Mind Games (36 page)

“That’s blackmail, darlin’, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Charge it to me personally. As long as it’s special. Dinner for two, okay?”

“See? What did I tell you? Detective Lucier is finally warming up. No, no, don’t deny it.” She rose from behind her desk, shifted her bosom and wiggled her skirt down over her generous hips. “Give me an hour. Meanwhile, I’ll send up a nice bottle of champagne. On the house.”

“Thanks. And don’t worry about the other thing. The inspector’s a friend of mine. He owes me.” Lucier turned for the door and spoke over his shoulder. “Oh, and, Nell, I know all about your nemesis inspector. Maybe some day I’ll clue you in so he can’t do this to you again.” He chuckled after he ducked out the door and before something whacked the other side. Probably Nell’s shoe.

Diana opened the door when she heard the soft tapping. Lucier stood on the other side, hands crossed over his chest. “Don’t ever open the door without asking who’s there,” he snapped. “What if I were Macon?”

“But I saw you through the peephole. And there’s no way I could take short curly hair for Macon’s blond mop.”

“This is a multi-cultural city. There are a lot of bad guys in town with hair like mine.” He checked the corridor before entering the suite. “You saw a figure looking the other way. Don’t assume anything, Diana. This guy’s clever and ruthless. Know who’s on the other side of the door.”

“Okay, you’ve made your point. Sorry, it won’t happen again.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Don’t be mad. Not tonight.”

He wanted her to understand the danger, but one look into her dark eyes and he knew he was whipped. “You do stretch the limits.”

“I can be a bit headstrong, I know.”

A smile twitched his lips. “Uh-huh, a bit.”

She took his hand and led him to the sofa. Snuggling up next to him, she rested her head back and closed her eyes. Lucier leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I shouldn’t be doing this. You’re in protective custody, and I’m supposed to be the protector.”

“I’ve never felt more protected in my life.”

He pulled back, fighting his desire to take her in his arms and carry her to the bedroom. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to. “I promise,” he said. “I won’t take advantage of your weakened state.”

“I know you won’t. You know, a couple of weeks ago, I’d have been all over you, but—”

“Shh.” He kissed his finger and touched her lips. A tear slipped from the outside corner of her eye. He wiped it away. He didn’t know how much longer he could restrain himself.

“Room service,” the voice at the door said with an accompanying knock.

Saved by the food bell. He checked through the peephole, recognized the familiar waiter, and opened the door. The waiter wheeled in a tray with two crystal flutes and a silver ice bucket holding a bottle of Moët. Dressed impeccably in uniform, he acknowledged Lucier with a “Good evening, Lieutenant,” popped the cork, filled the two glasses, and left. Lucier handed one to Diana. They touched crystal and sipped the bubbly liquid, eyes locked on each other over the rims. Both started to speak at once, neither grasping the other’s word in the confusion.

“You first,” she said.

“No, you.”

“I insist.”

Lucier hesitated, wary of crossing into unchartered territory. “Don’t misunderstand what I’m about to say.”

“I don’t like the sound of this already.”

“I’m trying to do a job and my focus is shot. If the captain knew how I felt about you, he’d haul my ass out of here. I have to remain detached until this thing is over. I’m only human. I haven’t felt this way in a very, very long time.” He put his glass down and moved closer. “I can’t screw this up. You’re too important to me.”

“I’m glad it’s hard for you to stay away from me. That means I
am
important to you, but I can’t think of anything else until Macon is behind bars. And I’m determined to make that happen.”

“I know, and that worries me.”

“Stay with me tonight. Just be near and hold me, that’s all. Well, maybe a smooch or two. After dinner, I’ll probably go right to sleep, I’m that tired.”

“I can handle a smooch, but I don’t know if I can lie be
side you all night without―”

Another knock on the door. Lucier let the words hang in the air. This time, the waiter rolled in a skirted table with a single planted orchid in a silver cachepot flanked by two elegant place settings of silver-rimmed china and
silver service. He placed chairs in their proper places and held one out for Diana, unfurling her napkin with a flick of the wrist and placing it across her lap as she sat. He retreated to the hall and wheeled in the dinner cart carrying three large silver-covered platters. Uncovering one, he served each a large lobster tail cracked open in its shell and resting on a bed of bib lettuce, accompanied by a ramekin of warm clarified butter. He squeezed a half lemon wrapped in cheesecloth over the lobster and finished by refreshing the champagne glasses.

“Would you like me to return and serve the main course?” he asked.

“I think we can handle things now, thanks.” Lucier reached into his pant pocket and slipped him a gratuity. Wishing them
bon appétit
, the waiter let himself out.

“You know some pretty fancy ladies, Monsieur Lucier. Two impressive dinners. I may even stay awake to eat every bite.”

They cut the lobster tails and dipped each bite-size piece into the butter. Lucier watched Diana savor every morsel, as if the delicacy were a religious experience. When only the inedible remnants remained on the plates, he collected them and put them on the rolling cart. He removed the two silver covers from the larger plates to reveal four thick medallions of lamb arranged around a healthy dollop of fruit mint chutney, roasted cloves of garlic, and buttered red-skinned potatoes garnished with sprigs of fresh rosemary. Diana leaned over the plate, closed her eyes and breathed in the aroma. He picked up a bottle of estate Bordeaux, a cloth napkin wrapped around its neck, and filled the wine glasses. A twist of freshly ground black pepper and he took his seat. Nell’s chef had created a masterpiece, and Lucier made a mental note to thank him.

If long lingering looks were words, the evening would have been cluttered with conversation. But both were silent while they dined.

“I can’t believe I finished everything,” Diana said, her plate empty except for a sprig of rosemary. “Superb.” She glanced at Lucier’s plate. “You too, I see. No wonder you drop by here after work for dinner. I’d be fat as a pig with this arrangement.”

“I try not to take advantage too often. Don’t want to wear out my welcome or seem like a cop on the take.” He patted his stomach. “I’m stuffed.”

He divided the remaining wine between their two glasses and placed them on the cocktail table. Then he rolled both the table and cart into the corridor. He handed Diana her goblet and settled next to her on the sofa.

Struck by the delicacy of her pale oval face, marred only by a hint of bruising and framed by a halo of black curls, he said, “You’re beautiful.”

A whisper of color rose on her cheeks. “Thank you. That’s nice to hear, especially in my current condition.”

They finished their wine, and when Diana’s eyes grew heavy, Lucier eased her up and guided her to the bedroom. “You need rest.”

“You’ll stay?”

He knew it was wrong, but he also knew it was right. He nodded. She disappeared into the bathroom and came out in a red silk nightgown. Lucier breathed in the sweet scent of her skin and pocketed his hands to keep from touching her, because if he did he’d be powerless to stop. All he could do was come up with the most banal statement. “I thought you wore only black and white.”

“No one sees me when I sleep.” She offered a mischievous smile, put her arms around his waist, and moved into him. “But you will. Tonight.”

He felt the swell of her breasts against his middle, the heat of her body turning up his already-elevated temperature. His heart pumped like a runaway locomotive. “I’d better go to my room. This is too much of a temptation.”

“Please don’t.” She took his hand and drew him to the bed, then turned back the covers and slid underneath. “A little petting can’t hurt.”

In the eight years since he’d lost his family, Lucier hadn’t slept with a woman or even kissed one other than Diana. But h
e feared the desire swelling inside him for this delicate creature brought him to a place he couldn’t go. He sat on the edge of the bed. “Diana, I―”

She lifted the sheet and his resolve melted. He removed his shoes and shirt, but left on his pants for his
own protection as much as for hers, and slipped under the cover. He noted the curl of her smile.

“I thought you were tired.”

“I’m experiencing a second wind.”

He pulled her head onto his chest. He loved her enough to put his desire on hold and wait until she could receive him without the specter of Harley Macon looming in her memory. He kissed her, and she kissed him back. His job was to protect her, and that’s what he’d do. He’d worry about the ethics another time. For now, she nestled into him. He felt the beat of her heart, fast and steady at first, then slower. Lost in the flowery fragrance of Diana’s hair, he fell asleep to the soft purr of her breathing.

Chapter Fifty

Into the Spider’s Web

J
ake Griffin’s story on the front page of Friday’s
Times-Picayune
publicized Diana’s free encore performance Saturday evening. The newscaster on local morning television did the same. Griffin had jumped at the chance to interview her about her ordeal with Macon. Luckily, she found a small theater that agreed to host her performance on such short notice. Radio and TV ads announced free admittance to the first three hundred people to arrive.

“I’ve given up trying to talk you out of anything,” Lucier said, “but this is too dangerous. I don’t like the idea of you being bait.”

Diana put down the newspaper, happy with the publicity. “I’m the only bait he’s interested in. If I can’t get him to come to me, how many people will die before he’s caught? Besides, it’s a done deal.”

“Stubborn.”

“Do you want this guy or don’t you?”

“You know I do.”

“Well, this is the only way you’re going to get him.” She tapped the newspaper. “Listen to this. ‘Police are still searching for Harley Macon and his companion, Alice Mayburn, although authorities speculate the two fugitives may have avoided detection and slipped across the border into Mexico.’ See. He’s going to feel safe.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“It has to be worth a try.” She hoped she was right. Without staff or equipment, she decided on a different format, with no outside help. Well, maybe a little.

* * * * *

M
acon shut off the local television news show. He gulped the last of his coffee and slammed the cup on the table. “Well, well, looks like I’ll be going to the theater.”

Alice whipped her head around. “Are you crazy? The cops’ll be all over the place. They’re setting a goddamn trap, Harley. That’s what they’re doing.”

“Don’t worry, they’ll be looking for me, but they won’t see me. You heard the man—they think I’m south of the border. Trap or not, they won’t get me. You’ll see.”

“We’re pushing our luck. We’ve come this far. I sure as hell don’t want to get caught now.”

He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her onto his lap. She spread her legs and he worked his fingers inside her pants while nibbling her neck. “We won’t.”

“Damn, Harley, we should be in Mexico,” she said, then murmured, “Jesus, that feels good,” and directed his hand in a circular motion. “Like that. Yeah, that’s perfect. We could’ve made it. Fresh car ’n everything. Oh, God, baby, deeper.”

“We’ll go, Alice. Don’t get on my ass and spoil this beautiful moment. First you, then I have to take care of business.”

Chapter Fifty-One

An Change of Routine

D
iana was ready to put on the show of her life. Lucier stood at the back of the theater. Neither he nor any of the plainclothes or uniformed police officers scattered throughout the auditorium reported seeing anyone that resembled Harley Macon or Alice Mayburn. Could she have been wrong? Could Macon have found a way out of the country?

She stepped onto the stage. Everything was different this time. One chair shared the stage with a table that held only a pitcher of water and a glass, and she’d replaced her trademark black and white outfit with a clingy above-the-knee red knit dress and black high-heel sling backs. A collective gasp of surprise rose from the audience as they noticed the unusual change of routine. She offered no explanation.

She passed the last two hours backstage alone in meditation. Her scheme would require all her natural powers without Jason to fill in the blanks. All those years, her supposed dependence on computer hackers validated to her father that she’d indeed lost her gift. Now she didn’t need to fake it and hoped she was up to the task. She could be herself—whoever that was. The thought produced a mental chuckle.