Free At Risk by REBECCA YORK Page B

.” he raised one shoulder.
    “Difficult,” Eugenia finished for him. “And very sure she knows what’s best. I hate it that in this case, she was right.”
    “Will you be okay while I go talk to Pete?”
    “Did you forget I want to go with you?”
    She saw him start to object, then must have thought better of trying to set the rules, particularly in light of the conversation he’d just heard her half of. Still, he did say, “It’s probably going to be a more productive meeting if I go alone.”
    “You may think so, but I don’t agree. I hired Decorah Security to investigate the muggings. I don’t want to be shut out of information.”
    He waited a beat, obviously weighing alternatives. “Okay.”
    “Thanks,” she answered, relieved that they weren’t going to have an argument, because she wasn’t up for any more drama this morning.
    As they finished their preparations, he asked, “Something I’m curious about. How did you pick Decorah Security?”
    She shrugged. “I looked online and I saw some of the cases the agency had handled. I guess I liked the way you all came across.”
    He answered with a nod.
    “Did the owner—Frank Decorah—know about your . . . I don’t know what to call it. “Your special ability when he hired you?”
    “Yes.”
    “And he liked that?”
    “Yes. He’s got other agents who have something extra.”
    “Like what?”
    “Probably we shouldn’t talk about the other guys.”
    “Right.”
    oOo
    By six forty-five, they were out of the apartment. As she put a notice on the front door of the restaurant saying she’d be open again soon, she tried to ignore the curious stares of some of the people who’d seen the police commotion and the news reports. When she spotted the tall, willowy figure of Mrs. Houston from the beauty shop, pushing her way toward the front of the crowd, she sucked in a breath. The woman’s blond hair was beautifully arranged, but her black dress did nothing to enliven her dour face.
    Rafe followed her gaze. “That’s the woman who doesn’t like it that you moved in?”
    “Yes.”
    Mrs. Houston stepped into Eugenia’s path, blocking her escape route as she said, “I warned you that voodoo stuff was bad news.”
    “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she answered pleasantly, thinking that Mrs. Houston and her mom were on the same wavelength. Had they cooked up something together to turn people away from the restaurant? And it had gotten out of hand?
    Even as the thought formed, she dismissed it.
    “And that voodoo death has given the whole neighborhood a bad name. I guess now you’ll think twice about repeating the mistake.”
    “It wasn’t a voodoo death.”
    “What was it?”
    “We don’t know.”
    “Then it could have been.”
    Before she could argue with the woman further, Rafe stepped between them.
    “Ms. Beaumont has some business to attend to this morning. I’m sure she’d be happy to talk to you another time,” he said.
    “Glad to hear it. And who are you? Besides the guy who spent the night with her last night?”

Chapter Seven
    In the dead silence that followed, Rafe fought the urge to explain why he’d been in Eugenia’s apartment overnight. Instead he took her arm. She let him lead her to the car and open the door, where she dropped like a stone into the passenger seat.
    “So now as far as she’s concerned, I’m a voodoo messenger of death and a slut,” she muttered.
    “Do you care?”
    “I shouldn’t.”
    Should he have spent the night, he wondered. The answer was the same as it had been the night before. If he hadn’t been there, the person who’d attacked him could have come upstairs and gone after Eugenia.
    He slid her a quick glance. She was sitting rigidly in her seat, staring straight ahead. He wanted to reach out and lay his hand over hers. He wanted to say he was sorry her nosy neighbor was keeping tabs on her. And he wanted to say he was sorry the two of them couldn’t figure out how to act around