The Taking (25 page)

“I guess you were right.” She drained her wine. “So what do I do?”

“Nothing. You do nothing.”

“Okay, I’ve got to agree with him now,” Jen said, playing with her caramel-colored hair like she could somehow get it to cover her cleavage. “I think maybe you should wait awhile before you wade into sex and dating. You’ll either wind up in a rebound relationship or in a string of meaningless hookups.”

Just when she thought she couldn’t feel any worse, her friends managed to make her feel just that way. “Thanks. This has been very helpful. Just resign myself to celibacy for an indefinite period of time.”

“Just a few months. Get your head back on straight:” Jen might have a point. God only knew Regan’s head was not on straight.

She was seeing reptiles in her bed and heading out for balcony strolls she didn’t remember.

It was better to focus on decorating her house, working, and spending time with her friends and family.

So why did that feel so incredibly unsatisfying?

“Where’s the waiter?” she asked. “I need a refill.”

Two hours later, Chris and Jen walked her home on their way to the parking garage to retrieve their cars. They had managed to have a great time, despite Jen’s fears coming true and the bachelor party hitting on her, and they were navigating the sidewalks of the Quarter, joking and laughing with each other.

Until they got to the corner of Ursuline and Regan came to a complete stop.

“What’s the matter?” Jen asked.

“He’s sitting on the stoop across from my house,” Regan whispered, pulling them back into the shadow of the building.

“Who?” Chris asked, bewildered.

Regan fussed with her hair, then checked her phone. He hadn’t called. Yet he was sitting outside her house.

“Felix,” she hissed.

“Really?” Chris popped his head around the corner. “Ohmigod. He is smoking hot.”

She knew this. Knew it very, very well. “I told you!”

“Why is he sitting across from your house?” Jen asked, peeking around the corner for her own look. “Whoa. Hot is right.”

“I have no idea why he’s sitting there. What do I do?”

“Well, we can do two things. You can pretend you don’t see him and we’ll just sail on past to the front door. Or you can glance over, pretend to see him for the first time, and wave and go and say hello. Your choice.”

Regan bit her fingernail. She had a slight buzz going on and was feeling a little vulnerable. Like if she spoke to Felix she would say something incredibly stupid. “Let’s just pretend we don’t see him. I don’t know what to say to him.” Maybe it wasn’t the mature thing to do, but everyone was entitled to a moment of immaturity, weren’t they? She was going to claim hers.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “Okay. Let’s go. Don’t look left, anyone.”

“Do you think it’s a coincidence he’s sitting there?” Jen asked in a low voice as they started walking, crossing the street.

“Hello!” Chris made a face. “I don’t think so.”

Could they walk any slower? They were only halfway across the street and Regan’s heart was racing, afraid Felix would suddenly call out her name, and then she’d be forced to confront him, feeling flushed and weird and insecure.

“Slow down,” Jen hissed at her. “You’re practically running.”

Great. By the time they got to the cover of her house, Regan was stress-sweating. “Did he look? That was horrible.”

“How would I know if he looked?” Chris asked. “I didn’t look. Sweetie, you need to get a grip.”

“You think?” she asked sarcastically. It took two tries to get her key in the lock, and after a quick good-bye, she retreated into the house and leaned against the door.

Yeah. Getting a grip was a solid plan.

After jogging upstairs she changed into pj shorts and a T-shirt, turned out the light, and went over to the balcony doors. Hanging against the wall to the left of the doors, she leaned and peeked out through the glass. Felix was still sitting there.

Taking Moira’s monkey out from under the nightstand and hugging it, Regan climbed into bed and tried to sleep.

Two hours later she was still staring at the ceiling.

Tossing back the covers, she crossed the dark room, and strained to see the street. Her nose was against the glass before she spotted him. Still sitting there. Staring up at her.

Regan drew back so fast she tripped over the ivory silk drapes.

What the hell was he doing? Did he honestly think she was going to sleepwalk again? And if he did, why didn’t he just knock on her door and come inside?

Because while he wanted her safe, he didn’t want her.

That was a fun thought.

Determined to get some sleep and stop running on three hours a night, Regan got back in bed and closed her eyes.

When she woke up in the morning, she was lying on the floor of the bedroom down the hall, one completely empty of furniture, with no idea how she had gotten there.

For the third morning in a row, Regan woke up on the floor of the front bedroom, body stiff from sleeping on the hardwood.

“Oh, my God,” she groaned, rolling onto her side, muscles protesting. What the hell was going on? And if she was suddenly sleepwalking, why did she have to keep picking the same room that had no furniture? It was killing her back.

The only plus was that the room faced Royal Street, so the morning sun streamed in, preventing her from oversleeping for work. Other than that, the whole thing was miserable and frustrating.

As was the fact that every night when she went to bed, Felix was sitting across the street from her house, watching her.

At first it had seemed odd but strangely thoughtful. Then it had just seemed weird. And now it was making her angry. Sitting on the sidewalk practically stalking her was not acceptable. Normal people picked up the damn phone and called each other if they had concerns. They didn’t hover on the fringes of your life, watching you, instead of trying to have actual person-to-person contact.

She was going to do something about it. She wasn’t sure what, but it needed to stop. It was damaging her already fragile peace of mind. Bad enough to have amazing sex with a man and then have him blow you off. Even worse to have amazing sex and then have the man practically pitching a tent in your bushes. It only wanted a pair of binoculars in his hands.

What made it even stranger was that he knew she knew he was there. She was absolutely sure he saw her glancing out at him night after night. Wouldn’t most men slink off in shame or explain themselves? Felix didn’t seem inclined to do either.

Regan hauled herself off the floor and winced. She was going to deal with Felix, but first she was going to have to deal with this sleepwalking issue. If for whatever reason, she was going to keep winding up in this room, she was going to have to put a bed in here. There was a full-size bed in another one of the bedrooms that she had deemed a guest room, but she was going to have to move it to this room and hope that if there was at least a bed present, she wouldn’t keep waking up on the floor.

She’d been in this house eight days and she had yet to get a single night of quality sleep. It was making her cranky.

Or maybe, just a little bit crazy.

So cranky, and possibly crazy, that after another party-planning meeting with Jen that afternoon, Regan found herself heading to Felix’s shop to confront him. The sign outside was wooden, giving the appearance of being hand-painted. It said simply “House of Voodoo.” The bell over the door jangled when she entered.

The layout of the store, the items on display, were familiar to anyone who had grown up in New Orleans or visited frequently. Some voodoo shops went for the fantastical, displaying gruesome dolls, catering to tourists who wanted a thrill or a chill. Others were designed to attract tourists more interested in a spiritual souvenir, and those who wanted to burn a candle for luck or love or money.

Felix’s store was somewhere in between the two. He had candles and altars to the gods and goddesses of voodoo. There were beautiful dolls handmade by local practitioners and artists. But there were also cheap manufactured dolls, chicken-foot key chains, and Marie Laveau refrigerator magnets. It was an odd mix, the baskets of inexpensive items on tables up front, the back dedicated to the altars, candles, expensive dolls, and a built-in case of herbs.