Take A Chance On Me (A NOLA Heart Novel Book 2)

by Maria Luis

  “How do you know Ms. Hansen?”

  Shit. He tried to grasp at straws for a response, but his thoughts froze like he’d sucked down the daiquiri all in one go.

  This right here—this was why he’d avoided her for the last week, since that first text he’d received from her, asking if them seeking out Miranda Smiley had anything to do with the break-in at Ms. Hansen’s house. Truth of the matter was, he’d screwed up, and he’d spent days trying to claw himself out of the burning fire.

  He’d been so certain that Shawna Zeker had committed murder that he hadn’t taken the time to really consider the what-ifs.

  What if Shawna hadn’t murdered her husband?

  And then there were those photos of Miranda Smiley to consider. A quick search of her name in the NOPD’s database had pulled up a clean criminal record. A quick phone call had resulted in her hanging up on him. Not exactly the sign of someone who might be innocent—he wasn’t done chasing down Ms. Smiley as a potential lead. But what relation did she have to Zeker, if any? He’d yet to discover that particular answer, and until he did . . .

  Nathan’s ass was permanently on the line. It wasn’t a good feeling.

  “Maybe a little liquid courage might be necessary?” Jade slid the tumbler of amber liquid across the table. “Just enough to loosen the tongue.”

  Nathan lifted a brow. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  “No,” she said with just a hint of laughter, “if I were attempting that I’d ply you with another frozen daiquiri.”

  “Trying to soften me up, then?”

  She lifted one shoulder in what Nathan could only describe as a coy shrug, then dryly murmured, “I’d have to order you a Screaming Orgasm for that to happen.”

  Actually, he wasn’t even sure that a cocktail of any variety would succeed in taming his body’s wayward thoughts. It knew what it wanted—but it also knew what it couldn’t have.

  Jade Harper.

  The light from the Victorian-era chandelier cast shadows across the feminine features of her face. “So, Ms. Hansen?” she prompted, sipping on her cocktail and looking very much like she wouldn’t rest until she had answers. “She asked for you.”

  Guilt tugged at the base of his spine, drawing him farther down in his seat. Another person he’d wronged through an amateur mistake.

  “I’m not sure how much you know—”

  “Not a thing.”

  Nathan shifted, yanking on the knees of his jeans as he resettled himself. “Well, that’ll help narrow the story down.”

  “Danvers.” Her voice was low, firm, and he had a sneaking suspicion it was a tone she’d learned from her mother. “You’re evading.”

  It was what he did best. What he’d been doing since being discharged from the military.

  Your light was on last night—did you sleep? Absolutely. Just remembered something and it couldn’t wait till morning.

  I found empty cigarette cartons in the garbage—I thought you quit. Sure did. Some buddies were over last night, and they chain-smoked for hours.

  I ran into that nice girl you went on a date with—she said that you had a . . . she called it a “panic attack” while y’all were at dinner. Honey, is everything all right? Sure is, Ma, she was just . . . tipsy. Had to bring her home early because she’d had too much to drink.

  Nathan wasn’t the least bit proud of the way he’d evaded his family’s prodding over the years, but if they only knew everything . . . . Actually, it was best that they didn’t. No need to worry them. What good would it do, anyway?

  He motioned for another sip of the Old Fashioned and Jade promptly handed it over, no questions asked, like doing so was something she didn’t have to think about twice. It stunned him a little, how trusting she was. Was she so open with everyone she met? The ridiculous wish that she did so just for him was a heady one, and he took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you everything.”

  “Because I’m not a cop?”

  “Because you’re not assigned to the case,” he amended carefully. “Wouldn’t matter if you had a badge or not.”

  “All right.” Her free hand circled her ponytail, slipping the length of her dark hair over her shoulder. “Tell me what you can, then.”

  To the impartial observer, Nathan Danvers looked like nothing more than an equally impartial listener. He sat slouched in the booth, one long leg extended out past Jade’s chair. His sinewy arms stretched out along the back of the booth. He had that come-hither look to him, like he was one second away from asking her to climb onto his lap.

  Jade was only halfway embarrassed to admit that if he asked her to do just that, she’d probably haul butt over the table to get to him.

  His sleepy gray eyes watched her carefully, tracking everything from when she tightened her ponytail to when she fiddled with the black beverage napkin.

  She knew what he was doing. Sí, she knew that his close scrutiny had everything to do with deciphering how much truth she spoke and what was nothing but lies.

  Running a hand through his thick hair, he fixed his wary gaze on her. “I can’t tell you everything—”

  “I know.”

  “All right,” he muttered, shifting forward to pull a gum pack from his back pocket. In his customary way, he snagged a tinfoil stick, unwrapped it, and popped the pink strip into his mouth. A vibrant image of him drinking whiskey and smoking cigarettes snaked through her mind, a very different Nathan Danvers than who sat before her now.

  Why did she feel like both versions were accurate representations of him, though?

  “Ms. Bev’s daughter was accused of murdering her husband.”

  Jade’s head jerked back in shock. “Murder?”

  He nodded slowly just as the tea-light candle on the table blew out. Lucia would see it as an omen, that los espíritus malos were here. Jade didn’t believe in evil spirits, but even she felt a shiver carve down her spine. Murder was awful no matter which way you looked at it, but to do so to your own husband . . . Jade curled her hands into her lap.

  “However, I now have reason to believe that Shawna—Ms. Bev’s daughter—didn’t kill her husband.”

  The break-in. Jade straightened in her chair, flicking the tea-light to the side of the table, and rubbed her hands together. “You’re betting that the real murderer was behind Ms. Hansen’s break-in.”

  She watched the way his jaw clenched. In the absence of the tea-light’s dancing flame, his gray eyes appeared like black onyx, and—Díos mío, he looked intimidating. Hot as hell. The kind of guy who left the boring John Thomas flagging in the dust. The kind of guy who you wanted to be the first and last person you saw each morning and night.

  “I can’t disclose—”

  “I know, you’ve got a code or whatever.” Jade waved a dismissive hand in the air. “But here’s the thing—I knew something was weird when Tanya and I did a sweep of the house.”

  Danvers didn’t move even a muscle, but Jade had the distinct feeling that he’d just switched gears to high alert. Calmly, in a compelling rumble she hardly recognized, he demanded, “I need you to tell me exactly what you mean.”

  “This is why I wanted to see you this week.” And also to talk to you about our kiss. “But then you went AWOL.”

  His brows furrowed. “I didn’t go AWOL.”

  “You did.” Jade lifted a finger. “Lucky for you, I’ve already forgiven you.”

  “Because of the whipped cream?”

  “Because I like you.”

  His lips parted in surprise, and Jade wanted nothing more than to burrow under the table and hide forever. Had she really said that? What had she been thinking? She and Danvers were friends, only friends. Her heart pumped an uncomfortably fast tempo in her chest, and, Díos mío, her cheeks burned.

  As the awkward silence lengthened, and Jade wondered if she’d caused Danvers to suffer some sort of panic attack, she mumbled, “As friends. I meant that I like you as a friend.”

  Whether her lie made him feel any bett
er, she’d never know because the server reappeared. “Hey y’all! Wanna go for another round?”

  Yes, yes she did. She needed all of the wine. And when she went home, she needed a bath, more wine, and at least three episodes of Dateline, back to back.

  “I’d like a cabernet if you—”

  “We’ll take the check.”

  Jade fixed her attention on the man seated across from her. He was already reaching for his wallet when she dumbly asked, “We will?”

  His hands stilled, a worn twenty-dollar bill caught between his forefinger and thumb when he glanced her way. She could barely make out his expression—was he angry? Did he feel awkward? Jade wanted to die at the thought of how quickly he now wanted to get rid of her.

  She didn’t acknowledge the sting of tears in any way save for the quick blinking of her eyes. If he asked, she’d tell him that she’d gotten a clump of mascara in her eye. Let him call her out on it.

  “You’re totally right,” she exclaimed, “It’s probably time to go. It’s late and I’ve got a . . . ” You have a what, Jade? You have absolutely nothing waiting for you at home. “I’ve got to clean my bathroom.”

  Really? The lure of banging her head against the table was almost too strong to resist.

  Danvers handed the cash over to the server with an order to keep the change, then folded his arms over his chest as he turned to study her. “You’ve actually got to clean your bathroom?” he asked, the blatant disbelief coating his voice, “On a Sunday night?”

  No. She’d actually scrubbed her apartment from top to bottom two times in the last week. Jade was a cleaner when she was happy, stressed, or sad. Which generally meant that her place was always spotless.

  “It’s dirty, very, very dirty.”

  Danvers slid both his wallet and the gum packet into his back pocket. “That’s a shame.”

  It was? Jade swallowed her anxiety. “My toilet probably feels similarly.”

  “Probably.” He pushed his chair back, standing up as she gathered her purse and denim jacket from the table. “Do you think your toilet can wait long enough for me to show you something?”

  “Are we talking about your package again?”

  His lips curved in a panty-dropping smile. “We certainly aren’t talking about my teeny tiny umbrella.”

  A burst of laughter escaped her. “You’re ridiculous, do you know that?”

  “But you like me,” he drawled huskily. “You told me so yourself.”

  “That’s up for debate.”

  Except it wasn’t, not really. In less than a month, she’d grown to like Nathan Danvers more than she’d ever loved John Thomas during their four-year relationship. What did that say about her?

  Large masculine hands fell to her shoulders as they stepped out into the night. The air was thick with humidity, the coolness of spring already easing way for the heat of summer. But late May hadn’t seen the end of the jasmine yet, and the sweet scent followed them as they walked beneath the live oaks to their parked cars one block over.

  “A trade,” Danvers said suddenly as they stopped next to her car and she rifled through her purse for her keys.

  Her chin jerked up. “What?”

  “A trade,” he repeated. “I know you’re interested in the Hansen case. I’ll tell you what I can if we can take a small detour before heading home for the night. I want to show you something.”

  “Theoretically, you’ve already promised to tell me what you can.”

  “We got sidetracked,” he answered readily, foregoing the small fact that she’d all but said she’d loved him. Like an idiot. Ugh.

  Then, in a move she was not at all prepared for, he took her chin between his thumb and index finger and tilted it up so he could look down into her face. In that moment she thanked her parents—especially her dad—for his genetics in height. Danvers was tall, still much taller than she was, but the close proximity of their bodies had her gaze at eye level with his mouth, and when he whispered “please” she felt the word all the way down to her soul.

  Softly, like a breath leaving her body on an exhale, she whispered, “All right.”

  She saw rather than heard the relieved shudder leave his body. His fingers dropped from her chin and he clapped his hand on the roof of her car. “Drive with me. I don’t want you getting lost, and it’ll be easier if we park one car instead of two.”

  And for the second time in a single night, Jade Harper took a chance.

  Maybe she wasn’t so predictable after all.

  Chapter Fifteen

  CENTRAL BUSINESS DISTRICT, NEW ORLEANS

  “This is where you throw my body into the Mississippi River and steal my millions, isn’t it?” Jade demanded as she followed Danvers up a dark, circular stairwell. Aside from the sporadically placed caged light bulbs lining the stairs, she had only the sounds of their shoes scraping against the concrete for guidance.

  “Do you have millions?” Danvers asked, his voice echoing along the concrete stairwell.

  “No—crap.” Jade threw out a hand to balance herself as she tripped on the edge of a step.

  “Don’t worry about it, then. You’re safe . . . for now.” He paused one step above hers, and even though she couldn’t see him she just knew he was laughing at her. “Jade?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know you said you didn’t want to see my package but if you don’t watch your hand, you’re going to get mighty close to that reality.”

  “What?” She squinted in the darkness. Realized that her hand was palming a rather excellently shaped ass. Oh. Oh! She yanked back, nearly sending herself stumbling down the stairwell. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You should be.” She had the distinct feeling that he’d turned his head to speak because the words came clearer, then clearer still when he added, “You took advantage of me.”

  He started up the stairs again, forcing her to mutter at his back, “I did not.”

  “You did,” he replied all too pleasantly. “Waited until we were in the dark and made a grab for my butt. For shame, Jade Harper, for shame.”

  An unbidden smile tugged at her lips. She wrapped a hand around the loose material of the back of his T-shirt as they continued upward.

  Then, “I should warn you—if you feel something scurry across your feet don’t think about it too much.”

  “Danvers.”

  “I know what you’re thinkin’,” he went on, that seductive New Orleans drawl playing havoc on her hormones, “Mice, maybe rats. This is probably not the time to inform you that we have flying cockroaches in Louisiana.”

  This time her squeak was more of a shrill yelp as she bowled him over and sprinted past him. And, Díos mío, did he laugh when he caught up with her at the top of the stairwell. Hands dropped onto his knees, bent at the waist; full belly guffaws kicked off the fireworks in her girl parts. He very deliberately swiped a thumb below his eye as though wiping the tears away.

  “Seriously, Danvers?” she demanded as the metal stairwell door clamped shut behind them with a loud clank. “Don’t pee yourself.”

  Between hearty laughs, he edged out, “So worth it. I’d do it again.”

  “You’re a jerk,” she grumbled, shoving her nose up in the air. “Now I know why you didn’t want to take the elevator. You planned this the entire time.”

  “No, of course not.” Though his tone was as smooth as whiskey, Jade didn’t dare trust the way he pointed a disbelieving finger at his chest, as if to ask, who, me?

  “I hate you.” She didn’t, not really, and the whole thing had been funny. Mostly. Only . . . She narrowed her eyes. “Were you kidding? About the flying roaches?”

  Her question only renewed his laughter. “Would you feel better if I lied?”

  She stopped to think on that for about, oh, maybe half a second. “Yes.”

  “No such thing then. Flying roaches are a myth, like the werewolf rougarous in the bayous and the vampires hanging out in the French Quarter. Definitely not a thing.”r />
  Laugh lines fanned out from the corners of his gray eyes, giving him such a look of happy male that Jade couldn’t help but smile along with him, even though she’d been the butt of his prank.

  “Now that you’ve succeeded in turning my nightmare into a reality, show me the way,” she said, dramatically waving a hand through the air.

  His hand went to the small of her back as he led her through a series of glass doors. With each set they passed, the creepy, concrete stairwell became more of a distant memory. Concrete floors were exchanged for glistening hard wood; beautiful royal purple wallpaper stamped with the gold fleur de lis motif lined the walls; and every five or so feet, a bench sat with potted ferns on either side of it.

  Danvers’ fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt as he opened the last door for her. “Go ahead,” he murmured.

  So she did.

  Less than five seconds later, she came to a dead halt. Floor-to-ceiling windows surrounded the circular-shaped room, providing them with a 360-degree view of downtown New Orleans.

  There was an audible gasp, and it was only at the sound of Danvers’ low chuckle that she realized that it had belonged to her. Beyond the glass panels, twinkling lights greeted them as far as the eye could see. She took a small step toward the window, and then another and then another, until her fingertips pressed against the glass like an awestruck child.

  She felt Danvers step beside her, his larger-than-life presence sparking a yearning in her heart to lean back against his wide chest. Would he wrap his arms around her?

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked in a low voice.

  Jade didn’t turn to look at him.

  She didn’t have to. Among the glistening lights of the French Quarter was his reflection. His face was a mosaic of nineteenth-century buildings, bustling car headlights, and the dark sweep of the Mississippi River. But the reflection in his gaze was pure Nathan Danvers: amused, intense, hot.

  She wondered what he saw in her reflection.

  Jade cut their connection, squeezing her eyes shut against him and the nighttime beauty of New Orleans. When she reopened them, she found that he’d silently moved away to sit on a bench in the center of the room. He faced her, long legs planted evenly on the hardwood floor, arms stretched out along the back of the bench. A position not unlike the one he’d taken up at the courtyard bar they’d visited.