that no matter how hard you worked as a cop, you couldn't win. There would always be more bad guys stealing your hope, showing you how mortal you were.

Worrying about Stephanie—who he was on his way to see right now. How would she deal with it if they never found her sister? What if Tina Grant
was
in trouble, and what if it was already too late to do anything about it?

He spotted LaRue House, a historic mansion-turned-B and B, not long after starting northeast on the divided boulevard. Its Greek architecture, wrought-iron trim, and moss-covered trees were steeped in elegance, but
his
respect for the place dropped when he stepped inside asking for Stephanie Grant and the old woman behind the desk said, "She's in number five, around back," directing him outside toward the private entrance room he found with ease. He could be someone who meant her harm, yet the woman had pointed him right to her. Just one more reminder that no one was safe anywhere.

He knocked firmly on the crisp white door, and when he didn't hear any stirring, tried again, hoping like hell she'd just gone for dinner and wasn't out trying to track down Tina in another sexy dress.

He'd just about given up when the door opened. Stephanie stood before him in a little pair of flannel shorts and a tight white tee, no bra. The sight nearly took his breath away.

When she realized where he was looking—he was a guy, he couldn't help it—she crossed her arms across her chest, going red-faced. It didn't help—in fact, it only thrust her breasts higher. T
...
wasn't expecting you."

He swallowed. It was bad enough that the last time he'd seen her, they'd been making out like maniacs, but now this. It was all he could do not to grab her and kiss her. He finally managed to wrench his eyes from her chest, moving them to her prettily blushing face. "Who
were
you expectin' that you answered the door like this,
chère
?"

She shook her head, looking flustered. "I
...
fell asleep, wasn't really thinking when I opened the door."

Ah. That explained how sexily mussed she looked. Like she would look, he thought, if he ever got her in bed.

"Wait a minute," she said, walking away to return a moment later wearing a white cotton blouse over her sexy little T-shirt. He missed her breasts instantly.

"I came by to bring you this." He held out a Styrofoam container.

"What is—" She took it and opened the latching lid to reveal the slice of pie inside. "Oh."

He wasn't sure why he'd done it, but
...
"From a little bakery on St. Peter. Don't know if it'll hold up to your grandma's, but it's the tastiest apple pie in the Quarter."

She lifted her gaze to his, her eyes gone soft and pretty. "That's nice, Jake."

He played it off with a shrug. "I also came to tell you I might have a small lead on Tina."

She tensed visibly and he regretted not prefacing the news with a warning.

Better late than never. "Now, don't go gettin' your hopes up—it might be nothin'. It's a very
light
lead."

Her eyes remained wide and blue on him. "Well?" Blue as pictures he'd seen of the Mediterranean.

It distracted him for a second, until he got his wits back. "You remember my friend Tony?" He explained what Tony had told him that morning about the Crescent's lounge. "I just never thought of lookin' there since it's a whole different league of prostitutes than you'd find at Sophia's."

"Maybe Tina
...
exaggerated about the elegant part," she said quietly, clearly thinking out loud. "Maybe she thought that made it sound better." Then she turned anxious. "So what do we do with the information?"

"We
don't do anything,
beb,"
he said, looking pointedly into those ocean-colored eyes.
"You
stay here and do whatever you
been
doin'—go back to sleep if you want.
I'm
gonna go check it out. I'll stop by later and let you know if I've found anything new."

"But if the guy made Tony for a cop," she said, using the language he had when explaining, "won't he do the same thing with you?"

He shook his head. "First thing, I'm
not
a cop— anymore."

"That didn't stop you from worrying the doormen at the Playpen would think you were."

'True enough. But second thing, now that I'm wise to them bein' on guard for cops, I know how to approach the situation."

"How?"

"Like I'm one of her customers, lookin' to get with her again."

"Oh," she said, her body seeming to deflate a little.

She didn't like that, he thought, unduly pleased. Didn't like even the pretense that he could be with her sister that way. But maybe it was a little quick to get arrogant— maybe it was just the idea of
any
man being with her sister, under the circumstances.

"Maybe I should go, too."

He let out a sigh. "Why would
you
need to go?"

"The same reason you took me along the other night. I might hear something in a different way than you. He might drop some bit of information only I can recognize."

"Normally, I might agree,
beb,
but guys seekin' female company don't usually bring a date."

She smirked, taking on a forlorn look he'd seen her wear before. It gave him the urge to wrap his arms around her and just hold her.

Only problem with that was—he didn't think he was capable of simply holding Stephanie. Holding would bring on kissing and touching, and he was already half hard just from being around her, just from seeing those dark nipples jut through that white fabric, just from remembering how hot they'd gotten together a couple of nights ago.

"I still think I should go," she argued, but she spoke more softly now as she peered up at him, and he wondered if she was recalling the same thing he was. "I just
...
feel like this is a whole new playing field, and like /need to investigate, too."