“If they were over sixteen, that’s not against the law,” Mac pointed out.
“No, but it’s not right. They were so dependent on him for everything. He was like some kind of god to them, and they worshipped him. Of course, once a few of them got addicted to drugs, they depended on him even more. He took care of them, all right,” she concluded bitterly.
His bowl empty, Mac set down his spoon. He rotated his wineglass slowly, his thumb and forefinger maneuvering the stem, but his gaze remained unwavering on Julie. “So how did you avoid his evil clutches? You were working for him, too.”
“I was living at home,” she reminded Mac. “And finishing high school.”
He smiled. “Plus, you were probably a hell of a lot smarter than the other girls. Tougher. Braver.”
He listed these attributes calmly, as if simply stating the truth rather than deliberately buttering her up. She was more flattered than she should have been—especially since he was overstating her strengths. Ten years ago, when she’d taken Glenn on, she’d been less tough and brave than simply stubborn. She’d gone into modeling not for the glamour, not to fulfill a lifelong fantasy, but to prove a point with her tormenters. No dream rode on whether she won a contract with Symphony Perfumes. Seeing Glenn for what he was, and then calling him on it, hadn’t taken all that much courage on her part.
Neither she nor Mac spoke while the waiter cleared away their dishes, then brought their entrees. Mac’s bluntly expressed praise hung unchallenged in the air between them. Julie scrambled for another subject—Glenn Perry was definitely not someone she liked to talk about—but as soon as the waiter departed, Mac bore down on her. “So what did you do about the bastard? Did you sit quietly by and let him take advantage of all those foolish young girls?”
Though she couldn’t guess why, she had the clear impression that Mac already knew the answer. She wasn’t sure how he could know, but the way he phrased the question implied that he didn’t for a minute believe she’d done nothing.
“I confronted Glenn,” she said. “I told him the power games he was playing with the girls was wrong, and the drug stuff was really wrong. And I thought he was unethical and immoral and not fit to be working with teenage girls.”
“And he…what? Told you to take a hike?”
She nodded and tasted her shrimp. It was spicier than she’d expected, and a film of sweat sprouted on her upper lip. It was also scrumptious. As long as she washed each bite down with a gulp of ice water, she’d be fine.
“Did you take a hike?” Mac asked.
He knew she hadn’t. She could tell by the glint in his eyes and by his smile, which was a bit playful but also approving, warm with pride. “I reported him to the police. The drugs were criminal. And I also didn’t trust his bookkeeping. I thought they might get him on larceny charges.”
“You were how old? Eighteen? Nineteen?”
“Almost twenty when I reported him. Twenty-one when I testified against him in court. The wheels of justice turn slowly. But he was convicted and sent to prison.”
“Is he still there?”
She sorted her thoughts. If she told Mac her sister Marcie had informed her of Glenn’s recent release from prison, he’d probably link the e-mails to Glenn. She’d entertained the possibility herself, so she couldn’t blame him if he reached that conclusion. But if, as he’d claimed, the e-mails hadn’t come from New York City, Glenn couldn’t have sent them. The terms of his parole prevented him from leaving the city.
“He was released in December,” she told Mac.
“And you hate the way I worry about you because I remind you of him?” Mac was still smiling, but he sounded affronted. “You think that when I tell you to take those threatening e-mails seriously, I’m acting like some son of a bitch who supplied young models with drugs and coerced them into having sex? Is that what you think of me?”
“Of course not,” she said quickly, then hesitated. It wasn’t that she equated Mac’s behavior with Glenn’s. It was just… “I don’t do well with overprotective men, that’s all.”
“What makes you think I’m overprotective? Maybe I’m just the right amount protective.”
She shrugged and took another drink of water. “I trusted Glenn until I saw how easily he deceived the girls who trusted him. I don’t trust so easily anymore. And when someone tries to manage my life for me, I don’t like it.”
“Fair enough,” he said, cutting a bite-size chunk of fish. “I’m not going to lay off, Julie. I’ll protect you with my life if necessary, and I don’t give a damn if that pisses you off. Having you angry with me isn’t the worst thing in the world.”
She settled back in her chair, trying again to make sense of him. That he would willfully ignore her feelings annoyed her, but hearing him swear that he’d protect her with his life was…romantic. No man, with the possible exception of her father when she was a child, had ever said such a thing to her. She hated it—but she loved it, too.
They ate in silence for a minute, Julie taking the time to absorb Mac’s words and her own reaction to them. Somehow, his claim that he didn’t care if she was pissed off made her a little less pissed off. If Mac was overprotective, it wasn’t because he wanted to take advantage of her the way Glenn had taken advantage of his protégés back in New York. That morning’s kiss didn’t count as taking advantage. Before she’d come to her senses, she had given as good as she got.
“How do you know the e-mails are coming from different cities?” she finally asked.
“I’ve got a friend who’s a genius when it comes to technology. I asked her to trace them and she did the best she could. Apparently they were sent from WiFi connections at a few airports around the country.”
Despite the importance of the information he was providing, Julie’s mind snagged on that one pronoun: her. For some stupid reason, she experienced a pang of jealousy. Why shouldn’t Mac have a brilliant female friend? Or a dozen brilliant female friends?
“I hope this friend of yours is discreet,” she said. “I’d prefer not to have half the city aware that I’m getting nasty spam.”
“Does Charlotte know?”
She shook her head. “Charlotte has enough on her plate. My job is to reduce her worries, not add to them.” She used her napkin to dab her upper lip and inhaled deeply, her sinuses scorched from all the spicy shrimp she’d eaten. “Is this the same genius friend who got you thinking the hotel is for sale?”
“No, that’s a different genius friend. I like to surround myself with geniuses,” he explained with a laugh. “I keep hoping some of their smarts will rub off on me.”
Mac was clearly well endowed with brain power. He had money, smarts, brilliant friends, and a face and body that could land him a job with any modeling agency in the country. So why was he working as a hotel security guard?
“You said you’d ask Charlotte about having an investigative firm try to track down that missing money,” he reminded her, evidently done with the subject of her e-mails and her alleged bravery. “Have you talked to her?”
“Mac.” She laughed and shook her head. “When would I have had time to discuss that with her? We’re hosting a huge party tomorrow. We’re still getting reservations—Luc has all the names. I assume he passed them along to you. We’ve got to deal with the final decorations, the food and beverages and, yes, the hotel security. Money that went missing four years ago is not our top priority at the moment.”
Mac scowled. “Luc hasn’t forwarded the new reservations to me.”
His gaze collided with hers, and again she struggled to decipher his thoughts. “Luc’s been busy, too.”
“Everyone’s busy. That’s no excuse not to do your job.”
“I’m sure if you ask, he’ll give you the names. It probably just slipped his mind.”
“I’ll take care of it tonight.”
“I’m sorry you have to work such long days,” she said, meaning it. “Hotel jobs are like that sometimes—not exactly nine-to-five. Especia
lly with a big event like the Twelfth Night party coming up.”
“Security work is rarely nine-to-five, anyway,” he said, setting down his silverware. The waiter approached, and Mac turned to him. “Can we see a dessert menu?”
“No,” Julie cut him off. “Not for me, anyway.”
He eyed her, then shrugged. “All right,” he said to the waiter. “Just the check, please.” The waiter cleared their dishes and vanished.
“Sometimes I think you’re trying to fatten me up,” she accused.
“It would take a lot of desserts to do that, Julie. You’re as slim as a willow branch. Besides…” His smile took on a mischievous glint. “I like watching you eat. What are the chances you’ll get the baby in the cake tomorrow night?”
She smiled. Before moving to New Orleans, she’d never heard of the Twelfth Night tradition of the King Cake, which tasted like a glorified cinnamon roll to Julie. The King Cake was frosted in green and gold icing and a tiny baby doll was hidden inside. Whoever received the wedge of cake with the baby in it was responsible for baking the following year’s King Cake. Not that the hotel would force any of the guests to bake next year’s cake, but they’d make a fuss over whoever received the piece with the baby in it.
“I won’t get the baby because I won’t be having any cake,” she told him. “The food is for the paying guests, not me.”
“If you go, you won’t be working, will you? You’ll be just another guest.”
“I won’t be working, but I won’t be a guest.” She looked at him pointedly. “You won’t have to work tomorrow night, either. The night security staff will have things covered.”
“I expect they will.” He paused, then added, “But security is like police work. Even when you’re off duty, you’re still a cop. If I’m there, I’ll be backing up my guys.” He grinned again. “I’ll be dressed to kill, though.”
“I can’t wait to see—” Julie let the words slip out, then pressed her lips shut. She shouldn’t want to see Mac dressed to kill. He’d be far too handsome.
Once he’d settled the bill, they left the restaurant. If anything, the sidewalks were more clogged with pedestrians than before. A blues singer’s gravelly voice, accompanied by a wailing guitar, spilled from the open doorway of a tavern, and Julie wished she could linger for a moment to listen to the plaintive song. But tomorrow promised to be a long day and a longer night—and Mac still had to return to the hotel to review the recent additions to the guest list before he could call it quits for the day. Lingering was out of the question.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he offered, bypassing the hotel’s welcoming front doors and broad, arched windows. Around the corner, he headed down the block to the parking lot where employees left their cars. The side street was darker and quieter, and he took Julie’s hand so casually the contact seemed almost natural. His hand was much larger than hers, the skin smooth and warm. She didn’t want to have to hold a man’s hand to feel safe…but she did feel safe with Mac’s fingers woven through hers.
He knew her car, having followed her home a few times, and when they reached the lot he led her directly to it. He released her hand so she could dig through her purse for her key, but once she’d unlocked the door he took her hand again and turned her to face him.
“Julie,” he murmured, gazing down at her.
She wasn’t accustomed to men being taller than her. Mac’s height made her feel a little less safe now. So did the pressure of his hand around hers.
“About this morning,” he said, then sighed. “You were right,” he conceded. “You said it was a bad idea, and you were right.”
Never had being told she was right hurt so much. He wasn’t going to kiss her again. She should to be relieved, but all she felt was disappointment.
If he wasn’t going to kiss her, he ought to release her hand. He especially ought to stop sliding his thumb back and forth over her inner wrist. He ought to let go and return to the hotel and do his job, and never look at her the way he was looking at her right now, the night’s shadows etching his face, his gaze as soft as a caress.
After a long moment, he did let go. She all but dove into her car. The lot was small and crowded enough that she couldn’t floor the gas and peel out, which was just as well. She didn’t want to have to test her squeaky brakes with hard driving. More important, she didn’t want Mac to know how frustrated she was, and how disappointed that what had happened that morning in her office for a few dazzling, dizzying minutes would never happen again.
As if roaring out of the parking lot would make any difference. Mac knew just how disappointed she was, just how much she would have welcomed another kiss from him, even though it was a bad idea.
Somehow, he seemed to know everything.
GOD, IT WAS HOT HERE. If she lived to be a hundred, she’d never get used to this kind of muggy weather just days into the new year. But muggy weather was what she needed right now. The heat had helped to turn her into Maggie.
Maggie, she thought with a sniff. She was Maggie now: the kind of girl who put on a skimpy little dress and high-heel sandals and stood across the street from a famous French Quarter hotel, angling for a way to get inside. As soon as she’d seen that bozo with the bald spot and the ponytail, everything had fallen into place.
I hope you’re scared, Julie. I hope you’re trembling in your size-nine shoes, because tomorrow night is showtime.
Julie should be scared. The other e-mails had been sent by now. They were meaner, blunter and, yeah, scarier.
A long time ago, before she’d become Maggie, she’d had a dream: she would be a model. She’d live a fabulous life in the heart of the fashion world. She’d earn tons of money and party every night, and men would fall in love with her. And she’d fall in love, too.
It had all come true, every part of her dream. Glenn had loved her. He’d sworn it. It didn’t matter that he slept with a couple of his other girls. He told her they were nothing to him. She was everything. He’d gotten her good speed, good blow. He’d gotten her good jobs. He’d given her promises.
And then, thank-you-very-much-Julie, he’d gone to jail—and come out a changed man. No longer dazzling. No longer rich and fun and loving. When she’d tracked him down to the dreary little apartment he now called home, a world away from his cool thirtieth-floor condo overlooking the East River, he’d stared at her as if she were a total stranger, not the girl he’d once sworn that he loved.
“If there was ever anything between us,” he’d said, his voice dull and lifeless, “it’s dead, honey. Go away. Go home and get a life.”
How could she make a life for herself when everything she’d wanted, everything she’d once had, was gone?
All because of Julie.
She lit a cigarette and stood smoking in the shadow of an awning. Across the street the Hotel Marchand stood like something out of a painting, a tourist poster of New Orleans. People inside there had lives. They probably had access to all the stimulants they could ever want, and liquor and money and fine clothes. They probably had lovers, too.
They had everything she didn’t have, because Julie Sullivan had sent Glenn to prison.
Tomorrow night, she promised herself. Tomorrow night she’d go inside on the arm of that starry-eyed asshole with the ponytail. Tomorrow night she’d find Julie.
Tomorrow night she’d get a life: Julie’s.
CHAPTER TEN
LUC WAS GONE for the day.
Mac should have expected as much. It was eight-thirty, and most of the hotel’s day staff had left. Still, he’d hoped to get his hands on that guest list.
Patrick, the assistant concierge, didn’t know what Luc had done with the list. “He probably locked it up somewhere safe,” Patrick said, as if he expected Mac to be impressed that Luc had taken such precautions.
He wasn’t. He didn’t want the list locked up somewhere safe. He wanted it in his hands, now.
The housekeeping supply room was empty when Mac checked it on the slim cha
nce that Luc might be there with his girlfriend. No tryst was taking place, but Mac took a few minutes to inspect the shelves. Everything seemed to be in pristine order, the way Nadine liked to keep her supplies. The towels were evenly folded and stacked. If anything had been tampered with, Mac couldn’t spot it.
Hell. His impatience wasn’t just over the list and the fact that, given everything else he’d have to do tomorrow, reviewing the new reservations might prove to be one task too many. Even if he’d found the list, even if Luc had hand delivered it to him right that instant, Mac would be in a foul mood.
He’d done the right thing by assuring Julie he wouldn’t kiss her again, but… Hell, hell, hell. A fire was burning in his gut, in his soul, and the only thing that would quench it was Julie. And it wasn’t going to get quenched, not as long as he was being paid to protect her.
After shouting a quick greeting to Tyrell, Mac headed out the door. The night air did nothing to cool him off, and in fact his body temperature rose significantly when he entered the parking lot where he’d last seen Julie. He could still feel the imprint of her slender hand in his, the silky smoothness of her wrist. He could see her huge eyes, their unusual color not quite visible in the evening gloom, and the delicate shape of her lips, and the slim, graceful curves of her body, a body he longed to touch and taste and love.
He slumped into the driver’s seat of his car, pulled out his BlackBerry and checked his e-mail. He found in his in-box a note from Julie’s sister Marcie saying she was renewing her contract with him for another month, and a message from Frank promising “interesting stuff” and containing an attachment. Mac wasn’t going to read it on the tiny screen of his BlackBerry.
He’d access the attachment when he got home. No stop at the office tonight, he thought, as he headed out of the lot. Tomorrow would be too long a day; tonight he deserved to refresh his memory of what his apartment looked like. It seemed as if he hadn’t spent more than a few minutes a day there, other than to sleep, since he’d been forced to juggle two jobs.
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