"This guy's lookin' for Julianna. Says she's inherited a whole bunch of money. You have any idea where she went?"
"I don't know and don't care." The woman curled her brightly painted lips with derision. "Little princess thought she was better than everybody else. And there she was, no better than a whore, pregnant and with no man at all."
Anger was swift and white-hot. John narrowed his eyes, holding on to it, though it burned brightly in the pit of his gut. He couldn't allow this piece of human refuse to talk about his Julianna this way. He wouldn't allow it.
"I could give you the address she used when she worked here."
"Thank you. That would be helpful."
The man went in back and returned a moment later with a business card. He'd written Julianna's address on the back. "You did say there'd be a finder's fee in it if I helped you locate her?"
"Absolutely." John plucked the card from the man's fingers, then shifted his gaze to the blonde. "I'll see to it that you get a little something, too, sweetheart. Trust me."
The hour grew late; the French Quarter street gradually emptied. John stood in the shadows across from the hole-in-the-wall bar, watching the lights go off inside, one-byone.
Finally, his patience was rewarded. Two figures emerged from the bar, a man and the blonde from the po'boy shop, the one with the big mouth. The two said their goodbyes then parted, heading in different directions.
John stepped out of the darkness and started after the woman. He kept his distance, his footfalls silent.
She looked back only once, when he was almost upon her. She started to run then, but it was too late. He caught her on the back of the head and she flew forward, sprawling face first on the damp, filthy street. Where she belonged, he thought, circling her, disgusted.
While she lay there, sobbing into the muck, begging for her life, he kicked her, placing the blow dead to her ribs. The impact lifted her slightly off the ground. He delivered another blow, this one slightly lower.
He hadn't killed her. She would only wish he had.
"Next time," he said softly, "I suggest you show a little respect for your betters."
38
Richard sat across the café table from Julianna. Her head was bent as she studied the menu, and he took the opportunity to enjoy gazing at her. Lately he had been noticing things about his young assistant, nice things. The dewy freshness of her skin, the melodic quality of her laugh, the way she looked up at him, admiration and awe shining from her eyes.
He shook his head, thinking of Kate and the things she had said about Julianna. Manipulative? Secretive? He had spent a good bit of time with her, and he had found her to be sweet, forthright and completely genuine.
Richard took a sip of his iced tea, fighting back a grin. No doubt Kate would hotly deny it, but he suspected the green-eyed monster had something to do with her opinions of his assistant. Who could blame her? Julianna was young, attractive, unencumbered.
It made sense. Although Kate loved Emma and being a mother, it had been an adjustment. The 2:00 a.m. feedings. The fussy spells. The lack of personal freedom. She wasn't even back to work yet, and he couldn't remember the last time she had been down to her glass studio.
"I think I'm going to have the grilled chicken Caesar," Julianna said, closing the menu and lifting her gaze. She found his upon her and blushed. "Is something wrong?"
He couldn't remember the last time he had made a woman blush. He smiled, unreasonably pleased. "Not a thing."
"Then why-" Her blush deepened. "You're staring, Richard."
He propped his fist on his chin. "Am I?"
"You know you are! You're-" She made a sound of exasperation. "Stare all you want, it doesn't bother me."
He laughed and set aside his menu. He and Julianna had gotten into the habit of having lunch together every day he was free. It had proved a good time for them to go over his campaign calendar and discuss his progress.
"Have you talked to Leo this week?" she asked after the waiter had taken their drink orders and walked away.
Leo Bennett was a political consultant Richard had hired to manage his run for office. At this point, still a year and a half out, Leo was serving strictly as a consultant and leaving the actual day-to-day business of "Ryan for D.A." to Richard and Julianna. When they were six months out and all hell was about to break loose, he would step in to take a more active role in the campaign.
"He's out of town. He sent me a list of nonprofit groups he thought we should contact to offer my services as a speaker." He took the list out of his pocket and handed it to her.
She scanned the list, then refolded it and slipped it into her appointment book. "I'll get started this afternoon."
The waiter arrived with their drinks, then took their lunch orders. When he walked away, Richard turned his attention back to Julianna. "How was your weekend?"
She shrugged and added two packets of sugar to her tea. "Okay."
"Just okay?" he teased. "No hot date?"
"Not a one. How about you?"
"Another quiet weekend home with the baby."
She made a sympathetic sound. "Kate still won't leave her with a sitter?"
A week back, he had confided to Julianna his frustration with Kate over her refusal to leave Emma. He had been surprised at himself, breaching their professional relationship with something so personal, but Julianna had been great about it, offering her support and understanding.
Since then, he had confided a dozen other things to her, hopes for the campaign, worries over his parents' health, frustrations with a judge, his paralegal's bumbling incompetence. He had grown to look forward to their talks. Unlike Kate, Julianna always seemed to have time for him. She always understood.
"She will, but it's a fight. She won't use a teenager, not even one from the neighborhood. They're too young, she says. She's found two women she likes very much, but they're always booked. Calling them at the last minute is impossible, and Kate has gotten so she won't even try. I just don't understand it." He expelled a weary-sounding breath. "I don't understand her."
"Not understand her?" Julianna repeated, incredulous. "Surely, that's not true, Richard. She's your wife. You've been together for years."
"She's changed," he said after a moment. "We used to go out. We entertained. Now, she only has time for-"
He bit back the words, flushing at the way he sounded. Petulant and self-absorbed. "Becoming a parent is an adjustment," he said. "It takes time for everything to fall into place."
"Of course it's a big adjustment," she said softly. "But I wonder…how old's Emma?"
"Four months."
She pursed her lips. "Oh."
"What is it?"
She lifted a shoulder. "I've never been a parent, of course. But I have heard that some women…" She shook her head. "Never mind. It's really none of my business."
"Nonsense." He leaned toward her. "I've made it your business by bringing it up. Tell me what you've heard."
"That some new mothers become terribly depressed. It gets to the point that their spouses hardly recognize them. Could that be what's going on with her? I mean, do you think she's happy?"
"You had dinner with us." He frowned. "What do you think?"
She hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully. "She seemed…devoted to Emma."
But not to me. Julianna didn't need to tell him that. He knew it already.
"Be patient," she murmured. "I'm sure this will pass."
But what if it didn't? he wondered as the waiter delivered their food. What if he and Kate kept drifting farther apart until they neither understood each other nor had anything in common?
He and Julianna ate in silence for several moments. She broke it first. "Richard?"
He glanced up, and Julianna reached across the table and covered his hand with her own. He lowered his gaze to their joined hands, surprised by her gesture and by the jolt of awareness that shot through him.
He told himself to draw his hand away. He di
dn't move a muscle.
"There's something I've wanted to tell you, but I…I-" Her voice faltered, but she cleared her throat, seeming to marshal her courage. "I've been going back and forth, trying to decide if I should tell you, but now, with Kate behaving so strangely…"
"This is about Kate?"
"Yes." She looked away, then back. "And…and Luke Dallas."
Richard stiffened. "What are you talking about?"
"That night, at your house…she didn't tell you the whole truth about that autographed book. I saw her, Richard."
He shook his head. "What do you mean? You saw her where?"
"At Luke Dallas's book signing. She had Emma with her. The line was really long, and I remember looking at her with the baby and feeling sorry for her. She looked so tired."
Richard struggled to hide his fury. His embarrassment. The betrayal that rushed over him in a hot, bitter wave.
She sat back in her chair, her expression distressed. "I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry, I just thought you'd want to…"
That he would want to know. That his wife was chasing all over the countryside after an old boyfriend when she didn't have time to go out to dinner with her own husband. That she had lied to him.
"I'm sorry," Julianna said again, eyes filling with tears. "I can tell that you're upset, and I don't blame you." She leaned forward, her tone pleading. "Please, forget I said anything. I probably was mistaken and I'd…I'd hate if you and Kate argued over this."
"Nonsense," he said stiffly, forcing a smile. "I'm glad you did bring it up. It's no big deal. The three of us were good friends back at Tulane, and I'm sure she simply forgot to tell me."
"I'm sure that's it."
They both knew that was a lie. He checked his watch, then signaled the waiter to bring the bill. Their server brought the check; Richard paid with cash. "We'd better get back. It's going to be a busy afternoon."
"That it is."
Julianna eased her chair back from the table, preparing to stand. He stopped her.
"Julianna?" She looked at him. "Thanks for listening. I know it's not exactly in your job description."
Her lips curved into a sweetly sad smile. "I'm always here for you, Richard. No matter what you need. Don't forget that."
39
Richard was late. Kate checked her watch for about the hundredth time in the past hour. Ten o'clock, she saw. Where was he? When she'd spoken with him right before lunch, he had said he'd be home early.
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, worried. It wasn't like him not to call. If he'd had a last-minute dinner appointment or meeting, he would have let her know.
Kate began to pace, nearly hysterical with worry. She had called everyone she could think of-his partners, golf buddies, even his parents-had checked the health club and country club bar. She had tried the police and local emergency rooms. Nobody had seen him.
She drew in a shuddering breath, imagining him at the side of some road, bleeding or unconscious, his car a heap of twisted metal and broken glass.
Ten became ten-fifteen. Became eleven. Still no Richard.
When she finally heard his key in the lock, she flew to the door and yanked it open. "Richard, thank God! I've been worried sick. Where have you been?"
"Well, if it isn't my devoted and loving wife."
He lurched past her, and she brought a hand to her nose as the smell of liquor and cigarettes hit her in a nauseating wave. "You've been drinking."
"Give the little lady a gold star."
He tossed his briefcase toward the couch and missed. It hit the floor with a loud thump. Kate glanced nervously toward the nursery. "Careful, you'll wake the baby."
"The baby," he mimicked, his tone snide. "It's always about the baby, isn't it?"
He hadn't just been drinking, she realized, a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. He'd been bingeing. And brooding. The way he sometimes had in college, the way that had always brought out the person she didn't like.
"Where have you been, Richard?"
"Out." He swung to face her. "The more appropriate question is, where have you been?"
"Here. Waiting for you. Worried out of my mind."
"I need a drink."
He started past her; she stopped him with a hand to his arm. "I think you've had enough."
"You don't tell me what to do." He shook off her hand roughly. "Nobody does."
Kate took a step back, shocked. This was a Richard she had only seen a couple of times, years ago. Still, she knew from experience that being confrontational when Richard was in this mode was counterproductive. When he was like this he had a hair-trigger temper, and when it snapped, it was terrifying.
She took a deep, calming breath. "Talk to me, hon," she coaxed. "Tell me what's happened."
"Why don't you tell me?" He took a step toward her. "Let's talk about the book, Kate. Tell me about Dead Drop."
"Luke's book?" She shook her head. "I don't understand."
"Sure," he sneered. "How'd you get that autograph?"
Her heart began to rap against the wall of her chest. The last thing she wanted to bring up was her visit with Luke, not while Richard was already half crazy. "I told you how I-"
"That's bullshit!" he shouted. "You went to New Orleans to see him. Behind my back." He took another step closer. "What did you do? Dig that fucking invitation out of the trash?"
She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes evenly. "As a matter of fact, I wanted to see him. I wanted to try to repair our friendship."
He released a short bark of laughter. "Friendship my ass."
"It's true. I wanted us all to get together. I called him several times, and when he didn't call me back, I decided to go see him."
"And because it was all so perfectly innocent," he said slurring his words, "you lied to me about it."
She clasped her hands together, wishing she could go back, take back the lie, hating herself for it. "At first I didn't tell you because I knew you'd react like this. Then the other night, I didn't want us to get into it in front of your assistant. I'm sorry, Richard. Believe me, I wish I had been honest with you from the beginning."
"Sure you do." He took a lurching step toward her. "You lied to me. So you could see him. That bastard."
"I'm not going to talk with you about this now," she said, hanging on to her temper by a thread. "You're drunk."
She tried to duck by him; he blocked her exit, face twisted with rage and jealousy. "You don't have the time or energy to devote to me when I need you, yet you have enough of both to drive into the city with Emma and wait hours in line so he could sign his precious, fucking book."
"You're drunk," she said again. "We'll talk about this in the morning."
"The hell we will, we'll talk about it now!" He dragged a hand through his hair. "She saw you there. That night, she knew the truth about you and Dallas. You can't imagine how humiliating, how-"
"Who saw me there?" she demanded. "And what truth are you talking about? That Luke and I were friends and now we're not?"
"You know what I'm talking about." He leaned toward her, swaying drunkenly. "You know."
"Who saw me?" Kate demanded again. "Your assistant?" His expression said it all, and Kate felt sick. No wonder the young woman had been so interested in the book, no wonder she'd brought Luke up that night at dinner.
"She's a snake, Richard. You're just too smitten to see it."
"You wish you'd married him, don't you? Now that he's Mr. Big and Famous Author. Now that he has more money than I do."
Kate recoiled from his words, even as they tore at her heart. "How can you say that? How, after all these years together?"
"That's why you went to see him, isn't it? To tell him you made a mistake. That you wished you'd married him."
"That's ridiculous," she said stiffly. "You're being ridiculous. And I'm not going to listen to one more word."
She began to turn away; he stopped her, catching her by her upper arms. "Why'd you marry me, Kat
e? For my money? So you could be Mrs. Richard Ryan and live in a big, fancy house?"
"Stop it!" she cried, losing her tenuous grip on her emotions. First Luke, now Richard. Didn't the men in her life know her at all? "Stop before this goes any further. Before we both say more that can't be taken back."
From the baby monitor clipped to her belt came the sound of Emma stirring in her crib. A moment later the harmless snuffling became whimpers, then mewls of discomfort.
Kate yanked free of her husband's grasp. "Emma needs me."
"I need you, too. What about me, Kate?"
She looked at him, incredulous. "She's an infant, Richard. Not an adult."
She started for the nursery.
"Go on, then," he called after her. "Like you went to Luke. You have time for everyone but me, don't you? Luke Dallas. The Bean. Your daughter."
She stopped, turned and faced him. "Our daughter," she murmured, voice shaking. "Ours. Though for all the time you spend with her, no one would ever know it."
"Why should I? You're already spending twenty-four hours a day with her. What's left for me, Kate?"
Kate was stunned by his jealousy. His feelings toward Luke and Luke's success were bad enough. But to be jealous of his own daughter, a helpless infant? It made her sick.
"Grow up, Richard. Act like an adult instead of the spoiled little rich kid who always got his way."
Kate hurried to the nursery, Emma's mewls full-fledged cries now. Richard followed. Before she could scoop the child up, Richard caught her by the arm and yanked her back against his chest. "You're mine, Kate. I won you and I won't let Luke or anybody else take you away."
"Won me?" she repeated brokenly, remembering what Luke had said to her. "Is that what our marriage is about? Some sort of competition?"
He didn't answer, and she began to struggle against his grasp. "Let me go, Richard! Emma's crying."
"Mine," he said again, tightening his grip on her.
A moment later his mouth crashed down on hers in a bruising kiss. He ground his lips against hers, forcing them open, shoving his tongue inside. She gagged at the sensation and at the sickly sweet smell of bourbon.
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