Obsession (3 page)

O
NLY
D
REW HADN’T GUESSED
he’d be drinking that tea alone.

He lay back in his double bed staring at the whirling fan and the shadows playing across the ceiling. It was somewhere around 3:00 a.m., and in the room next to his the squeak of bedsprings had finally stopped along with the moaning he suspected was faked, but he couldn’t be sure.

What he
was
sure about was that the sound of a couple having sex, albeit it professional sex, ratcheted up his own growing desire for the elusive hotel owner.

He rubbed his forearm draped over his brow then sighed. It was hot. Hotter than he could remember it being for a long time. Or perhaps his keen awareness of it was due to the lack of air-conditioning.

His gaze fixed again on the ceiling. But not to look at the shadows there. Instead, he tried to detect any more sounds from the room two floors
above his. A room he assumed was Josie’s because when he’d been standing on the balcony over the hotel entrance, he had heard her lock up and shortly thereafter had followed the sound of her footfalls up the stairs. There had been no more customers. But earlier, at around midnight when he’d been sipping his tea—alone—in the open doorway, he’d watched as a walking tour of some sort had stopped in front of him and a guy in period clothing had outlined the happenings of a couple weeks ago. The nine or so tourists had stared at him and the hotel in awe. Then the guide had gone into a story that went back much farther than recent history, and had made the murder of Claire Laraway pale by comparison.

“It’s said that Hotel Josephine is still haunted by the ghost of the original owner, Josephine Villefranche, who wanders the halls at night. Some say she seeks revenge for the wrongs done to her. Others say it’s a heart-wrenching attempt to find her lost love—the man who took her life during the fires of 1794.”

Drew had saluted the group with his empty glass, then headed upstairs to his own room.

He wondered how Josie felt about being associated with such notoriety.

From somewhere in the hotel he heard a phone
ring. He suspected it was the main phone. He looked up at the ceiling again, wondering how long it had been since Josie Villefranche had gotten a break from all the hotel’s demands.

And wondering how he might convince her that was exactly what she wanted most in the world.

J
OSIE’S HAND STOPPED
its rhythmic motion of smoothing lotion over her calf as she stared at the ringing telephone. While the city might never sleep, calls after eleven were rare. And given her recent experience with late-night calls, she wasn’t sure she wanted to answer this one.

Still, she had three guests to consider. And, true to form, this late-night caller had no intention of giving up until she answered.

On the eighth ring she slowly picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

No response.

She breathed a sigh of relief. They’d hung up.

She was about to return the receiver to its cradle when a low, familiar voice asked, “Josie Villefranche?”

Familiar not because she knew the owner of it. But because she’d heard it often in the past few months.

“I know you’re there, Josie.”

The caller was a man. That was all she knew. Well, that and the fact that his sole intent was to frighten her.

“I hear the murdered girl’s ghost is still in room 2D, Josie.”

Since the calls had begun long before Claire Laraway’s murder, she had never linked the two.

Until now…

“She wants some company.”

“Who is this?”

But she knew her whispered inquiry would go unanswered.

Instead she heard an eerie chuckle. “Good night, Josie. Sleep well.”

Then the line went dead.

Josie slowly hung up the receiver, her blood flowing thickly through her veins. She rose from the wrought-iron chair her grandmother had given her as part of a vanity set when she was fourteen and moved toward the open French doors, looking into the dark night beyond the lights of Bourbon Street.

When she’d received the first call some months ago, she’d assumed it might be someone who had once stayed at the hotel who was playing an awful prank. But when the calls continued, with no pat
tern that she could make out, a deep sense of dread and fear had pierced her initial nonchalance, leaving her creeped out for a long while afterward.

Could the caller be Claire Laraway’s killer? Is that what all this had been leading up to? Was there some sicko out there who had targeted her for some sort of demented plan and was even now playing it out?

A sound caught her attention. She jumped then looked down to find that Drew Morrison had stepped out onto his balcony two floors below, his slacks hanging low on his hips, his well-defined torso bare. Had the ringing phone awakened him? Or was he, like her, incapable of sleep just now?

She didn’t realize that he’d looked up and spotted her until he said something.

“Is everything all right?”

Josie grew aware of her faraway thoughts and the expression she might be wearing as a result of her disturbing midnight caller.

“Yes…I’m fine.” She crossed her arms to ward off a shiver. “Is there anything else you need?”

She caught the way he scanned her body. She wore a light slip that clung to her damp skin and left very little to the imagination. The intensity of his gaze made her nipples tighten beneath the silky material.

If there was one thing she’d learned very young, it was how to read a man’s expression. And the expression Drew wore told her that he did, indeed, want something, if not need it. And that something was her.

The fact that she wanted him right back didn’t help cool her body temperature.

She cleared her throat. “Very well then. Good night, Mr. Morrison.”

She stepped back inside her room and closed the screen door.

She had little doubt that his quiet, sexy chuckle would resonate in her mind, and her dreams, well into the night.

L
ATE THE FOLLOWING MORNING,
Josie accepted the package of cleaned and pressed guest linens and towels from the service. She stared down at the bill that had been payable on delivery. If things didn’t change soon, she’d have to see to the washing herself.

“Did you get the supplies?”

She blinked up at Philippe who’d appeared beside her behind the desk.

Supplies…

She handed him the plain brown wrapped linens. “No. Why don’t you see to it right after you
take these up to Monique? She should still be on the second floor.”

He didn’t look pleased. But Philippe’s displeasure at the moment was the least of her concerns. If she didn’t come up with a plan to turn things around and quick, they’d all be very displeased indeed. Monique and Philippe would be without jobs…and Josie would be without her hotel.

After only a couple hours sleep, she’d gotten up early and had come down to brainstorm ideas to get the Josephine back on track. Aside from a list of names she’d taken from the phone book of attorneys she hoped might help her with her tax problem, she’d made up a page of Rent One Night, Get One Night Free coupons, which she would have Philippe copy for her and then she would give out to her onetime regulars like Frederique.

“Josie? Is everything okay?”

She looked up to find Philippe still standing next to her with the linens in his hands.

“You don’t look so hot,
chérie
.”

She straightened the papers in front of her. “Have I ever told you that you have a way with the ladies, Philippe?”

He grinned at her. “No. But then again that’s not exactly on my list of priorities either.”

She gave him an eye roll and laughed, although with half the heart she might have.

“Has something happened?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I got another one of those calls last night is all.”

Of course, that wasn’t all that was bothering her, but it would fill the bill for now. The rest…well, the rest she couldn’t unburden on Philippe.

He put the package back down on the desk. “I’ve been telling you forever that you need to get your phone system updated. You’re still using rotary technology when caller ID might be able to nip the little problem of your midnight caller in the bud.”

“You told me callers could block that.”

She thought again about alerting Homicide Detective Chevalier about the calls. If there was even a remote possibility that the caller could be connected to the murder…

She gestured Philippe away. “Anyway, with business the way it is, we’ll be lucky to have phones at all by next month.”

Philippe still hadn’t moved.

She raised her brows. “It might be a good idea for you to at least look busy in case, you know, I decide I can cut your pay or eliminate your job altogether.”

He squared his shoulders and looked a gesture away from saluting her. “Yes, sir. I mean, ma’am.”

He picked up the package then took the stairs two at a time. Josie shook her head and turned to collect the lockbox so she could give him the money for the kitchen supplies he needed.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile.”

Drew.

Josie recognized the smooth timbre of his voice without looking. Of course, that might also have to do with the fact that he was her only current paying customer. But the way tiny bumps raced along her skin wasn’t how she usually reacted to regular customers.

“Mr. Morrison.” She turned toward the desk.

He was wearing a badge that had the Marriott motif on it along with the name of an auto-parts organization and his own name. He followed her gaze.

“Oh. I forgot I still had this on.” He put down his briefcase and pulled the elastic fastener over his head, tousling his hair.

“Uh-oh. The smile’s gone.”

Josie couldn’t help giving him another. He looked like a breath of fresh air in a stiflingly hot room. He was as welcome as he was unexpected.

“Conference let out for the day?” she asked, counting out the money then returning the lockbox to its spot behind her.

“No. Just decided Gasket Technology of the Future wasn’t going to do it for me this afternoon. So I decided to play hooky.”

Hooky. How youthful the word sounded. And how carefree. Had she ever played hooky from anything? School? Work? She couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever shrugged off her responsibilities and given herself over to spontaneity.

She couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever wanted to.

But somehow standing there looking into Drew’s face…well, she wished she could escape from the worries of her life for a few precious hours. After all, it wasn’t like the worries would go anywhere. They’d still be there when she got back.

Philippe came down the stairs.

Josie looked at Drew. “So did you have anything planned to fill your day?”

He looked mildly surprised by her question. “Actually, I was going to try to tempt you into becoming my private tour guide for the afternoon, but I didn’t think I stood a snowball’s chance in hell.”

Josie edged out from behind the counter. “Philippe, mind the store for a couple hours. It looks like snow to me.”

D
REW COULDN’T BELIEVE
his streak of good luck. Not only had Josie agreed to stroll through Jackson Square and then down Bourbon Street with him, she actually appeared relaxed and, yes, happy.

Why she’d decided to come out with him, he couldn’t be sure. But he wasn’t about to tempt fate by questioning whatever plan the gods had in mind.

“So you grew up at the hotel,” he said quietly, watching the play of dappled sunlight on her tight, black curls.

She nodded then watched her feet as they walked. She wore flat sandals with straps that wrapped around her ankles, the ring of shells around her left ankle clinking as she moved. “In essence, yes.” She squinted at him. “And you? I mean, I know you were born in Kansas City, but you haven’t really said anything beyond that.”

Despite the heat of the day, Drew slid his hands into his slacks pockets, to hide the fact that he’d clenched them. “Nothing much to tell, really. My father left my mother before I was born. Although I think you actually have to be a couple before one can leave the other.” He chuckled without humor.

“So you think your mom lied to you?”

He stared at her. “Yes. Yes, I do. I think she’d had a one-night stand, or a brief relationship with
someone, someone who never had a clue she was pregnant. Then she blamed everything on him.”

“Sounds familiar.”

Drew was curious. “Oh?”

Josie smiled softly. “Yes. The identity of my father is as sketchy as yours, and my mother always cursed him, although they’d never been married.
Granme
used to say something about my mother having dated one man too many.” She shook her head. “I never understood exactly what she meant until I got older.”

Drew was surprised by the lack of bitterness with which she shared her past.

“Do you and your mom get along now?” she asked him.

“No. She died five years ago.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He lightly grasped her arm to prevent her from running into a street mime painted in silver and dressed to look like a statue.

She said, “My mother’s still alive. Living somewhere in Chicago, I think. She hasn’t been in contact with the family for over fifteen years. I couldn’t even find her to tell her
Granme
had passed.”

“You seem okay with that.”

Josie shrugged, her eyes clear and lovely. “I am, I guess. I mean, my
granme
never excused her
actions when she left her old family behind to start a new family, but she never cursed her either. Merely said that everyone had their path to walk, and that was hers.”

“While yours was with your grandmother at Hotel Josephine.”

She smiled at him, challenging the sun for brightness. “Yes.”

Josie had turned them down a side street and he followed, noticing the quietness of the road compared to the constant busyness of Bourbon. The clap of her sandals sounded against the pavement.

“And the hotel…” She drifted off, staring at some undefined point in front of them. “The hotel is almost like family to me. I’ve lived in it for so long, become acquainted with her ghosts, polished her banisters, mopped her floors so many times that—”