Free Heather Graham by Down in New Orleans Page B

to kill, and something incredibly sugary for dessert?”
    “I do.”
    “You’re sure.”
    “Mrs. Marcel, I know the city like the back of my own hand.”
    “Native child?”
    “So damned native it hurts at times.”
    “There’s not much by the hospital.”
    “I’ve got my car.”
    She must have hesitated again.
    He sighed impatiently. “Mrs. Marcel, are you afraid of me?”
    “Certainly not. Other than the fact that you would probably stoop to any means or measure to get me to say something that would help convict Jon, I’m sure you’re a lovely man.”
    “That may be true, but...”
    “But?”
    “I like my opponents kicking and screaming back. You’re too beat. For the moment, you’re safe. Time out. Shall we go?”
    She had no reason to trust him.
    But he tugged on her hand, drawing her to her feet. His grip remained firm, and the warmth in it seemed to give her strength.
    “Don’t you have to go to work or something?” she demanded as a last out.
    He hesitated, just slightly. “I’ve been working all afternoon,” he told her. “I’ll probably go back to work again later. Come on.”
    He released her hand and propelled her before him. She took one last look back at Jon.
    He appeared to be sleeping peacefully enough.
    And the hand felt oddly good.
    Even if it did belong to Lieutenant Eagle Eyes.
    Even if she wasn’t quite sure she dared believe in this moment’s truce...

six
    C INDY CAME INTO THE club early; she needed to do some mending on her white costume. More than that, she needed not to be alone.
    The club was quiet when she came in. April, who was willing to dance for less money on the early shift in exchange for earlier nights, was on stage alone. The music was played by a DJ until nine weeknights, ten weekends, when the Dixie Boys came on. The bar was filled with nine-to-fivers who had stopped for a drink with friends on their way home, most yuppies with kids and wives at their houses. They were a laid-back, courteous crowd, and though April received a wolf whistle now and then, for the most part, the married-man types—and a few of their nine-to-five female counterparts—appreciated the music, dance and ambience, and watched with polite, low-key behavior.
    Gregory was sitting at the bar, nursing a drink. He was a studious musician who came in early often enough to check on the instruments, and sometimes, to work on something new out back in what had once been a carriage house and now served as practice room cum storage for everyone who did everything at the club.
    He seldom sat at the bar with a drink, unless it was a Coca-Cola.
    Seeing him brooding and to a side by himself, Cindy came along and crawled up on the stool beside him.
    “Gregory,” she said carefully.
    He nodded. “Hey, kid.”
    “You okay?”
    He nodded. “Yeah, how about you.”
    “Shaken,” Cindy admitted.
    “Yeah, shaken. I would say that I am damned shaken. There are just no guarantees, you know.” He stared at the stage unseeingly. “I miss her. I miss her already. I miss her because she was so damned happy lately. Because she—she believed .”
    Cindy took his hand in hers and squeezed it. “I miss her, too.”
    “I thought she was going to be so happy. I thought she was going to have everything she wanted. She had lots of friends, lots of people who cared. Hell, she’d had lots of guys, but this one...I thought he was different, the artist, you know? I thought that he really loved her. That he’d see past everything she’d done in her life. I thought he was going to marry her and be decent and everything else. Hell, Cindy, I thought he was so much better than the trash she mixed up with half the time! Guys who abused her, mistreated her...here comes the guy with the gentle way about him, the understanding...” He paused, shaking his head in disbelief and utter disgust. He cast back his head and threw back what looked like bourbon on the rocks in a single swallow. The whole of his powerful frame