Leopard's Blood

by Christine Feehan

  He'd seen desperation, and he'd held out his hand to her. She'd seen a man needing help, and that had made it easy to accept his offer of a job. Over time, she'd grown to really love who Jerry was. Funny, intelligent, talented and a bit broken. He owned a successful contracting business, and then his car was hit by a drunk driver, killing his wife and children, leaving him in a wheelchair.

  Sonia's pickup truck had been one of Jerry's older vehicles. It ran so well it practically purred, but Jerry had claimed it was on its last leg and sold it to her for a steal. She'd needed a work truck as well as something to haul supplies back to her house. Jerry had laughed each time he'd come out to oversee her putting in the wiring, telling her the house was going to fall down on her head, but he'd kept coming, and sometimes he'd tell her there was leftover drywall and to take it. That was her boss.

  She parked just outside the double gates leading to the lumberyard and walked the rest of the way, counting it as her morning exercise. Jerry owned the local lumberyard and his office was at the southernmost end, tucked back where he hoped no one could find him. He parked his wheelchair behind his long, narrow desk and conducted business, on the phone more than he was off. He was a big man with a receding hairline, wide shoulders and biceps that bulged from lifting his large body in and out of the chair. He held up one finger when she walked in, indicated a chair and kept talking.

  Sonia gave an exaggerated sigh, carrying out the ritual they were both familiar with. He was always talking. She was always waiting impatiently. After five minutes, she drummed her fingers loudly on his desk. At ten she paced. At fifteen she pointed to the door and started walking.

  "Wait," Jerry called. "Gotta go," he added, and hung up abruptly on his client. "Sheesh, woman, you could have a little patience."

  "That was me being patient," Sonia pointed out.

  Jerry gave a snort of disbelief. "Regardless of your rudeness, I have a job for you."

  "Jerry, I have three already. Dickerson's porch, Molly Sheffield's garage and Donna Miller's outside kitchen that isn't really outside because she wants it enclosed with a wall."

  "On three sides."

  "Now four. It's a room, Jerry, and it's stupid."

  To her shock he waved that ongoing argument away. "This," he said, leaning over the desk, his eyes bright, "is a real job. The real deal. Rafe Cordeau owned one of the biggest pieces of land around here. One of the nicest plantation houses. Recently, it got shot up all to hell; at least, that's the rumor. Someone's moved in, and they apparently tried to repair it themselves, but it's a mess. He wants an estimate on repairing the outside damage, a kitchen remodel and possibly more work. He'll talk about that when you go out there and take a look."

  "What do you mean, 'shot up all to hell'?" she asked, suspicion in her voice.

  He waved that away. "Rafe Cordeau was a mobster. Big-time. He left and hasn't returned. They say he's dead."

  "They?" She was not getting mixed up with the mob. Been there, done that. Never again. "Who, exactly, are they?"

  Jerry scowled at her, meaning to look intimidating, succeeding in making himself look cute. Jerry would hate being called cute, so she kept that for a different time when she really wanted to annoy him. "They are the people in the know. The point, Sonia, is that he's gone and we've got a new guy willing to pay money to fix up his house. That's what we do. We fix up houses. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, that's your particular love. You fix up old houses and restore them to their original beauty." He grinned at her. "He's got money. He can pay us."

  Okay. That was good. "You sure?" Just checking because no one in town had much in the way of real cash. Molly bought three sheets of drywall at a time. Dickerson had Sonia building the porch in stages. The outdoor kitchen was in the planning phase, meaning Donna Miller changed her mind every other minute. She was the only one with actual money, although Sonia was beginning to doubt the truth of that.

  "I'm sure. I had him checked out. He comes from an old family from the New Orleans area. The Tregre family has been around from nearly the beginning of the history of New Orleans. The family is shrouded in secrecy, which means you have the opportunity to get to know them."

  She rolled her eyes. "Am I restoring a house or becoming a spy, Jerry? Sometimes I think you live for gossip."

  "Gossip is for women. I'm a businessman, Sonia. That means I need information. The more information I have on the people living in this town and the surrounding parishes, the better I can do at my business. You leave that side to me."

  She knew he loved what he did. The wheeling and dealing. The mingling with the mayor and bankers. His men had deserted him when he'd been in the accident, a silly move on their part since there was nothing wrong with Jerry's brain. He brought in the jobs despite the slow time they were temporarily in. Winter had been harsh on everyone.

  "Will do, boss. When do you want me out there?"

  He handed her a Post-it note with Tregre and the address written on it. She recognized it immediately. The address was the only other home on her road. A chill slid down her spine. Her neighbor? "Um, Jerry? You said Rafe Cordeau was in the mob and bullets were flying around his house? How do you know that he was a gangster?"

  "Everyone knows he had mob connections."

  "Why the bullets?"

  "When he disappeared, a bunch of his men tried a takeover, or something like that. I'm still getting details. Apparently no one managed the takeover."

  "And this Tregre?"

  Jerry shook his head. "Old family, not mob. I think there was some scandal attached to his grandfather, but not this man. He went off to some foreign country and did things like rescue kidnap victims. Hero shit. Not mafia."

  She let her breath out. Okay, she could deal with bullet holes as long as any living, breathing mafia wasn't involved.

  "He wants you out there as soon as possible. His people are making a mess out of his home. He loves the plantation house and wants it restored. Sonia, this is our chance. He's got the money, and you have the know-how. I can get a large work crew if you need one, and hopefully you will. We need this. We're surviving, but not by much."

  She knew that. She sent him a cocky grin. "No problem. I'll charm the socks off Mr. Tregre." She was certain she had the perfect picture of him. Sixty-five or seventy. Gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Slightly pudgy, but not by much, still walked every morning, maybe with a cane just because it suited his gentlemanly looks.

  "I have no doubt that you will."

  She sauntered out, past the workmen in the lumberyard and made it to her truck, just outside the double gates. She was grateful she'd worn her newest old-favorite jeans, which meant threadbare in places but no holes. Her tee was tighter than she would have liked, dip-dyed from a royal blue all the way to a faded blue that matched her jeans. She had on boots--leather, girly, with rings of roped leather and gold around the ankle. She'd do. She was supposed to look like a carpenter, not a model.

  She scented roses and turned her head to see Molly waving at her. Beckoning. A part of her wanted that--a friend. She genuinely liked Molly. The woman was only a year or two older than she was and every bit as alone. Sonia didn't know her story because she was afraid of getting close to anyone. Molly tempted her, though.

  "You have time for a cup of coffee?" Molly called from across the parking lot.

  With one hand on the door and the other clutching the Post-it note, Sonia had all the excuses in the world, but she hesitated. She was tired of not having a friend--at least one person to talk to.

  "Come on. One coffee isn't going to kill you," Molly urged.

  It might not kill her, but it could get Molly killed. Perhaps both of them. Her hand tightened on the door handle, but she couldn't make herself pull the door open. "I guess. But it has to be fast. I have to get to work."

  Molly's smile got wider, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Finally. You actually have more than two minutes. The only time you slow down is when you're driving away and I see you singing in your
truck."

  "I'm not exactly slowing down. I've nearly gotten three speeding tickets," Sonia confessed. "I had to flirt like crazy with Bastien Foret."

  "He's hot but knows it," Molly said, falling into step with her as they started down the street toward the local coffee shop. "I never speed, but once I had a flat tire. I was changing it, and he came along and insisted he would do it. He did more talking about himself than anyone I've ever met. I know about his camp out in the bayou, and his prowess at fishing and hunting. I know he was married once, but his wife left him and no one knows where she went off to. I know he does extra drive-bys around my street to keep the good citizens safe, especially single women who are at risk . . ."

  "He didn't say that to you, did he?" Sonia asked, trying not to laugh. "Because he said the exact same thing to me."

  "He apparently says it to all the single women he thinks may fall for him. He talks to Pete--you know, the man who delivers the gas to everyone around here--and Pete told me to be careful," Molly said. "Pete's a nice guy. His niece was taken by some of Rafe Cordeau's men and held out there for three months. Some men came in and rescued her."

  Sonia glanced up at Molly as she held open the door to the coffee shop. Molly was really striking with her long blond hair and large blue eyes. She looked almost exotic with flawless pale skin and a generous mouth. She was tall and curvy, with legs that went on forever. Sonia could only dream about looking like her.

  Jerry had said that Tregre, at one time in his life, had rescued victims of kidnappers. Was it possible he'd been in some way responsible for helping Pete's niece? She was beginning to like Old Man Tregre already, long before she ever met him.

  They found a quiet booth in the corner, Sonia taking the side that had her facing the front door and bank of windows along the street. She liked to see anything coming at her. Suddenly, she felt awkward. It had been a long time since she'd had a girlfriend.

  "I work so much I think I've forgotten how to talk to people," she admitted, deciding to tell as much of the truth as possible.

  "Me too," Molly said. "I moved here about a year ago, and I don't really know anyone but the man bringing my gas, the grocery store clerk, and Bastien Foret, the biggest flirt in town."

  Sonia laughed. "I've not met Pete, although I've seen him. Bastien and I have an unfortunate acquaintance because I can't keep my foot off the gas pedal, and Charity at the grocery store is an old favorite. I have to decide ahead of time which piece of gossip I can pay with or she'll hold me hostage until I spill my guts out on the floor to her."

  Molly laughed, the sound like soft, well-tuned bells. Heads turned, and Sonia tried not to sink down in her seat. "That is so true. She loves gossip. She teaches line dancing with her husband at the community center. I've gone a couple of times, but it isn't fun without someone to go with."

  "I thought line dancing was solo."

  "It is. I meant a friend. Male or female. I just can't work up the enthusiasm," Molly admitted. "That and Charity is always trying to hook me up with someone."

  Sonia groaned. "Jerry does that to me at the lumberyard. He doesn't think it's decent for a woman to be alone, especially considering where I live. He thinks it's the middle of nowhere. I fell in love with the house, and the location is part of that."

  "I'd love to see it sometime," Molly said, her voice turning a little shy.

  "It's a mess right now," Sonia warned. "I spent so much time on the wiring and plumbing and then insulation that actual work on the renovations has been slow. I don't have tons of money, so I have to choose a room and go from there. I was up on the roof the other day and discovered I'm not going to be able to wait another couple of years. Like everything, it needs work now."

  "I wouldn't mind helping out," Molly volunteered. "As a friend. Not a paid one. I don't know the first thing about carpentry, but I'd love to learn."

  Sonia heard the lonely note in Molly's voice. She heard it because she felt the same. "I've been meaning to ask you to come out to consult about the yards. I'm not working on them yet, but I know if I want them nice, I have to plant now. You're the best at landscaping. You know so much about plants native to the area and I was going to ask for help, so I'd love for you come out, see the place and give me advice. I'm a fairly decent cook. Maybe a dinner in return for your expertise?"

  "I'd love that," Molly said. "My family was from around here, a long time ago. My grandmother still owned property that no one wanted. I paid the back taxes on the little house and got it. That's why the house is so run-down. No one had lived in it for years. I also got a piece of the swamp I haven't looked at yet because the boat that came with it had several holes in it and sank when I tried to take it out. Oh, and I used the last of my money to open the landscaping business. Mostly I sell plants, but several of my most recent jobs have come because Jerry or you recommended me."

  That was true. They tried to keep Molly in business.

  Molly wrapped her hands around the hot coffee mug the waitress had brought her. "I don't want to sound like I'm prying, but your lip is swollen, and you have bruises on your neck and arms. They look like fingermarks, or teeth marks. I just need to know you're all right."

  Sonia felt the blush start somewhere in her toes and creep up to her neck and face in a long, slow burn. "It looks bad, but it isn't. I'm perfectly fine, and no one hurt me."

  Molly let out her breath, nodded and changed the subject. "Where are you from?"

  Sonia's heart jumped. This was the reason she didn't mingle with other people. You had to lie when they asked questions. She shrugged. "I've moved around a lot. I like being out of town where it's peaceful. I think if I could live on an island in the middle of the swamp, I would. I go out at night and sit on the porch and just listen. It isn't quiet out there, so I can't say I'm looking for quiet, but it is peaceful. I love the way the frogs call to one another and the insects have this amazing symphony going on. It's loud and crazy, but it's soothing at the same time."

  "I like looking up at the stars," Molly said. "That's soothing to me. When you're away from the town and all the lights, you can see all the way to heaven."

  Sonia paused with her cup halfway to her mouth. "That's beautiful, Molly, and so true. I just never thought of it like that. I love to look up at the stars as well. Is there a house on your grandmother's land in the swamp? I love the little house in town that was hers, but often there's a cabin or maybe a camp?"

  "She had a house on stilts, or at least it looked that way to me. It was really different, but pretty. When I was a child I loved to go there, but later, when she was ill, she moved into town. None of my relatives wanted to live here, so one by one they left, my parents being the first. My grandmother might have lived longer if she'd had someone to care for her."

  "That's sad, Molly."

  "It really was. I loved her. Where is your family?"

  The dreaded questions again. This one she could answer truthfully. "I don't have any family left. My father died some years ago, and my mother died of cancer just under three years ago." It seemed longer. Much longer. So much had happened. "I don't have any other relatives alive. My family members are destined to die young."

  "I'm so sorry about your mother. You have a faint accent. Where are you originally from?"

  Sonia took a long sip of coffee, her mind working fast. She knew she could never quite get rid of that accent. She tried. She worked on it all the time. "We used to go to Spain often for my father's work and we stayed there for months at a time. My parents spoke excellent Spanish, and I learned as well. It was a huge influence on me, and I think I retain a little bit of that accent." It was thin, but it was the only explanation that was the least bit plausible and still safe. If she said they went to Cuba, or her parents were from Cuba, there would be more questions. Worse, having that small piece of information could put Molly in danger.

  "So you're from Spain? I can see that. Your skin is beautiful. With that skin and those eyes, you're very lucky."

  Sonia
held out her arm. She was a shade lighter than her mother, but with nearly the same olive skin and dark, dark chocolate eyes. She thought her mother beautiful. They had the same mouth, but her mother hadn't carried extra on her hips and breasts. Sonia was curvy no matter how much running she did. "My mother gave me her skin," she said, wanting Molly to know how much her mother had meant to her. "I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. And courageous." Tears burned behind her eyes. "I miss her every single day."

  Molly sent her a small, sad smile. "That's so amazing. I wish I could say the same. My mother doesn't like me very much."

  Sonia frowned. "Why? That makes no sense at all."

  Molly hesitated and then shrugged. "We didn't have a lot of money. Well, we had it, inherited it, but most of my family doesn't believe in working. They like to spend, not earn. I met a man, very wealthy, and my parents wanted me to marry him. It was their dream come true when he asked, but he wasn't always very nice." She touched her throat as if it hurt. "I told them, but they didn't care, so I left, got out of town. They told him where I was. He came and got me. I woke up in a little room, a closet really, with no windows. It was so hot I thought I would suffocate. I'm just going to say, it wasn't pleasant for a few weeks. In the end, I had to play nice to get out."

  Sonia closed her eyes. Molly's own parents had delivered her to a monster in order to get money. "How did you get away?"

  "I just acted like I didn't know why I'd left, that he was right in all things and our engagement could proceed. I knew better than to talk to my parents and tell them my plans. They didn't know I was the one who had bought grandma's property when I inherited my money on my eighteenth birthday. I didn't tell anyone, least of all them. So, I came here. I knew it was risky, but I didn't have anywhere else to go. So far, so good. No one has tracked me here."

  "But they might figure it out," Sonia protested.

  Molly nodded. "They might, but I know Bastien, and he puts extra patrols around my neighborhood." She laughed softly at her own joke and then sobered. "I've had a chance to put in a security system, and I'm careful."