Trust Me

by Lori Devoti

  “Not much cheap around here, not that you’d want to stay in anyway.” He kept his tone light and conversational.

  “I’ll figure something out.” She slipped from the barstool and stood with her hands resting lightly on the bar’s top. Her eyes were huge, and her lips parted.

  She was going to cry.

  Another growl formed in Harry’s chest. This one escaped. He pressed his lips together, too late to stop the sound.

  A line formed between her brows. Uncertainty flickered in her blue eyes.

  Harry closed his own eyes for a second, blocked out the look on her face, the unexpected pang of conscience it sent tearing through him. The conversation was going exactly as he needed it to. Lindsey was naïve.

  This was good. Everything about this simple ingénue was good, better than he had expected.

  “Well…” Focused again on his task, he exhaled the word as if reluctant to utter what would follow. “You can’t sleep in your car. You could stay where Karin was staying. She had an apartment upstairs; the rent is paid through the end of the month.”

  “Really?”

  Harry twisted his lips to the side. “And, if you need money, you can work here. Karin’s job is still open.”

  “Still open?” She glanced around the bar once again, her gaze gliding over the padded leather bar and the high-backed booths that offered his clientele the privacy they craved. He’d bought the place decorated, but the sixties’ martini-bar atmosphere suited his guests, suited him too. Maybe because it had so little to do with his own life, his own past.

  But Lindsey had everything to do with his past. She was the key to finally leaving it behind.

  No matter what her answer was to his offers, she wouldn’t be leaving Bloody Harry’s, not tonight.

  Perhaps not ever.

  Chapter Two

  Marie Jean

  Ste. Genevieve, Illinois Country

  1785, day after great flood

  Marie Jean stood on the wide gallery of her parents’ home, one hand pressed against the whitewashed logs, the other against the cool glass of the front window. He was in there, her husband, the monster; she could see him, laid out, hands folded over his chest. Her traitorous sister sat beside his coffin, stitching like the perfect little female her God dictated she be.

  The ninny probably volunteered for the duty of watching the dead body.

  Like a companion would make the monster’s final trip gentler.

  Marie Jean smiled.

  How had they managed to cover the wounds? Attacked by an animal, crazed by the rising floodwaters, they’d claimed. Ha. Fools. Let them convince themselves of that. They’d know better soon enough, when she started exacting her revenge.

  Her new lover had taken care of her husband. He had claimed she wasn’t ready yet. But soon, he promised, she would be. He’d even shared a delectable way to speed the process—to get her powers that would take someone else centuries to claim.

  Inside the house, her sister laid down her cloth and glanced toward the front. Marie Jean stepped back into the gloom. Not yet, dear sister, not yet. Her perfect sibling had served her god for barely a score of years—little did she know she had only a few left.

  Laughing, Marie Jean slipped from the gallery and disappeared into the night.

  o0o

  A shiver danced up Lindsey’s spine. The bar was like nothing she’d seen before, at least not anywhere outside of a classic Bond movie. The place was exotic, expensive, and, she guessed, exclusive. Not somewhere she, in her khaki shorts and worn flip-flops, belonged. But Harry, a man she’d met only minutes earlier, had offered her both a job and a home upstairs.

  Without waiting for a reply to his offer, the bar owner had turned his back on her, gone back to prepping the business for opening. And for the first time that evening, she felt comfortable enough to study him.

  Just looking at him sent ripples of excitement, colored with unease, through her core. He was tall, dark and decidedly handsome, but it was more than that, more than her own insecurities about her clothing and the hair she knew needed a stiff brushing.

  It was more than the retro tux he wore too, and the way his hands danced over the clean glasses he was now stacking against the mirrored bar back.

  It was, she decided, how he held himself…coiled, as if at any moment he would explode forward like a baited tiger.

  He turned, a towel and glass in his hand. He set both down and brushed something off his sleeve. When he looked up, Lindsey felt his gaze and had to stop herself from edging backward.

  “I have thirty minutes before opening. Do you want to see the place?”

  Lindsey nibbled at her lip. An offer of a job and housing. It was more than she’d hoped for, and while Harry and his bar made her nervous, they were her best shot at finding Karin.

  “Karin might come back. She left under good terms. Or perhaps one of the other employees knows where she went.” The concern in his eyes looked real.

  The knot that had been tied around Lindsey’s heart since the bar owner had told her Karin was gone loosened, not a lot, but enough that she felt herself relax a little.

  She nodded. “Maybe.”

  He stepped out from behind the bar, his polished black dress shoe landing on the wooden floor with the barest whisper of sound. “When the rest of the crew arrives, I can ask if Karin spoke to any of them about her future plans. Until then…” He held out his arm, bent at the elbow, like they were about to take off across the dance floor.

  Stupidly, she stared for a moment. No one had ever offered their arm to her like that before, not even when she had gone to a dance.

  He raised one brow, and feeling 100 percent the country mouse, she hurried forward to loop her arm through his.

  o0o

  The trip up the stairs was easier than the trip down. Lights were on now, dim, but on. Lindsey clung to Harry’s arm, trying not to show her fear.

  He placed a hand on hers, and she moved closer.

  “This is one of the oldest buildings in the Central West End.” He pointed to the line of iron fencing that ringed the stairwell. “The outside doesn’t quite mesh with the bar, but somehow I think it all works.”

  Focused on where she was placing her feet and holding on to Harry without it appearing she was clinging, Lindsey managed a nod.

  At the top of the steps, he directed her past the café to a door she hadn’t noticed as she had approached the building.

  They stepped into a small foyer. A mosaic of black and white tiles, laid into the shape of a hand with an eye on its palm, decorated the floor. “Is that…” She twisted her head to the side.

  Harry’s fingers grazed the small of her back. Warmth shot through her. She jumped.

  “The apartment is up there.” He gestured toward the oak staircase.

  As they passed over the hand, Harry moved to the side, his foot landing well away from its border. “It’s old,” he said. “I try to avoid extra wear.”

  Realizing she was standing directly on top of the design, Lindsey hurried forward. As her feet scuffed over the eye, a wave of what felt like electricity streamed through her.

  Clear of the mosaic, she pressed her palm to her chest and turned to stare at the design.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Harry returned his fingers to the small of her back and nudged her toward the stairs.

  There was no sign that he had felt anything strange or noticed that Lindsey had either. He glanced at his watch, then spun it around his wrist impatiently.

  Realizing he must need to get back to the bar, Lindsey shook off the sensation and allowed Harry to guide her up the stairs.

  At the landing, he motioned to a second door. “No one has used the place for a few years, but I think you’ll find it livable.”

  “I thought you said Karin—”

  Harry waved a hand, cutting her off. “Of course, I meant before Karin.”

  Lindsey stepped through the doorway before him and quickly decided Harry’s definitio
n of “livable” was vastly different from her own.

  The room was huge. It had to encompass most of the second story. A thick oriental carpet lay atop polished wood floors, and the scent of coffee wafted from antique air vents, confirming that the café was just below.

  Almost afraid to step on the carpet, she walked forward. The furnishings were modern with an occasional vintage piece mixed in, but nothing like the “vintage” furniture she’d left behind in an apartment she could no longer call home. Those items she’d rescued from trash bins and yard sales, and been proud of her “finds.”

  She ran a finger over a marble-topped table, and then a Tiffany-style lamp. None of these treasures had ever been left roadside or seen the inside of a thrift shop. In fact, she suspected they were native to the building. They just seemed to fit the place.

  Across the room, french doors stood open. An iron fence similar to the ones around the outdoor cafés lined the small balcony outside. Unconscious of making the decision to do so, Lindsey moved toward the opening.

  “What do you think?”

  Halfway to the balcony, she almost missed Harry’s question. She stopped, her hand brushing against the bronze figure of a half-naked nymph whose job seemed to be holding a tray filled with crucifixes.

  Momentarily confused by the strange mixture of whimsy and religious fervor, she didn’t notice Harry stepping toward her until his finger drifted under her chin, and he tipped her face toward his. “So what do you think?” he repeated.

  Awareness shot through her. Less than one square inch of his skin was touching hers, and she couldn’t move. She couldn’t even breathe.

  “Lindsey?” His voice wrapped around her, urging her to reply, making her want to press closer. Her body tilted toward him as if pulled. “You like the place, don’t you.”

  Not a question, a statement. Almost a demand.

  Somewhere inside her, a tiny fire of rebellion flickered. Her body halted its forward motion, and she lifted her chin, prepared to step away.

  His thumb brushed over her lower lip.

  I want you to stay.

  She froze. The thoughts…they couldn’t have been hers… or could they…

  His gaze intense, Harry ran his thumb over the line of her lip, then swirled it down over her chin.

  A thrill shot through her, burning away any and all doubt. She wanted to stay.

  His lips curved into a smile. “I’ll get someone to get your bags from your car.” The words were no more than a whisper that seemed to blend with the spell weaving around her, but they kept her standing where she was, staring mutely.

  Somewhere deep in her brain, a voice protested, telling her this wasn’t right. She should object, step back, and show some level of backbone, but her lips wouldn’t open, and the words wouldn’t come.

  Then Harry was gone, and Lindsey was alone, wondering what the hell had taken possession of her.

  And still she didn’t care.

  o0o

  Marie Jean

  Ste. Genevieve, Illinois Country

  May 1, 1790

  The years had been good to Marie Jean’s sister. Her first husband had died, leaving Colette free. But did she take advantage of that freedom? No. The fool. No, almost before her husband’s corpse was cold, she’d picked out a replacement—this one older and richer, a merchant.

  And babies. Did the dolt never tire of pushing out the little parasites?

  With a sigh, Marie Jean traced a finger along the neckline of her silk gown. Marie Jean’s family might think her dead, but the years had been even kinder to her than to her sister. Unlike Colette, she hadn’t aged, and her lover, while originally a bit unyielding, had turned out to be dedicated to her. Some might even say blinded. He gave her anything she asked for—and Marie Jean asked for a lot. She deserved it after the hellish human existence she had endured.

  Voices murmured outside her sister’s bedroom, where Marie Jean waited. One of the children was awake, wandering the house. Colette, true to her pathetic mothering soul, had probably hopped up from her dinner at the first sound of any stirrings, leaving her fat-bellied husband to drink his French wine by himself.

  Just the sound of the childish squeak set Marie Jean’s teeth on edge. Children. She had only been cursed with one—a boy who now lived here with her sister. But the voice she heard wasn’t his. At twelve, he was well on his way to adulthood, well past the innocent squeak of childhood.

  Ah, the innocence. There would be some joy in crushing that too. An added sweetness to the revenge she was about to take tonight, but no. Her sister’s children were all girls. Girls who would grow up to be fine young women. Women capable of feeding Marie Jean’s revenge and her power.

  Even the boys, much as she hated letting them develop into men, served the same purpose. They would grow, marry and reproduce—something they seemed driven to do. And, when they did, Marie Jean would be there, ready to profit.

  The voices grew fainter; then a door opened and closed—Colette leaving the nursery after tucking the child into her bed.

  Footsteps stopped outside the door.

  Had Colette decided to take a few moments of privacy before returning to her merchant? If so, it would make Marie Jean’s task all the simpler.

  Marie Jean lowered her body into the rocker Colette kept by her bedside and waited. Within seconds, the doorknob began to turn, and her sister stood in the opening, the fine features of her face distorted by the flickering flame of the candle she held.

  Unaware what awaited her, Colette closed the door and bent to the side, using her candle to light a reed lamp. The sweet smell of bear tallow filled the air.

  Marie Jean inhaled the heavy scent, blood surging through her veins. The first stage of her revenge was almost here. The anticipation was unbearable, but she waited, savoring each second.

  The bundle of reeds burning strongly, Colette set the candle aside and turned. Her gaze drifted across the room, then, with a sharp inhalation, her eyes rounded with horror.

  Marie Jean smoothed the front of her silk gown, taking another few seconds to enjoy the shock emanating from her victim. “Hello, dear sister, did you miss me?”

  o0o

  After Harry left, Lindsey wandered around the apartment feeling lost and uncertain. She’d come here so sure of what she was doing, so sure she’d find Karin waiting for her and have family at last.

  But that hadn’t happened.

  In the bedroom, Lindsey fell backward onto the silk-covered bed. The material was cool and smooth against her skin. She’d never lain on anything so decadent. Never been in a place so luxurious. And now, at least for a time, she lived here.

  Alone. With no family and no friends either. She’d driven twelve hours from New Orleans in a car that was held together by rust and a prayer to be completely alone.

  Tears formed in the backs of her eyes. She closed her lids, willing them to disappear.

  There was a knock on the door. She jumped up, brushing the telltale moisture from her cheeks as she did.

  Unsure and even a little afraid, she pulled open the door to the apartment. A twenty-something man wearing a red St. Louis Cardinals hoodie stood next to her bags. He waved a hand toward them. “Harry asked me to bring these up. He also said to tell you he’s having your car moved to a private space.” The man slipped his hands into the pockets of his oversized camouflage pants and stared at her with sullen eyes.

  “He—” Lindsey glanced over her shoulder to her purse which was lying on the velvet-covered couch. She’d forgotten to give Harry her keys.

  As if reading her mind, the man replied, “Car locks are overrated.” He kicked one of her bags, a black duffle, toward her. “Ignitions too.”

  Jumping to the side, she let the matter of Harry hot-wiring her car go. With the way clear, the man picked up two more bags and strode past her into the living room. He unceremoniously dumped his burden onto the floor. Then turned to watch as she tugged two more duffels into the room.

  His brow ro
se, and his head tilted. She could feel him studying her. She pulled her shirt, which had ridden up her back, down to cover the waistband of her shorts.

  He crossed his arms over his chest, and rolled back onto the heels of his Red Wing work boots. “Where did he find you?” he asked.

  The question came out of nowhere. Even more uncomfortable than before, Lindsey fussed with the bags, sliding each carefully over the floor. This man didn’t fit with what she had seen of Bloody Harry’s. The bar was sleek and sophisticated. This man was a good old boy right down to the faded ring on one of his pants pockets—telling her he kept a can of smokeless tobacco inside.

  She was used to good old boys. His presence should have relaxed her. But it didn’t. There was something not quite right about him. Something she couldn’t quite peg.

  She flipped another bag around to cover her thoughts. When she looked up, he was still there and, obviously, still waiting for her answer.

  “He didn’t find me. Karin did,” she replied.

  “Karin.”

  His response told her nothing. Desperate to shake the feeling of unease, Lindsey screwed up her courage and stepped away from the bags. “Do you know her?” she asked.

  “You look like her,” the man muttered, then, almost imperceptibly, he shivered.

  Lindsey paused mid-step. “Karin? I look like Karin?” She had never considered that she might resemble her cousin, but the idea was exciting. It would make all of this more real, make their relationship undeniable.

  The man’s gaze, which had dropped to her feet as he analyzed her, jerked back to her face. “No. Yes. I didn’t know Karin.”

  “But you work for Harry, don’t you?” And he’d said she looked like her cousin. He had to know Karin.

  He dug his hands deeper into his pockets. “I didn’t know her well. She was…quiet.”

  “Oh, but you know her.” Lindsey smiled. She hadn’t felt comfortable asking Harry a lot of questions about her cousin, but faced with a second person who had seen and worked with her family member more as an equal, she wanted nothing more than to plop down on the pile of luggage and begin pelting him with questions.