by Deborah Camp
“Incompetent? You think—!”
“Yes. They were testing our mettle and you kept looking at me as if I were a ventriloquist and you’re my dummy.” He glanced upward in supplication. “Jesus! We have to be on equal footing – especially around cops. And what was your point in asking them if they think we’re phonies?”
She flinched inside. God, she hated when he berated her! “I wanted to know how they felt. What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s wrong is that you put the word ‘phonies’ in the atmosphere when you should be aiming for ‘professionalism.’ Naturally, they’re going to think we’re crackpots, so why even go there? Our focus has to be to force them to acknowledge that we know what we’re doing. That we’re not gazing into crystal balls or spouting a load of mumbo-jumbo bullshit.” He whirled around and stalked toward the car, leaving her to follow him.
At the car, he opened the passenger door and stared straight ahead as he waited for her to slide into the seat. He shut the door and went around to the driver’s side. Trudy noted his rock-hard jaw and sharp movements. She felt her mouth form a stubborn line and her hurt feelings hardened into anger as he started the car and pulled into traffic.
“I don’t appreciate you lambasting me. I did the best I could. I don’t see anything wrong with you taking the lead sometimes.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really. Besides, everyone in that room knew about Desmond Forté’s accident except for me. Why didn’t you fill me in before we met with the detectives?”
He opened his mouth, but closed it as if giving himself time to not yell at her. When he did speak, his tone was level but his words were clipped. “What kept you from looking up the information for yourself? When you work cases alone, you do your own case file. You should do the same damn thing when we work together.”
“Fine.” Trudy scrunched lower into the seat and turned her face away from him. Bossy bogart! As partners, he should have filled her in and shared his information freely with her.
“You’re playing in the big leagues now, Tru. You’re going to have to up your game.”
Anger burned a path right through the center of her. “Big leagues? Meaning you? Wow. Should I lick your boots, sir? I was of the opinion that we’re equal partners.”
“You want equality? Great. Start by improving your performance in front of the police.”
“Performance? I don’t put on shows, Wolfe. That’s your shtick.”
He gripped the steering wheel tighter and the tick in his jawline accelerated along with the car. “It is a performance. We were there putting on a show for the cops, letting them see who we are and what we’re about. If they think we’re mostly legit, they’ll help us, work with us. If they think we’re blowhards or a couple of half-baked charlatans looking for publicity, they’ll shut us out and laugh behind our backs and maybe to our faces.”
“I don’t think we came off that bad.”
“No. I saved us.”
She rolled her eyes back so far she thought she glimpsed her brain. “Wolfe, can your head get any bigger? I should have just stayed at the hotel.”
He slammed his palm against the steering wheel, making her jump. “Don’t come at me with that passive aggressive drivel. You know you sucked back there and you know why. You have virtually no confidence in yourself. You should see a therapist about it.”
She felt her mouth drop open. “A therapist? Are you serious?”
He glanced at her and his eyes flashed a warning. “Don’t look at me like I just called you crazy, Trudy.”
“But you think I need therapy?”
One corner of his mouth quirked. “I think everyone needs therapy.” He braked at a light and his blue eyes locked on her. “Yes, I think you need to see a professional. Why don’t you give Dr. McClain a call?”
“You have a master’s in it. You can be my psychologist.” She hunched her shoulders, not liking this turn in the conversation, but not able to completely kick it to the curb.
“I don’t want to be. If you don’t want to talk to Dr. McClain, ask her for a referral. Trudy, it will do you good. It will do us good.”
The car moved forward and Trudy stared out the window without seeing anything, her mind working overtime as her heart began a slow dive, heading for a monumental crash that a secret part of her had expected . . . had tried to prepare her for, but had failed. Because she was on the verge of crying – no, wailing, outright bawling. His comment about “doing us good” blew itself out of proportion in her mind, egged on by her stinging feelings of impending doom. He was growing weary of this togetherness. This could be the beginning of the end. Don’t show him that he’s crushing you, she instructed herself. Woman up!
Somehow her voice emerged sharp and assertive instead of trembling with anguish. “You have a problem with us? Are you chaffing at wearing a yoke for two, Levi? Because, listen, if this couple stuff is getting too much for you, just say so. I’ve told you, I don’t stay where I’m not wanted. I can go back to Tulsa and pick up where—.” She hissed in a breath and grabbed onto the dashboard when the car suddenly veered into a parking space at the curb. Levi slammed it into “park” and gripped her chin, bringing her face around to his. His eyes were wide and deep, turbulent blue.
“Don’t, Trudy. Just don’t!” His other hand slipped around her nape, holding her in place. “Look at me. You see what talking about leaving does to me? Do you see the panic you’ve caused in me? You feel it?” His fingers trembled ever so slightly on her jaw. “It’s a trigger for me and you damned well know it!” He saw her trying to shake her head in refusal, his firm grip making it impossible. “Well, if you don’t, then you fucking should. You should be able to see what it does because I sure as hell can’t hide it.”
Yes, she saw. She saw the little boy still alive in him. A sensitive boy who had been called evil and trouble and dangerous and who had been abandoned by people who were supposed to love him and look after him. Guilt and remorse pummeled her heart. “I didn’t mean to . . . but you said—.”
His mouth crushed hers, grinding, seeking, and smothering her cry of surprise. She gripped his jacket lapels and held on while his panic and fear played itself out through one punishing kiss after another until, gradually, his mouth gentled and his tongue soothed her stinging lips in a sign of contrition. When his lashes lifted, Trudy stared into his bruised blue ones and sucked in a deep breath. She sought to repair the damage.
“Levi, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” She unclenched her hands and smoothed them down his lapels, her palm skimming over his pounding heart. “Take it easy. Okay? We’re fine.”
He nodded and his hands fell away from her. He faced front and stared out the windshield as the traffic moved slowly past them. Then he glanced over at her. She thought he was going to say something more, but he shook his head, put the car into gear, and merged into the traffic.
Trudy leaned against the door, feeling exhausted, wrung out. Her lips stung from his punishing, frantic kisses. The man was a seesaw. But she knew that about him. She’d been warned by him and his therapist that he had wild mood swings, nightmares, sleepless nights, times when he would revert to fears of abandonment and not trusting anyone. But she’d vowed to be the one constant, consistent love in his life. She wanted to be that for him more than she’d ever wanted anything. Grappling with her own emotional upheaval, she stole a glance at Levi. She could tell by his knitted brow and narrowed eyes that he was giving himself a good talking to.
Therapy. Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad idea. She might learn more about Levi and how to cope with his moods and insecurities. Of course, his insecurities wouldn’t be the topic of discussion with a psychologist.
Was it that unusual to lack self-confidence? Most women she knew weren’t brimming with it. Oh, wait. Well, her mother and sister were actually fairly confident women. So, what happened to her? How did she miss out? Her mother had always stood her ground, arguing with her dad when she thought he was in
the wrong and ready to take on anyone who was unkind to their children. As for Sadie, she was a natural charmer, never wanting for admiring attention while she bulldozed her way through life and its obstacles. Sadie’s husband, Bryce, was devoted to her and had been since the day they’d met. Sadie wore the pants in that family and everyone knew it. Trudy had always wished to be more like her sister, but had felt she was destined to fall short. She just didn’t have Sadie’s joie de vivre.
Truth be told, one of the traits that had drawn her to Levi had been his self-confidence. The way he commanded a room – any room – and the way he moved with easy, natural grace. And, yes, the way he let everyone know that he knew precisely what he was doing and that he was the best at it. That cocksure attitude of his had both galled her and fascinated her – and, yeah, turned her on. Big time. Still did. Always would.
The car bumped over a rough spot and into a parking space. Trudy blinked away her musings and stared at the words sprawled across the awning. Café Atchafalaya. “I’ve never heard of this place.”
“You’ll like it.”
She frowned. Again with the self-confidence. Not I think you’ll like it. You will like it. He could give lessons in being sure of yourself.
The restaurant had high-ceilings and walls lined with art. Aromas wafting from the kitchen made Trudy’s mouth water and her stomach clench, reminding her that both were empty. They were shown to a table at the back, and after a thorough examination of the menu, Trudy chose brick roasted chicken with fried green tomatoes and sautéed baby spinach while Levi went with crab ravioli and shrimp and grits. Levi also asked for two spicy ginger margaritas.
Trudy took a sip of the drink. It was strong, but tasty with hints of ginger syrup and fresh lime juice mingling with the tequila. Her thoughts circled back to her failings.
“You know, most women have body image and self-confidence issues,” she said.
He took a sip of the margarita and gave a shrug.
“I don’t have one friend who isn’t annoyed with some aspect of her body.”
“It goes way beyond annoyance with you.”
She stared hard at him, but he didn’t even flinch – just stared back with one eyebrow cocked in a challenge. “Are your referring to how I view myself or how I feel about you this minute?”
One corner of his wide mouth kicked up and he lifted his glass in a salute. “Both? You say you don’t do well in social situations, but you’ve charmed your way through every one of them. I’ve had both men and women tell me how much they like you and that they can see why I’m enchanted with you.”
“That’s nice, but it’s still a grind for me. Every minute I’m tense and wondering when I’m going to say or do something stupid. And what about that party at your apartment when I went into one of my psychic funks?”
“None of our guests knew about that. You went into a trance after the guests had left.” His lips formed a line of discontent. “And, I believe, that party was held at our apartment, wasn’t it?”
She rocked her head from side to side in a sign of grudging agreement. He really was touchy about her not remembering to say our – yet another way of him showing where he was most vulnerable. Any inkling that she might walk out the door and never come back made him frantic. She studied him from under the sweep of her lashes, marveling that she had that kind of hold over him. Him. Achingly handsome, rich, brilliant, supremely successful and confident, him! That, alone, should pump her up! But it didn’t. For some reason, it made her even more unsure of herself.
God. She did need therapy!
Their food arrived and they tabled the serious discussion for easy chatter about the Creole and Southern flavors on their plates. They shared a dessert of blue cheese cheesecake, feeding forkfuls to each other. By the time the meal was finished, their moods had lightened, much to Trudy’s relief. She didn’t like to fight with Levi, especially when she seemed to be on the losing side.
They entered their suite in the French Quarter’s elegant Soniat House and Trudy breathed in the scents of furniture polish and starched linens. Levi had selected this place for her. He was all about modern amenities, but she loved antiques. The Soniat House brimmed with age. The furniture was mostly antiques from England and France with some Louisiana gems thrown in. The sitting room had a comfortable sofa with two wing chairs situated in front of an elegant fireplace. French doors opened to the balcony that was closed in with traditional lacy gray wrought-iron railings. The bedroom had a canopied king-sized bed with mismatched antique tables and lamps on either side and pale green walls that climbed up to bright white moldings.
Levi placed the big accordion file folder on the coffee table in the living room and shrugged out of his jacket. “We’ve goofed off enough. Let’s get to work, shall we?”
She kicked off her navy blue ankle boots, crossed the room and threw open the double doors, letting in the sounds and smells of the French Quarter. Even though this was a “residential section” on Chartres Street, voices floated up to them along with the faint aromas of freshly baked croissants and strong coffee. The breeze, light and warm, fluttered the handkerchief hem of her blue paisley blouse as Trudy soaked in the exotic atmosphere before turning back to Levi. He’d already removed his tie and taken a position on the sofa, his laptop open on the coffee table, so she sat on the gleaming hardwood floor near him and delved into the file folder.
###
After two hours of sitting on the floor, Trudy’s rear was numb and her muscles were stiff. A soft, snuffling sound broke her concentration and she looked up from the dossier of victims. Levi was sprawled on the couch, head back against the cushions, lips slightly parted, eyes closed. Asleep. The papers he’d been holding drifted down to the floor from his slack fingers.
Trudy picked them up and then picked herself up off the floor, choking down her groans so as not awaken Sleeping Beauty. She placed all the papers back into the folder, her gaze traveling back to Levi. Good Lord, he was a beauty, all right. Thick, black lashes made crescents on his cheeks. Emerging whiskers shadowed the lower half of his face. He’d unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his tanned chest, lightly furred with black hair and muscularly molded. His long legs jutted out, one under the coffee table, one out to the side of it. Another soft snore escaped him, making him frown before he settled back into a deeper slumber.
Walking barefoot and careful not to make noise, Trudy went out onto the balcony. Below on the street, people milled, laughing and gesturing, some strolling hand-in-hand and others hugging each other close as they made their way through the French Quarter.
Music from jazz bands winged through the still air – a few bars of a piano solo, an aria from a bluesy trumpet, and the hot beat of a snare drum. Trudy sat in a wrought-iron chair, rested her elbows on her jeaned thighs with her chin in her hands. She closed her eyes to listen to the disjointed music and let it slowly wash away the grime and dross she’d been reading about in the police files.
The victims had all been rootless. Most of them didn’t even have an address. Just living on the streets, making ends meet by begging or picking up day jobs washing dishes and mopping floors. A few of the women had babies or toddlers they’d left “back home” with relatives – mom and dad, grandma, or even the child’s father, in one instance. Two of the young men were fathers – absentee, deadbeat fathers. The only pattern showing up was the rootlessness of the victims. They had disappeared from the places where they’d been raised and had ended up in Louisiana, buried in a Slidell salvage yard. They did have that in common, too. The salvage yard. Why had the killer chosen it? Did he live nearby? Had he grown up near it? Or maybe he knew the owner of J.S. Salvage?
The police had questioned the owner and he hadn’t been able to give them anything to go on. Yes, the yard was locked up at night, but there were places around the yard where the chain link was pulled up so that a dog or a person could easily wiggle under it. One section at the very back of the yard had been knocked down by a big oak tree that had fal
len over during flooding. The tree had been hauled off for firewood, but the fence hadn’t been repaired. Trace evidence might have been found, but it must have been inconclusive.
The flood had unearthed one body entirely, allowing it to bob like a bloated cork until it snagged someone’s attention. Other bodies had been partially uncovered by the rising, rushing water. A skeletal face peering up from the mud, a bleached femur sticking up near it. Gruesome, horrid images captured in police photographs.
Where was the killer now? If he wasn’t Desmond Forté, did Forté know him? Had he told Forté about the murders and that’s why those souls had attached themselves to Forté – because he knew and hadn’t told the police?
She thought back to the grisly scene she’d shared. The man had been in a shed or garage. Somewhere small and cluttered with the smell of grease and woodchips in the air. But where was he now?
Trudy leaned back in the chair and breathed in deeply, imagining that with each breath, she whisked away her own thoughts to make room for someone else’s until her mind was empty and open. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Oh, fuck. I’m coming!
The pressure built against the base of her spine and shimmied up and then back down it, pooling and pulsing between her legs . . .
. . . . his legs. His balls. Burning hot, aching, clenching, bursting. The jettison of semen and the shuddering release of convulsing muscles overwhelmed, blocking out everything else. The woman on her hands and knees in front of him on the bed let out a sharp shriek and then shook her head violently. Her thin, blond hair spread out like a fan across her shoulders.
“Sounds like you pressed her button good there, babe.”
Another woman’s face came into view. Dark, glinting eyes, dark, blunt-cut hair, slashing cheekbones, glistening lips. Pride filled his chest. Manly pride. Primal pride.
“Yeah.” He let go of the blonde’s hips and his cock slipped out of her gaping asshole. He fell onto his side beside the brunette. “I back-doored her. Can’t say you’ve never done that now, can you there, Britt?”
