After the Night (19 page)

"Yes, I understand. I can’t think, though, that she would have killed him herself. My mother," Faith said with a faint smile, "would never kill the goose that laid the golden egg."

"But you do think that she knows what happened."

Faith nodded. "I’ve tried to get her to talk about it, but she won’t."

"I assume there’s no evidence to bring to the attention of the sheriff?"

"None. I don’t want you to find out if Guy was murdered, Mr. Pleasant, I just want you to find out, if you can, whether or not he’s alive. There
is
a remote possibility that he simply walked away from everything."

"Very remote," he said dryly. "Though I have to admit that stranger things have happened. If there’s a paper trail, though, I’ll find it. If he had been running from the law, he would have changed his name, but there was no reason for him to disguise his identity. It should be fairly easy to find out if he’s ever surfaced."

"Thank you, Mr. Pleasant." She took out a business card and gave it to him. "Here’s my number. Call me when you know something."

She left his office feeling pleased with her selection. She had contacted him first by phone, discussed his fee, and made an appointment. Then she had checked his references, and been well satisfied with the answers. Mr. Pleasant had been highly recommended by her business contacts, described as both honest and competent, the kind of person one instinctively trusted. If Guy was alive, Mr. Pleasant would find him.

She glanced at her watch. She had left Prescott early that morning and driven down to New Orleans for her appointment with Mr. Pleasant, which hadn’t taken as long as she had anticipated. Margot was in town, and Faith had made a
lunch date with her at the Court of Two Sisters. She had plenty of time to get there, so she drove back to her hotel and left the car, then set out on foot to do some window-shopping along the way.

It was steaming hot as she walked along the narrow streets of the French Quarter, and she crossed over to the shady side. She visited New Orleans frequently, because of the agency office here, but she had never really taken the time to explore this old district. Horse-drawn carriages moved slowly through the streets, with the driver and guide pointing out attractions to the tourists in the carriage. Most people, though, depended on their own feet to take them through the Quarter. Later, the main attraction would be the bars and clubs; this early in the day, shopping was the goal, and the myriad of boutiques, antiques shops, and specialty stores gave plenty of choice and opportunity to people who wanted to spend their money.

She went into a lingerie shop and bought a peach silk nightgown that looked like something one of the Hollywood movie queens would have worn back in the forties and fifties. After wearing almost nothing but hand-me-downs for the first fourteen years of her life, she felt sinfully self-indulgent about new clothes now. She could never bring herself to go on shopping binges now that she had a bit of cash, but every so often she allowed herself a luxury purchase: lace underwear, a sumptuous nightgown, a really good pair of shoes. Those small indulgences made her feel as if the bad times were truly in the past.

When she reached the restaurant, Margot was waiting for her inside. The tall blonde jumped up and hugged her enthusiastically, though it had been only a little over a week since Faith had left Dallas. "It’s so good to see you! Well, are you settling down okay in your little burg? / don’t think I’ll ever settle down again! My first business trip, and it’s to New Orleans. Isn’t this a great place? I hope you don’t mind sitting in the courtyard rather than inside. I know it’s hot, but how often do you get to eat lunch in a courtyard in New Orleans?"

Faith smiled at the barrage of words. Yes, Margot was definitely excited by her new job. "Well, let’s see. I’m
twenty-six, and this is the first time I’ve eaten lunch or anything else in a courtyard, so I’d say it doesn’t happen too often."

"Honey, I can give you ten years, so it’s even rarer than you think, and I intend to enjoy every minute." They took their seats at one of the tables in the courtyard. Actually, it wasn’t uncomfortably hot; there were umbrellas, and trees to give shade. Margot eyed the bag in Faith’s hand. "I see you’ve been shopping. What did you buy?"

"A nightgown. I would show it to you, but I don’t want to drag it out here in the middle of the restaurant."

Margot’s eyes twinkled. "That kind of nightgown, huh?"

"Let’s just say it isn’t a Mother Hubbard," Faith replied delicately, and they laughed. A smiling waiter poured water for them, the light tinkle of the ice cubes making her suddenly aware of her thirst, and how hot she had become on the walk to the restaurant. She glanced around at the other diners as she sipped the cold water, and looked straight at Gray Rouillard.

Her heart gave that immediate, betraying little jump. He was sitting, with another man whose back was to her, two tables over from her and Margot. His dark eyes gleamed as he lifted his glass of wine to her in a silent toast. She lifted the water glass in a return salute, inclining her head in a mock gracious nod.

"Do you know someone here?" Margot asked, turning in her seat. Gray smiled at her. Margot smiled in return, a rather weak effort, then turned back to Faith with a poleaxed expression on her face. "Holy cow," she said in a dazed voice.

Faith understood perfectly. The flamboyance of New Orleans suited Gray. He was wearing a lightweight, Italian-cut suit, and a pale blue shirt that flattered the olive tones of his skin. His thick black hair was brushed back from his face and secured with a bronze clasp at the nape of his neck. The tiny diamond stud glittered in his left earlobe. With the breadth of his linebacker’s shoulders and the feline grace with which he lounged at the small table, he drew the eye of every woman in the courtyard. He wasn’t pretty-boy handsome; his French ancestors had bequeathed him a thin,
high-bridged Gallic nose, slightly too long, and a heavy beard that left him with a five-o’clock shadow even at lunchtime. His jaw looked as solid as a rock. No, there was nothing pretty about Gray. What he was, was striking, and dangerously exciting, with his bold, dark eyes and the
lazy,
sensual curve of his mouth. He looked like a man who was adventurous and confident, both in bed and out.

"Who is he?" Margot breathed. "And do you know him, or are you flirting with a stranger?"

"I’m not flirting," Faith said, startled, and deliberately turned her gaze to the other side of the courtyard, away from
Gray.

Margot laughed. "Honey, that little toast you gave him said, ‘Come and get me, big boy, if you think you’re man enough.’ Do you think a pirate like that is going to ignore the challenge?"

Faith’s eyes widened. "It did not! He raised his wineglass to me, so I did the same with my water glass. Why would he think anything about it when he started it?"

"Have you looked in the mirror lately?" Margot asked, sneaking another look over her shoulder at Gray, and a smile spread across her face.

Faith made a dismissive gesture. "That has nothing to do with it. He wouldn’t – "

"He is," Margot said with satisfaction, and Faith couldn’t control a little jump as she looked around and saw Gray almost upon them,
"Ladies," he drawled, lifting Faith’s hand from the table and bowing over it with an Old World gesture that seemed entirely natural to him. Her startled eyes met his, and she saw deviltry, as well as something hot and dangerous, in those dark depths before he shielded them as he touched his lips to her fingers. His lips were soft and warm, very warm. Her heart banged painfully against her ribs and she tried to withdraw her hand, but his grip tightened and she felt the tip of his tongue probe delicately into the sensitive hollow between her last two fingers. Startled, she jumped again, and his awareness of that betraying little movement was in his eyes as he straightened and finally released her hand. He turned to Margot, bending low over the hand she had
extended with a dazed expression, but Faith noticed that he didn’t kiss Margot’s fingers. It didn’t matter. Margot couldn’t have looked more bedazzled if he had presented her with diamonds. Wondering if that same weak, yielding expression was on her face, Faith quickly looked down to disguise it, though of course it was too late. Gray was too experienced to miss any of the nuances. Her fingers tingled, and the skin between her fingers throbbed where his tongue had touched. The tiny damp spot felt both hot and cold, and she clenched her hand to dispel the sensation. Her face was burning. His action had been a subtle parody of sex, a mock penetration that her body recognized, and responded to with a pooling of heat in her lower body, a growing moistness. She could feel her nipples tighten and thrust against the lace of her bra.
Damn
him!

"Gray Rouillard," he was murmuring to Margot. "Faith and I are old acquaintances."

At least he hadn’t lied and said they were friends, Faith thought, watching tautly as Margot introduced herself, and, to her horror, asked Gray to join them. Too late, she gave Margot a warning nudge with her foot.

"Thank you," Gray said, smiling down at Margot with such charm that she didn’t react at all to Faith’s kick. "But I’m here on business, and I have to get back to my own table. I just wanted to come over and speak to Faith for a moment. Have you known each other long?"

"Four years," Margot replied, and proudly added, "I’m her district manager."

Faith nudged her ankle again, harder this time, and when Margot gave her a surprised look, she glared a warning.

"Really," Gray said, sounding interested. His gaze was sharper. "What business are you in?"

Finally having gotten the message, Margot gave Faith a swift, questioning glance.

"Nothing on your scale," Faith said, smiling at him so coolly that he shrugged, realizing he wasn’t going to gain any more information.

She exhaled with relief, but tensed again when he squatted by the table, a gracefully masculine action that brought his face more on a level with hers. It was more difficult to
hide her expression now than when he had been standing. This close, she could see the bottomless black pupils of his eyes, the glitter in them as he looked at her. "I wish I’d known you were coming to New Orleans, sweetheart. We could have driven down together."

If he thought she would dissemble in front of Margot, he had sadly mistaken her. If he thought his charm had turned her brain into mush, he was wrong there, too. How she would like to rub his nose in the fact that she was a successful businesswoman, but the past week had made her wary of giving him any information about herself. Respectability wouldn’t make any difference to either him or the town of Prescott; until – and if – she could prove that her mother hadn’t run away with his father, nothing would change his attitude. Lifting her chin, a sure sign of temper, she said, "I’d rather have walked all the way than get in a car with you."

Margot made a choking sound, but Faith didn’t spare a look for her, she kept her gaze locked with Gray’s, the battle visually joined. He grinned with a buccaneer’s reckless enjoyment of a fight.

"But we could have had a lot of fun, and shared… expenses."

"I’m sorry you’re having money problems," she said sweetly. "Perhaps your business associate will put you up if you can’t afford your own hotel room."

"I don’t have to worry about hotel expenses." The grin broadened. "I own the hotel."

Damn, she thought. She’d have to find out which one he owned, and make sure she didn’t book any tour groups into
it.

"Why don’t we have dinner together tonight?" he suggested. "We have a lot to talk about."

"I can’t imagine what. Thank you, but no." She was driving back to Prescott this afternoon, but she would much rather he think she was refusing the invitation purely because she didn’t want his company.

"It would be to your advantage," he said, and the dangerous look was back in his eyes.

"I doubt that anything a Rouillard suggested would be to my advantage."

"You haven’t listened to my… suggestions yet."

"I don’t intend to, either. Go back to your table and leave me alone."

"I’d planned on doing the first." He stood and trailed a long forefinger down her cheek. "There’s no way in hell I’ll do the last." He nodded to Margot and strolled back to his own table.

Margot blinked, her eyes owlish. "Shouldn’t I check him for wounds? You really had the knife out for him. What on earth has that dark-eyed piece of work done to make you so mad at him?"

Faith took refuge in her water glass again, sipping from it until she had her expression under control. When she lowered it, she said, "It goes back a long way. He’s a Hatfield and I’m a McCoy."

"A family feud? C’mon."

"He’s trying to run me out of Prescott," Faith said baldly. "If he found out about the travel agency, it’s possible he could cause trouble by ruining some of the tours we arrange. That would hurt our reputation, and we’d lose money. You heard him: He owns a hotel here. Not only is he filthy rich, so he has the money to bribe people to do what he wants, but he has contacts in the business. I wouldn’t put anything past him."

"Wow. This sounds serious. What started this feud, and has there ever been actual bloodshed?"

"I don’t know." Faith fiddled with her silverware, not wanting to mention her suspicion that Guy had been killed. "My mother used to be his father’s mistress. Needless to say, his family hates anyone with the name of Devlin." That would do for an explanation; she couldn’t go into the full tale, couldn’t trot out her memories of that night even for a sympathetic audience.