Kiss of Temptation: A Deadly Angels Book

by Sandra Hill

  “Nope. Mah knees and Useless growlin’ up a storm . . . tee hee hee, do you get the joke? The twinges in my hinges are actin’ up t’day. Oh Lordy! Look how the traffic’s backed up at the gate?”

  There were dozens of news trucks and vans in one lane alone. After the long lockdown, reporters were anxious to get inside to investigate on their own. Or as much on their own as Warden Benton would allow, which wouldn’t be much.

  “They’re probably friskin’ everyone who enters today, and me wearin’ my everyday undies!” Tante Lulu said. “Didja ever have one of them body cavity searches?” When Gabrielle just made a gurgling sound, Tante Lulu went on, “Me neither. Might not be such a bad idea. It would be the closest I’ve had ta sex in twenty years. Do you think a woman could have an orgy-asm with a rubber-gloved finger up her va-jay-jay? Why’re you crossin’ yer eyes? Best be careful. I knew a gal did that all the time, and her eyeballs got froze sideways.”

  They passed through security, finally. Without being frisked. Although Tante Lulu made a big fuss over not being allowed to bring her big purse inside; nor was she permitted to carry even one St. Jude statue inside the prison perimeter. But then, the same thing had happened last time they were here.

  “We can’t allow anything inside that could be filed or melted down into a weapon. Even plastic,” the guard declared.

  “St. Jude wouldn’t allow it,” Tante Lulu contended.

  “Screw St. Jude.”

  Tante Lulu gasped and smacked the guard on the head with her Richard Simmons fan, which she also wasn’t permitted to bring inside this time.

  It took a call to the warden’s office before the guard would release them to go inside. As a last shot, Tante Lulu squinted her eyes at the guard’s security badge and exclaimed, “Russell Bouvier! I knew you when you were a snot-nosed brat at Our Lady of the Bayou grade school with mah nephew Tee-John. Jist wait ’til I tell yer mama what you said ’bout St. Jude.”

  The guard actually looked fearful and said, “Sorry, Ms. Rivard.”

  “Hmpfh! You oughta be. Make sure you go ta confession. Hear?”

  And that was just the beginning of Gabrielle’s day!

  Gabrielle met Leroy in the visiting shed while a guard led Tante Lulu off to the auditorium where René and Ivak were waiting for her to continue the talent show auditions. Reporters were being hustled off in groups of ten at a time to the warden’s office for press conferences. At this rate, the warden would have laryngitis by the end of the day.

  “I hafta pee,” she heard Tante Lulu tell the guard. Nothing new there. She’d made Gabrielle stop three times on the way here. She used bathroom breaks as an excuse to snoop around, no matter where she was. “You got any clean bathrooms in this joint?”

  After hugging Gabrielle, Leroy led her over to a bench on the far side of the crowded room. Normally, on a sunny day, inmates with good records were permitted to go outside to a wooded picnic area to spend time with visitors, but not while the prison was under such tight security. That was the reason for the crowded conditions today.

  Leroy gave her a quick recap of the events that led to the lockdown, and the spin Warden Benton was putting on the events: a mix-up in reporting the deaths in the hospital and hospice areas; a botched escape attempt by a half-dozen inmates; and twelve or so prison employees quitting without notice. When you considered that there were more than six thousand inmates and staff at the prison, two dozen bodies was not all that much, or at least that was the story Benton was tossing out there to see if it floated. What other explanation could there be?

  “I heard that Mrs. Hebert is here today to visit with that turd bastard son of hers over at the hospital,” Leroy told her. “Do you know if she’s going to . . . um, try to help me?”

  “Not if she hears you refer to her dying son as a turd bastard,” Gabrielle remarked. “Whatever she does, it won’t be for you. She’s a religious woman, honey, like Tante Lulu. Whatever she does, it will be for what she considers her son’s good. I don’t think she wants him to die with that kind of lie on his soul, assuming she believes that he lied.”

  Leroy said several foul words, for which she wanted to chastise him, but decided to pick her battles. Instead, she asked him what was new since they’d met last, aside from the prison brouhaha.

  Leroy told her that Ivak had assigned one of his men to Leroy’s dorm as a protective measure. “This guy has fangs, too.”

  “Do you really believe all this vampire angel/vampire devil business?” she whispered back. “I must need a reality bypass to even ask this question, but could it really be true? I mean, are we living in a True Blood world, and not knowing it?”

  “Hell if I know, but wait ’til you hear Ivak sing. You’ll believe in angels then, that’s for damn sure.”

  “Huh?” He sure wasn’t angelic in that harem-scarem

  dream.

  “Your weirdo minister sings like an angel.”

  “He is not my weirdo anything.” Except in my dreams.

  “Whatever.”

  She told Leroy about the work she’d been doing to prepare for another parole board hearing, assuming there was no recantation by Hebert before that time.

  “It feels like such chaos here,” Leroy said finally. “Even confined to cells or dorms, there’s an air of danger or uncertainty making everybody antsy. Nerves are on edge. The least little thing sparks a fight.”

  Red flags went up for Gabrielle. “Don’t you dare get involved in a fight when you have so much riding on your good behavior.”

  “Yeah, yeah!”

  “I was wondering about something, Leroy. Someone asked me recently what I was going to do once you were released . . . what my dreams are. What are yours?”

  “I’m afraid to speak them out loud, for fear I’ll jinx them.”

  She nodded her understanding.

  “Maybe go to college and get a degree with some skill attached. Maybe some work involved with kids at risk, possibly in those juvie detention centers. Try to catch them before they’re prison bait.”

  She sucked in a breath. “You wouldn’t want to get as far away from prisons as possible?”

  He cocked his head to the side. “As long as I’m on the outside, I don’t see how it matters.”

  How different he was from her.

  “Shit! I’ve gotta find some way to make all these prison years count for something. Don’t you wonder how many families there are, just like ours was? Abusive, alcoholic, drugged-up, negligent parents are more common than anyone realizes.” He ducked his head sheepishly. “Hell, I’m starting to sound like a preacher myself.”

  She smiled. Aside from the bad language, she liked this new side of her brother.

  “Maybe we should go inside and help with the auditions,” Leroy suggested. “You’ll get a laugh or two, at least.”

  Her face heated up. “I think Ivak barred me from participating.”

  “Yeah, I remember that. Let me go inside and sic Tante Lulu on him,” Leroy said with a wink.

  A short time later, a guard walked up to her and said, “Miss Sonnier? I’ve been directed to take you to the auditorium.” They went through several checkpoints on The Walk through the Main Prison complex. Despite the lockdown having been lifted, there were way more precautions being taken, she noticed. Even she was screened more than usual.

  Once they got to the auditorium, if the shabby room with a raised platform in front and folding chairs throughout could be called an auditorium, Gabrielle thanked the guard, who’d remained silent on their fifteen-minute walk. She chose a chair at the back, not wanting to call attention to herself.

  The room was packed with inmates and staff watching the last of the talent show tryouts, no doubt due to Charmaine’s presence. She and René had driven here together, Bayou Black being out of the way for them today.

  Leroy gave her a little wave, motioning for her to come up front to join him, but she decided to stay in back, for now. She noticed a large number of guards in the room, incl
uding one red-haired one whose eyes seemed to be fixed on Leroy. She would have to warn her brother. Sometimes those in authority developed a dislike for a particular convict and just waited for the smallest infraction to bust him.

  Charmaine stood on the low stage teaching a three-man inmate group a dance routine to accompany their pantomimed rendition of that doo-wop standard, “Why Do Fools Fall in Love?” It involved a dip and three steps to the right, a dip and three steps to the left, then bending the knees for a pelvic thrust forward, the whole time wailing out the lyrics. It was the dips and thrusts that had all eyes on the self-proclaimed bimbo with class. Or it might be the tight silver capri pants with a shimmery black T-shirt and silver wedge sandals. Her long black hair was a mass of curls piled on top of her head. A convict’s wet dream!

  Speaking—rather, thinking—of dreams, Ivak must have sensed her presence because he turned from where he was leaning against the piano talking to René. At first, he looked chagrined that she would disobey his order to stay away, but then he nodded a greeting at her. Their eyes held for a long moment.

  And she knew . . . she just knew . . . that he was seeing the same thing she was. The dream. In that instant, she forgot all about her resolve to keep her distance from the lout. He might not think she was his soul mate anymore, as indicated by his silence of the past week, but she was not so sure now.

  How could just looking at a man feel so good?

  But wait. Had he planted these dreams in her head as a way to seduce her to his way of thinking? Assuming she believed his fantastical story—and she was increasingly leaning in that direction, or else she was finally going crazy—she remembered him telling her that he was guilty “in a big way” of the sin of lust. Add to that some supernatural powers he might have gained when he was turned into a vampire angel. Did I really say—rather, think—that? Good Lord! I do believe him. Yikes! And maybe all these feelings that were overwhelming her were not real, or at the least she’d been manipulated.

  Oooh, she had a few words to say to the lusty lout.

  Fourteen

  His dream lover was a pissed-off lover . . .

  Ivak felt Gabrielle’s presence before he saw her.

  At first, an incredible joy suffused him, just from looking at her. But then, he recalled his order for her to stay put at the cottage, and irritation bordering on fury replaced the joy. When God created the world, had He deliberately planted a disobedient gene in women to plague men? They were always doing the opposite of what they were told to do, even when it was for their own good. Just like Eve, who was the model for rebellious women throughout time.

  Well, thank God Ivak had thought to assign two vangels to watch over Gabrielle. He would have words for them later. They should have informed him that she’d left Bayou Black and was headed in this direction. Even now, Lucies could be after her, if he was reading Mike’s words correctly: “Save the girl.”

  “Will you take over for me?” he asked René. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Sure,” René said.

  Tante Lulu had joined Charmaine up on the stage and was demonstrating the right way to do a shuffle step. And she was good. In fact, some of the crowd gave her a clapping ovation. To which the old lady gave a little bow and said, “You oughta see me jitterbug.”

  He walked back and sat down next to Gabrielle. Right away, her scent came up to envelop him in hair-trigger arousal. And it wasn’t her perfume, either. It was her woman scent intended to lure a mate.

  Seeking a more neutral subject than, oh, let’s say, S.E.X., he remarked, “Did you have anything to do with Tante Lulu’s outfit today?”

  The old lady was wearing cowgirl attire, including a hat and boots.

  “She thought you’d be doing a dress rehearsal over at the rodeo arena.”

  “That won’t come for another few weeks.”

  She crossed one leg over the other and tried to ignore him.

  I wonder if she shaved her legs today. They look so smooth and shiny. Dare I touch her knee? Hmmm. Mayhap later.

  “What do boots, and chaps, and a hat have to do with a talent show dress rehearsal?”

  “It would be at the rodeo arena. I think she was hoping that if she dressed appropriately, someone would let her ride a bull . . . or at least a bronco.”

  “God forbid!” Her lips are peach-colored today. I’d wager a fortune that she tastes sweet and juicy. “The bull would run away at sight of her.”

  She didn’t even smile at that. In fact, she turned her body slightly away from him. What did she have to be annoyed about? She was the one who’d disobeyed orders intended for her own safety. “Spit it out, wench. What has your thong in a twist?” Oh, that is just great. Now I will be picturing her in one of those wonderfully scandalous undergarments.

  “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. If we were somewhere more private, I would hit you.”

  “If we were somewhere more private, we would be doing something, but it would not involve violence,” he countered. Then, “Why would you want to hit me?”

  “For planting those horrible dreams in my head.”

  Just then, the latest dream came to him. In truth, he’d been dreaming the same fantasy about her for the past five days.

  “So you remember now,” she accused him.

  He glanced down at her lap, then looked at her frowning face, then back at her lap. After which he flashed her a wicked, lazy smile. “Cluck, cluck!”

  “Oh, that was despicable!” She tried to stand and move away from him, but he grabbed her hand and made her stay put. “It’s not funny.”

  “Well, yes, that dream was cause for mirth. And, really, there is no reason for you to be embarrassed. Women today deliberately wax themselves there, or so I’ve been told.” A thought occurred to him. “Do you wax there?”

  Her flushed face flushed even more. In fact, the flush reached down to her collarbone. “No, I do not.”

  “That’s good. I prefer a little cushion for my balls.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and she seemed stunned into speechlessness.

  “Oops! I did not mean to say that aloud.”

  “Stop planting those horrible dreams in my head.”

  “What makes you think I have anything to do with them?”

  “Because you star in them, you idiot.”

  “Well, it’s the most sex I’ve had in a long, long time. If I had anything to do with them, they would go on forever . . . and be the real thing.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  She rolled her eyes. He noticed that she did that a lot around him.

  “René tells me that his band is playing at that tavern near Bayou Black on Saturday. Would you like to go with me?”

  The invitation surprised her. It surprised him, too. He hadn’t known he was going to ask her. He hadn’t known he had any inclination to go listen to Cajun music in a rowdy bar.

  “You’re asking me to go on a date? After I just berated you for those lousy dreams?”

  He didn’t like her describing those sex dreams as lousy, but decided to save his opinion until later. “Our second date, actually, if you count our dinner last week.”

  “After which you never called or attempted to see me again.”

  Aha! That is why she is being so schrewish. “Everyone inside the prison was barred from any outside contact.”

  “Bullshit! You and I both know you could have overridden that order.”

  He felt his face heat at the accuracy of her statement. “I was . . . I am confused by the overwhelming feelings I have toward you. It has never happened to me before.”

  “Paint us both confused, then,” she said. Leastways, her anger seemed to have dissipated.

  “Is it a date then?”

  She hesitated, but then she nodded.

  “I want to touch your knee so bad my fingers ache.”

  “Aaarrgh!”

  “And your lips . . . I am dying to know if they tast
e like peaches.”

  “Aaarrgh!” she said again.

  “Forget I mentioned those things. It was probably inappropriate to speak of such intimate things in a public place.”

  “Like you’re suddenly concerned about propriety! Like a girl could forget something like that!”

  “If you think that’s not so bad, dare I mention that I’m having a thickening just smelling your woman scent. My fangs are about to orgasm in my gums.”

  “Aaarrgh!” she said again.

  He was starting to like the sound, choosing to believe it was a groan of arousal.

  Just then, Tante Lulu walked up and told Gabrielle, “We’s havin’ a LeDeux party on Saturday down at Swampy’s . . . thass the Swamp Tavern . . . ta raise money fer one of my charities.”

  Why am I not surprised that Tante Lulu has charities? Before Ivak asked her to elaborate, Tante Lulu turned to him. “Didja ask her yet?”

  “I did,” he said, grinning at the old lady’s obvious matchmaking efforts. He’d love to see this woman encounter Mike some time. He was pretty sure she would be able to hold her own, even with the mighty archangel.

  “Are you comin’?” Tante Lulu asked Gabrielle.

  “I’m coming,” Gabrielle said, then murmured so low that only Ivak could hear, “in more ways than one.”

  The real Thor had nothing on this guy . . .

  Gabrielle was sitting on the porch that evening with Tante Lulu, one of those days out of time where everything seemed peaceful. She could almost believe that the hoped-for better times with Leroy were actually possible.

  Faith . . . that’s what it boiled down to. She was still worried about Leroy being confined to a prison overrun with some evil influence, more evil than the usual maniacal inmates. The news media accepted, with a dash of skepticism, the warden’s explanation that there had been paper errors on the dead inmates, and routine “Take this job and shove it!” type quittings by some staffers who were long gone to parts unknown, despite that being a whole lot of coincidences to swallow. Gabrielle, on the other hand, was going for the “Michael did it!” explanation.

  After a huge meal of crawfish etouffée, a side salad, warm biscuits, and banana pudding that Tante Lulu seemed to whip up in no time after they’d returned from Angola, the old lady shooed her out of the kitchen, saying she could clean up herself. Which was a blessing. It gave Gabrielle time to do some paperwork for her caseload at Second Chances. She had appointments with clients all day tomorrow.