Close to the Edge

by Kylie Brant

  The message abruptly stopped. He must have run out of time. Lucky flipped to the next one and heard his friend’s voice resume.

  “I have to stay. I already called Vinny and let him know I wouldn’t be back. I want to be with her now, for as long as I can. You can reach me at this number.” He rattled one off. “It’s cousine Lucille’s house. She’s bringing Tante here until…” There was an emotion-filled pause. “I’ll call you—”

  The message cut off again. Heart heavy, Lucky pressed the key to hear the third one, fully expecting to hear his friend again. Instead, he heard the unmistakable cultured tones that never failed to turn his veins to ice.

  “Mr. Boucher. I don’t know what game you think you’re playing with my daughter, but rest assured it won’t be tolerated.” The tone would have been familiar even if the words hadn’t given away the identity of the caller. Duchess to peasant, as if it pained her to even acknowledge his existence. It usually didn’t bother him, knowing as he did that he had the upper hand in their encounters. But tonight he was feeling a bit too raw to summon his usual tolerance.

  “I have a proposition for you, one I think you’ll find attractive. Meet me at the Century Restaurant on Canal Street at 1:00 p.m. Monday. It would be in your best interests to keep this conversation from Jacinda. But as you seem to be quite adept at duplicity, I’m certain that won’t be a problem for you.”

  He deleted the last message, taking some small pleasure at the thought of erasing the woman’s voice. If only it were as easy to eliminate her from his memory. It was too easy to recall the first time he’d ever met her. That encounter had changed the course of his life in a way he could never have foreseen.

  Deliberately, he sidestepped the recollections that threatened to flood him. Shutting off the small lamp on the table next to the bed, he welcomed the engulfing shadows. Darkness could surround a man, dragging him under its shroud with no hope of ever seeing the light again. But it was guilt that could do the most damage.

  Guilt could eat a man alive.

  Chapter 7

  Jacey looked up as her inner office door pushed open, her eyes widening slightly when she got a look at the man filling it. Glancing pointedly at her watch, she said, “Nice that you could make it, and before noon, too.”

  “Don’t even start,” Lucky warned, stalking in and helping himself to the carafe of coffee on the table. “I haven’t had much sleep this weekend.”

  There was a stab of something that felt suspiciously like jealousy directly beneath her heart. She could only imagine what had kept him up last night, and the mental images weren’t exactly a balm to her bruised feelings.

  She’d both dreaded and anticipated this meeting. A part of her still squirmed at the blatant invitation she’d issued, which had been, eventually, turned down. She’d spent many long hours yesterday nursing a pounding head and a battered ego, until the hangover-induced haze had lifted, leaving her thoughts clear. And since every instant of the scene between them at her house was branded on her memory, she could recall the one thing that saved her from complete and utter humiliation: Lucky had wanted her. Maybe she’d forced the issue, but once he’d started kissing her, he hadn’t wished to stop any more than she had.

  She surveyed him again, a quick glance from under her lashes. He had his eyes closed, and he was drinking the coffee as if the caffeine provided a lifeline. Come to think of it, he didn’t look like he normally did after he’d spent the night with one of his women. He wasn’t teasing and smiling, and he lacked the loose-limbed grace he usually moved with. Right now he seemed as tightly wound as a clock, and there was no trace of a grin on his unshaven face.

  Tapping her gold pen lightly against her desk, a tiny flame of hope flickered to life within her. It was a long shot, but what if his lack of sleep had been caused by her? By what had almost happened between them? Satisfaction stirred at the thought, tempered by uncertainty. Lucky wasn’t like other men, and she didn’t have the experience to do more than guess at what had caused his foul mood.

  He lowered the cup, caught her staring at him. “What?” he snapped.

  She arched her brows. “Nothing. I was just admiring your sunny disposition.”

  He eyed her suspiciously, but she kept her expression carefully bland. “I had some bad news this weekend.”

  Sympathy immediately rose. “I’m sorry. Your family?”

  “Non. My friend’s aunt. He and I grew up together.” He filled his coffee cup again, drank more slowly. “I drove home to visit them both yesterday and got back late last night.”

  The flicker of hope she’d nurtured for a moment was immediately doused. “Do you need some time off? Because I can handle the Garvey case alone until you get back, and everything else we have can wait for a while.”

  He shook his head. “I just wanted to pay my respects before Remy’s tante died.” And even more, he’d wanted to be at his friend’s side for support if nothing else, while he was grappling with the inevitable. The situation had been sobering enough to have him swinging by his grand-mère’s house despite the late hour, as if to reassure himself of her continued good health.

  Rounding the table, he propped his hips against it and studied her. If she’d had any ill effects from drinking too much the other night, it didn’t show. She’d left her hair loose for once, to swirl around her shoulders in a sleek bell. Although he much preferred it the way it had been Saturday night, slightly mussed and tangled by his fingers, it looked good.

  His gaze swept down her figure. She’d slipped off her matching jacket and the silky white shirt she wore beneath plainly showed the undergarment worn beneath. He searched his memory. A camisole, that’s what it was. And the neckline of the blouse was softly V’d, instead of the buttoned-up nun attire she usually favored for work.

  Then his eyes narrowed. If it had been anyone else, he would have wondered if the change was for his benefit. Surely not. Jacey wasn’t the type for those kinds of games. He’d thought about how to play this all the way to the bayou and back. She’d be embarrassed, he’d decided. Probably find it difficult to face him. He’d been determined to make it a bit easier for her by playing it casual.

  But she didn’t look embarrassed. She looked…amused. And that fact did nothing to make him want to go easy on her. Dammit, she’d been the cause of his sleepless nights. And he sure couldn’t see that she’d suffered any ill effects herself.

  “How was the hangover?” he asked bluntly.

  “Annoying. And don’t gloat, it’s unattractive.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Me? I’m not gloatin’. This is concern you see on my face.” He paused a moment. “Although I distinctly remember tellin’ you to go easy on the wine once we got to your place.”

  “You said a lot of things…once we got to my place.”

  He had the distinct feeling he was about to step in quicksand. Sidestepping it nimbly, he nodded to the papers on her desk. “Is that the Garvey file? How do you want to split up the family members?”

  “I have some feelers out with a friend of mine at the FTC to see if I can get the scoop on the case they were building against Stephen. Until that information comes through, I’ll focus on Mark. You can take Amanda.” She reached for one of the file folders on her desk, and handed it to him. “I’ve listed the names and addresses of her ex-husbands. All of them live in the state. You might want to start with them. It shouldn’t be too difficult to get copies of the divorce decrees from each. I’d be very interested in finding out if she’s paying alimony to any of them.” Since the proceedings would be a matter of public record, they’d be available through the courthouse database.

  “I don’t feel like sittin’ at a computer all day. I’ll go to the courthouse myself.”

  She looked pointedly at the black T-shirt he was wearing. “I hope you’re planning to change your shirt before you leave here.” Today he was wearing one that advised Remember my name. You’ll be screaming it later. Dropping her gaze to her desktop, s
he began straightening folders. There was no reason, none at all, for her to be embarrassed by the suggestive wording. She thought…she was almost certain…she hadn’t uttered his name even once while they were on the couch Saturday night, much less screamed it.

  She dug under the sheaf of papers for a list, then handed it to him. “Here’s a list of engagements I’ve wangled invitations to. A little discreet checking proved that one or more of the Garvey descendants is on the guest list. Whether or not you want to accompany me will be up to you. I’ve marked the ones Amanda is expected to attend, in case you want to focus on those.”

  He looked at the column of events, dismay written plainly on his face. “Will these things be anything like that engagement party the other night?”

  “They’ll likely be worse,” she answered cheerfully. “But you can’t beat the contacts. With very little effort, we can pump any number of people about our targets. You never know what might turn up.”

  He looked, she thought, decidedly unenthusiastic at the prospect. “Couldn’t we just tap their phones?”

  “Dream on. If you do decide to come along you’ll need some new clothes. Pick up a couple of dark-colored suits, shirts and ties and—” her gaze dropped to his scuffed black boots “—some dress shoes. You can charge it on the company card.”

  “A tie?”

  There was a faintly panicked note in his voice. Relenting, she said, “Just get something appropriate, all right? The dress won’t be any more formal than it was Saturday.” Truth be told, she couldn’t even imagine him in anything dressier than he’d shown up in the other night. And if he managed to look any sexier than he had then, she’d have to carry a stick to keep the women away from him.

  And it wouldn’t hurt to give herself a good rap with it, either, any time she got another bright idea like asking Lucky to sleep with her.

  Feeling heat suffuse her cheeks, she stared blindly down at the papers she had spread out in front of her. “Well, if there’s nothing else…” Her voice trailed off.

  He remained silent, but didn’t leave. She could feel his eyes on her, hot and intense. A long tension-filled moment passed. Then another. The paragraph she was pretending to read might as well have been written in Klingon.

  Finally she summoned the courage to raise her gaze. “Did you want to say something?”

  “No.” The answer was uttered quickly enough, grimly enough, to have her suspecting he wasn’t any more eager to discuss what had happened between them, or what hadn’t happened between them, than she was.

  “Okay.” She stood, went to the coat closet, and took out a bag. Working automatically, she packed it with a small camera, tape recorder, binoculars, notepads and a miniature computer. Going to her desktop PC she picked up the business cards she’d run off this morning, and carefully separated them, tucking them into a small case in her purse. Crossing to the refrigerator, she took out three bottles of water and an apple, very aware that his gaze never left her.

  “Are you waiting for me to offer you lunch or something?” Really, why didn’t he just go? She was about to jump out of her skin under that brooding, steamy stare.

  “Lunch?” Lucky took a quick glance at his watch, noted the time. “Non, I don’t think I will bother with lunch today.” And he’d take a measure of satisfaction at the thought of leaving Charlotte Wheeler cooling her heels while she got used to the idea of being stood up. He’d never been one to respond to commands.

  Reluctantly, he pushed away from the table, headed for the door. Watching her move around the room gracefully, seemingly oblivious to him, wasn’t improving his mood any.

  She said nothing as he left, and he got as far as his own office, before the frustration bubbled, threatened to erupt. “Merde.” Turning on his heel, he strode rapidly back to her office, pushing the door open with the heel of his hand and sending it bouncing off the opposite wall. “The hell with this,” he growled, stalking toward her.

  Looking wary, she rounded the desk, stood clutching the back of her chair. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “I’ll tell you what has gotten into me. You.” He slapped the file folder on her desk with enough force to have her wince. “Ignorin’ what happened isn’t going to work. We have to get this out in the open.”

  “What’s so great about it being out in the open?” she muttered.

  “What happened Saturday night,” he paused as his excellent memory supplied him with instant mental flashes of the night in question, “shouldn’t have happened. It won’t again.” He thought, he hoped, that if he uttered the words with enough vehemence, they just might be true. “We are friends, you and me. I don’t know how that happened, but it did. We aren’t goin’ to screw that up. For us, sex is off the table. Do you understand?”

  He glared at her, daring her to disagree. But she just stood there, with a tiny little smile on her face. He turned to go through the door again, when her voice stopped him.

  “I understand perfectly, and I think you do, too. If you’re honest, you’ll admit it. For us, sex will never be off the table.”

  He was still standing speechless in the doorway when she brushed by him holding her suit jacket and bag and walked, with a decidedly feminine sway to her hips, out the front door.

  Jacey had made several phone calls earlier that day, setting up her pretext for approaching Mark Garvey’s neighbors. After another quick call had ascertained that he was at work, she drove out to the upper-class neighborhood where he had a home. Houses in the area sold for upwards of a million dollars, so it would appear that the man was doing very well for himself.

  Starting at the house next to his, she knocked on the door and waited until a uniformed maid opened it. “Good afternoon.” She presented the woman with a phony business card. “May I speak with the owner, please?”

  “Un momento.” While the maid went to summon her employer, Jacey looked casually up and down the street. It wasn’t a gated community, which made things a bit easier for her. But there were discreet signs of neighborhood security. She noted one unmarked sedan cruising by, the driver watching her. Most of these areas had a no-soliciting policy, which was why she’d put a Triad Realty magnetic sign on her car door. The security guard would be hard-pressed to decide she didn’t have a legitimate reason to be there.

  A matronly woman in her midfifties opened the door, looking vaguely impatient. “I’m afraid we aren’t in need of a Realtor.” She made as if to close the door.

  “But isn’t this 1018 Vine?” Jacey looked down at her notepad again, pretending to be puzzled.

  “Yes, but my house isn’t for sale. Nor am I interested in listing it.”

  “Well, that is odd. This is the address that my partner wrote down. Bruce Cambridge? He said he spoke to someone just last night. Could it have been your husband?”

  “Ex-husband, and it sure better not have been.” Temper snapped in the lady’s brown eyes, and she pulled the door open a little wider. “I got the house and one of the cars in the divorce, and he got the beach home and his triple-D bimbo.” She peered suspiciously at the scrawled address on the pad. “I wouldn’t put it past him to try something underhanded.”

  The last thing Jacey wanted was to start some minor war between the stranger and her ex. She gave a wry smile. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry. This isn’t the first time I’ve been unable to read my partner’s handwriting. See?” She turned the notepad so the woman could look. “I suppose that 8 could be a 6.”

  “Or a 9,” the woman said doubtfully. “My ex had lousy handwriting, too. Caused all kinds of problems over the years, I can tell you.”

  Because she was afraid the lady would do just that, Jacey attempted to sidetrack her. “Maybe it’s the house next door.” She indicated Mark Garvey’s stately pillared home. “Could that be? Have you heard anything about your neighbor wanting to move?”

  “Mr. Garvey?” The woman stepped out on the front porch and looked over at the home, pursing her lips. “I haven’t heard a word about it, but he
keeps to himself. He used to chat with my ex occasionally. I never did understand why a man alone wanted to keep a house that size. It’s not like he’s home a lot.”

  “That’s a shame.” Jacey eyed the house assessingly. “These homes seem ideal for entertaining.”

  “He hasn’t entertained much since his divorce two years ago. The only people I see over there these days are his family. He’s got a brother and a sister, I think, and a younger cousin. He never was on very good terms with his father, from what my ex told me once.” She lowered her voice. “That cousin of his is no good, from what I hear. Mark tried to work with him a few years ago, straighten him out, but I don’t know how much success he had.” She shrugged. “Too much money can ruin people, you know? Lately Mark’s had a string of girlfriends who have come and gone, but like I say, he’s not around all that much anymore. Maybe he is planning to sell. I can’t remember the last time I saw him to speak to.”

  It was doubtful the woman could give her any other information, so Jacey turned to go. “Well, as long as I’m here I’ll drop my card off at a few houses. Thank you for your time.”

  Aware that the woman was still watching her, Jacey gave a friendly wave and headed off for the Garvey house. Unlike its neighbor, no servant answered the door here. After waiting a few moments she went to the house on the other side, and walked through the same routine, with even less success. The housekeeper told her the owners weren’t at home, and since the retired couple had only lived there six months, Jacey doubted they’d be able to provide much useful information.

  As she got into her car, she noticed the same dark sedan driving slowly by. It had been no more than fifteen minutes since she’d first seen it. She made a mental note. She might need to remember the security layout before she was through checking out Mark Garvey, so she drove around the neighborhood until she found a house for sale, then jotted down the address and Realtor’s phone number.

  She waited until she was several blocks away to stop and take the signs off the rental car, and then called the Realtor. By pretending an interest in the house for sale, she was able to glean a great deal of information, with a few nuggets about the neighborhood security that might well come in handy.