Free Cajun Gothic (Blood Haven) by Nya Rawlyns Page A

shrugged. My flight wasn’t until the next
afternoon, leaving me plenty of time to kill. That didn’t mean that she’d
piqued my curiosity.
    “You’re familiar with my employer…”
    “Yes.” I left it curt and leaned back against the
stiff cushion.
    “Well, then, I have a car waiting.”
    “Let it wait.” She arched a thin eyebrow, annoyed,
but I continued, ignoring her. “I have questions.”
    “Of course, and I am here to answer as many as I can
to allay your concerns.”
    “Oh, I really doubt that.”
    I needed some idea of how many ‘interested parties’
were playing in my sandbox today. I had two in the bag. The legal beagle
sitting across from me made it potentially three. But were there more?
    Hoping she’d clear the air on one question nagging
both me and Ivan, I said, “So, answer me this… have you had me followed?”
    Like a shutter clicking on a camera lens, there was
that instantaneous flicker of concern. Not for being caught out. No, this was
news to her, and the woman clearly didn’t take kindly to being surprised.
    Tight-lipped she said, “Not to my knowledge, Mr.
Shepherd.”
    I took that as an unequivocal ‘no’ because nothing
but nothing was getting by her. I had ten solid years of experience to back up
that particular hunch.
    I threw some bills on the table and slid out of the
booth, offering an arm, but the woman ignored me and smoothly moved toward the
door. The ride was a black Lincoln Town Car. A bodyguard doubling as chauffeur held
the door. She got in first and adjusted the skirt to sit primly about her
thighs. I wasn’t a fan of nylons but the sheers she had on encased very shapely
legs.
    That reminded me of Sasha, coming down the stairs
the first time I’d seen her. And then I thought about what she’d done to me in
the hot sun. Perspiration beaded on my forehead as I struggled to control my
body’s reaction to that memory.
    The woman looked at me with curiosity. As well she
should. Even I knew I was a mess. And going to a meet with the head of Dark
Haven enterprises required a cool head, not one out in lala land.
    I eased in next to her, using my right hand to keep
my sport coat in place. They both had to know I was armed, the bulge was a dead
giveaway. Ivan’s concern for my gonads still made me smile.
    The driver slid behind the wheel and pulled
carefully into light traffic. We hit the usual stop and go on the Shore
Parkway. I must have dozed off because the next thing I saw was the FDR parking
lot ahead of us. The woman glanced irritably at her watch and tapped a
manicured nail on the silk skirt.
    “Tomas, when you can…” The driver nodded and angled
us onto a ramp that dumped us into the East Village. We bulleted past Mom and Pop
storefronts, reconstituted tenements and new high-end condos.
    Expecting to pull into a parking garage for one of
the office buildings, or even one of the condos, I was surprised when we
double-parked outside a trendy restaurant. Tomas left the car idling and
assisted the woman, leaving me to my own devices.
    She had a quiet word with the driver while I
surveyed the area. East Village was still in the process of switching from its
immigrant pauper European and Latino roots to the more upscale image that tried
hard to recapture the old bohemian artsy-fartsy crowd ambiance. Thompkins
Square Park was two blocks over. I’d been working there on security for a drag
fest a few years back, an interesting experience but one that almost landed me
in hot water. O’Hearn was the only one who knew about that particular
peccadillo. He still ribbed me about it.
    Miss Prim and Proper approached the door which
magically opened. A white-coated attendant with a linen napkin draped over an
arm guided us, without a word, to the rear of the restaurant.
    The interior dripped old-world charm, the walls
lined with wine racks set at asymmetric angles, the floor polished to a dark
walnut, lighting low and intimate even in the middle of the afternoon.