One Hot Night: A New Orleans Nights Story

by Devlin, Delilah

  “The guy. Can you pick him out on a monitor?”

  She didn’t answer for a second. No way did she want to go back inside that room. She’d go down into the ballroom herself and find the bastard. Then she’d discover if he was a German Howard Hughes or “Hans Gruber” from the movie Die Hard, although he looked more like that ballet dancer, Godunov, who’d died on the steps of the Nakatomi building. But why was she thinking about a Bruce Willis movie at a time like this?

  “Stace!” He gave her a little shake. “Sorry about that back there, but we had another incident. A small fire, plus those idiot protesters who greased their bodies are back… We have a lot to contend with. But you said you saw someone who doesn’t belong…? We could use your help to locate him and put some people on him.”

  Only partially mollified, she shrugged out of his grip and straightened her shoulders. Then without a word to him, she strode back to the security office. One of the guys had given up his seat.

  Ballard held it out. “Please, sit. Try to pick him out of the crowd.”

  She sat, and then leaned toward the row of monitors, glancing at each screen in turn, until she saw the back of a blond head. The build was right. So was the length of his straight blond hair—stylishly cut and brushing his collar. She pointed at the screen. “I need to see his face.”

  The man beside her used a mouse, changed the view to another camera, then zoomed in. This time she could see the blond man’s face.

  At that moment, he looked up into the camera, and a small sinister smile curved his lips.

  “Th-that’s him!” she said, shivering. “He didn’t come through the security line. Plus, I never saw him in any of the groups talking. I don’t think he’s with any of the dignitaries’ entourages.”

  She glanced up at Ballard.

  Ballard stared hard at the screen. “Freeze that screen and print me some pictures, Sid. Andy, get Conrad on the phone. He might be able to help us identify this guy.”

  “Sid” quickly froze the screen. A printer whirred from across the room.

  Ballard cleared his throat. “Sorry about before. Remy says you’ve got an eye for faces.”

  She nodded. “Not exactly. I remember things though. Things I see or hear. And he was kind of unforgettable. I’ve never looked into a colder set of eyes.”

  Ballard’s mouth quirked at one corner. “I won’t diss a reporter’s intuition. Or a woman’s. Thanks for bringing this to us rather than going off on your own.”

  She nodded and pushed up from the seat. “Guess I’ll get out of your hair. Sounds like you guys are pretty busy.” She didn’t look even once at Remy. He was on her shit list.

  When she left the room, another set of footsteps followed her down the hallway, even as Ballard’s voice was busy issuing orders to his men to get more people on the ballroom floor.

  “Stace,” Remy called out. “Stacey.”

  She paused but didn’t turn around.

  He sighed.

  That’s when she knew how close he stood because his breath feathered against her ear. He reached past her, opened another door, then gently pushed her inside. Once the door closed, his arms came around her, and he pulled her back against him.

  “I’m sorry. Everyone’s on edge,” he said, his voice deep and soft beside her ear.

  She liked the way he cradled her against his body. Liked the way he smelled—all manly and spicy, like a Christmas tree and burning sage. “I’m sorry I got huffy,” she said, although she wasn’t really. He’d deserved a little bite. Might teach him not to discount her again.

  “I wish you’d go ahead and leave. It feels like something’s brewing. Something bad. I don’t want you hurt.” His hands moved upward and cupped her breasts.

  She wondered if he even knew he was feeling her up. “How’d that meeting go with your chief?”

  He shrugged against her. “He wanted me to fill in what I knew about the murder.”

  “Did you mention me?”

  “I did. Gonna be mad about that, too?”

  “No, Ballard knows. I’m sure he would have mentioned it to someone.”

  “Might get a visit from the feds, too.”

  “Are they here?”

  “Yeah. Something as high profile as this convention—they’ve been here since before it started.”

  “Huh. Guess I didn’t notice because of all the other suits.”

  He turned her in his arms and bent his head toward hers. “You’re not gonna go, are you?”

  She pursed her lips.

  He sighed. “Just…keep close to an exit, if you can manage it. Know where you’re going if you have to move quickly.”

  “You’re scaring me. Do I really need an escape route?”

  His gaze locked with hers. “Worst case scenario. It’s where my mind goes.”

  “You know where my mind goes?” she asked, glancing up into his eyes.

  His mouth curved. “Does it have something to do with mirrors?”

  Her body shook with silent laughter. “I hope you have that earpiece you’re wearing turned off.”

  “Did it as soon as I chased you down the hall,” he drawled.

  “Well then, no one’s going to know if I do this,” she said, rising on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck.

  When her lips touched his, it was as though a switch flipped. Electricity tickled her lips, her fingertips…the wet place between her thighs.

  When he turned with her and pressed her against the door, she tossed away her clutch purse, tugged on her skirt, and hopped up to wrap her legs around his waist.

  As the kiss lengthened, he moved against her, pushing his clothed cock between her legs, grinding against her as she pumped her hips, rubbing on him, trying to get closer, wishing they were naked.

  When he pulled back his head, they were both breathing hard.

  “Damn,” he whispered.

  “Yeah,” she said, scraping her nails through his hair at the back of his head. “I think…”

  “What, baby?” he said, nuzzling her cheek.

  “I think I’d like to spend a week in bed with you, Remy Cyr.”

  “Think that would be long enough?”

  When he ground harder against her, she groaned. “No. A month.”

  “I’m thinkin’ longer term than that,” he whispered then nibbled on her earlobe.

  That statement shocked her a little bit. Enough she felt the need to deflect. “Swallow my aunt’s earrings, and I’ll have to do mean things to your body.”

  He chuckled and drew back. His smile slowly faded as he stared into her eyes. “I like you, Stacia Rice.”

  “I like you, too,” she said, giving him a small smile. “I’m not a bit bored.”

  “I like the way we make up.”

  She glanced downward then up from beneath her lashes, giving him what she hoped was a sultry glance. “I’ll try to start a fight at least once a night.”

  “I’ve been thinkin’ that, too. We’re gonna get along just fine.”

  She undulated her hips to grind into him one last time. “Better than fine. If you weren’t on duty…”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Tell me.”

  “I’d slide on down your body and open your pants. Then I’d have my wicked way with your big, fat cock.”

  His smile stretched, showing nearly every one of his shiny white teeth. “Did I remember to turn this off?” he said, raising a hand to his ear.

  She slapped his chest. “You better have, mister. Don’t want anyone else knowing what you’re hiding in your pants.”

  “You like it?”

  She bit her lower lip and rolled her eyes. “Love it, Remy. Love every damn inch.”

  He kissed her hard, cradling her head as he did, his thumbs rubbing her cheeks. When he broke off, he said, “I love burying every inch inside you, baby.”

  She fluttered her eyelids. “That’s so sweet.”

  He grinned and shook his head. “You don’t ever stop, do you?”


  “And aren’t you glad?”

  He gave her a final hard buss then gripped her waist and stood back.

  Reluctantly, she released his waist and let her legs stretch toward the floor. When she stood on her heels, she swayed a little, but he was there to steady her.

  “Stacey, for me, will you go home?”

  She drew a breath and let it go. Remy wasn’t running roughshod over her. He was genuinely concerned. “Okay. I’ll go. I’m sure Emil will be happy to have an early night for once. But I’ll be waiting…”

  He bowed his head. “Thank you.”

  “I don’t want to add to your worries, but…” She wagged her finger. “Don’t expect me to always be so compliant. I’m not making it a habit.”

  “I promise not to take a thing for granted.” His gaze swept her. “Better fix your makeup before you go out the door.”

  She smiled. “Better fix yours first.”

  After they made repairs—him removing the white powder and red lipstick from his face—her replacing hers, Remy tapped his earpiece. A loud hum sounded in his ear. “Damn, I think I broke it.”

  He glanced toward Stacia who was already at the door. She opened it an inch to peek into the corridor. When she closed it again, she stood staring at the door, her back stiffening.

  “Something wrong?” he asked quietly.

  When she turned, her eyes were wide. “There are armed men wearing masks in the hallway. They’re entering the security office.”

  Remy flipped the switch for the lights and pulled Stacia deeper into the room, behind the small table and chairs he’d noted earlier inside the room. “How many men?”

  “Two.”

  “What kinds of weapons?”

  “Handguns…?” she said, her voice catching. “Big ones…?”

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and hit the telephone icon, but when he dialed Thibaut’s number the call didn’t go through. The signal icon at the top showed no service available. Frowning, he turned back to Stacia. “Did you see anything else?”

  “No, but they looked…like they work out. Big shoulders…no guts…. Remy, are we in Nakatomi Plaza?”

  By the slight rise of her voice, he knew she was beginning to panic. He placed his palms on her cheeks. “Baby, take a deep breath.” He waited until she did. “Now, take another. Never pictured you as a Die Hard fan,” he said, trying to distract her.

  “Who doesn’t love the best action flick ever?” she said, her voice quivering.

  “Well, sweetheart, if we’re in Nakatomi Plaza, I’m your John McClane.”

  Chapter 10

  Once he was sure she had herself under control, Remy released her and scooted across the floor to a built-in cabinet against the wall he remembered seeing. He opened the bottom cupboard and felt inside. There was just enough space. “Stace, I need for you to hide inside here.”

  She moved beside him, bumping into his shoulder. He guided her hands along the opening.

  “Seriously?” she hissed. “You want me to hide in a cupboard? Where are you going to be?”

  “Stacey, I have to go out there.”

  “No,” she said, running her hands along his shoulders and down his arms. Then she clutched his hands. “You can’t. Are you even armed?”

  He brought her hand to the holster under his jacket. “You missed that when you felt me up?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Shhh,” he said. “I know you’re scared, but I need you to get in there. Please, I can’t be worried about you when I’m out there.”

  “But you can stay with me.”

  “Baby, there’s not enough room.”

  “We could barricade the door.”

  “If they want to get in, they will. If we barricade the door, they’ll know someone’s inside.” He hated the sounds of her quickening breaths, hated that she was frightened. He cupped her face between his hands and kissed her. Then he leaned his forehead against hers. “People could get hurt. I have to go.”

  He felt her nod. “Okay, I’ll hide,” she said in a small voice.

  “Promise me, you won’t make a noise, no matter what you hear.”

  Again, she quickly nodded. He felt her tears wet his hands, and his chest tightened. “I’ll come back for you, baby.”

  “Not a baby,” she whispered. “And I want an actual date. Not a knock on my door. I want flowers, wine…for you to drop some serious bucks.”

  His chest tightened. “I know. I promise. I’ll even wear this damn tux.”

  “So, no bullet holes in it, hear me?”

  He smiled in the darkness. “Promise. Now, get inside.”

  He slowly drew back his hands and waited as she slid past him. Once she was inside, he bent close to her. “I’m closing the door.”

  “Did I tell you I’m claustrophobic?”

  His mouth twitched. “No, you never mentioned that.”

  “Well, if I wasn’t, I’m about to be.”

  “Just breathe. Slow breaths. Calm your heart.”

  “Hard to when I’m bent like a pretzel,” she groused.

  “You’ll be okay.”

  “Promise?”

  “I’m closing the door…”

  “Goddamn, could it be any darker?”

  When the door was closed, he drew his weapon, rose, and moved quickly toward the door. First, he listened. When he detected no movement, he cracked the door. He heard voices down the hallway, coming from the security room. Someone cursed, and he heard the sound of something hard striking something soft, likely flesh. Knowing he’d be outgunned if he went through that door, he made his way in the opposite direction. With both the radio comms and telephone service jammed, there was no way to contact the outside to let them know they were in trouble. The only plus he could see for the moment was that he hadn’t heard any gunfire.

  Needing to keep away from the long open corridors, he ducked into the first stairwell he passed, holding the door to close it quietly then listening for anyone on the stairs. When he was sure he was alone, he ran down to the ground floor level then ducked beneath the little window in the metal door. He darted up, took a quick glance, noted the doorway wasn’t blocked by anyone, and opened it. The door led into a carpeted service access area. Again, he sped down a short corridor to the door at the end. There, he pushed on the bar, opening the door only a couple of inches so he could see inside the pavilion.

  It was deserted, except for men in suits wearing lanyards like the venue’s own security. They were positioned in front of the main entrance and the information desk, but he didn’t recognize any of them. If they were armed, their weapons were holstered.

  Beyond the entrance, he saw the usual gaggle of reporters, all seated on the concrete or leaning against walls, looking bored. So, nothing had alerted them that something was going on inside. That left the ballroom. But how could he get there without being seen? He had to assume that every door other than the main entrance was blocked or guarded, so there was no way out, and definitely no way back inside. Taking his bearings, he noted the direction of the kitchen then backed away from the door.

  Not knowing what had happened to the team, to his brother, he had to assume he was on his own. He found another internal corridor, this one leading toward the kitchen. When he approached a swinging door, he kept his back to the wall and moved carefully toward the glass window. A quick glance inside and his stomach tightened. Cooks and servers were on their knees, facing a far wall, while an armed man with his mask pushed up his forehead applied zip ties to their wrists.

  Another man moved into his line of sight, and he ducked below the window. After a few moments, he moved to the opposite side of the door and peeked inside again to get another view of the room. He saw three of Justin’s team on their knees, already bound and blindfolded—his brother was the last in the row, his head held high and blood trickling from a gash in his cheek. His face was red, his lips curled in disgust. But he was alive, for now.

  Remy squatted in place and thought
hard. No one outside the venue was aware of what was happening or the press would already have been moved out. The target rich ballroom was this group’s goal. Whether they were terrorists or criminals didn’t matter. Nothing good was going to happen at the end of this. The crew was well-organized and had some inside help, otherwise they would never have been able to secure the pavilion without raising suspicions.

  Without knowing how many men were part of this operation, he couldn’t move on his own. However, if two men were all that was inside the kitchen, he could do something to free Thibaut and the other team members inside.

  Drawing a deep breath, he rose again and looked inside. The one watching while the other secured the waitstaff was nearest. Both had their backs to him.

  He eased inside the door…

  What had he been thinking, leaving her inside a damn cabinet! She could barely breathe with her body folded inside it, her knees nearly to her chest.

  Almost as frightening as the sight of the two masked men entering the security room was the thought of suffocating slowly inside this little dark hole. “I can’t do this. I just can’t,” she whispered to herself. Besides, she couldn’t hear a damn thing over the pounding of her heart and her short panting breaths.

  What is happening out there? If I was half the reporter Uncle Winnie was, I’d be creeping down the hallway, sniffing out the story of a lifetime.

  However, Uncle Winnie had never faced armed men, not without soldiers standing, or crouching, beside him. No, maybe she should do just like Remy had asked and stay here. He’d be back soon. He’d promised.

  And since when have I ever waited on a man to rescue me?

  She reached for the cabinet door and pushed on it. The room was still shrouded in darkness—although not nearly as dark as the cupboard, so now she could make out shadows and there was light gleaming from beneath the door.

  Two shadows passed beneath the edge of the door. Two feet—attached to two legs—attached to a man holding a gun. She sighed and let the cupboard door close again. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in…

  Bright light gleamed between the cracks of the cupboard door. Her heart stuttered inside her chest then raced.