by Laura Leone
“We’ll worry about that later, Diana.”
“Let’s worry about it now,” she said firmly. “Felix and I aren’t rolling in money. But then, you already know everything about our finances, don’t you?”
He sighed. “Believe it or not, I don’t want your money.”
Diana gazed after him when he left the room and closed the door. Then she wrapped her arms around herself and took several deep, steadying breaths, willing herself not to cry. This was going to be more difficult than she had thought.
Naturally, she had suspected all along that Nick wasn’t as interested in the zodiac as he had pretended. His amusement and skepticism had been just a little too evident to her, particularly when they were alone. She had always known he had his own reasons for being in the House of Ishtar.
But now his open contempt for her father’s work wounded her. Particularly when the extraordinary events of the past few weeks had forced Diana to confront and struggle with beliefs she had never before fully acknowledged she shared with Felix.
It was one thing to be tolerant of her father’s work and life-style, to acknowledge that he possessed a certain inexplicable insight. It was quite another to find herself losing sleep and peace of mind over his predictions, and it completely unbalanced her to find that the events in their own lives were now paralleling his readings and predictions.
The Knight of Swords had indeed come to them once before, and now he would be their protector. He and she had become lovers, just as Felix’s cards had foretold. Nick had masked his identity, and Felix and Jora had found him out. And, she thought, with consternation, Nick was exactly the sort of unsavory character that the celestial bodies had indicated.
How could she have fallen for someone like him? How could he have made love to her like that, while masquerading as someone he wasn’t? Why had he done it? Had he hoped to learn something conclusive from the experience? Or had he just been dallying with her, passing the time pleasurably until he could return to his own life? She had thought he cared about her—she had thought they cared about each other. Instead she’d learned that she had cared about a façade, and he had apparently cared about nothing but his investigation.
It had taken an enormous amount of nagging from Felix—and an appalling amount of primeval superstition on her part—to get her to come here today.
Diana had checked up on Tremain and Lowery Investigations in the periodicals section of the public library. The LeCoz story had been kept pretty quiet, so it wasn’t surprising that she had known nothing about it before researching the agency. It was the final blow to learn that Nick, in addition to being a lying cad, also apparently lacked professional scruples.
Diana could discover no details of the situation. She knew only that Nick’s agency was being sued by Maurice LeCoz for breach of contract, and that they were likely to lose their license for professional misconduct.
“And this is the man Felix says will be our champion,” she muttered.
Above all, she was ashamed that she wanted to see Nick again, that the sight of him and the sound of his voice released a chain reaction of instincts and impulses she could barely restrain or control. What was it about him that made her feel she would melt if he whispered to her, shatter if he touched her?
It wasn’t fair that the one man she had ever lost her head over was so totally inappropriate for her. And she would bite her tongue off before she admitted to him that whatever Felix did or didn’t know about them, The Lovers had become as significant in recent readings as the Knight of Swords.
She clutched her handbag again as the office door reopened. Nick stuck his head into the room and inquired, “Ready to go?”
Diana nodded and followed him. She noticed the way Peter Lowery and Mrs. Milne watched her with poorly-veiled curiosity as she passed. Behind her, she heard them both tell Nick to be careful. They seemed about to say something else, but Nick cut them off and followed her out the door and down the steps.
The journey back to the French Quarter was tense and uncomfortable. They avoided each other’s eyes and spoke only when necessary. The one time their hands accidentally touched, they both jumped as if they’d been stung.
Nick kept thinking that there were a hundred more things he ought to ask her about the threats and the accidents, but his mouth was dry and his mind blank. They stood on the deck of the ferry as it crossed the Mississippi, and the wind blew Diana’s long hair around her face in shining, silken strands. The brisk air made her cheeks go pink—or maybe she had just noticed the way he couldn’t stop staring at her. The wind plastered her natural-fiber blouse and skirt against her body, outlining the firm curve of her thigh, hip, and breast...
Nick abruptly turned his back on her. Everything hurt, inside and out. He wished they could have met any other way. He wished he’d had a chance to explain everything to her before Felix and his spirit buddies had exposed him. Destiny could be awfully malicious to a hardworking PI who had always just wanted to be one of the good guys.
When they finally approached the House of Ishtar, Nick was aware of a bittersweet sensation of coming home. A guy couldn’t help but become kind of fond of the place. Although he had only spent a couple of weeks here, some of the most vivid memories of his life were wrapped up in this old townhouse.
When they entered the courtyard, he felt a sense of outrage. “Oh, Diana,” he said sympathetically. The normally charming, tidy area was marred by splattered paint and garbage. Most of the chairs and tea tables were either missing or damaged.
She sighed. “Our insurance will cover most of the cost, but it’s going to take time to get things back in order.”
Nick knew how much pride she took in this place. Reacting impulsively, he put his hand on the back of her neck and squeezed gently, wanting to comfort her.
Diana tensed and looked up at him, startled and wary. Nick met her scrutiny, and she saw a sudden, unexpected shyness in his deep blue eyes, mingled with honest sympathy about the ugly mess before them. That look—that gentle, expressive gaze—and the warm, massaging hand on her neck got to her. She felt herself soften toward him, overtaken by new desire.
Diana’s eyes filled with tears, a sign of weakness that she hadn’t wanted to burden Felix with. “When I saw this, I felt like... It’s like being—”
Nick touched her cheek gently. “Shh. I know it is, honey. I’m sorry this happened.”
This was dangerous. This was just the way Diana had felt before, the way she hadn’t ever expected to feel about him again. She didn’t want to pretend, even for a moment, that he was someone she could trust with her feelings, that she could unload her troubles on him until she felt strong enough to pick them up again.
She stiffly pulled away from his comforting touch. He didn’t try to stop her. Instead he shoved his hands into his pockets and balled his fists, drawing the material of his jeans tightly across his muscular thighs. Diana looked away.
“Felix is inside, watching the shop for me,” she said.
“Let’s go talk to him.”
But when she pushed open the door to the House of Ishtar, Diana became aware that something was wrong. Felix wasn’t behind the counter, and Ishtar wasn’t in her usual corner. The shop was uncharacteristically silent. There wasn’t even any music playing. A dozen books were scattered messily across the floor. Diana frowned.
“Felix?” she called.
The door to his study was closed. Nick and Diana looked at it for a moment, then at each other. Nick pushed Diana behind him and, much to her horror, reached inside his denim jacket and pulled out a gun.
“No!” she protested automatically.
“Quiet,” he ordered. “Get over there.” He shoved her toward a sheltered corner behind the cash register.
“What are you going to do?” she whispered urgently.
“I’m going to open the door.”
“You don’t need a gun for that,” she argued.
“That depends on what’s on the other side of the do
or.”
“Do you think—”
“Will you just be quiet?” he whispered irritably. “Go over there and stay hidden until I tell you to come out.”
He turned away. Contrary to orders, Diana stood rooted to the floor in fascinated terror. Nick stalked forward and stood to one side of the door. Then he flung it open and leaped into the room with amazing speed, his gun pointing at any potential intruders. Diana followed him without thinking, peeking into the room while his quick investigation proved it was empty.
It was also a mess. Chairs were overturned, tarot cards were scattered all over the floor, and Felix’s files and charts littered the room. The air was filled with smoke. Nick found the source. Someone had set a fire in the wastebasket. It must have been a small fire, since it had already gone out. The intruders had apparently found what they were looking for and destroyed it.
Diana gasped, and Nick whirled to face her. “I told you to stay hidden,” he said without rancor. This was worse than anything he had imagined.
“Where’s Felix?” Diana asked plaintively, almost choking on the words. “Where’s my father?”
“We’ll search the house,” Nick said, already suspecting the truth.
“He’s not here!” she insisted, her voice rising. “You know he’s not!”
Consider all the possibilities, he reminded himself. “Maybe he slipped out when he saw them coming.”
“No.” Diana shook her head. “He would never let someone do this to his study. Not unless he—”
“Don’t, Diana.” He took her by the shoulders and squeezed. “We have to keep our heads if we’re going to help him.”
She was gulping in air, trying to still her panic. She nodded vigorously. “What should we do?”
“You call the police. I’ll search the premises.”
“What if he’s... if he’s...”
Nick tried to think of what to say to her. Normally he knew what to do under these circumstances, but seeing Diana in this condition unraveled him and made his chest burn with sorrow. He put his arms around her and held her, willing to give her all his strength, if only he could.
They broke apart a moment later when something brushed against Nick’s leg. He heard a throaty growl.
“Ishtar!” Diana swooped down upon the cat and cradled her in her arms.
“What’s that she’s got in her mouth?” Nick crouched beside the two of them. The cat regarded him with steely emerald eyes for a moment, then let him remove a thick piece of charred paper from her mouth. It was half of a tarot card. “It looks like the fire went out before this burned completely.”
Ishtar yowled emphatically and, much to Nick’s surprise, launched herself into his arms. He caught her and gaped at her when she rubbed her face against his chest in affectionate greeting.
“Let me see that.” Diana snatched the charred tarot card out of Nick’s free hand and looked at it. Then she went deathly pale.
“What is it?” he asked urgently.
“Ten of Swords.” She met his eyes. “Sudden anguish, pain, and suffering.”
After a brief, brave struggle, her face crumpled and she started to cry.
Chapter Eight
THE HANGED MAN: TRUMP XII
Major Arcana
Meaning: Prophecy; spiritual wisdom; a sacrifice must be made to gain something of greater value.
Reversed: Pride; arrogance; resistance to spiritual things.
It was late when Nick and Diana emerged from the police station in the French Quarter. It was a perfect spring night, balmy and misty, fragrant even here in the heart of the city. Nick looked at the lovely woman walking beside him and gritted his teeth in exasperation.
“Did you see that?” Diana said irritably, still nagging at a topic he had already asked her to drop. “He didn’t even write it down!”
Nick resisted the natural, normal, and very reasonable urge to shake her until her teeth rattled. “A half-burned tarot card carried in the mouth of a family pet, Diana, does not constitute evidence of kidnapping.”
“And did you see the way he smirked when I told him that Ten of Swords doesn’t indicate violent death?”
“He’s a cop, not a mystic,” Nick said wearily. “And the whole interview would have gone a lot more smoothly if you had kept your mouth shut, the way I asked you to.”
“It’s my father that’s missing,” she snapped. “You would think the police would show a little concern over a law-abiding taxpayer’s disappearance!”
Nick tried to take her arm gently, but she jerked away from him. Losing patience, he clamped his fingers around her resilient flesh and forced her to face him. “All right, I’ve let you rant and rave. Now you listen to me. They showed you plenty of concern—more than you were entitled to after all that nonsense you spouted about psychics and predictions and tarot readings. I thought we agreed, when we called the police, that we weren’t going to drag all that into the conversation.”
The accusing tone in his voice made Diana lower her head and try to pull away.
“You and I believe Felix had been kidnapped,” Nick continued. “But as far as the police are concerned, he’s just a peculiar guy who wandered off for an afternoon without telling you. There’s no ransom demand, no blood, and no theft to prove otherwise.”
“And what about the way his study was ransacked? What about the vandalism we’ve reported?”
“That’s why the police are giving this more serious consideration than they normally would. Particularly after the performance you put on in there.” Nick said in exasperation, “Did you have to tell him that you and Felix let Jora Lemon burn all the evidence so she could have psychic visions?”
“I noticed that you felt obliged to tell them Claude Bouvier was your last client, even though you refused to tell me that only a few hours ago!”
He released his grip on Diana’s arm so suddenly that she stumbled back a few steps. “That’s because now I believe a serious crime has been committed,” he said, enunciating clearly. “And I don’t want to be charged as an accessory because I withheld evidence.”
Diana’s face fell. “A serious crime,” she repeated. “Do you think he’s... I mean, they wouldn’t...”
Nick felt turned inside-out again by the uncharacteristic helplessness in her green eyes. “I think he’s all right, Diana,” he assured her gently. “If they were going to kill him, I think they would have done it there in the shop and made it look like a robbery gone bad. Whatever’s going on, his kidnappers apparently need him alive.”
She wrapped her fingers urgently around his wrist. “You’re sure?”
He touched her cheek. “Didn’t you just say that the Ten of Swords doesn’t indicate violent death?”
“You don’t believe that.”
Her hair shone like gold in the tarnished light of the street lamps, and her face looked very vulnerable. He smiled gently. “But Felix does. And so do you.”
Diana released her grip on him and they started walking again. “What do we do now?”
“Well, since you say Felix has no enemies, I think Claude Bouvier is still the most obvious suspect. He tried to get me to discredit Felix and then went berserk when I didn’t. However, the police won’t want to question Bouvier until they’re sure that Felix is really missing.”
“Are you going to question Bouvier?” she asked hopefully.
“I’ll have to find him first. Then I’ll tail him. If he’s holding Felix, he might lead me right to him.”
Diana snorted. “This is starting to sound like one of those awful television shows.”
Nick decided to ignore that. “I don’t want you staying at the House of Ishtar alone. It’s obviously not safe. I’m going to call Mrs. Milne and tell her you’ll be staying with her for a few days.”
“No.”
“She won’t mind. She’s done it—”
“I will not be put safely out of the way so you can get on with your manly business,” Diana informed with a flash of temper.
>
“I don’t have the manpower right now to keep a guard at your house at night.”
“Where will you be?”
“On my stakeout,” he said.
“Then that’s where I’ll be, too.”
“What?” He grabbed her arm. “Now wait a minute!”
“He’s my father, Nick. I can’t just sit around and do nothing.”
“Diana, I am a trained professional, and I can’t endanger—”
“I take full responsibility for my own safety.”
“It’s out of the question.”
“Just try going without me.”
He considered all the ways he could force her to stay behind, not liking any of them. This was going to be worse than he had thought. Seeing the stubborn look on her face, he gave a defeated sigh. “Oh, well. At least I’ll know where you are.”
Diana smiled victoriously. “So what do we do now?”
“We get something to eat.”
“Eat?” she repeated blankly.
“Yes, eat. You know. Consume. Ingest.”
“How can you think of food at a time like this?”
“I’m hungry. Come on, I know a good place just a few streets over.” He took her arm again and hustled her along the sidewalk, ignoring her muttered protests. It would be a long night, and they would both need their strength.
When he led her into a colorful old diner, Diana started squirming and trying to pull her arm out of his hold.
“Here?” she asked incredulously. “I can’t eat here.”
“I know it looks a little grubby, but the food is great,” Nick assured her, scanning the place for a table. He spotted an empty one and dragged her toward it. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I can’t eat this sort of preservative-stuffed, chemical- laden, deep-fried junk,” she said tersely.
Nick shoved her into the booth—none too gently—and sat down across from her. “I’m sure they have something here you can eat, Diana.”
She glared at him and accepted a menu from the waitress a moment later. After a lengthy perusal, she tentatively ordered a salad and a baked potato.
