Free Be My Baby by Susan Andersen

his fingers poised to punch all her buttons, she reacted in a totally unforeseen way. Jesus Joe, she was contradictory.
    As if sensing his glance, she crossed her bare ankles and tilted her knees toward the console as she swiveled in his direction. “May I?” She reached for the volume dial on the radio and lowered it several decibels without awaiting his permission.
    “Hey, don’t mind me, angel face,” he groused. “Just make yourself at home.”
    He felt her studying him and cheered up. Ah, now he was going to get the speech about manners and the behavior she expected from a professional when dealing with a highborn Yank like herself. Hell, he should have known she wouldn’t dress him down in front of Roxanne and the grandedame; she was much too mannerly, and a public rebuke simply wasn’t her style. She’d most likely been practicing a lecture in her head all this time—being the polite and cautious, methodical type.
    From the corner of his eye he saw her fingers tracing the edge of her seat. Several heartbeats went by, and then she asked, “Who’s Clyde Lydet?”
    “Huh?”
    “I was wondering who—”
    He waved that aside. “I heard what you said, Rosebud. It’s just a hundred and eighty degrees from what I was expecting.” He shot her a glance before returning his attention to the road. “Clyde Lydet is a receiver of stolen arms. Not just any ol’ guns, though, y’understand; he’s a specialist who trades in antique firearms.” He shrugged. “Only in N’Awlins, dawlin’.”
    “Why are you looking for him?”
    “Because I think he’s got a connection with the Panty Snatcher case, which you must have heard me wrangling over with the Pissant yesterday.”
    “The who ?”
    “Pfeffer, the clueless acting captain.” He could almost swear he caught a glimpse of her full lips curling up in sly amusement, but if so, she’d reined herself in by the time he was able to take his attention from the road and look at her directly, for she met his gaze with perfect solemnity. There was something that burned in the gray depths of her eyes, however, something he’d just as soon not examine too closely, and he gave himself a sharp mental shake. “Word is Lydet’s known down inthe Quarter, and trying to find him beats the hell out of cooling my heels outside your office.”
    “What has this Panty Snatcher person done?”
    “Broke into a number of women’s houses and forced ’em to strip at gunpoint.”
    “How awful.” A shiver of empathy raised a light dusting of goose bumps on her arms. “Can’t someone identify him?”
    “He doesn’t just waltz in with his face hanging out,” Beau said impatiently. “He’s got an assortment of Mardi Gras masks he uses to disguise himself.”
    “Oh, my God.” She regarded him with sudden horror. “Edward Haynes has a large collection of Mardi Gras masks.”
    “Everyone and his brother has at least one mask tossed in a closet somewhere,” he told her. “The kind I’m talking about are a dime a dozen in this town.”
    “Oh, of course they are; I should have realized.” Then her eyebrows puckered. “But what does Lydet’s receiving stolen antique guns have to do with a man who forces women to disrobe?”
    “Think about it, sweet cheeks. My sister Josie Lee was his latest victim, and—”
    “Oh, Beau,” Juliet interrupted. “I am so sorry. That must have been horribly traumatic for her.”
    He stole a look at her face, saw the sincere sympathy written there, and whipped his attention back on the road. Shit. He didn’t want her to be sweet about this. He rolled his shoulders impatiently to shrug off her concern. “Yeah, well, according to her, it was more traumatic for me.Anyhow,” he rushed on, not wanting to hear her observation of that comment, “the gun the Panty Snatcher used was an antique. Josie Lee’s description of it was very detailed, and I’m almost positive I’ve come across the same description before. Something about it rings