Free Bad Moon Rising by Katherine Sutcliffe

detriments too much pride could have on a
person’s life.
    J.D. was a prime example. If he hadn’t given two hoots
about proving his father was right about his marrying Laura, she wouldn’t be
dead now ... and neither would his children.
    On the way to the restaurant, J.D. made a call to vice
and reported the theft of Holly’s car, description and plates. Detective Chris
Wallace told him they would look into it but promised nothing. New Orleans was a haven for auto thefts thanks to tourists who too often left their cars
unlocked. J.D. didn’t relay this bit of information to Holly at the moment. She
was on the verge of hysteria.
    Desire Oyster Bar was packed with the lunch crowd,
many of whom were already immersed in the French Quarter mentality of boozing
themselves into oblivion by two in the afternoon. College punks and tourists
who would sleep off their drunkenness through the afternoon and start again
when the sun went down and the jazz bands moved onto the streets to contribute
to the celebratory atmosphere. As J.D. and Holly stood at the crowded
entrance, he spotted Beverly in a booth near the back. Her smile froze as she
noted Holly.
    “Oops,” Holly offered, flashing him a knowing look. “Looks
like your friend isn’t pleased to see me. Maybe I’ll just take a seat at the
bar.”
    “Right.”
    As Holly headed for the bar, J.D. wove his way through
the tables, noting Beverly’s attention was focused on Holly. She might have the
patience of Job, but there was no denying her twinge of jealousy over women he
occasionally dated.
    “Sorry I’m late.” He slid into the booth.
    Beverly forced her gaze across the table. “Who is she, John?”
    “A client.”
    She smiled tightly and reached for her tea. “Very
pretty.”
    “Really? I hadn’t noticed.” He reached for his cola. “Every
head in the place turned to watch her cross the room. Unless you’ve been
stricken blind, you noticed.”
    “Not my type.” He grinned. He wasn’t in the mood to
have his patience rubbed any rawer than it had already been.
    “I know you better, John. You needn’t lie to me.”
    “What do you want me to say, sweetheart? That her
fabulous ass turns me on and I fantasize about fucking her? Is that what you
want to hear?”
    “Do you?”
    Sitting back in the seat, he stared at her as his
stomach began to burn.
    Her face blushing, Beverly lowered her gaze.
    J.D. reached across the table and took her hand in
his. “Sorry. It’s been a tough twenty-four hours. I’m on edge. I didn’t mean to
take it out on you.”
    “What you do with your life is no business of mine.”
She swallowed. “I just don’t want to see you hurt again. Call me protective.”
    He squeezed her hand, her fingertips cold as chips of ice
against his own. “Okay, Protective, what’s up with Patrick?”
    As she poured out the latest news about her son, J.D.
picked at his gumbo and did his best to focus on her voice amidst the din of
conversing diners. His attention continued to drift to Holly, who sat at the
bar, her long legs crossed, her dark hair lying in loose spirals down her back.
    Beverly had been right. It seemed every man in the place
watched her. Why not? She was every man’s wet dream. Pouty lips, sleepy bedroom
eyes, hinting of unbridled sexcapades. Though she wore nothing more figure
enhancing than a tight pair of faded jeans and white midriff cotton blouse,
she had the kind of body to stop traffic.
    Some niggling memory continued to bother him, and as
he watched her chat with some beer-gutted man in a cheap suit, flashes of faces
and names zipped through his mind, but none of them fit.
    “John, are you listening to me?”
    “You found him with a porno mag.” He shrugged. “He’s
sixteen.”
    “Hormones. Curiosity. Experimentation. I know. John,
he suggested I divorce his father.”
    The man in the cheap suit sidled closer to Holly. He
was sweating now, his mouth stretched in a jackass grin.
    J.D. felt like driving his fist