by Laura Leone
“Now, Felix,” Nick began, trying to rescue the situation, “maybe you made a mistake somewhere. That diagram looks very complicated—”
“That’s the first thing I’m going to do,” Felix interrupted enthusiastically. “Double-check my figures. Then I’m going to cast your current horoscope. After that, we really need to sit down with the tarot deck.”
“Um, maybe—”
“Where are you going?” Diana asked as Felix hopped up and headed for the door.
“Down to my study.”
“Oh, Felix, can’t it wait till morning?” Diana said. “It’s already late, and you’ve got an early appointment tomorrow.”
“I do?” He stopped and stared at her in bewilderment.
“Yes. Remember? Mrs. Bouvier called today, and she was so insistent, I squeezed her into tomorrow’s schedule.”
“We discussed this?”
“Yes, Felix.”
“Oh. Well, yes, I suppose you’re right, Diana. I want to be fresh for my clients tomorrow.”
Nick was dying to ask about Mrs. Bouvier’s call, but too much had been said already, and he didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself tonight. Diana’s eyes were already sparkling with probing questions. He couldn’t afford to show too much natural curiosity or deductive reasoning.
“I guess I’ll go meditate in my room and get ready for bed,” Felix said serenely. “Good night, Nick. I can’t tell you how intriguing this has been.”
“Good night, Felix.” As Nick watched the older man leave the room, he felt a strange tug inside him. He smiled wryly as he realized he was becoming kind of fond of the astrologer.
“A gun-toting, skirt-chasing private eye?” Diana asked archly.
Nick turned to find her studying him with mingled amusement and suspicion. He shrugged. “Hey, maybe my problem is just that I’ve chosen the wrong path in life. How was I to know the celestial bodies wanted me to become Sam Spade?”
“It’s certainly interesting that the stars indicate no interest in higher spiritual pursuits.”
He gave her a slow grin. “So you do believe, after all.”
She ran a hand through her hair and stood up. “I never said that.”
“No, don’t deny it. You believe.” He folded his arms across his chest and leered mischievously at her. “Want me to chase your skirt?”
She rolled her eyes at him and cleared away the tea mugs. “No. Just tell me who you are and what you did for thirty-three years before coming to the House of Ishtar. A brief synopsis will do.”
“Ah-ah. That would be telling, and I’m sure Felix prefers a challenge.” He stood up and carried the honey pot to her. After she had put it away, they faced each other. “But if you’re worried about the gun-toting part of his prediction, I’d suggest a body search.”
He wondered why he had said that. Then he saw the flash of desire in her eyes and knew he had said it because—beyond personal or professional integrity—he wanted to touch her again. And he wanted her to touch him.
Diana risked a glance at Nick and was immediately ensnared by the exotic blue of his gaze. She heard muffled drumming and recognized it as her own heartbeat, suddenly quick and heavy with excitement. “A body search?”
“Sure. In case you still don’t trust me,” he explained in a voice gone low and gravelly.
“I don’t distrust you. Exactly.” Her gaze moved over his body, enjoying a visual search. His cambric shirt and faded blue jeans clung to his lean muscular body in such fine detail that it was obvious to the most casual observer that he wasn’t carrying any extra equipment.
“Like what you see?” he asked cockily.
“I’d say there’s no room to tote a gun,” she answered truthfully.
“You never know,” he whispered. He took her hand in his, drew her closer, so close she could feel his body heat, and laid her palm against his hard chest. “There’s all sorts of high-tech camouflage these days.”
Diana swallowed when she felt the firm swell of his pectoral muscles. Prompted by desires she had kept under tight control all day, she let her fingers glide over his chest, down his ribs, and across the washboard muscles of his stomach. “This feels pretty real to me,” she said at last, her voice thin and wispy.
Nick raised one arm and wrapped a warm hand around the back of her neck. He lowered his head and gave a soft groan as his fingers massaged her gently and tangled her long hair. “It feels pretty real to me, too,” he muttered.
She stilled and drew back her hand for a moment, aware that she was getting caught in his web again, aware that she didn’t know enough about him to feel like this when they touched.
“No,” he protested, sliding his other arm around her waist and pulling her against him. “Don’t stop touching me.”
Diana couldn’t breathe. She could feel the rock-hard strength of his thighs pressing against her, the temptation of his chest brushing against her cotton-clad breasts, the encouraging caress of his skilled hands. She felt the rolling texture of the muscles all along his back. That was when she realized that she was touching him again, doing his bidding, ignoring her common sense. Whether it had been foretold or not, this man unleashed some special magic upon her that she had never before encountered.
Their faces were very close together, but they were both keeping their eyes downcast, concentrating on tactile sensation, on pure pleasure. His long fingers molded and stroked her back, her sides, her hips, her arms.
His arms and shoulders bulged beneath her hands with raw strength, and she marveled that he could be so gentle when he trailed his fingers down her neck, across her collarbone, and then threaded them through her hair.
Nick tilted back Diana’s head and whispered longingly, “The Lovers. Do you believe that was us?”
Diana drew in a sharp breath and held it. She met his gaze at last when he forced up her chin. The look in his eyes told her he as ready to make the prediction become a reality.
“Do you believe that?” she whispered.
“I don’t know about the cards, but I know what I want.” He lowered his head and delicately traced his hot, satin-smooth tongue up the length of her neck. “What about you?”
“Ohhh...” She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her cheek against the lushness of his midnight-black hair. She couldn’t talk when his tongue was teasing the hollow of her throat with damp strokes, when he was making her think about all the other places he could touch her like that.
“Mmmm.” Nick nuzzled the heavenly-sweet skin of Diana’s cheek and pressed hot, tender kisses against it, loving the involuntary way her body trembled in his arms. Her hips moved around voluptuously, trying to get closer, her arms glided over his shoulders and around his back, and she kept tilting her head gracefully to show him where she wanted to be kissed next. When he felt her lips against his skin, nibbling softly, his hands closer over her firm bottom with unintentional roughness. She moaned and pressed herself still closer.
Then a loud, eerie sound invaded the room.
“Ommmmmmmmmm...”
Nick nearly jumped out of his skin. “What’s that?”
Diana clutched at his shirt as she sought to regain her balance. Her breath came in gasping little pants, and she stared at Nick as a series of aftershocks assaulted her nervous system.
“Ommmmmmmmm...”
Nick shoved her against a wall, blocking out light as his body crushed against hers. The air whooshed out of her lungs and she saw dark spots.
“What is that?” Nick repeated, his head turned toward the hallway leading to the rest of the apartment.
“Gurgh,” Diana said, hoping to draw his attention.
“What? Oh. Sorry.” He eased away from her slightly, giving her room to breathe.
“That’s Felix,” she panted.
“Ommmmmmmmmmm...”
“What the hell is he doing?”
“Self-hypnosis. He does this when he wants to talk to some of his past incarnations.”
“You�
�re putting me on.”
“Nick, I’m a little uncomfortable. If you don’t mind...”
Nick snorted, backed away, and helped her stand upright. “Sorry. I thought... I don’t know what I thought.”
“You jump into action pretty quickly when you think there’s danger,” she observed. When Nick shrugged, she added thoughtfully, “Maybe Felix is right, as usual. Maybe you were meant for law enforcement or something.”
“Ommmmmmmmmm...”
“Does he have to talk to his past incarnations quite so loudly?” Nick asked.
“He says that an extra-loud chant helps him block out the unreality of our physical existence on this plane,” Diana explained apologetically.
Nick put his hands on his hips and heaved a sigh. After a moment, the humor of the situation appealed to him, and he gave her a sparkling grin. “I guess that kind of killed the mood, huh?”
Diana nodded. “Maybe it’s just as well.”
“Oh?” His dark brows rose into a high arch.
“I’m not going to let the gods pander for me, Nick,” she said matter-of-factly.
“What?”
She twisted her hands together nervously. “I mean, I’m not going to fall into your arms just because the tarot deck says I’m going to take a lover soon.”
If anything, her comment seemed to amuse him even more. “So why did you just fall into my arms?”
“I didn’t... Oh, well, yes, I guess I did.” Diana frowned and tried to reconstruct her argument. “I mean to say that I... That is, we...” When she felt herself falling headlong into his sea-colored eyes, she decided for once that tactical retreat might be her best option. “Gosh, I completely forgot to feed Ishtar! How careless of me! I’m sure you don’t want to stick around for that, so I’ll see you to the door.” She started shoving him toward the front door without grace or subtlety. “See you in the morning. Lots to do tomorrow. Be sure to get a good night’s sleep.” She saw Nick give her an incredulous look after that last comment and faltered. “I mean, uh...”
He grinned wickedly as he opened the door to leave. “Sweet dreams, Diana.” Without warning, he reached forward, slid his hard palm along her cheek and pulled her toward him. His lips met hers in a soft kiss, the intimate kiss of a man who was now more than a friend, if still less than a lover.
Then he was gone, and the door closed behind him. She could still taste him on her lips. She could still feel him in her bloodstream. And when she slid into bed that night, she could still sense the honeyed heat of desire tormenting her body.
After another restless night, Nick arose and left the House of Ishtar at dawn. He walked about six blocks, until he came to the Café du Monde. He stopped there to enjoy some coffee—his first cup in nearly a week—and read the morning paper. Then he used a pay phone to telephone his partner, Peter Lowery, at home. It was nearly eight o’clock.
“It’s me,” he said into the receiver. “You sound funny. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“I wasn’t sleeping,” Peter said tersely.
Nick heard Peter’s wife mutter something in the background, and he grinned. “I thought she was too pregnant to fool around.”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Or, at least, there was until you called.”
“Sorry, Pete. It’s hard for me to slip away during working hours. Anyhow...” He glanced at his watch. “I want to get back early today. Did you get that information?”
“Yes,” Peter answered, all business now. “As near as I can tell, your suspects are exactly what they say they are. Felix Stewart’s wife had health problems for years. Asthma, high blood pressure, a heart condition. Despite her physical condition, she maintained a successful career in advertising, and there’s no evidence to contradict the official story that she died of a heart attack brought on by a combination of her stressful profession and her poor health.”
“You sound inclined to believe that.”
“I am. By all accounts, Felix Stewart was as cut up about his wife’s death as his daughter told you he was.”
“Okay. What about their business here?”
“Stewart did use up most of his inheritance before the daughter took over. Since then, however, I can find no trace of any financial mismanagement. No outstanding debts, no unexplained income or property, and no unusually large expenses. No matter what sources I check, the House of Ishtar seems to make a comfortable—if unspectacular—profit, and the daughter apparently keeps them well within their budget. No complaints about late or unpaid bills, no credit problems.”
This tallied with Nick’s own initial findings, but he nonetheless attempted to play devil’s advocate. “Still, Felix could have a private account that we can’t trace, one that he could use for extra money acquired from gullible clients.”
“True,” Peter said.
“You sound like you don’t think so.”
“Well, you’re the one in daily contact with them. I can only tell you that their business has an excellent reputation. Felix and Diana are apparently each highly qualified in their respective, uh, fields. They’ve both done articles and interviews over the past few years, they both belong to local and national professional organizations, and they both have plenty of satisfied customers.” Peter drew a breath and asked, “Have you actually found out what goes on in the consulting room yet?”
“More or less. Felix gave me a free reading last night. He seems completely sincere.” Nick decided to leave out the details. But he had considered the fact that, despite Felix’s predictions, it hadn’t seemed to occur to either Felix or Diana that Nick actually was a detective or that he was investigating them. They appeared to have clear consciences. “What I really need is to find out exactly what goes on between Felix and Mrs. Bouvier.”
“And if you find it’s perfectly innocent, do you think Claude Bouvier will be satisfied?”
“Why shouldn’t he be?” Nick said. “I know he wanted to nail Felix, but surely he’ll back down when he realizes Felix isn’t cheating or using his mother.”
“You sound like you already believe in the Stewarts’ innocence.” There was a long silence. “Nick?” Peter prodded. “Is something wrong?”
Nick debated it for a moment, then decided that his partner had a right to know. After all, it was his own fault that Peter might soon be looking for work. “The truth is, Peter, I think I may be losing my objectivity on this case.”
“How’s that?”
“It’s, uh, the daughter. I... She’s, um, very attractive.” He waited.
“Is that going to be a problem?”
Nick pulled the receiver away from his ear and stared at it suspiciously for a moment. It sounded as though Peter was trying not to laugh. “No. It’s just that I don’t want to get involved with a suspect, and I can’t seem to help myself around her.” He grunted. “And I’ve already got enough problems.”
“You certainly do.”
Nick sighed dispiritedly. “Any news on the Maurice LeCoz mess?”
“They’ve set a date for the hearing. Our lawyer looks depressed, and LeCoz called personally to promise that you and I will never work in this business again. Have I left anything out?”
Nick rested his forehead against the glass booth and squeezed his eyes shut. “Pete... I’m sorry. I wish...”
“Yeah, I know, you wish you hadn’t done it. But you did, and it’s over now. And if we could turn back the clock, you’d do the same thing again. What else could you do?”
Nick smiled weakly and gripped the receiver with both hands. No matter how many times they discussed it, Peter supported him and the decisions that had led to their possible—no, probable—ruin. What more could a man ask for in a partner?
“Well, maybe our luck will change. Things are so weird in the House of Ishtar, it’s enough to make you believe in destiny and karma,” Nick said.
“See if Felix Stewart’s tarot deck can tell you whether or not we should start considering a new line of work,” Peter advised.
“I’ll check in again,” Nick promised.
“And until Diana Stewart stops being a suspect, you watch your step,” Peter cautioned.
“Right.” Nick hung up and headed back to the House of Ishtar. When he got there, he realized that he was growing pretty accustomed to the place. He had adjusted to the selection of Eastern and New Age music that played on the shop’s stereo, he didn’t mind the smell of burning incense anymore, and he even found some of the less intense customers rather likable.
Most of all, he counted on seeing Diana every day. He realized it with a hot rush of certainty when their eyes met as soon as he let himself into the shop.
“You were up and out early,” she said, noticing the newspaper he carried under his arm.
“Honesty compels me to admit that I snuck out for a cup of coffee.”
Diana laughed. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders in a torrent of disarrayed red-gold curls, as if she hadn’t brushed it yet. Her eyes held a welcoming glow, a subtle warmth that made his belly throb with longing.
Nick cleared his throat. “Why are you down here so early?” The shop didn’t usually open until ten o’clock.
“I’ve got things to do this morning. And Mrs. Bouvier is due any minute. Have you met her?” She leaned across the jewelry counter to pick up the appointment book, and the action made the plump curve of her breasts spill against the neckline of her aqua-colored dress.
Nick was mesmerized by the sight, by her healthy feminine beauty. He wished things were different. He wished he could just give her a good-morning kiss and—
“Nick? Is something wrong?” Diana had straightened and was looking at him with concern.
“No. Sorry.” He tried to remember what they’d just been talking about. “Um, yeah, I’ve met Mrs. Bouvier.”
“Oh.” Diana smiled uncertainly. Then she took a deep breath and forged ahead. “Listen, about last night...” She wet her lips, and he shifted tensely. “If it would be silly for me to get involved with someone just because of what I saw in the tarot, then it would be silly for me to not get involved with someone I liked, just because I didn’t want to get involved with someone because of what I saw in the tarot.” She paused. “Do you see what I mean?”
