by Mary Ellis
For an instant, Nicki pitied the man who loved his daughter so much that he would commit murder. Then she remembered Kerry and Evan Hall, who would grow up without their mother and her compassion waned. “What about torching the trailer? Did you do that for love too?” She felt Hunter’s arm tighten around her shoulder.
“I’m saying this for the last time—I don’t know anything about a trailer fire. Ask my butler. He will verify I’ve been here for three days drinking myself senseless. The farthest I’ve gone from this room is the bathroom.”
Nicki locked gazes with Hunter. His cool blue eyes reflected her own opinion. For once in his sorry life, Menard was telling the truth. Someone else must have helped Ashley with her dirty work.
Hunter enfolded Nicki in an embrace, and for a few precious moments, she allowed herself to be comforted by the man she loved. “How ya doing, O’lette?” he asked softly, stroking her hair. “You’ve had quite a day to write down in your diary.”
“I’ve been better, to tell the truth, but at the moment I’m feeling pretty good.”
“You handled yourself magnificently.”
“In that case, is there any chance of getting my job back? Going to interviews will be hard because all my fancy clothes burned in the fire.”
“I have something more permanent in mind for you if you’ll have me. Something that includes an apartment above an art gallery in the Quarter, whatever new clothes you want, and a lifetime supply of devotion.” Hunter kissed the back of her fingers.
She swiveled to face him. “This almost sounds like a proposal. What exactly are you saying, boss? Spit it out before the cavalry arrives.” Her stomach felt as though it would sprout wings and fly away.
“I’m saying I love you. And I want to marry you.”
Nicki smiled gloriously at him. “I love you too. And that’s the honest truth. But since I’m finally getting the hang of investigation, I’d really like my job back too.”
“I think that can be arranged.” Hunter pulled her close for a kiss.
When Nicki nuzzled against his chest, she felt a quiver of pain shoot through his body. She reared back and demanded, “Hunter, are you hurt? Were you shot? Why didn’t you say something?” Opening his jacket, she saw the crimson stain on his left shoulder. “You’re losing a lot of blood.” Instinctively, she pressed her palm to the wound to staunch the flow.
Hunter winced. “Easy, sweetheart. It looks worse than it is. What did Clint Eastwood say in the spaghetti Westerns? Just a flesh wound, ma’am. I will live…I hope happily ever after.”
“You had better live. Gals from Red Haw take marriage proposals very seriously.”
Flashing blue and red lights beyond the window signaled the arrival of law enforcement. Nicki breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of heavy boots on the porch. Soon Philip Menard would be taken into custody and headed to jail and Hunter would be on his way to the hospital. With their poignant moment curtailed, Nicki jumped to her feet and took charge. When the police and EMTs entered the room, she pointed at Hunter and said, “This man needs medical attention for a gunshot wound in his shoulder.”
Then she looked over at Menard, who was leaning against the desk, his breathing raspy. “That is Philip Menard, the owner of the house. He shot Mr. Galen and also admitted to the murder of James Nowak in New Orleans last month. I have his confession on tape. Detective Russell Saville of NOPD is handling the murder investigation. I’m Nicolette Price of Price Investigations.” She flashed her PI license at the officer in charge. For several minutes, Nicki answered a string of rapid-fire questions.
“Don’t go anywhere, Miss Price,” instructed a Terrebonne Parish deputy. “One of our detectives will want your full statement.” He barked orders into his radio and then hurried to secure the prisoner.
Paramedics surrounded Hunter to assess his wound, monitor his vitals, and start an IV. None were pleased when he vehemently refused their gurney and walked to the ambulance with his left arm in a sling and his right arm around Nicki’s waist. Hunter also refused to be transported to the hospital until Menard was led from the house and placed in a squad car. While paramedics worked on Hunter’s shoulder, Nicki gave her statement to a detective, who then took statements from the butler and Menard’s maid. A deputy returned to Nicki brand-new handcuffs, ready to subdue criminals on the next case.
Nicki returned to Hunter’s side with one question still troubling her. If not Menard, who was responsible for the fire at Christine’s?
Her answer soon arrived in a flurry of dust and gravel. Ashley brought her car to a stop and jumped out. She approached the officer loading her father into a cruiser like a madwoman. “What’s going on here? Where are you taking my daddy?”
“To the sheriff’s department in Houma, miss. You can call his attorney and ask him to meet you there.” The deputy turned his back on her without a second glance—something Ashley wasn’t accustomed to.
Hunter reached for Nicki’s hand with his good arm. “Unmentionable words are about to hit the fan,” he said with a wry smile.
“I insist you sit down, Mr. Galen,” said a paramedic. Her tone had a take-no-prisoners quality. She pulled his arm back, attached a blood pressure cuff, and secured him on the gurney.
While Hunter finally complied, Nicki kept her focus on her rival but left her hand off her weapon. It took Ashley only a few seconds to spot them in the melee.
“What have you done, Hunter?” cried Ashley, approaching like a dervish. She stopped short a foot away, her face contorting with rage as she looked at Nicki. “You’re alive? I guess even fire can’t kill a cockroach like you.”
Her shock at seeing Nicki unharmed erased any doubt as to who’d burned the trailer and killed Christine.
Nicki forgot her pledge to keep quiet. “Had you succeeded, at least I’d know where I’m headed when I die. You, on the other hand, are going to jail and I’m looking forward to testifying. You might like jail, Ashley. Those orange jumpsuits are totally cool.”
“Oh, shut up!” She pivoted toward Hunter. “Why is my father being arrested?”
Hunter’s expression turned cold. “Let’s see…he admitted to killing James because he was about to expose your fondness for rich, old men. And I almost forgot he tried to kill me when I didn’t like the idea of us getting back together.” Hunter lifted his sling, where blood had already stained the gauze bandage.
“Daddy shot you?” Ashley sounded genuinely surprised before turning on Nicki like a feral cat. “This is your fault, you little hick.” She took a step closer.
Smoothly, as though she had rehearsed the move a thousand times, Nicki pulled her gun from her holster and leveled it at the approaching threat. “Stay where you are, Ms. Menard. I’m fully licensed, have my gun permit, and will defend myself if you threaten me one more time.”
Ashley stopped in her tracks. The women eyed one another with deadly intent until an officer stepped over to take Ashley away. Apparently, the police had a few questions for her too. Nicki kept the gun trained on her.
“Easy there, Annie Oakley.” Hunter cautioned. “Law enforcement frowns on shooting bad guys in the back.”
“Are you kidding? Any female on the jury would recognize extenuating circumstances once they met her.” Nicki lowered the gun and returned her weapon to her holster.
“That might be, Miss Price, but why don’t we spare the taxpayers the expense?” Detective Russell Saville stepped from the glare of headlights.
“Good evening, Detective,” said Hunter. “Still think I’m the one who killed my partner?”
“Nah, I gave up that supposition as soon as I heard from the feds you weren’t in on the scam. That’s when I went to see Robert Bissette. He copped to sending me those pictures of Ashley, but he swore on his mama’s grave he had nothing to do with killing Nowak. Apparently, he suspected your partner was up to something and paid someone to keep an eye on him. The photos were meant to get you in hot water since he thought you’d scammed him.” Saville rub
bed his temples with his fingertips. “That’s when I decided to chat with the other person who lost a lot of money, Menard. Good thing I picked tonight or I would have missed all the excitement.”
“Timing is everything, Detective.” Turning away from him, Nicki asked the paramedic if she could ride with Hunter to the hospital.
“She’s my fiancée,” he said, anticipating their initial objection.
The grinning EMT gave his consent and assisted Nicki as she climbed inside and tried to take up as little space as possible in the confined interior. Once they were situated and underway, she whispered in Hunter’s ear. “Hey, what did Mr. Menard mean about Ashley selling herself for money? Dish the dirt. I have an inquiring mind.”
With his good arm Hunter reached up to touch her face. “That, my favorite employee, is a story for another day. And I’m hoping you and I will share lots of them. I have a few questions of my own.”
Nicki felt a curl of warmth that began in her belly spread up her spine. The thought of spending a lifetime with Hunter was like no lines at the amusement park, a barrel of Moose Tracks ice cream, and free gasoline for life rolled into one. Because the paramedic was surreptitiously watching her while she monitored his vitals, Nicki decided not to spoil the perfect moment by saying something idiotic. She allowed his fingers to caress her cheek for another delicious moment and then tucked his hand under the white blanket. “Conserve your energy, Galen. You’ll need your strength to get down the aisle once they stitch you up.” Nicki couldn’t stop herself from grinning as happiness filled her to the bursting point. “I have something wonderful in mind for you.”
FORTY
When Nicki woke, she didn’t immediately recognize her surroundings. She was wearing an oversized Saints T-shirt in an antique, four-poster bed with expensive silk sheets twisted in a heap by her feet. Oh, yeah. Hunter’s guest room. Her fiancé’s soft snores drifted from the next room through vents in the wall. Memories of the horrific events from the previous two days drifted back. Nicki covered her head with the top sheet to blot out the fire, Christine’s body being removed from a mass of twisted metal, and a sodden Menard trying to draw a bead on Hunter in a last-ditch attempt to protect his daughter. And then there had been Ashley…kicking and screaming with indignation as her father was hauled away to jail, followed shortly thereafter by her own detainment for questioning. When the ambulance left the Menard Terrebonne retreat, Ashley was being led to a separate police cruiser.
Hunter had been taken to surgery immediately upon his arrival at the Terrebonne General Medical Center. The doctor assured Nicki that Hunter would survive and that his wound would heal nicely. The bullet had torn through the fleshy part of his shoulder, missing major blood vessels, tendons, and bone. After the operation and recovery room, Hunter was admitted so he could sleep off the anesthetic and be monitored overnight. Nicki slept fitfully on a vinyl chair next to his bed. She called no one—not Nate and none of his family to tell them the news. What could she say? Hunter was shot by his almost father-in-law, but he’s okay now? After the longest day of her life, she had been too tired.
Hunter checked himself out of the hospital by one the next day. He submitted to several injections for infection and put prescriptions for antibiotics and pain relief in his pocket, but he overruled the doctor’s insistence he remain twenty-four hours for observation. Hunter had looked the man in the eye and said, “Thanks, but we’re going home. We won’t get a good night’s sleep until we’re back in the quiet, restful French Quarter.” The tired physician probably thought Hunter was still loopy from the anesthetic, because anyone who had ever been there would not describe the Quarter in those terms. But Nicki knew what he meant. A person slept best in their own bed.
One of the sheriff’s deputies had brought Hunter’s car to the hospital, so they had a means of transportation. Nicki’s Escort had been left at the isolated retreat. She would send Nate to retrieve it as she planned to avoid that part of Louisiana for a long time. At Hunter’s insistence, they stopped at the sheriff’s department in Houma to give their statements. Hunter also had no desire to return to Terrebonne Parish anytime soon. They gave their videotaped statements separately to overworked deputies. With Hunter’s shoulder stitched up and the sheriff satisfied he had the right people behind bars, Nicki drove them back to New Orleans, Hunter dozing in the passenger seat. Dark purple shadows ringed his eyes, evidence that his wound and the string of events had exacted a toll on his body. Nicki crossed the Crescent City Bridge never so glad to be back in a city. Even abandoned houses and vacant lots overgrown with weeds no longer looked alien to her country-girl eyes.
There had been no discussion as to where they would go. With her temporary home in Chalmette destroyed along with virtually everything she had brought with her from Natchez, she accepted Hunter’s invitation to stay the night in his guest room. Especially as he’d accompanied the invitation with “I love you” and “I want to marry you.” Those words had lifted her spirits and filled her heart with joy.
Love changed everything. No longer was gaining independence and autonomy so important in her life. No longer did she want to prove herself at any cost. She still wanted to work and loved being a PI, but when Hunter chose to confront Menard alone, he had put his life on the line. She could certainly adjust to New Orleans’ tight parking, odd sights, peculiar smells, and revelers all night long to make a life with Hunter. The city was struggling to rise like a phoenix after Katrina. Nicolette Price was overdue for her own revival.
After she had tucked the car into the alley on Rue Royale, Nicki had to help Hunter up the steps into his apartment while he leaned heavily on her. It was all she could do to get him to his room and help him carefully onto the bed.
“Thanks, Nicki,” he said, sounding exhausted. “I owe you one. That pain pill has kicked in and turned me to putty.”
“All you owe me is a paycheck, Galen, and maybe a nice, fat Christmas bonus.”
Sprawled across his quilt, Hunter crooked his good arm behind his head. “How ’bout a frozen turkey and a big box of chocolates?” he asked, his focus on the ceiling.
“That will do for a start.”
Suddenly, he sat up and pulled her into an embrace. He planted a string of kisses across her forehead.
“Whoa. Hang on there, boss. Aren’t you afraid of ripping open your stitches?”
“That’s way down on my list of worries, right after black mold on the foundation and calcium plaque in my arteries.” His mouth found hers in a deep, searing kiss that seemed to go on forever.
Finally Nicki straightened and patted down her already messy hair. “Well, I’m in charge of your postsurgical care, and I fear acute blood loss. Get some rest. I’m going to take a shower. Maybe you can take one later.” As he slumped back on the bed and closed his eyes, she covered him with a soft throw she found folded over a chair and tucked in the edges. Then she grinned over her shoulder as she walked from the room. “I’ll check on you later. Holler if you need another pain pill. I don’t want you walking around by yourself.”
After calling her cousin and giving him the short version of the day’s events, along with a request for her car, she’d taken a long shower to rid herself of an accumulation of dirt, sweat, smoke, and blood. Nicki stood under the shower spray until she wrinkled like a prune trying to wash away everything that had happened. She couldn’t remember when she drifted off to sleep, but it was definitely after midnight. The mournful wail of a saxophone from a blues club wafted its way into the darkened room. She’d slept off and on through the night, getting up every few hours to make sure Hunter drank fluids and took his meds. Now the Quarter was coming back to life. Nicki felt a raw, overwhelming hunger that made the bowl of mints on the nightstand look gourmet.
She brushed her teeth and hair, rummaged in the kitchen for a roll of plastic wrap, and then padded quietly into Hunter’s room. She was relieved to see that he was beginning to stir. She gently placed her hand on his uninjured shoulder and whispere
d close to his ear, “Hunter, wake up. I’m starving!”
“I’m here for you, sweet O’lette.” He opened his eyes and smiled at her. Groggily, he lifted his hand to touch her face.
“None of that, sir. I want food and lots of it. When was the last time we ate?” She tossed the roll of plastic wrap on the bed. “How do you feel about showering and getting dressed?”
He swung his legs over the side and with her help sat up. He was still wearing the same bloody, ripped clothes from the day before. The hospital had refused him a fresh pair of scrubs to wear home because he’d refused to follow doctor’s orders. “Should we call for pizza delivery? I doubt you’ll find anything edible in my fridge. We could order a double cheese deluxe with extra crawfish and eat right here.” He patted the spot beside him on the quilt.
“No way.” Nicki shook a finger like a grade school teacher. “Goodness, that bullet sure didn’t slow you down much. While you shower, I’ll call for takeout delivery but no pizza. Then I’ll get the bag from my car. Since coming to the big city, I’ve kept a change of clothes and toiletries behind the driver’s seat. After all, a private investigator never knows when she’ll go undercover on an all-night stakeout.” She dropped her voice low and sultry and drew two fingers across her eyes.
“Sorry, my love. You’ll have to remain as is. Your car is still in the bayou. But I think you look beautiful in my T-shirt.”
“Hold on a minute.” She went to the window overlooking the alley and peeked out. “I called Nate after you fell asleep last night and asked him to bring my car back to the city. It was the least he could do since I solved the case and saved his agency’s reputation.” Nicki smiled, knowing she’d stretched the truth to the breaking point. “And there she sits, dusty but ready for my next adventure. So I will have clean clothes for our al fresco dining on your balcony, Mr. Deep Pockets. I’m ordering shrimp and crawfish, along with rice, red beans, Caesar salad, hush puppies, fried okra, and broccoli.”
