by Sharon Sala
Billie was putting one arrangement on a tea cart while the deliveryman went back for more.
“Who delivered these?” Sahara asked.
“Beloit Blooms.”
“Was it Marcus?”
Billie smiled. “Yes, do you remember him?”
“Yes, yes,” Sahara said, and when she saw a blond-haired man wearing white shorts and a pink print shirt coming back up the steps with a large potted fern, she started to go out to meet him.
“Wait inside,” Brendan cautioned.
“Oh, right,” Sahara said, and smiled and waved from the shadows of the foyer. “Marcus!”
A huge smile spread across his face.
“Sahara, darling! Let me put this down,” he said, as he handed the second arrangement to Billie.
He started to lean in and kiss her when Brendan thrust his arm between them and brought Marcus Beloit to a halt.
Marcus gave him the once-over. “Oooh, girl! Who do we have here? He is absolutely gorgeous.”
“He’s my bodyguard,” Sahara said. “It’s okay, Brendan. We went to school together. He’s a friend.”
Brendan dropped his arm but didn’t relinquish his stance. She could hug whoever the hell she wanted, but he wasn’t yielding space to make it easy.
Marcus gave Brendan a big smile.
“I didn’t mind a bit,” Marcus said, and winked at the bodyguard, who calmly ignored the gesture.
“We need to visit and catch up,” Sahara said. “Can you come to dinner tonight? Say around seven o’clock?”
“Why, I’d love to, honey, but let me first say, I am so sorry about your mother. It’s just terrible what happened to her, and I want you to know we’re all praying for you and for a resolution to this tragedy.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“I’d better get back to the shop. My deliveryman is out sick today, which is why I’m pulling double duty. So, I guess I’ll see you later.” Then he eyed Brendan again. “Will he be dining with us?”
Sahara laughed. “Yes, and so will Lucy, my personal assistant.”
“What fun!” He pointed up the hall behind them. “Is that your Lucy?”
Sahara turned around. “Yes, that’s Lucy Benton. Lucy, this is Marcus Beloit, an old friend from school. He’ll be joining us for dinner tonight.”
Lucy nodded politely. “Nice to meet you.”
“Absolutely! See you at seven o’clock if not before. There may be other orders for delivery here, and if so, I’ll be back,” Marcus said, then he hurried down the steps and leaped into the van before driving away.
Sahara grinned at Brendan. “You sure caught his eye.”
He was completely unperturbed. “Yeah, it happens a lot. It’s the muscles.”
She laughed as they closed the door and turned to Billie, who was at the tea carts, pulling cards from the flowers and making note of who they were from and what they’d sent.
“So, one more for dinner tonight?”
Sahara grinned. “Yes, please.”
“Do you have a preference for what is served?”
“Something yummy.”
“Then I say pecan-crusted sea bass, cheese grits, braised artichoke hearts and, for dessert, Ponchatoula strawberry shortcake with Chantilly cream,” Billie said.
When Brendan’s stomach growled out loud, everyone laughed.
“I second McQueen’s vote,” Sahara said, “but I also think it might be time to stir up a little lunch. Lucy can man the door and pull the cards from deliveries until it’s ready, and Brendan and I will find somewhere to put all these flowers.”
Billie showed Lucy how she was tracking the deliveries, then headed for the kitchen while Sahara got a tea cart loaded with flowers and started to push it up the hall.
“Let me check them first,” Brendan said.
“Really? Flowers? For what?” Sahara asked.
“All kinds of things,” he said, and methodically went through everything that had already been delivered. As soon as they’d been declared “clean,” she pushed the cart toward the table in the middle of the foyer, set the largest arrangement on it, while Brendan picked up two large ferns and set them on marble pedestals on either side of the doorway into the formal dining room.
He saw movement through the windows. Three men were moving around the garden, pulling up the crime scene tape.
“Hey, do you know who those people are?” he asked.
Sahara set a flower arrangement on the sideboard inside the room in case Billie wanted to use it for dinner tonight.
“Probably the grounds crew. Billie was going to call them, remember?”
Brendan hadn’t moved. “Where’s Billie?”
“I’m right here,” Billie said, as she entered the room.
“Who are the people outside?” Brendan asked.
“Oh, that’s Sutton and his work crew. They do the landscaping here.”
Sahara looked closer. “Miss Barbara’s son, Sutton?” Sahara asked.
“Yes. He owns Davidson Landscaping. Leopold gave him money to get started about seven or eight years ago.”
“Who’s Sutton?” Brendan asked.
“Miss Barbara worked here with Billie for a time,” Sahara explained. “Sutton is her son. We used to play together as kids.”
“First the florist, now the gardener. This is turning into reunion week,” Brendan said.
“Well, they still live here. I’m the one who came home,” she snapped.
Brendan pulled her away from the window.
“I’m not trying to keep you from seeing old friends, but I can’t make this any clearer. The killers couldn’t get to you in Hollywood, so they lured you to a place that will make you easier to get to. You’re vulnerable here. Like it or not, you’re a sitting duck. We don’t know who’s behind these attacks, and we don’t know why, which gives them a very big edge. Understand?”
He was so close to her face she could see her own reflection in his eyes and the muscle jerking at the corner of his mouth.
She shrugged out of his grasp. “I told you Marcus was a friend, and I’m telling you so was Sutton when we were children. If you don’t like the answers I give you, then stop asking questions,” she snapped.
Billie frowned. “Stop it, both of you. Settle this peacefully now or go somewhere else to argue. I do not want this room filled with negative energy when we’re going to be dining in here tonight.”
Brendan stepped back.
Sahara threw up her arms and stomped out of the room, but he followed close behind.
Billie’s eyes narrowed as she watched them walking away, then she began getting out the good china and silver to set the table, muttering to herself as she worked.
“All that fussing. That’s nothing but sexual tension. They need to get all that over with before they really lose it on each other. That’s what I think. Yes, I do.”
Sahara didn’t know why she was mad. She knew he was right. She’d been careless again. He was doing the job Harold was paying him to do. And then the moment she thought that, it hit her. That was what was bugging her. He wasn’t with her because he liked her, even though it sometimes felt like he did. She was just another job to him. He didn’t care, so why should she?
She stopped in the middle of the hall and turned around so fast Brendan nearly stumbled over her.
“Truce?” she asked, and held out her hand.
That was the last damn thing he had expected.
“Truce,” he said.
“We have to shake on it,” she said.
His fingers curled around her hand, engulfing it. She tightened her grip and pumped his hand once and then turned him loose.
“Done,” she said. “My apology. I’m not normally a bitch. It’s coming back to this place that’s making me crazy. Forgive me?”
He sighed. “I work for you. I’m sorry if I upset you, but I take my job seriously. I have never lost a client, and I would sincerely appreciate any help you can give me to ensure you don’t
become the first. Understand?”
“Understood.”
The doorbell rang.
“More flowers.”
“Do you want to go see them?” he asked.
“No. I think I should avoid silhouetting myself in any more doorways.”
She was serious, and he suddenly wanted to kiss her.
Crap, McQueen. Where did that come from? She’s off-limits, and you know it.
“I need to make some phone calls. Want to go back to our room?”
“After you,” he said, and then heard Lucy shouting.
“Sahara! Wait!”
Lucy came toward her carrying a giant arrangement of flowers in a large ceramic pot.
“It won’t fit on the tea carts. Where would you like me to put this one?”
Sahara eyed the colorful arrangement.
“It can go in my room,” she said, then looked at McQueen. “If he says so.”
Brendan took it out of her hands.
“I’ll carry it,” he said, and followed her up the stairs while Lucy went back to man the deliveries.
“Where do you want it?” Brendan asked, as they reached the bedroom.
“Oh, on the table behind the little love seat.”
He set it down, gave it a cursory inspection and then moved to the windows. Just traffic on the street. But when he turned around to see what Sahara was doing, he immediately reached for his gun.
“Sahara, don’t move!”
She saw the gun in his hand and froze, terrified.
He fired.
The bullet went past her ear, through the ceramic pot and into the wall behind them.
Water exploded everywhere, soaking her hair and clothes. Flowers were in her lap and on her shoulders when he yanked her to her feet and into his arms. The moment he had her against his chest, he fired once more.
Sahara threw her arms around his waist.
Lucy came running into the room with Billie not far behind her.
“What the hell happened?” Lucy cried.
Billie saw it first and made the sign of the cross and then met McQueen’s gaze.
“She is okay? It did not bite her?”
“No, it didn’t bite her,” Brendan said.
Sahara pushed out of his arms and turned around.
“What are you talking about?”
Billie pointed at what was left of the snake on the back of the sofa.
“Cottonmouth. Where in God’s name did it come from?” she cried.
“Out of those flowers,” Brendan said.
Sahara grabbed his wrist as her knees started to buckle.
“I’ve got you,” he said, and put an arm around her waist to steady her. “Lucy! Who delivered those flowers?”
Lucy was already a crying mess. “I don’t know! The doorbell rang. The flowers were on the threshold and the van was already driving away. It was a gray van. Maybe it’ll be on the security footage?”
“Good call. It should be,” Brendan said. “Bring me the card that came with these. Wait! No. Get a plastic bag first and carefully slide it inside. No more fingerprints than necessary.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll be right back,” Lucy said, and rushed out of the room.
Billie was pulling flower petals from Sahara’s hair.
“Brendan, she needs a warm shower and dry clothes.”
“Don’t move anything in here,” he said. “The cops are going to need to see it.”
Billie glanced at Sahara again.
“Do you need me?” she asked Brendan.
“No, ma’am. I’ll help her.”
“Then I’m going down to check the flowers still on the tea carts again. We don’t need any more surprises.”
“The police are coming?” Sahara asked, as her mother hurried away.
“Yes. You just survived another attempt on your life, and they need to know about it.”
“Need to know about it,” she echoed.
He put his hand in the middle of her back. She was clearly in shock.
“Can you walk?”
She nodded but wouldn’t turn loose of him as he walked her into the bathroom. He was already calling the New Orleans PD when she sat down on the closed lid of the toilet and started taking off her shoes.
The call went through and began to ring.
“New Orleans PD. How may I direct your call?”
“Homicide.”
“One moment, please.”
“Homicide, Detective Wells.”
“This is Brendan McQueen. There’s been another attempt on Sahara Travis’s life at her family home. Notify Detective Julian or Detective Fisher. They’re investigating her mother’s recent murder.”
When he turned around, Sahara was standing in her underwear, shaking from head to toe.
“Will a warm shower hurt your foot?” he asked.
She shook her head, so he turned on the shower and adjusted the water. When he turned around again, she was naked, and the look on her face was so broken he was almost afraid to touch her.
“Easy does it,” he said, and held her hand as she stepped into the shower. “There’s shampoo on the bench,” he said. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“I’ll be outside. Call if you need me,” he said, and walked out.
Nine
The room was empty, but it wouldn’t be empty long. This was going beyond bodyguard duty, but she would need to be dressed before she came out of the bathroom. He gathered up underwear and a bra from her dresser, then headed for the closet, where he picked out a pair of slacks and a blouse, then took all of it into the bathroom. He hung the clothes on the rod on the back of the door and put the underwear on the counter.
The shower glass was fogged over now. All he could see were faint glimpses of an arm, the tender curve of her lower back and the slope of a shoulder. But she was upright and washing her hair, and that was a good sign.
He stepped back out and took a stance outside the bathroom door. He was still there when Lucy returned with the card from the flowers in a plastic bag.
“It doesn’t have a business name on it,” she said. “I should have noticed that. It’s my fault.”
Brendan shook his head. “I’m the one who carried the damn pot up the stairs and somehow missed a snake hiding in it. It’s more my fault than yours.”
He turned the bag over to read the message.
Our sympathies,
The class of 2002
“That’s the year she graduated high school,” Lucy said.
“That leaves a lot of suspects to wade through. The police are on the way. They’re going to ask you the same stuff I did. Tell them everything you remember. Even the tiniest of details.”
“Yes, yes, I will,” she said. “Where should I wait?”
“Front door. Billie’s still going to need help. They can come get you when they want to talk. As for accepting any more flowers into the house, that’s not going to happen. Tell the florists if more come, to take them back and hold them for delivery to a funeral home.”
“Yes, okay,” Lucy said, and hurried out.
He could still hear the water running.
He peeked back inside and saw her sitting on the bench, unmoving.
“Sahara.”
She jumped.
“Are you finished?”
“Yes.”
“Then turn off the water and get dressed. Police are going to be here soon, and they’ll want to talk to you.”
“Yes, okay,” she said.
He waited until the water went off before he closed the door. After that he heard drawers opening and closing, a hair dryer, then a few quiet moments and guessed she was dressing.
She came out dressed, face devoid of makeup, hair down and barefoot.
“There’s glass all over the floor. Wait while I get your house shoes,” he said, and ran back to the closet, grabbing a pair of cloth slippers.
She stepped into them and then stepped back beh
ind him, leaning against the bathroom door for stability.
“You can sit down on the bed,” he said.
She looked at the bed. Her voice started to shake.
“What if there’s another snake? What if it crawled out under the bed?”
“There wasn’t time,” Brendan said. “I set the flowers down, turned my back on you for less than ten seconds and then turned back around, and the one wasn’t all the way out of the water, even then.”
Her dark eyes widened, thinking about that moment when he’d told her not to move. She had obeyed without question because she trusted him, and if he said there wasn’t another, then she needed to trust that, too.
“You’re sure?”
He slid his hand beneath her hair and cupped the back of her neck.
“I’m sure.”
She took a deep breath, crawled up into the middle of the bed and crossed her legs.
“I was in shock. I’m sorry I stripped in front of you.”
“I’m not,” he said.
She blinked, then glanced up.
“A work of art is meant to be appreciated…in the most innocent of ways, of course,” he said.
A flush spread up her neck onto her cheeks.
“You are so full of shit, Brendan McQueen.”
“There is always that possibility,” he said, smirking.
And then the police walked in.
Detective Julian took one look at the mess.
“What in the name of—”
Brendan pointed to the headless black snake lying among the shattered spears of purple gladiola.
“Cottonmouth. Came out of the water the flowers were in. I shot it just before it reached her shoulder. The flowers were brought here in a gray van. No name on the vehicle. Here’s the card. Billie can show you security footage.” He handed the plastic bag to Detective Julian. “Lucy Benton’s fingerprints will be on it because she was the one pulling cards as the arrangements came into the house. I had her put the card in this bag. I doubt there will be other prints, but we could get lucky.”
“What makes you think this was intentional?” Detective Fisher asked. “Snakes are pretty common around here.”
“Obviously, so are killers,” Sahara snapped.
Fisher had the grace to look embarrassed.
“I just meant—”
Sahara swung her legs off the bed and stood up.
