Angel at Risk

by Leann Harris

  His mouth quirked into a naughty grin. “What were you wondering?”

  “If I could use some of yours?”

  “Mais sho’, chère. What I have, I’ll gladly share with you.”

  It irritated her no end when he turned on his Cajun charm.

  “The toothpaste will be enough.”

  The look of mock disappointment in his green eyes robbed her of her irritation. “It’s in the medicine cabinet above the sink.”

  “Thanks.” She closed the bathroom door and hurried through her nightly ritual.

  With a final fortifying breath, she steeled herself for the short trip back to the bedroom. The moment she stepped out of the sheltering confines of the bathroom she spotted Jean-Paul by the front door, looking out into the night. He didn’t turn to face her, but she knew he was aware of her.

  “Good night,” she called.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “Good night, chère.” The word was a whispered endearment that caused her heart to skip a beat. “I hope you sleep well.”

  Not likely, since she was sleeping in his bed. She nodded and rushed into the bedroom. The cool air from the window-unit air conditioner raised goose bumps on her arms. Or was it the image of Jean-Paul’s wonderful chest that caused chills to race over her skin?

  Annoyed with her thoughts, she snatched Sarah’s letters to Marianna off the dresser and climbed into bed. For several moments she stared at the outside of one envelope, at her mother’s handwriting. With shaking fingers, she pulled out the sheets of lavender stationery. The letter was about her first day of kindergarten.

  Slowly, she worked her way through all the correspondence. Angie’s throat clogged with emotion as the words from her mother to Marianna took on a whole new meaning. After returning the last letter to its envelope, she turned off the light and scooted down between the sheets.

  Her head hurt. For that matter, so did her heart. So many new, disturbing feelings were hammering at her. When she’d walked into Mirabeau this afternoon, she’d been Angeline Fitzgerald, daughter of Sarah and Thomas. Now, she knew she’d been born Angeline Courville, daughter of Marianna and an unnamed man.

  She’d been lied to by those she had loved. Why, oh, why couldn’t they have told her the truth?

  And now there was the ugly fear that Marianna had been murdered.

  As the tears came, she turned her face into the pillow. Murder. Her aunt—no, mother—might have been murdered. What could have been worth Marianna’s life? And how unfair life was, that she could never call Marianna mother.

  As much as she wanted to, though, she couldn’t give in to the despair filling her. For Marianna’s sake, she had to be sure the truth was uncovered.

  She took a deep breath and was immediately distracted by the manly scent of sandalwood clinging to the pillowcase.

  Jean-Paul.

  In addition to all the other traumas she’d endured today, her body had picked the oddest time to turn traitor and run amok. The man did odd things to her heart and blood pressure.

  Hadn’t she learned from her experience with Richard how fickle the heart could be? When the handsome actor had shown interest in her, shy, boring Angie, she’d gone against her better judgment and followed her heart.

  What a disaster that had been. She’d trusted him, and he’d swindled her out of her life savings. She’d learned then not to listen to her heart. But here it was again, demanding to be heard.

  She hugged the pillow to her breasts and tried to stop the thoughts tumbling in her brain. If she was going to face the lawyer tomorrow, she needed her wits about her.

  Her last conscious thought was that she was very comfortable in Jean-Paul’s bed. Very comfortable.

  * * *

  “We’ve had a full day, haven’t we, Angeline?” Jean-Paul stole a glance at her. Her head rested on the seat back, and she looked dead tired.

  “I hope we accomplished a lot,” she murmured.

  “How can you doubt it? We met with Ted—planned our strategy for the courtroom tomorrow. What more could we have done, hein?”

  “You are very knowledgeable about the law. Maybe you should have been a lawyer instead of working as a mechanic at Pierre’s.”

  She said it in such a light tone that Jean-Paul knew she didn’t mean any insult. Still, it was a reminder of what had been. “You wound me, chère. You don’t think I can fix your car?”

  “I don’t know. You haven’t gone near it since yesterday.”

  “Sheathe your claws, little cat. If you’ll recall, I haven’t had an opportunity to look at it. Something else has kept me occupied.”

  His teasing response reminded both of them of the circumstances that had forced them to New Orleans. The light went out of Angeline’s eyes and she seemed to withdraw into herself once more.

  Damn, he didn’t want to work through her prickly feelings again. This morning she’d acted colder than the dry ice Pierre used in his cooler. He’d been put off by her attitude, until he realized that she’d been trying to put some emotional distance between them. Of course, once they had stepped into Ted’s office, she let down her guard and they’d drawn closer to each other.

  If he wasn’t careful, things could get out of hand. He’d already gotten too involved with her. Unwelcome feelings and urges were cropping up. He found himself wanting to pull her into his arms and give in to the desire running rampant through his veins.

  Illogically, though, her actions irked him. He was a good-looking man and a good lover, he’d been told. So what was it about him that she found so distasteful?

  But he knew what it was. All the classic signs were there. She’d been hurt. Some bastard had taken her love and stomped on it. And of course, finding out that her parents and Marianna had lied to her had been rough on her.

  The previous night had been torture for him. He’d heard her sobbing into her pillow and wanted to go in and comfort her. But common sense had kicked in, warning him to stay put on the sofa.

  “Do you think the court will rule in my favor tomorrow?”

  Jean-Paul welcomed the diversion of her question. “I can’t see how they could rule against you. Yours is the legitimate claim. Roger’s isn’t.”

  She turned toward him, curling her legs under her. “How do you know that the court would’ve awarded the estate to Roger?”

  “Easy. Without a petitioner, the court would have awarded all her property to the state. Then the estate would have been sold at auction. Roger would’ve offered the winning bid. Probably the only bid.”

  “Will there be problems?”

  “You, Angel, are going to cause a bigger stir than the last hurricane that blew through town. So you best be prepared for the commotion your appearance in court will create.”

  She rested her cheek on her arm. “I feel like I’m a freak in a carnival sideshow.”

  His hand grasped hers. Her fingers were like ice. He placed her palm on his thigh, then began to rub some circulation back into her hand. It was a major mistake. All he could think of was how he’d like that delicate hand moving over his heated flesh.

  Stop thinking of your zipper and reassure her, imbécile. “You know how small towns are. You’ll cause talk for a while, then things will die down and people will get on with their lives.” He released her hand.

  “Who was that other man you called today?” she asked, tucking her hands into her pockets.

  “Edward Dias. He’s on a commission to investigate corruption in state government. Marianna had an appointment to see him the day she died. According to Edward, Marianna never showed up at his office. I was calling to see if any other information had surfaced.”

  “Had any thing more come to light?”

  “Not according to him.”

  She cocked her head and studied him. “Jean-Paul?”

  “What?”

  “Did you discover something about Marianna’s death you’re not telling me?”

  Oh, yeah, there were a lot of ugly questions that had been r
aised today, and he worried that if he told her everything he suspected, it would further devastate her. And yet, she needed to know about her maman’s death.

  “About a week before Marianna’s death, she asked me to set up a meeting with one of the members of the task force. She said she’d come across some information that could prove to be vital to them. So I set her up with Edward.”

  He and Edward had been appointed to the commission at the same time and instantly had formed a friendship. They had both climbed the ladder of success quickly until that fateful August when Jean-Paul had been indicted. And while Jean-Paul’s star fell, Edward’s had zoomed to the heavens.

  “And?” Angeline prodded.

  He snapped out of his morose memories. “Well, a curious thing had happened today. I used to frequent the restaurant we had lunch at today. While you were away from the table, Norman, our waiter and an old friend, asked about Marianna. When I told him of her death, Norman shook his head, saying it was hard to think of such a vital woman gone. He told me that she had eaten there only months before.”

  “Is that significant?”

  “Oui. The only time Marianna left town the last month of her life was the day she died. Marianna made it to New Orleans that day.” He glanced at her and saw she didn’t understand the implications. “When I talked to Edward after Marianna’s death, he swore she had not made the meeting. So what happened? Did she make the meeting with Edward, and he lied about it? And why would he lie? Or was she waylaid before the meeting, and killed in New Orleans?”

  “But you don’t buy that?”

  “If she was killed in New Orleans, then why drive her car back to Mirabeau and toss her body into the bayou there? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “No,” she quietly responded. “Nothing makes sense.” Pain laced her voice.

  He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Do you have something appropriate to wear in court tomorrow?” he asked, trying to divert her attention.

  “You didn’t—”

  “It’s important for you to look good. The judge will look more kindly upon you if you are dressed correctly.”

  He felt her gaze upon him, but kept his eyes on the road.

  She sighed and righted herself on the seat. “Has anyone ever told you you’re as subtle as a frying pan applied to the side of the head?”

  He chuckled in spite of himself. There was nothing dumb about this woman. “Some say it’s my greatest strength.”

  She gave an inelegant snort. “They may be right.”

  He couldn’t keep back the laughter. She joined him for a brief moment. When their chuckles died down, he asked, “Seriously, Angel, do you have something to wear?”

  “Shouldn’t you have asked that while we were still in New Orleans, where I could’ve gotten something?”

  “Add another demerit to my name.”

  “Two. But in answer to your question, yes, I did throw in a nice dress, just in case. Only this scenario never occurred to me.”

  “Nor to me, Angel. Believe me, never in my wildest dreams did I imagine anything like this.”

  * * *

  They arrived back in Mirabeau immediately after sunset. The frogs and crickets had begun their nightly melodies, with an occasional tugboat whistle or barking dog punctuating their performance. When Jean-Paul drove the truck up to his house and cut the engine, Angie had the oddest feeling of coming home.

  She climbed out of the truck and looked around. The night seemed unusually black. Then it struck her. There were no streetlights around, nothing to relieve the darkness.

  “Wait by the truck while I turn on a light,” Jean-Paul instructed her. “I wouldn’t want you stumbling on the steps. Heaven knows the talk that would ensue, if you showed up tomorrow in court with a bruise or scrape.”

  His concern warmed her. It certainly was going to be enough of a circus without adding anything extra to it.

  The instant the yellow porch light came on, Angie squinted. Jean-Paul held open the door for her. Seeing him there, a welcoming smile on his darkly handsome face, made her heart pound. She had to fight against the seductive allure of the setting. If she let her imagination go, she could envision him opening his arms and welcoming her home.

  Home.

  The vision in her head was that of a man embracing the woman of his heart. His wife.

  Angie struggled to break free of the dreamscape.

  As she passed Jean-Paul, he caught her elbow. “Are you all right? You look a little pale.”

  “I’m tired.” It wasn’t a lie, she told herself. She was tired. That could be the only logical explanation for her fantasy.

  “That’s understandable, since you didn’t sleep well last night.”

  Her startled gaze flew to his face. His smile was soft and understanding.

  “The bed creaks.”

  Angie felt her cheeks flush. “I didn’t mean to keep you awake.”

  He shrugged. “Think nothing of it.”

  She rested her hand on his arm. “Thank you, Jean-Paul.”

  He covered her hand with his, squeezing lightly. “I wish there was more I could do for you, Angel.”

  The heat of his skin on hers acted like a drug, making her feel light-headed and giddy. “There is something else you could do for me.”

  Surprise lit his features and the muscles in his hand contracted on her hand. “Anything. Ask me anything.”

  “Would you make me another cup of that wonderful coffee?”

  The disappointment on his face made her laugh. It took a moment, but a glint of satisfaction crept into his eyes and his mouth curved into a grin.

  “So, I have hooked you, hein?” His hand slid around her wrist to grasp her fingers.

  It would be easier to think if he’d release her, but she didn’t want to lose that wonderful contact. “Well, it was a marvelous cup of coffee.”

  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers interlaced with his. “Yes. I’ll make a Cajun of you yet.” He tugged her into the kitchen.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.

  He pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit. “Café Brûlot is not for novices, chère. You rest.”

  He turned on the radio that sat on top of the refrigerator and hummed along with the song. She didn’t understand the words since they were in Cajun French, but from the tone of the song, it had to be about a lost love.

  He quickly put together the drink and brought it to the table. “Would you like to sit outside on the steps?” he asked, handing her a cup.

  Although it was still hot outside, the idea of sitting in the dark, listening to the night sounds, drinking his special coffee, held such strong appeal that she couldn’t refuse. “Yes.”

  Once they were settled, Angie cupped the mug and sipped the rich liquid. “Oh, this is heavenly.”

  “I can’t think of a more appropriate drink.”

  She gave him a puzzled frown.

  “A heavenly drink for an angel.”

  “Oh.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me to miss your meaning.”

  “It’s been a rough two days for you. Not too many people would’ve handled things as well as you have.”

  She rubbed the side of the cup with her thumb, thinking of her sleeplessness of the night before and the whirlwind of emotions she’d experienced. “I haven’t done a good job.”

  Cocking his head, he asked, “How did you come to that conclusion?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m a jumble of emotions. One minute I’m mad at everyone for lying to me, then the next minute, hurt. I feel betrayed and ungrateful all at once.” She shook her head.

  Jean-Paul wrapped his arm around her shoulders and drew her to his side. “It’s understandable that you’re confused. But you must remember that they all loved you. I think the reason they lied was to protect you and give you the best life possible. Thirty years ago, having a child out of wedlock held a very bad stigma. And here, in this part
of Louisiana that is so much Catholic, such a thing is shameful. Realistically, Marianna couldn’t have kept you and raised you here.” He set down his cup and tipped her chin up, looking into her eyes. “Bastard is not a pretty word, mon ange. And you would have been called that. Marianna did what she thought would give you the best life.” He brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek. “Apparently, she was right, non?”

  “Yes, I had a wonderful childhood. My parents gave me everything. And every summer Marianna would be there, laughing, playing games with me, listening to my thoughts. It just hurts to think I never heard the truth from any of them.”

  “Perhaps they intended to tell you one day, but they died before they had the chance.”

  “Maybe.”

  He looked out into the darkness. “Has the truth helped you? Sometimes the truth isn’t the blinding light it’s cracked up to be.”

  “I still believe you’re always better off telling the truth.”

  In the light from the kitchen windows, she could see the sad smile on his lips. “The joy of innocence.” Shaking his head, he said, “I’ll not be the one to smash that rare jewel.”

  She looked away from that penetrating and knowing gaze.

  The music from the radio drifted out into the night, wrapping around them, creating another world populated only by the two of them. Jean-Paul took the coffee cup from her hand and set it on the porch beside his. He stood and pulled her up with him. “Come, dance with me.”

  She wanted to claim she didn’t know how, but her perfect upbringing had included dance lessons. His strong arm slipped around her waist, and he grasped her right hand in his left and settled it on his chest. Then he pulled her close, so close that a moth couldn’t fly between them. His body began to sway with the music, carrying her along with his movements.

  This wasn’t exactly how Miss Amanda Keyes had taught her students to waltz. “Aren’t we a bit close?”

  “You must be able to feel the beat of the music and the beat of your partner’s heart.”

  She felt more than the beat of his heart. Pulling back, Angie peered up at him and immediately knew she’d made a mistake. The movement brought her lower body in closer contact with his. He stopped moving and for several moments they stood frozen. With a sad shake of his head, he stepped away from her.