“It’s just an alarm,” Jack said in her ear. “Not a real dog.” The shadow disappeared and the ghastly baying ceased. Rose slumped, trembling like a fool, against the warmth and safety that was Jack.
“The real dog’s out back,” Juma said. “He’s a bloodhound, and he’s the sweetest thing. You want to come meet him?”
Rose shook her head and pushed herself away from Jack. “I don’t get on with dogs. What did you want to show me?”
“It’s no big deal.” Juma led the way. “But now that he’s making me confess, I will show you, and I hope the old creep suffers.”
“Confess what?” Rose asked.
“I don’t see why I should have to tell Jack, too. I’m supposed to get advice from you.”
Rose glanced behind her. Jack was slumped against the wall. He pushed himself upright and headed back toward the store. “Now’s your chance,” Rose said. “Jack went the other way.”
“Dick says you look like a good person to talk to about sex.”
Of course he does. “Why were you and an old guy like Dick talking about sex?”
Rose let the girl pull her through the doorway on the left into a walk down memory lane. She’d seen most of it before, but never collaged as wallpaper. “Good Lord.” She frowned at Juma. “How did you end up back here?”
“I ran away from him,” she said. “Don’t look like that! Let me explain! Just because I’m a teenager, he thought I stole a book.”
Rose rolled her eyes. “Many retailers are suspicious of teens, but they don’t chase them around the store because of it.”
“I thought about stealing a book, because I need it to prepare for college, but I decided it was a bad idea. Then he accused me of stealing my very own poetry book. He didn’t believe me when I said it was mine.”
Rose gave her a look. “Go on.”
Juma huffed. “He wanted to call the cops. The front door was locked, so I ran back here.”
Rose crossed her arms. “None of this explains why you were talking to him about sex. He should have had you out of here lickety-split. What the hell went on?”
“Nothing,” Juma said, red and miserable. “Nothing went on.”
“Then why does he want you and me to have a heart-to-heart?”
“When he threatened to call the cops, I…” Juma’s voice descended to a whisper so low that a normal woman might not have heard it, but Rose caught every word.
She shoved down a surge of rage and clamped her mouth tight shut.
“Oh, God,” Juma said into the silence. “I’m so embarrassed.”
When she could speak again, Rose said, “That was incredibly dumb. What if he’d taken you up on it?”
“I know,” Juma said. “I would have barfed all over him. He smells gross.”
Lord help us. “What if you got pregnant or caught an STD?”
Two sets of footsteps approached in the hallway. “I’m on birth control,” Juma said sulkily.
“I’m glad you have one of your bases covered, but that’s nowhere near enough. We’ll talk about it later,” Rose said. When I’ve gotten a grip on myself.
Jack strolled into the room. He cast a cool, amused eye around the walls, said, “Different,” and noticed the book of poems on the table. “Obscene Poetry of the Earl of Rochester.” His lips twitched, and the dimple peeped out. “Not your average coffee-table book.”
“Not your average living room.” Rose chuckled, and their eyes met.
Oh.
Then he turned away.
Dick appeared in the doorway, tense and gray. Rose let go of her dismay and reached into her store of kindness to smile at him. “Your walls are lovely, Dick. That Japanese print…” She motioned to an elegantly copulating couple above the couch. “My old boyfriend owned an original woodcut. He collected erotic art. But your treatment of it is so much more fun.”
Jack cleared his throat. “If you’re interested in doing this sort of work commercially, you might consider approaching the clubs in Bayou Gavotte.”
“What a great idea!” Rose said.
By the time they returned to the bookstore, Dick was ecstatic, full of plans for a portfolio, his fears of exposure dispelled.
Rose selected two craft books she didn’t need. “Do you want another book, Juma?”
Juma’s eyes grew round. “Of course! Yes, please!”
“Allow me,” Jack cut in. “Juma and I have a mutual interest in literature, and I would be happy to buy her something.” He beckoned to Juma. “Did you see that huge annotated Shakespeare?” He headed toward the shelves with Juma right behind, and Rose leaned against the counter, relieved. She was pretty broke, but clearly Dick needed sales. Maybe Jack thought bribing Juma with books would make her talk, but she sure hoped he could afford it. Except for that one designer shirt, he didn’t show signs of being well-off. Rescuing people must cost money, and she didn’t think it was a paying job.
She made idle conversation and let Dick look his fill until her eyes fell on a book about surviving abuse on the special-order shelf, with a paper sticking out that said “Dell.”
“Do you know Linda Dell?” she asked. “Is that book for her?”
Dick tore his eyes away long enough to look at the paper. “Yeah, it’s been sitting here for two weeks. First time she’s ever bought nonfiction; usually she’s into romances. I called this morning and left another message, but she never showed up. It’s a special order that I can’t return, so I’m stuck paying for it.”
“She didn’t come because her husband beat her up,” Rose said.
Dick paled. “Jeez. She said she needed it for research. I thought she was writing a college paper.”
“I’ll pay for the book, if you’ll keep it for her.” Rose scrounged in her wallet for a business card just as Jack and Juma showed up with a bunch of paperbacks. “Put this inside it, and let her know to call this number if she wants help.”
“Will do,” Dick said. Jack said nothing, and Juma’s nose was in one of the books.
“I believe in second chances,” Rose said.
“That’s your privilege.” Jack pulled out a credit card. “Put everything on my account.”
Rose opened her mouth to expostulate and closed it again. Jack seemed to like paying, and as Gil had said, he hated owing. “Thanks,” she said.
“My privilege.” A few minutes later they headed out the door.
“It’s been a pleasure, Dick,” Rose said. “Do me a favor?”
“Anything,” he breathed. The odor of cigarettes overlaid with mint wasn’t appealing, but the man was a sweetheart all the same.
Rose pointed to a perfect pink camellia at the top of the closest bush. “That flower,” she said. “It’s gorgeous, and it’s calling to me.”
They had barely turned onto the road when Rose let fly. She rounded on Juma and said, “Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”
Juma clutched Beowulf and quailed. “I guess, but—” “What if Dick hadn’t been such a decent guy? What if he’d taken you up on your offer and then insisted on more? Or worse, what if he’d freaked out when you saw his wallpaper and decided to make sure you couldn’t blab?” Rose tamped down on her anger, willing her fangs to stay where they belonged.
Juma pouted. “I know, but he didn’t do anything. It’s over, so forget it.” She slumped against the bench seat and muttered, “I didn’t think you’d give me the big moral lecture. That’s more Jack’s style.” Hurriedly, she added, “But I’m really, really grateful for the books.”
Jack let out a crack of laughter. “Morals come with too much baggage. My values are purely practical, and most of them have to do with not behaving like an idiot.”
Juma sank farther into the seat, mulishly maintaining her sulk.
Rose tried to moderate her tone. “Sweetie, this isn’t about morals, it’s about common sense. Don’t you understand? If he’d been a different kind of guy, he might have killed you!”
“Don’t you understand?” Juma retor
ted. “I didn’t have any choice. He was going to call the cops.”
“Jack and I were coming right back. We would have straightened things out.”
“How could I know you were coming back? Just because you said so doesn’t mean anything, and then you gave me too much money. Two or three bucks for Coke would have made sense, but thirty bucks is guilt money. I thought you were going to just leave.”
Rose glanced at Jack. He spread his hands.
“The cops would have taken me to Grandma, and then I might as well be dead!” A tear rolled down Juma’s cheek. Angrily, she brushed it away.
Rose groped around for the tissue box. “I did come back, though,” she said gently. “I keep my promises. The point I’m trying to make is that some risks simply aren’t worth taking unless you’re desperate.”
“I am desperate.” Juma wiped her eyes.
“Not anymore,” Rose said. “I’ll take care of you, but I need you to promise me you won’t go bribing anyone else with sex.”
“I can’t promise that. What if I get into another mess and you’re not there? So far I’ve been lucky. I’ll keep hoping for the best. Anyway, Rose, not to be rude or anything, but you bribed those truckers with kisses. What if Jack hadn’t been around, and one of them thought you wanted sex?”
Good thing she didn’t see me with Biff. “They knew I was just flirting,” Rose said. “I don’t need Jack or anyone else to protect me.”
“What about Stevie? He was about to rape you!”
“I would have stopped him if Jack hadn’t hit him first.”
“How? He’s bigger and stronger, and he—”
Unexpectedly, Jack broke in. “Trust me. She would have stopped him.”
“Okay, let’s say I believe that one, which I don’t, but whatever,” Juma said. “What if you were flirting with Biff and a bunch of his buddies, and they thought you really meant it? Maybe you can tackle one guy. How about two or three? How about if they have guns or knives?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Rose said. “All that matters is what I intend. If I offer sex, it’s because I’m willing. If I’m not willing, I don’t say I am. Period.”
The dark countryside flew by. Rose couldn’t bring herself to look at Jack. Now he’d think she would have willingly gone to bed with Biff, which wasn’t true. A month or two ago, she might have considered it. Now? No.
“But those guys are dangerous. They might not take no for an answer.”
“Juma, I’ve had a lot of experience with dangerous guys. I can take care of myself.”
“I’ll learn to take care of myself, too,” Juma said. “Self-defense classes or whatever.”
Rose strove to keep her voice level. “Self-defense would be good, but that doesn’t give you a license to prostitute yourself.”
“Oh, great.” Juma crossed her arms. “Now you’re calling me a whore, just like Dick.”
“I am not calling you a whore.” Rose gave up. “Speaking as one who prostituted herself for years, in a situation a thousand times better than you’ll ever find yourself in, it’s not such a great life. Find a better way.”
“You were a prostitute?”
“I was a gangster’s mistress. He set me up in a penthouse and paid my way through college, but only because I’m different from other women, because his friends envied him, and he felt like the world’s biggest stud. You’re an ordinary girl, and ordinary girls end up with shit. Or dead. Don’t do it.”
“Well!” Juma said furiously. “I know you’re gorgeous and sexy and guys are all over you, except maybe Jack, but people think I’m pretty, too, and I don’t see why with a little experience I couldn’t do just as well.”
Except maybe Jack.
“Now, you listen to me,” Rose said, quivering with rage. The camellia, which had so far stayed put in her hair, slipped down beside her ear.
“Hold on,” Jack broke in. “Your reasons are none of her business. Think before you speak.”
Rose’s head whipped around. The camellia flew off and Jack caught it. “What else am I supposed to do? She has to understand.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Jack said, his eyes back on the road. “You gave her good advice. If she doesn’t take it, it’s her problem.”
Rose faced front, fuming, desperate now in her own way. She needed to help this girl. She needed…
“This isn’t about you, Rose,” Jack whispered.
Helpless, Rose subsided into the seat.
“As for you, Juma, take my word for it. Rose is different. Most guys find her irresistible, and although you may think that would be great, it’s actually a major pain in the ass. She also has better self-defense skills than most girls can dream of. She cares enough to give you sensible and appropriate advice. So back off, shut up, and show her some respect.”
There was a long, long silence.
Jack’s voice broke through the chaos in Rose’s brain. “Rose.” Reluctantly, she turned her head. He held out the pink camellia, with a smile so faint and so rueful she wasn’t sure she saw it in the darkness.
Chapter Nine
Jack’s rueful smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and he fixed his eyes on the road. Juma dozed off after a stony, sullen hour with Beowulf and a book light. Rose cradled the camellia blossom while Jack went from news to music to a football game on the radio. He made a few unsuccessful attempts to reach Gil and asked a couple of questions about features of her phone, but nothing could drown out the deep silence that hung between him and Rose.
Her cell rang: Miles. Soothing him wouldn’t be fun while Jack eavesdropped, but anything was better than this silence. She flipped it open.
“Rose! You tried to call me. Are you on the way back to Chicago?”
Maybe this wasn’t better. “No, of course not.”
Miles cursed. “Rose, I need you here. Titania’s made me a wonderful offer. It will save the shop!”
Rose tried to ignore the nausea burbling in her gut.
“She wants a costume, and she’s prepared to pay an absolutely obscene amount if we do it right away.”
“That’s great.” It was also bullshit. “But it has nothing to do with me.”
“Of course it does. The Elizabethan gown impressed her so much that she’s determined to have you and only you make her costume.” Bullshit again, judging by the sneer on Titania’s face when she’d first seen the gown.
Rose twisted and turned the wilting camellia. “Here’s the deal. Get Titania to wire a fifty percent down payment to your account, and have her sign something agreeing that the down payment is not refundable under any circumstances.” She registered Jack’s jerk of the head toward her and away again, but ignored it. “Get a witness to her signature. No, two witnesses. Reliable ones. When that’s done and the money’s in your account, call me back.”
Silence, and then Miles said, “I don’t think she’ll go for that, Rose.”
“I won’t return for anything less.” She hung up, and before Jack could start asking nosy questions or offering help, she asked, “Where are you taking us?”
“To an apartment near Gil’s place,” he said.
“A safe house?”
“No, as of the last time I spoke to Gil, he hadn’t come up with anything in Bayou Gavotte. We have places in New Orleans and Baton Rouge, but we’re relatively new here.” He paused, and Rose went back to cradling the camellia blossom, as she had cradled it ever since Jack gave it to her.
But of course he hadn’t really given it to her, whatever she might wish. She pulled a petal off the camellia.
“I should be able to sort things out before those thugs find us.” Jack rolled his shoulders and shifted the arm that had been wounded only this morning. Her saliva had done a pretty good job, but the wound must be hurting him.
I could make it better, Rose thought sadly, dropping another petal. She allowed herself a glimpse of his inscrutable profile. Really inscrutable, now that she thought about it. Smooth, empty of emotion, eyes straight ah
ead.
Was there more to the chameleon effect than she had imagined? He hadn’t spent much time smiling, so she couldn’t judge by the dimple alone, but…It was as if he had more than one face, or rather a continuum of faces, ranging from the bland one he usually presented, to the cute, dimpled, almost sweet face she’d glimpsed once or twice. As if instead of blending against a background, he was blending against himself.
Wistfully, she glanced at him again. He’s driving, dummy. He should be looking at the Rose—uh, road. But that didn’t mean he wanted to look at her. Another petal fell.
But he defended me to Juma! She caressed another petal and let it drop, then another and another. So what? Just shrug and move on. She rolled down the window and released the pink flower to the winds.
Jack’s voice dispersed her gloomy thoughts. “Busy day tomorrow?” Motioning with his chin toward the back, he added so quietly, so incredibly low and softly that no normal person could hear, “She still asleep?” He locked his gaze on hers for an instant before facing front again.
Rose quivered deep inside. Those eyes, and the intimacy of his tone, stirred her.
No. He just wanted to say something Juma shouldn’t hear.
She listened for a long moment to the girl’s slow, even breathing. Jack wouldn’t be able to hear her if she spoke at the same low level, so in a normal voice she said, “Yes, I think so. I have to bring the gown to my customer and do a fitting, for starters.”
“What else?” He lowered his voice again. “Did she talk to you at lunch?”
Oh, no you don’t. Rose sent him a frosty glare, but he probably didn’t notice, eternally facing front as he was.
“Apart from picking up the supplies from Gil,” he said aloud, and then the whisper: “Anything about who she is, where she comes from?”
Not that I’m willing to tell you. Rose retrieved a stray camellia petal from her lap, pondering. She put on a perky voice and said, “Also, I’ll see if my customer has friends who need costumes. Friends are the most valuable resource of all, in business and in life, but you have to treat them right.” She caressed the petal’s smooth softness. “Maybe I’ll check out the clubs and theaters, see if anyone is hiring a costumer.”
A Taste of Love and Evil Page 11
