“I have passion.”
“In your artwork, yes. But when was the last time you went on a really hot date. Pre-Justin, that is.”
“Justin and I aren’t dating—”
They didn’t have time to continue the discussion. To Lucy’s relief, customers flooded the shop and suddenly break time was over.
But even as she waited on a woman who was considering buying one of the more expensive masks, Lucy mulled over Dana’s examination of her life. Was her friend correct? Had she used excuses to unconsciously exclude passion from her life? Why in the world would she purposely do that? She was as red-blooded and healthy as any woman her age ought to be.
It came to her suddenly. The dreams. They made her different. And it was difficult for her to relate to someone who might scoff at her. A close relationship demanded that she be honest about it. But as she’d been warned by her parents and sister for years, not many people understood or accepted psychic visions.
Yet, a self-described disbeliever, Justin had.
The train of thought jolted Lucy. That she’d been holding herself back from getting too involved with a man was a distinct possibility. But she didn’t manipulate her dreams. She hadn’t even thought she could or wanted to try until Emile Poree had suggested it was possible, that she might be able to use her gift to find Sophie’s murderer.
But what if she had manipulated some of her dreams subconsciously? What if she had given herself a reason not to get involved with Justin Guidry. What if her subconscious mind had prompted the shooting dream so she would have a reason not to get too deeply involved with him.
Something to consider.
But how would she know for certain?
JUSTIN SPENT the rest of the morning trying not to think about Lucy. Arriving back at his loft, he collected several messages—clients and potential clients—and lined up a number of appointments for the coming week. Next he called a contact who assured him he’d have the name and address that went with the thug’s license plate before the end of the day.
Then he sat down at his computer and connected to the Internet to find any candidates up for reelection in November whose first or last name began with the letter C.
But as he searched for election information, he wished Lucy was alongside him so he could get her input. As investigators, they made a good team.
What kind of a team would they make as a couple? He kept wondering where Lucy was now, what she was doing, when she would be back. The work wouldn’t seem so tedious with her at his side. He checked his watch. He’d been with her just two hours ago, yet the time was passing so slowly that it seemed much longer.
Justin forced the thought from his mind and concentrated on the list of candidates for the November election—federal, state, local. He pulled off anyone with the initial C, either first or last name, then eliminated the women. He was left with a list of thirteen.
Next, he eliminated anyone who was up for election for the first time, which left him with seven potential suspects.
Needing a break, Justin got up and stretched, then put on a pot of fresh coffee. While it was brewing, he wandered over to the windows facing the street. He stood there staring for several minutes before he realized he was looking for a certain russet-haired female.
He had Lucy on the brain…not to mention other parts of his body.
So, back to work.
In the end, two men fit the requirements: councilman-at-large Charles Cahill and Louisiana senator Carlin Montgomery. The other Cs included one man in his seventies and another who wouldn’t be considered handsome by any stretch of the imagination, not even by his own mother. Plus there were a couple of single guys, including one who was running on an openly homosexual agenda.
Justin went straight to his suspects’ Web sites. He scanned the material there—not that he got any clues from the professionally written bios.
The phone buzzed, signaling someone was at the intercom downstairs. Pulse quickening, he answered, “Guidry here.”
“I’m back,” came Lucy’s all-too-welcome voice.
“I’ll buzz you right up.”
He did so, then got up to open the door. Passing a mirror, he stopped to straighten his shirt collar and scrape the hair up from his forehead. Realizing he was being ridiculously self-conscious, he opened the door and then went back to the computer. He didn’t want to seem too anxious.
But when Lucy burst through the door, she brought a ray of sunshine into his heart and he couldn’t stop from grinning at her. “About time.”
“You’re not the only one who has a business. So how is it going?”
“Getting there,” he said.
Lucy came to stand behind him. When she leaned over to see the computer screen, her scent washed over him, and it was all Justin could do to not reach around and pull her into his lap.
He printed out two photos of each of the suspects, one set which he handed to Lucy. He folded the second set and put it in his pocket.
“Wow, these guys look pretty old to be messing around with someone who’s barely legal.”
“Montgomery must be in his mid-forties,” Justin said. “But Cahill is probably ten years younger.”
“Still twice Theresa’s age.” Lucy made a sound of disgust. “You men are all alike when it comes to women. What do we do next?”
“We call Mike.”
“Your thirty-six hours isn’t up.”
“But now we have suspects,” Justin reasoned. “Mike might have some ideas here. He might know something about one of these men that we don’t. Besides, he can get an expert to work on retrieving the deleted e-mails on Theresa’s laptop. Then it would be all over.”
An idea that had mixed appeal for him, all over meaning he might not ever see Lucy again.
“Why wouldn’t they have done that before?”
“There wasn’t any evidence of foul play. Theresa was merely missing, and as an almost-adult, that’s allowed.”
“Okay. It’s your call,” she said.
And Justin made it. The detective agreed to meet them in half an hour on the Moonwalk.
Justin took Theresa’s laptop and Lucy the diary before heading for the French Quarter.
LUCY WAS ON EDGE by the time they arrived at the Moonwalk ten minutes ahead of time. Luckily, they found a vacant bench, where they could sit and look out on the Mississippi. Almost like they were on a date.
Only this was no date. This could be it. With the NOPD having all the information, the case could be solved in a matter of days.
And then she could breathe easy once again.
“I’ll be glad when this is over,” Lucy said.
Suddenly it hit her squarely in the chest how much she would miss Justin. She squeezed the diary, thinking of how Theresa must have felt knowing the man she wanted was unavailable to her. Not that Justin was married, of course.
“This whole mess is a big disruption in your life,” he agreed, not sounding at all like he would miss her.
Lucy swallowed hard. “I’ll be able to get back to work rather than just stopping in the shop to see how things are going.”
“And you’ll be able to do your art.”
“When I have time.”
“You don’t make the time?”
“Not often enough.”
“You should. Your work is wonderful, chère.”
His words warmed her. “How would you know?”
“The masks on your living room walls. You did initial them.”
“You’re very observant.”
“That’s what makes me a good investigator.”
“About that. Why?”
“I thought about going into law enforcement,” Justin said, “but wearing a uniform didn’t suit me.”
“I think you’d look pretty good in a uniform.”
Lucy couldn’t help herself. She was flirting with him and she knew it. The flare in his eyes told her he knew it, as well. That look was all it took to jump-start her hormones.
&nb
sp; “I had other reasons for not joining the force,” Justin admitted. “I never took much to taking orders. And I like to work on my own.”
“So you’re a loner.”
“Usually. Comes from having too much family in my life, I suppose.”
A statement that Lucy didn’t understand. “You can never have too much family. Well, not in my opinion. Plus, I don’t see how you can say that considering how close you seem to be to yours.”
“Close at a distance suits me fine. I grew up not having a private thought.”
“And I grew up having too many of them,” she remembered.
“Your family’s not close?”
“Certainly not the way yours is. And then there’s the matter of my gift. It caused me a lot of confusion and heartache, especially since Gran was the only one I could go to about it.”
Though part of her thought—hoped—that she could tell Justin anything, as well.
He said, “I’m guessing you haven’t told her the latest, right?”
“The latest?”
She felt heat gather in her cheeks as she remembered the dreams and realized Justin was staring at her with hunger in his eyes.
Then he snapped out of it and said, “The murder.”
“No, of course not,” she said in an embarrassed rush. “I wouldn’t want to upset Gran like that.”
If it meant involving her grandmother in something so awful, she would rather keep it to herself. Actually, this wasn’t the first time she’d kept her dreams to herself, which had made for a somewhat lonely childhood and, indeed, a somewhat lonely life.
Justin looked over her shoulder and said, “There’s Mike.”
Lucy turned to see Detective Mike Hebert coming down the walk toward them.
They rose and met him halfway.
“Justin. Ms. Ryan.”
“Lucy,” she said.
Mike nodded, then turned his attention to Justin. “Your calling me was certainly a surprise. I was pretty sure I was going to have to track you down to get you to hold to your end of the bargain. So what did the two of you dig up that was so important?”
Justin said, “How about a link between two murder victims and a couple of suspects.”
“How’s that?”
“The bordello tarot cards you told us about—I’d seen them before,” Lucy explained, “at a shop called Taboo.”
“I know it. Odette LaFantary’s place.”
“She told us that a tarot dealer named Sophie bought the deck to use with a special client.”
“Sophie,” Mike repeated. “So that’s the name of the woman in the courtyard?”
“Sophie Delacorte,” Justin said. “One of the Jackson Square psychics knows her. He told us about seeing her at a place called Music of the Night. And the bartender at the club saw her with Erica Vaughn.”
The detective cursed under his breath. “Together, huh? You’re right. They must be connected. Good work.” He sounded impressed. “But you said something about suspects?”
Lucy said, “We learned Theresa Vaughn was seeing a married politician up for reelection. And we know his name begins with a C.”
“And you learned this how?”
“We went to her home and talked to her father,” Justin said. “Then I researched who was up for reelection and narrowed it down.”
“Don’t keep me guessing,” Mike said.
“I’d stake my reputation on the murderer of both women being either councilman-at-large Charles Cahill or Louisiana senator Carlin Montgomery.”
The detective gave a low whistle. “High flyers.”
“The reason I decided to turn over the information to you as soon as possible. Oh, yeah, and this.” Justin produced the laptop. “It belonged to Theresa.”
“You found something more direct?”
“Sorry. I expected e-mails at the least, but she was very careful to hit the delete key and empty the trash. I figured you have someone who would know how to retrieve that kind of information.”
“Thanks,” Mike said, taking the laptop from him. “I’ll see what our lab can do.”
“If we work together on this,” Justin said, “we can catch the bastard.”
“Work together? You know that’s impossible.”
“I didn’t mean in the open. Anything you learn, you let me know.”
Mike shook his head. “I think it’s time you left the investigation to us.”
“You had weeks to come up with information,” Lucy said, irritated on Justin’s behalf. And her own, though of course the detective didn’t know her true role in this. She crushed the diary to her chest. “We had thirty-six hours—”
“Sorry,” Mike interrupted. “But it’s for your own sake. I can’t do anything that would put civilians in jeopardy. It wouldn’t be safe for you, and it could mean my job. I thank you for the information, but it’s time for you to bow out.”
“Bow out?” Lucy nearly choked on the words. If only she could turn around and walk away without jeopardizing her life…not to mention abandoning Justin.
“C’mon, Mike, we were upfront with you,” Justin reasoned, “the least you could do is return the favor.”
“It’s you who is returning the favor—I gave you the info on the tarot deck in the first place.”
“One piece of information,” Justin argued. “We gave you suspects.”
“Again, good work and thanks. But I can’t involve you further.”
Lucy heard the thread of steel in the detective’s voice. Though she’d meant to give him Theresa’s diary also, she changed her mind. He could have it when she was through with it.
“You do what you have to,” she said, “and we’ll do what we have to.”
“Don’t take it on yourself to do anything foolish,” the detective warned her. “Unless you don’t care about your life. We’re dealing with a multiple-murderer here.”
But that was the problem. Lucy thought. She did care about her life. And about Sophie’s and Erica’s and Theresa’s. Still, there was no point in arguing the issue. Mike obviously had made up his mind.
And Justin was holding in his anger, she realized. She practically could see it come off him in waves. But he kept it to himself and bade the detective a civil adieu. Mike looked back at them only once as he walked away with Theresa Vaughn’s laptop.
“Maybe he’s right,” Justin said.
“The hell he is. I’m not stopping.” She tapped the diary against her palm. “You can do what pleases you.”
“It’s not a matter of my pleasure. I’m only worried for your safety.”
“And how is doing nothing going to keep me safe?”
“Doing nothing as far away from New Orleans as you can get would certainly keep you safe.”
“I’m not running away. Not again. What if Theresa Vaughn is still alive?”
“That’s highly unlikely, and you know it.”
“I don’t know anything of the sort. And until I do…”
“So if they found her body today, you would leave town until the murderer is caught?”
Why was he doing this to her now, when they were hot on the murderer’s trail?
“When we get back to your place, I’m going to go through that diary line-by-line and see what I can find out. That is, assuming I’m still welcome at your place.”
“You’ll always be welcome, chère.”
Justin’s voice was low and gravelly, but Lucy ignored the shivery sensation along her spine. He was simply trying to distract her.
“Then let’s get going.”
They returned directly to the loft. Justin called a local place to have a couple of dinners delivered, while Lucy began reading the diary, starting with the most recent entries and going backward. Then he sat down at the computer and began researching both politicians, occasionally sharing or printing something he’d found.
To Lucy’s satisfaction and dismay, several entries in the diary indicated C. had taken Theresa to a club where “people did things she�
�d never known anyone would do in public.”
The phone buzzed and Lucy half listened as she continued reading. The food delivery guy had arrived with dinner. Justin buzzed the guy up, and she continued to read until the bags of food were on the counter and Justin was taking out dishes and flatware.
“Music of the Night,” she told him, after reading another passage. “She only calls it the club, but considering some of her observations, it’s clear that she’s describing the activities at a sex club. She’s only eighteen, but the bastard took her there! Zeke lied.”
“Not necessarily. She probably had good fake IDs. However, I have a couple of photos of Theresa that her sister gave me, and we ought to take them to the club tonight, show them around and see what we can find out.”
Instinct told Lucy that Zeke knew more than he’d let on. If only they could figure out a way to make him talk.
She tried concentrating on figuring a way to do so as they sat down to eat, but what came to her was that once more, she would be entering a sexually charged atmosphere with a man she wanted more than anything. She already felt herself getting weak-kneed and wondered how long she would be able to resist making love with Justin Guidry and having probably the best sex of her life.
13
IN THE END, Justin decided to take not only the photos of Theresa with them, but the prints of Cahill and Montgomery that he’d gotten off the Internet. He also printed out a story that hadn’t meant anything to him when he’d first seen it online.
“According to this,” he said, giving Lucy the printout, “councilman-at-large Charles Cahill is accusing Louisiana senator Carlin Montgomery of taking bribes.”
“What?” Appearing as shocked as he felt, she scanned the article. “Our two suspects at odds and in public. Do you think the accusation is true?”
“Good question. It could simply be politics as usual.”
“Yeah, but what if it isn’t? What if Montgomery is guilty and Theresa somehow found out about it?”
A possibility that he himself had considered. “Surely Mike knew about this, but he chose not to say anything. Maybe that was the reason he cut us off.”
“I don’t understand. Why would he do that?”
In Dreams Page 13
