Free Relentless Seduction by Jillian Burns Page A

head lady stepped into her path. She glared at Claire, then her gaze darted past her, up the stairs and back to her again. Her eyes narrowed. “I see the King of Flings has bagged himself another Mardi Gras conquest.”
    Claire flinched, feeling suddenly self-conscious having been caught coming from some guy’s apartment. A virtual stranger.
    “Aw, did he make you think you were special?” She pretended to pout. “Don’t worry, honey. That’s his forte.” She curled her lips and stalked out the back door to the parking lot.
    Claire’s face was blazing hot and the room seemed to spin for a moment. The venom from that woman was enough to fell an elephant. But the heavy dose of reality was exactly what she needed right now. Had she actually started to go all moonbeams and starlight about this guy?
    As she entered the bar, she steeled herself to face Rafe by thinking about her next plan of action to find Julia. Except she had none.
    The bar was dark and empty, somehow seeming even more eerie and frightening for its lack of patrons. She pictured pasty-white beings asleep inside the coffins waiting for the sun to go all the way down before throwing off the lids and rising to feed upon unsuspecting tourists.
    With a shiver she turned to the office, assuming she’d find Rafe.
    As she opened the door, Rafe spun lightning fast to face her, aiming a large, black handgun. At her.
    Her heart seized up. Her throat closed. She couldn’t breathe.
    “Damn it!” He glared at her before pointing the weapon at the ceiling. “Don’t ever come in here without knocking.” There was a deadly edge to his voice, and his eyes were a hard, slate-gray.
    “I’m s-sorry.”
    Still glaring, he clicked something on the gun and a clip slipped out. And, just like in cop shows, he checked the chamber, then shoved the magazine back in again. But he looked nothing like a cop. Dressed in a tight gray T-shirt and low-riding jeans, he looked like a thief who’d come to rob this place instead of its owner.
    He stood and gently laid the gun on his desk. “Did you need something?” Without looking at her, he grabbed a small box from his desk drawer. The assistant manager was right. Obviously she was nothing special to this guy. Why would she be?
    “I—I thought I’d get something to eat.”
    He glanced at her, pulled an extra magazine from the box and shoved it into his back pocket. “I have to work.”
    “And you need a gun to work?”
    He hesitated a millisecond too long. “Everyone in this neighborhood keeps a gun behind the bar.”
    “I see.” But she didn’t. She also didn’t believe him. What was he planning to do with it? Was she totally naive to trust this guy? Her stomach heaved.
    Maybe he was going back to The Pit. But why would he, when the police could handle it from here forward? He’d made it clear from the beginning he didn’t want to get involved. And why not tell her, if that was his plan?
    Because he didn’t want her tagging along, getting in the way.
    But still, something wasn’t right.
    For once, Claire, go with your gut, Julia would have said. But Claire didn’t place much faith in her gut.
    “Something else you need?”
    The way he asked made her wince. As if she were bothering him and he couldn’t wait for her to get out of his sight. As if they hadn’t been as intimate as two people can be not eight hours ago.
    But what did she expect? An undying declaration of love just because they’d had sex? She knew better.
    But it still...hurt.
    “No, nothing.”
    She went back upstairs, grabbed her purse and called a cab. But instead of asking the driver to take her to the police station, she had him park out of sight of the bar, but with a clear view of where Rafe’s Barracuda would emerge from.
    Rafe had taught her one useful thing.
    Don’t confront.
    Follow.
    * * *
    L ESS THAN TEN MINUTES LATER , Rafe’s Barracuda appeared at the corner of Dauphine Street and turned right onto Bienville.
    Claire’s cab