Thigh High (28 page)

“Really.”
Really?
“You think he adores me?”

“Why do you think I made another attempt at screwing you? Because if he thought he was losing you, he'd go crazy.” Ryan wiped the sheen of sweat off his forehead. “He's going to come for you.”

“But it still doesn't make sense.” She twirled in a circle. Pushed herself back and forth. “What are you going to do if MacNaught does show up? Have him clean out the vault, order up a helicopter, and lift us off the roof? This is not James Bond.”

“My dad always said I couldn't do anything right. Called me a faggot. Told me I was stupid. But I'll show him. I'm going to do what my dad couldn't do.” Ryan held the pistol in one hand and used the other to pet the barrel. “I'm going to kill Jeremiah MacNaught.”

Inside, the clock ticked on the wall.

Outside, Nessa heard sirens and shouting.

She stared at Ryan. “You're going to murder him? Isn't that the same as killing the goose that laid the golden egg? How are you going to get away?”

“I'm not. I can't live in the swamp. I can't get out of town. I'm not going back to prison. And my leg…I got shot last week. It's oozing and it smells. They're going to cut it off, I know they are.” Ryan's face set in sullen lines. “So he's going to die. I'm going to die. And you—”

Nessa caught a glimpse of movement from inside the vault.

MacNaught had come to save her.

Ripping the last of the paper off the roll of quarters, she flung the coins on the marble floor.

They hit. They smacked. They rolled in all directions. The sound echoed in the empty bank.

Startled, frantic, Ryan leaped to his feet, pointing his firearm up and down, around and behind.

As hard as she could, Nessa shoved with her feet, propelling the chair toward the service center. She dove for cover—and from the corners of her eyes, saw MacNaught. He knelt in the door of the vault. He aimed the cold black eye of a police service revolver right at Ryan. The pistol jumped in MacNaught's hands.

As she slid across the floor and behind the heavy marble slab, she heard the bark of a single gunshot, Ryan's scream, and a heavy thud.

Ryan's
scream. He was the one who'd screamed…wasn't he? If MacNaught was shot, she couldn't bear it.

Firm footsteps echoed through the bank.

She peered out from behind the counter, and there he was. Mac MacNaught.

Green eyes. Dark hair, mussed and falling over his forehead. Big bruiser of a body. Scars on his forehead. Scars that told a story Nessa could comprehend.

On the floor, Ryan lay unconscious, bleeding from a wound by his collarbone.

MacNaught leaned over him, retrieved Ryan's semiautomatic pistol, and stood.

Nessa scrambled to her feet.

MacNaught looked at her, and his relief and joy shone from him.

Ryan was right. MacNaught
did
love her.

“Ionessa?” His voice shook.

She'd never heard a sound as sweet.

She walked into MacNaught's arms.

He held her as if he would never let her go. “I thought I'd lost you. And I walked out of the bank without telling you—”

“I let you walk out and was such a—”

“Is it over?” a high, breathless voice said from the corner.

MacNaught jumped, freed himself, aimed the pistols. “Who's there?”

“Don't shoot me. Don't shoot me!” Arms up, Stephanie stepped out of the corridor and into the light.

“What the hell?” MacNaught stared incredulously.

“She was hiding in her office,” Nessa said.

“She let you face him
alone
?” MacNaught's voice rose.

Stephanie's voice rose right back. “It wouldn't do me any good to get killed, too!”

Snarling like an angry bull mastiff, MacNaught gathered himself to spring.

Nessa pulled him back into her arms. “Stephanie's right. If I'd been in her office and she'd been out here, you would have wanted me to stay in there.”

“But you wouldn't have.”

“No. But you would have wanted it.” Nessa could see Georgia standing outside the bank, gesturing. “The police want to come in.”

“Stephanie, open the door,” MacNaught ordered.

“My keys.” In a panic, Stephanie slapped at her sides. “I don't know where they are.”

“Here. Take mine.” Nessa tossed them to her.

Stephanie's shaking hands missed by a mile.

In a low rumble, MacNaught said, “That woman is worthless. And he—” He glanced at Ryan.

“Do you recognize him?” Nessa asked.

“No. Should I?”

“His name is Ryan Wright, and he grew up in the same town you did.”

“Ryan Wright. I don't know anybody named Ryan Wright.” MacNaught walked over to the prone body and turned Ryan's face to the light.

“He went to your school. His father worked at your father's firm, and when your father—”

That did it. “It's Russell Whimper. With a beard!”

“Russell
Whimper
?”

Stephanie walked past, keys in hand, but they rattled in her grasp.

“Russell Whipple, but he was always bruised or had a cast on his arm, so we called him Russell Whimper.” MacNaught spoke with the confidence of a man who had left those days and that place behind. “His dad used to get drunk and beat the crap out of him, and Whimper would snivel and slink around school because he was so embarrassed. Poor kid. I haven't thought about him in years.”

“He's thought about you—obsessively,” Nessa said. “He blamed you for everything. When you were thirteen and they beat you up—”

Suddenly watchful, MacNaught looked up, into her eyes. “He told you about that, did he?”

“He bragged about it. It was his dad and his friends who did it. And Russell is the one who sprang the trap.”

Reflexively, Mac's hand flew to his forehead. He stared hard at Russell, then shook his head. “He may have. I don't remember that day worth a damn. I only remember one thing for sure.”

“Hold on!” Stephanie called to Georgia as she struggled to insert the key in the lock. “I'm getting it!”

“What do you remember?” Nessa asked.

“I remember my mother running away.”

Startled, Nessa stared at MacNaught. “Running away? She didn't run away. She—”

“Look out!” MacNaught leaped. Grabbed her so fast he jerked her out of her shoes.

Shots splintered the air.

The glass front door exploded.

Stephanie screamed bloody murder and kept screaming.

MacNaught and Nessa rolled, and came to rest under the counter.

More glass shattered. They could hear shouts. “Police!”

Mac shoved at Nessa, pushing her out of sight behind the service counter.

She pulled at him, dragging him with her.

“It's okay!” Georgia's voice sounded like a bullhorn. “I got him.”

“Got him? Wh-what happened?” Nessa stammered.

“I was stupid, that's what happened.” Mac reclined on his back on the cool marble. “I thought Whimper was unconscious, and I didn't check him for weapons. When you looked back at me, he pulled a pistol out of his belt and aimed right at you.”

“He said he wasn't going back to jail.” Now that the danger was over, her teeth were chattering.

MacNaught clutched her, hanging on as if to warm her—or hold her in place. “Listen, Nessa, you've got to let me explain why I came to New Orleans.”

He'd just saved her life. Twice. She didn't want to think about how he'd lied to her. “Don't you think we should talk to the police first?”

“No.” He held her tighter. “I need to tell you
now
.”

She recalled what her aunts said.
Listen to him.
But now didn't seem the time. “If this is about how you hate thieves because your father stole all that money and abandoned you, I get it. I don't even blame you. I'd be mad, too. Not psychotically mad, not I'm going to sneak around and sleep with someone and lie to her about who I am mad, but mad.”

“There's more to it than that.” His voice sounded fainter.

“Look.” Nessa put her elbow in his ribs and shoved her way free. “Georgia's yelling, Stephanie's still hysterical, my friends need me. You're the bank owner—you probably should talk to the cops and the press—”

“No, I only want to talk to you.”

Cool air struck a damp spot on her stomach. “Someone must have dropped something, because—” She looked down at herself.

Red stained her shirt.

She looked down at him.

He was paper white, holding his left side while blood oozed from between his fingers.

The cops were all still shouting.

She screamed loud enough to drown them all out.

Within seconds, Georgia was there. “Hang in there, man!” She tried to pull Nessa away to let the paramedics get close.

MacNaught wouldn't let go of Nessa's hand.

“Not good. Not good!” One of the paramedics pulled open MacNaught's shirt. “What's your blood type, sir? Do you know your blood type?”

“O neg.” MacNaught tugged Nessa close again. “Listen, I might not get another chance.”

“I believe you. Whatever your reason was for being a big fat jerk, it was good enough.”
Not now, Nessa!
“I'm sorry I said it like that. You're hurt.”
Maybe dying.

He gasped a laugh. “But still a jerk.”

She wanted to say no, he wasn't a jerk.

She couldn't. Not even if he
was
dying. “Is he going to be okay?” she demanded of the EMTs.

The EMT leaned over the gunshot wound with a flashlight. “He's going to be—”

MacNaught grabbed the guy by the wrist.

The EMT looked into MacNaught's eyes.

Some kind of manly communication occurred.

The EMT said, “He'll live. I'm almost sure of it.”

Oh, God. It
was
worse than she thought. “MacNaught. Listen. You saved me and I'm grateful.”

“To hell with your gratitude. I don't want your gratitude.” As the EMTs started wiping at his side and wrapping him up, MacNaught panted from the pain.

Nessa took advantage of his silence. “Too bad. You've got it. You saved me, and I'm grateful. But that's not all I am. I'm mad and I'm hurt and…” Now she closed her eyes, trying to get the words out.

When she opened them, she found both EMTs, Georgia, and MacNaught staring at her.

“Guys, would you give us a minute?” MacNaught asked.

“Don't leave me with him. You need to get him to the hospital!” she called frantically.

They ignored her and obeyed MacNaught.

He took her hand. “Your aunts said I should tell you how I got this face.”

“They said I should ask you.”

“I was born a—”

She stopped him with her palm across his mouth.

Gently, he took her hand away. “I was illegitimate. Grandson of a dockworker. I hear it's not a big deal for most people if someone has a child out of wedlock, but it was in my mother's family.” He winced and shifted. “Among the people they knew. Grandparents were ashamed. Hated knowing I was alive. Did as little as possible for my mother. All the time I was little, we were pretty much on our own. But Mom hung in there. Until…” He closed his eyes, and a tear slipped down his cheek. “I'll never forget seeing her running away.”

She couldn't stand to see him like this—wounded and in anguish. “Now, listen, MacNaught.”

His eyes popped open again. “First, you listen. I'm the son of two monsters, both of them willing to leave their child to God knows what fate. You're the child of an old family with a lot of pride and background and love. I know I shouldn't be shining your shoes, but I'm not like either one of my parents. I work hard, I don't run away when things get rough, and whether I should or not, I love you.”

He'd said it before, but she hadn't thought he knew what it meant. Now…now she knew he did.

Plus he'd given a pretty long speech for a guy who might be dying, so she knew he wasn't, and understood that guy moment with the EMT was MacNaught telling him to keep her on tenterhooks.

She leaned close and spoke into his ear. “You'll do anything to win, won't you?”

“Yes,” he said faintly—maybe because he really felt faint, maybe because she asked an uncomfortable question. Pulling a familiar ring box out of his pocket, he handed it to her. “Here. You can trade it in for one you like, but for right now…”

When she didn't immediately take it, he coughed weakly.

If he could scheme that well, he was going to live. But he really was shot, certainly in shock, and in need of medical attention. So she waved the EMTs over and kept it brief. “Russell told me. Your mother didn't run away. The only reason they didn't kill you was because your mom brought the police. MacNaught—your mother saved your life.”

Nessa watched the staff from New Orleans Home Health Care settle MacNaught and his IVs and his monitors in the hospital bed in the study of the Dahl House.

Daniel stood with her, dressed in his performance costume and humming the theme from
The Godfather.
“Isn't it refreshing what a billion dollars can buy?” he murmured in her ear.

“It really is.” Nessa rolled the gigantic diamond around her finger.

From out on the porch, they could hear Calista and Hestia calling to the ambulance team, “Thank you, boys. It was so sweet of you to bring him by. Are you sure you won't take more cookies? You have to help us eat them up! Remember, tomorrow is the start of Lent!”

The owner of Home Health Care, Morgaine Roux, was a tall, thin, gorgeous nurse with sculpted arms that clearly exhibited her experience in manhandling patients. She also had cold hands, a strong jaw, and a take-charge attitude that made Nessa think MacNaught got what he deserved by demanding his early release from the hospital. Morgaine checked all the monitors, leaned over the bed, and in a loud, slow voice, said, “There you are, Mr. MacNaught. And now you should rest.”

MacNaught gradually opened his eyes. “I…was.”

“Come, now.” She straightened the sheets over his chest. “You couldn't have slept through the move.”

Nessa grinned at Daniel and they tiptoed out.

“How long do you give her?” Daniel asked.

“About ten minutes.” Nessa sat down on the stairs.

It was less than five when Morgaine came stomping out, muttering under her breath. Catching sight of Nessa sitting on the stairs, she said, “I pity you. He's going to run your life!”

As Morgaine walked out the door, Daniel grinned and said to Nessa, “Not so much, huh, chère?”

“I can handle him.” Nessa stood and dusted off her rear.

“I think you can, too.” Daniel scrutinized her jeans and chocolate brown T-shirt. “Love the shoes, darling.”

“They are nice, aren't they?” Nessa smiled down at her new red flats. “I bought them last night.”

“Did you have anything in particular in mind? Perhaps a little torment of your lover?”

Nessa widened her eyes and fluttered her lashes. “Why, Mr. Friendly, what do you mean?”

Daniel grinned. “That's what I thought. Dear girl, I have to fly. I have a long day ahead of me.”

“But when it's over, there's another Mardi Gras behind us.”

“Thank God.”

Nessa wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him. “And you'll never have to help rob another bank.”

“Thank God,” he said with increased fervor, and kissed the top of her head. “Now, darling, you get in there before your Mr. MacNaught bursts a blood vessel, and I'll see you at church tomorrow!”

In a flutter of feathers, he headed for the door and met the Dahl sisters coming in.

“Good-bye, Daniel. Work hard,” Calista said.

“Nessa, what did Jeremiah say to that woman? That Morgaine?” Hestia looked over her shoulder in puzzlement.

“He shouldn't send his nurses away,” Calista said. “He was shot yesterday!”

“But not seriously injured,” Hestia reminded her.

“He had to have two pints of blood, sister. That is serious.”

“I know that, but the bullet struck no major organs.”

While the aunts squabbled, Nessa walked into the study. With her hands shoved in her pockets, she stood and surveyed MacNaught.

He had an IV in one arm hooked into two bottles of fluid. He had wires coming off his chest to a heart monitor, and a clip on his finger to another monitor. He looked pale and profoundly irritated.

“I like the outfit,” she said.

He looked down at the faded blue-and-red hospital gown bunched around his middle. “Thanks. Can you make these girls go away?”

Nessa cast a sympathetic glance at the two narrow-eyed nurses hovering in the background. “Is he in imminent danger of death?”

“If he keeps this up, he is,” one of them muttered.

“Wait outside the door,” Nessa instructed. “I'll call if he starts bleeding on the rug.”

The nurses hustled out and were greeted by cries of delight from the aunts.

“Are they pushing cookies again?” MacNaught rasped.

“And pralines.” Nessa strolled over, just out of reach. “If you pick on your nurses, I'll send you back to the hospital.”

“The hospital won't take me.”

“They will if I shoot you again.”

MacNaught smiled crookedly. “Have I told you how smart you were to distract Whimper with the quarters?”

“No, you were too busy having a doctor probe your wound.” She watched him closely, wondering how many details he remembered from yesterday. “Did you call your mom?”

“Yes. She was surprised to hear from me. Asked if I was sick, since I only call at Christmas.”

“And you told her…?”

“I told her I got shot, since I figured she'd find that out, anyway, but that I was okay.” He watched Nessa closely. “I told her I called her with good news—I was engaged.”

Lifting her hand, Nessa showed him the ring.

He smiled and relaxed against the pillows. “So what made you change your mind?”

“I did what my aunts said. I listened to you, and I realized that for good reason, you have issues about honesty. Then I figured out for good reason, I have issues about trust. I figured maybe between the two of us, we could work out our issues. I thought we'd better, since knowing you, you've probably made more enemies, and the next one might be a better shot.” She was trying to keep it light, but unexpected tears sprang to her eyes.

“Don't cry. I'm fine. And from now on, I'll have you to charm my enemies.”

She smiled tremulously. “You've got your own charms.”

“If you're very careful, we can make love.” He opened his arms.

Nessa looked around at the wide-open room, at the entrance where two nurses and two aunts were undoubtedly stationed. “If you're lucky, I'll hold your hand.”

“Kiss and hug.”

“You don't have to negotiate everything.” But she laughed, walked close, kissed him, and let him wrap his arms around her. Gently she leaned her head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat. “Does that hurt you?”

“No.” He stroked her hair back from her forehead. “I've been thinking about what you said yesterday. About my mother. Do you know, I've been very careful not to think of that time, and that's why I…”

“Never thought it through?” With care not to jostle him, she slid onto the mattress and rested against him.

They were both happier that way.

“When I was eleven,” he said. “My mom got married. I didn't like my stepfather, and I don't think he much liked me.”

“Because you were a big, clumsy, loudmouthed adolescent?”

“That might have been it. Plus, he worked at Manly.”

Nessa could already see the setup. “And he got a hard time for getting stuck with Nathan Manly's kid.”

“I guess. Yeah, probably.” MacNaught took a long breath. “Then my real father skipped out.”

“How rough was that?”

“All the time I was growing up, Dad—Nathan Manly—wasn't there very often, but when he was, he always acted like he loved me.” MacNaught's hands paused as if he were thinking. “Looking back…I really thought he did. But when the company collapsed, he skipped out without a backward glance, taking all his money and abandoning me and my mom.”

That kind of behavior baffled Nessa. “How could he?”

“Fathers do it all the time—run away with their secretary. In my business, I see it a lot. But I didn't think Dad ever would, and he really left us in the lurch. Manly Industries closed, and my stepfather was out of a job, stuck with a wife people called a whore and a kid he called a bastard. Times were tough, and I blamed my mom. For everything.”

MacNaught was squeezing her too hard, but she just burrowed closer. She could feel the pain he was in and the anguish of those memories.

“I really don't remember much of the day they beat me up. The Christmas decorations, and the rain turning to ice…I think we went shopping because we figured no one else would and we wouldn't get spit at.” Beneath her cheek, his heart sped up. “When that kid Russell Whimper came running to get me, I must have had some premonition of trouble, because I told my mom to go back in the store, and I went with him into the alley…. I think one of them hit me with a board or something, because I never saw them. Just smacked the ground, felt the boots kicking my ribs…looked up and saw my mom and thought she would save me.”

“And she ran away.”

“Yeah.”

“To get the police.”

“That does make sense, doesn't it?” He sounded disgusted with himself. “I don't know why that never occurred to me.”

“Because you were thirteen and angry and hurt.” She could imagine the hostility he must have felt. “Were you in a coma?”

“For a month, maybe, in the medical center in Philly, so when I woke up, Mom wasn't there. When she did get there, my stepfather was with her. He'd found a job in New York. They were moving. She was pregnant. I was…not kind.”

Nessa looked up at him. “Rough times.”

“I was such a dumb kid.” He gazed at Nessa in perplexity. “I wish I could tell her…. Last night, I was going to. I tried. I tried to explain, but I just couldn't explain what I…how do you tell your mother something like that?”

Nessa got right to the heart of the matter. “Did she cry when you called?”

“Yes.” He sounded as horrified as any man when faced with a woman's tears.

“Then I'd say she has an inkling.” Nessa crawled up the bed so they were face to face. “The thing is, MacNaught, losing my parents was no picnic. Hestia and Calista both have suffered loss and anguish. The whole city of New Orleans is rising from the dead. I do understand that you hate thieves, and why. But you have to understand, that teller who lied to me almost destroyed my life. And I didn't steal from you, but you did lie to me. So let me make this clear—if you ever do it again, I will make you sorry.”

“Normally, I don't tell lies. I'm known for my truthfulness—which people like Gabriel Prescott call tactlessness.”

“I know it.”

“I've never bought a woman a ring before, not even an ugly fucking one.”

“I'm sorry I said that.” Mortified, actually. “I don't usually say the F word.”

“I've noticed. Me—I've never done a flow chart about how a marriage should work. I've never had my lawyers draw up a prenup. There's never been anybody for me but you. Gabriel saw me watching those videos of you, and I know he thought I was one perverted bastard.” He cupped her cheek. “But when I saw your face, I fell in love, and I couldn't stand it. I loved my dad, and he walked away without a glance, and my mom waited until that gang was beating me to death before she walked away. Loving you wholeheartedly was too much of a risk…. But once I met you, I had no choice. Because, Nessa, you're as beautiful inside as you are out, and there'll never be another woman for me.”

She smiled through tears. For a man who was lousy at conversation, he had a way of touching her heart.

“When your parents come down for the wedding, you and your mother can spend some time together. Even if you can't quite tell her, by the time the baby comes, your mom will understand.”

He jumped. “Are we having a baby?”

She smiled serenely. “I don't want to wait too long. The aunts aren't getting any younger, and Miss Maddy does love to hold a baby.”

“That's a project I'm glad to work on.” He kissed her. Kissed her deep. Kissed her hard. Almost knocked over his IV pole. “Son of a goddamn—”

“MacNaught!” Nessa grabbed and caught it. Sliding off the bed, she pushed her hair out of her face and backed away.

The nurses rushed in, clucking like hens. The great-aunts peeked in the door.

Pootie clomped in, smudges of black on her face. Without paying a bit of attention to Nessa, she said, “Mac! Plug-in for the automatic kettle in my room caught fire. Wiring in this place sucks. Better get that taken care of.”

Debbie Voytilla came next. “Mr. MacNaught, something has to be done about that woman before she burns the place down over our heads!”

Bewildered, he raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

Nessa interceded with a firm, “Debbie, you need to talk to Aunt Calista and Aunt Hestia.”

“He's a guy,” Pootie said. “Guys take care of wiring.”

Debbie glared at Pootie. “And of careless boarders.”

Pootie laughed jeeringly. “He's not throwing me out.
I
have a lease.”

“Nevertheless, Mr. MacNaught was shot yesterday. I think he should have twenty-four hours before he has to deal with the wiring in this house.” Nessa gently guided the two quarreling women to the door, then settled herself in an overstuffed chair where he could see, but not touch, her.

Nurses. Aunts. Boarders. The whole city of New Orleans was interrupting Mac's private time with Nessa.

He realized—she was wearing red shoes. Like one of Pavlov's dogs, he responded with instant lust.

And the aunts hustled in.

He had to give vent to his frustration. But he was surrounded by women. “Darn it!”

Calista had a plate of pralines.

Hestia had a plate of cookies.

They put them on the bed beside him.

“Jeremiah, you sound so much better.” Calista clasped her hands over her heart. “Last night, we thought you were at death's door.”

Hestia beamed. “We're so glad. That you're better, we mean. Because we've been thinking.”

“We?” he said cautiously.

“Calista and I. We've been thinking that it would be nice if you did some kind of promotion with the Beaded Bandits.”