COFFEE. GABE ROLLED toward the aroma, vaguely cognizant that he wasn’t lying on his own mattress. Memory rushed back in a flash as he opened his eyes to the hotel room that was standard in every way except for the woman currently doing a kata in the small open area near the bathroom door.
She was wearing a loose-fitting pair of pants that hung low on her hips and a T-shirt that hugged every one of her gorgeous curves. He remained still, watching as she went through the moves of the kata. Her body flowed slowly and fluidly, but with visibly restrained power.
She was breathtaking.
He didn’t recognize the sequence of blocks, kicks, and strikes. The routines he’d learned in his Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu training were very different.
This looked more like karate. She’d said she was a black belt in three different schools, and he could believe that, just by watching her move.
She was calm and strong and the most capable woman he’d ever met.
Which was good, because now that he was awake and his mind clear, the blanket of dread descended once again.
He’d been much happier when his brain had been clouded and sex-drunk.
He sucked in a breath when she did a roundhouse kick, spinning in the air to land on the balls of her feet almost silently on the hotel room floor. Also good, because they were on the sixteenth floor.
He doubted the people below them would have heard even the slightest of thumps. She was agile like a cat.
Waiting until she’d placed her hands together and bowed, he cleared his throat. “Good morning.”
She smiled over at him. “Good morning to you. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”
“Nope,” he said cheerfully, trying to shove the dread aside. “That would have been the coffee.”
“It’s not Choux-quality coffee, but it’s caffeine.”
Molly Sutton had looked beautiful in the dark the night before, but, if it was even possible, she looked even more so in the early-morning light.
He pushed himself up to sit against the headboard, gratified to see her gaze drop to his bare chest. His morning wood definitely sat up and took notice. “Caffeine is caffeine. I’m not picky this morning.”
“I’ll get you a cup.”
He would have argued that he could get it, but she was already walking to the coffee machine. So, he shut up and watched her round ass in those loose pants, remembering how she’d felt in his arms. Wishing that he’d been able to wake up still holding her.
“What were you doing?” he asked, noticing her laptop open on the other bed.
She turned to glance at him and it was impossible to miss the sway of unfettered breasts. Very nice unfettered breasts. He tried not to stare but couldn’t stop himself.
Not until she answered his question. “Looking at police reports of murders that happened during Katrina. I was hoping to find one that matched what Xavier saw, but so far, I’ve come up with nothing.”
Her words were like a cold shower. Okay, more like a lukewarm shower, because he was still aroused. “How long have you been awake?”
She doctored his coffee, and he was relieved to see the hotel provided real cream. That powdered stuff was an insult to humanity. “A few hours. I needed to give Val some time to sleep. She’s heading to the courthouse in an
hour or so for Eckert’s arraignment. I’ll guard both you and Patty until she gets back.”
“And then?”
She set his coffee on the nightstand and perched on the edge of the bed they’d shared, her ass against his knee. “And then I’m taking you both to the office, where you’ll be safe while I take Xavier to his old neighborhood.”
Gabe frowned. “No. We agreed that we’d go together.”
She lifted her own cup to her lips and sipped, but the set of her jaw told him that they were about to vehemently disagree. “Gabe, I—”
“You’re the trained one,” he interrupted. “I get that. But you promised.”
“No, Burke promised.”
He huffed. “Molly.”
She tilted her head. “Gabe. It’s too damn dangerous. It’s bad enough that I’m taking Xavier. I can’t worry about both of you.”
“Do you plan to get out and walk the street with him?”
“Of course not. I’m going to drive up and down the street until he gets his bearings.”
He lifted his brows. “And that won’t elicit any suspicion?”
“Not if I have a real estate agent sign on my car door,” she shot back.
Then her shoulders sagged. “That guy yesterday, Eckert, he pulled a gun on us. If he’d seen you . . .”
“He might not have even known to look for me,” Gabe protested. “He was following Xavier.”
“True. But even hit men can multitask,” she said tartly.
She was right about that. “What if I sit in the back seat of the car with your spare handgun? If we have any trouble, you’re going to need backup.”
“No.”
He decided to approach from a different direction. “Look. You said yourself that Burke’s running out of people to be bodyguards. Why would I take up his valuable resources?”
She looked him straight in the eye. “No.”
Fine. The gloves are coming off. “You realize that I could just follow you, don’t you? Unless you plan to tie me up. Which could be fun, too.” He waggled his brows, and she snorted.
Then sighed. “Would you really follow me? Knowing how dangerous this is?”
“I would. You are the badass PI and I’m just a chef, but . . .” He swallowed hard. “These people killed my father, Molly. I don’t want them to hurt you, too. I’m not useless.”
Her expression softening, she slid her hand from his knee to the middle of his thigh. He figured she intended it to be a comforting gesture, but it just made him more aroused.
“You’re far from useless,” she murmured, and he knew that he had her.
Then her eyes narrowed, and she yanked her hand back. “You little shit. You played me.”
“Did it work?”
“Maybe,” she said grudgingly. “Let me figure this out with Burke.”
“I’ll take that. For now.”
She shook her head. “You’re impossible.”
“And you like me,” he said smugly, taking her hand and putting it back on his thigh. “You said so last night.”
“That’s the problem,” she said soberly. “I like you a lot. Maybe even too much. I’ve gone three years without even looking at a man, and then you come along.”
“Not true.” Setting his cup on the nightstand, he tipped up her chin, making sure that he had her attention. “I saw how you watched me, every time you came into the Choux.”
A blush tinged her cheeks. “I did.”
He dropped his voice an octave. “I watched you, too. Every time you came in.”
“And?” she asked, her voice gone breathless.
Now I’m hard, and I want you. “Now I see that my assistant manager is very capable and running the place perfectly in my absence. When all this mess is over, I can ease back a little. Have some ‘me’ time. I’d like to spend that time with you. If you’re willing.”
“Very,” she whispered. Blindly she set her cup next to his, her eyes already closed as she leaned in to kiss him. “I’d say we should take some of that time now, but I’m on duty. Val should be waking up soon and going to the courthouse. Patty will probably want to have breakfast with us.”
He sighed dramatically. “Which means I should get dressed.”
Her blue-green eyes danced. “Unless you want her to see you buck naked.”
“Um, no.” Swinging his legs off the bed, he started for the bathroom, but paused at the door. “What is this?” He studied the contraption—a harness of some kind that was fixed over the bathroom door. He looked over his shoulder with a grin. “A sex toy?”
She laughed. “No. It’s my exercise pulley. I keep it in my bag for when I’m on duty and can’t go to the gym. I can get a limited workout with it.”
“Did you do that already?”
“Yes,” she said warily. “Why?”
“First, so that I could have watched you, but mostly because I might have worked out, too. I haven’t been exercising regularly since Patty and I opened the Choux. I walk to work, but it’s not enough.”
“I’ll show you tomorrow.”
“It’s a date,” he said before going into the bathroom and closing the door.
Standing in front of the mirror, he touched the places where she’d sucked hard enough to mark him the night before. He’d never had a woman do that before and he’d liked it. A lot.
Molly Sutton didn’t do anything halfway. He grinned at his reflection.
May the good Lord bless her.
I definitely look . . . debauched. He’d always wanted to look debauched.
Patty will know.
I don’t care. I’m happy.
He’d reached for the shower fixture when he heard a French woman’s voice singing “Le Festin” from Ratatouille—his ringtone. He was tempted to ignore it but knew he couldn’t. It might be Burke.
Shit. It might be Burke.
His happiness drained away, replaced by the dread that hadn’t been too far away. Burke wouldn’t be calling them this early if it weren’t important.
Something was wrong. His brain immediately thought of Xavier and his mother and the others.
He rushed from the bathroom and headed for his pants because he’d left his phone in his pants pocket. His phone had stopped ringing, but he’d check the call log.
Molly was no longer smiling. Now she was grim. And mostly dressed again, wearing a bra, dark trousers, and . . . her belt holster. Complete with gun.
Yes, something was very, very wrong.
“It’s Burke,” she said, sliding her arms into a white blouse and buttoning it up. “He texted me while he was dialing you.”
“Is it bad?” he asked, fishing his now-silent phone from his pocket. He had a new voice mail from Burke.
When he straightened, she met his eyes from across the room. And nodded. “Yeah.” She patted the bed beside her and for a moment, Gabe had the childish urge to run back into the bathroom to hide.
He didn’t, of course. Instead, he drew a breath and pulled on his pants. He didn’t want to receive bad news while he was naked. “Are Xavier and the others all right?”
“Yeah. They’re okay.” Sitting on the bed, she waited until he sat beside her, then took his hand. “This is not your fault, Gabe.”
Dread had him swallowing hard. “Tell me.”
“The private pathologist you hired. Phyllis McLain. She’s dead.”
Gabe stared at Molly’s laptop screen, a news story on one of the internet sites. Pathologist murdered, lab destroyed. And below was a photo. It was her. Dr. McLain. She was dead.
He was . . . numb.
“Oh my God,” he whispered, then winced when Molly squeezed his hand harder.
“Not. Your. Fault,” she whispered fiercely.
But it was. It was totally his fault. He shook his head, the words refusing to come. Not that he knew what to say. He cleared his throat. Forced his mind to think, for fuck’s sake. This had happened because McLain had done his father’s autopsy. This had happened because whoever killed his father was covering their tracks. He swallowed past the thickness that nearly choked him. “How did they know about her?” he rasped.
“We don’t know yet.” Molly’s voice was steady, her grip hard enough to anchor him. “We will find out. I promise.”
He brought his free hand to his eyes, then down to cover his mouth. Then his heart stuttered. Oh shit. “Dusty.” He grabbed his phone and redialed Burke. “Dusty Woodruff,” he said as soon as Burke answered. “He’s my friend. The owner of the funeral home. If they got to Dr. McLain . . .”
“I’ll check,” Burke said. “Stay where you are, both of you.”
Gabe stared at his phone. Burke had ended the call. He hadn’t told Gabe not to worry. He hadn’t said Gabe was imagining things.
He’d simply ended the call. So that he could check.
“Gabe,” Molly murmured.
“Don’t tell me that it’s not my fault.” His heart was beating so hard, it was almost all he could hear. “I involved them. Dr. McLain died.”
“Could she have filed the autopsy report with the police as evidence that your father didn’t kill himself?” she asked gently.
“No. I don’t think so, anyway. I asked her to give me some time. A few days. She said she would. I came straight to you. I didn’t—” His voice broke.
“I didn’t warn her. I didn’t warn Dusty. Oh my God. I didn’t warn them.”
She said nothing. Uttered no platitudes. Just sat with him, holding his hand.
Time passed. It felt like hours, but his phone told him it was only minutes until Burke called again. “I’m sorry, Gabe,” he said heavily.
No. No. No, no, no. Gabe wanted to throw his phone against the wall. He wanted to scream. He wanted to find whoever killed his father and—
He blinked, unsurprised when hot tears streamed down his cheeks. Tears of horror. Tears of shame. But mostly tears of rage. “I’ve never truly hated someone before this whole thing started,” he said, not recognizing his own voice. “But I do now.”
“I know,” Burke said. “Trust me, I know.”
So does Molly, Gabe thought and waited for her to say so. But she didn’t.
“How did Mr. Woodruff die?” she asked quietly.
Gabe turned to look at her, to find her staring at him, her blue-green eyes full of pain. For him. It should have helped. Maybe it would later. Right now . . .
Two people are dead because of me.
“He was found in his car yesterday evening. He’d run into a tree.”
Molly didn’t look away, holding Gabe’s gaze. “Has anyone checked to see if Rocky’s body is still in Dr. McLain’s lab?”
Burke made an anguished, strangled sound. “No. I didn’t . . . Dammit, Molly. I didn’t even think of that. We need to find that out.”
Rage erupted in Gabe’s chest and he sucked in a breath from the impact.
That they might have taken his father’s body on top of everything else?
“I’m . . .” Burke sighed. “I’m going to have to level with André. Tell him what we know.”
Something inside him broke. “So that’s it?” Gabe shouted. “You’re quitting?”
“Absolutely not,” Burke snapped. “We’re going to keep on this until we get justice for your father and for these latest victims. I give you my word, Gabe. But we have to share information with at least André. Before, when the police had declared Rocky’s death a suicide, we could investigate on our own, to prove them wrong. But this is bigger now. We have information that could aid investigators in solving two more homicides.”
Gabe closed his eyes, grateful that Molly hadn’t let go of his hand. “I know. But I don’t trust them.”
Burke sighed again. “Neither do I. Except for André and a few others that I know personally. I don’t know how high this goes in the NOPD, but somebody knows something.”
“What are the chances that we can pay Mr. Eckert a visit in jail?” Molly asked.
Gabe opened his eyes to study her. She was calm, cool, collected, and . . .
coldly furious. Something eased in his chest. He wasn’t alone in his rage. The only difference was that she wasn’t too angry to think. It was a small comfort.
“Nil,” Burke answered. “Eckert’s a known hit man. Cops just weren’t able to get anything to stick in the past. They’re going to keep him to themselves.”
“And let him go?” Molly asked sarcastically. “Like they let the Paul Lott impersonator go?”
“If they do, we’ll be waiting to scoop him up. I promise you that.”
Molly’s throat worked as she swallowed. “Okay. I want to take Xavier to his old neighborhood today. I need to know where his neighbor lived. Is that too dangerous now?”
Burke was quiet for a long moment. “Probably,” he finally answered. “His mother tried to remember Xavier’s old address, but she could only recall the street name. It was on Center Street near the intersection with West Judge Perez in Chalmette. I’m going to show him photos of the current neighborhood on Google Earth. If he can’t remember from the pictures, you can take him. But you won’t go alone. I’ll find someone to go with you.”
Molly met Gabe’s gaze and for a moment he thought she would tell him that he couldn’t go. But she didn’t, surprising him yet again. “Gabe will go with me. I’m not leaving him alone.”
“You could bring Gabe to my cabin,” Burke suggested.
“I might afterward. For now, he stays with me.”
Burke was quiet again, then sighed. “Everyone wears Kevlar. No exceptions. I’ll have Val bring it to you after she goes to court for the arraignment. I want eyes in that courtroom.”
“Will they close the arraignment to the public?” she asked.
“Possibly. But given these charges are technically only road-rage and weapons related, probably not. If they do, I’ll contact André. I also want to know who’s financing Eckert’s attorney. And, if he makes bail, who paid it.”
“All right,” she said, her tone quiet but steely. “But I’d prefer not to wait too long for the Kevlar. I’ve got a vest with me. Can you send Phin over with vests for Gabe and Patty? We don’t have any idea of how long Val will be in court. I don’t want to waste time that I could use searching for the Katrina victim.”
“I’ll tell him. He can bring you what you need.”
She nodded once. “Thank you. Where are you?”
“At the camp. I’m with Xavier now. He couldn’t sleep. We’ll try to get an address for the Katrina victim. Hold tight until we call back.”
“Burke, wait.” It was Xavier. “Don’t hang up yet. Gabe, it’s me. I was upset yesterday that I’d dragged my friends and family into danger. What did you tell me?”
Gabe exhaled. Damn the kid. “That it wasn’t your doing. That it wasn’t your fault.”
“Yeah. Same goes. This isn’t on you. This is on the assholes who killed them.”
“I know,” Gabe said hoarsely. “But knowing it and knowing it are two different things.”
“I get it, Gabe,” Xavier said, his voice heavy with regret. “I really do.
Molly? Don’t let him feel guilty.”
Molly’s smile was small but genuine. “I won’t, Xavier. Thank you.”
Gabe ended the call and sat, clutching his phone while staring into Molly’s calm eyes. “I don’t know what to feel right now.”
She brushed his hair from his forehead, then cupped his cheek. “I know, baby. I can’t make it better right now. But we will not rest until the assholes who killed them are either dead or rotting in jail.”
He believed her. He had to believe her. She was all that was holding him together right now.
“I need to do something for Dusty. We were friends since high school. He has a wife and two little kids. I need to call her.”
“Not just yet. As soon as it’s safe, you can do whatever you think is right.
And I’ll go with you, if you want, to pay your respects to his family in person. You aren’t alone, Gabe.”
He bowed his head, resting his forehead on her shoulder. “Thank you.”
She kissed his temple. “Stay here. I’m going to check on Patty and tell Val what’s happened.”
He shook his head, following her when she rose. “No. We stay together.”
He thought she’d say he was silly because she was just going to the adjoining room, but she simply gripped his hand harder. “Together.”
