River Road (20 page)

Jake was a jeans kind of guy, so if I trotted out my little black dress, it might be too much. What if he thought I looked slutty? If I wore a skirt and jacket I’d look like I was headed to a business meeting, ready for more of a hostile takeover than a successful merger. Not that I was planning on a merger, but it never hurts to be prepared.

Jeans and a sweater might imply I didn’t care if I impressed him or not, which wasn’t the case. But we were going to listen to music, so I didn’t need to overdress.

Maybe I was overthinking it. I’d have to give that some more thought.

I sighed and looked around at the mess, searching out something that was sexy but not trampy, casual but not sloppy, flattering but not too dressed-to-impress. I was down to two hours and counting. I felt hopeless. My stomach ached and I kept wandering in circles, looking at the same piles of clothes and coming up with the same lack of ideas.

Tish would have laughed at me, so I would never call her for help. Eugenie would laugh at me too, but then she’d dress me like a Barbie doll, which is the level of intervention I needed.

I snatched my cell phone off the nightstand and called her. “Help me,” I whined. “Date in two hours. Nothing to wear. Freaking out here.”

Sure enough, she cawed into the phone—sort of half laugh, half snort—then hung up. Less than two minutes later, I met her at the back door. She marched in with a bright blue makeup case and an air of purpose. Dressed for a last-minute date with new neighbor Quince Randolph, she wore a purple tunic with black embroidery and a pair of dark jeans and boots.

Maybe I should go out with the new neighbor. Hippie plant guy seemed easier to prepare for than loup-garou guy.

I pulled a soda out of the fridge for her, and she stared at me in horror.

“You don’t want the soda?”

“The soda’s fine. It’s you. How long do we have?”

Well,
that
made me feel better. I looked at my watch. “One hour, forty minutes.”

“Oh my God.” Eugenie grabbed my arm and pulled me up the stairs.

I had a moment of panic as she rounded the stairwell entrance and went into the den. What if I’d forgotten to lock my library? I’d been in such a sartorial panic I hadn’t noticed. Eugenie did not need a tour of all my magical paraphernalia.

I gave an inward sigh of relief at the sight of the closed door. As far as Eugenie was concerned, I kept that room closed off to save on energy bills unless guests were expected. I thought maybe I’d talk to her soon, test her out with a little magical show-and-tell, but not tonight. I hated having to lie to her so often, and selfishly wanted a friend to really confide in.

She marched into my bedroom, cursed at the heaps of clothes on the bed and chairs, and began digging and sorting.

“I don’t really know where we’re going to dinner, but then we’re going back to the Gator to listen to Zachary Richard, and Jake’s a really casual guy.” I felt the need to speak up when she hauled out the short black mankiller dress I’d bought on a whim and never worn. I’d wear jeans and my Tipitina’s nightshirt before I wore that dress. It would scare Jake to death. Well, okay, it would scare
me
to death.

“We’ve gotta make you look taller and play up your eyes,” she mumbled, jerking out a few sweaters and turning around to study me. I felt like a teal-eyed dwarf.

She settled on a dark purple cashmere sweater. “You can’t lose with cashmere and it’s kinda cool tonight. Looks good, and soft to the touch.” She looked at me and squinted. “Remember, DJ. Touching is good.”

I thought touching Jake Warin would be very good, but however long I’d known him, it was still our first real date. I’m not exactly one of the vestal virgins, but I’m not the Happy Hooker, either.

I nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good choice. And jeans.” I picked up my favorite pair.

She jerked the stonewashed denim out of my hands. “Not happening.” Digging around on the bed with the skirts, she came up with a black flirty number short enough to make my legs look longer but not short enough to risk arrest. Ironically, the only time I’d worn it was the first time I’d met Jean Lafitte, right before Katrina. As I recall, he’d been fond of it. Maybe I’d wear it Sunday night on my date with him as well.

With Eugenie’s help, I finally managed to get dressed, including my simple black heels and gold earrings. After much discussion about the pros and cons of up-do’s and whether or not they were conducive to making out (Eugenie, who’d put in a lot more make-out time than me, said no), I wore my hair down.

She finished my makeup and stepped back to survey her handiwork, smiling. “That should earn you a wolf whistle or two.”

I laughed, a tinge of hysteria in my voice. Wolf whistle. She had no idea.

*   *   *

Jake Warin was two years older than Alex, four or five inches shorter, and the polar opposite in personality. He was laid-back where Alex was intense, better at improvising when the rulebook didn’t work, and had a better grip on his temper—at least before the loup-garou attack. And dimples.

They were the first thing I saw when I answered the back door just before seven. The last three years evaporated for a few seconds, and he was a normal human guy with no idea the prete world existed, and I was just a girl he was attracted to. Except I’d never been “just a girl,” and now he knew it.

He didn’t say a word, but smiled, stepped into the kitchen, and pulled me into a hug. He smelled like sunshine and aftershave through a silk shirt the color of copper pennies, but I noticed a tired, worried edge to his eyes. It disappeared when he smiled again. “I missed you, cupcake. It took a long road for us to get here.”

“I’m glad we did.” I led him into the double front parlors. “What’s the plan tonight?”

“I made reservations at Commander’s. That okay?” He grinned, knowing what my answer would be. I loved Commander’s.

Ask a baker’s dozen people their favorite New Orleans restaurant and you’ll get a baker’s dozen answers. Jacques-Imo’s had moved into my number-two spot, but give me any excuse for a splurge and I head straight for Commander’s.

“What time does Zachary Richard start his first set?”

“Just doing one and it starts at ten. We don’t have to be there early.” He laughed. “I know the owner.”

We made small talk on the short drive to Washington Avenue, traded stories about Ken and Alex and the extended Warin family over turtle soup and sugarcane-grilled pork and bread pudding soufflé, heavy on the whiskey sauce. An intricate tapestry of soft jazz wove through the tables, blending with the rise and fall of conversations, clinking silverware, and laughter.

“What do you think about the enforcer work so far?” I said, waiting for the coffee to arrive.

He leaned back and took a deep breath. “I think I’m gonna like it. I wish I’d finished the training right after the change, but I had to get my head around it first. I started it, then quit and came back here. It hasn’t been easy.”

I nodded. I’d grown up knowing I was different, that the world wasn’t like most people thought. Having that truth thrust on you, suddenly and violently? “I think it says a lot about how strong you are that you’ve been able to make something positive out of it.”

He reached across the table and laid his hand over mine. “I’m sorry I stayed mad at you so long.” He paused, looking at the table then back up at me. “I have to ask. You and Alex. Are you…?”

“Friends,” I said, firmly pushing The Kiss out of my mind. He’d bitten my lip, for one thing, and for another, he’d only kissed me to mess with my head. “He’s going out with Leyla Friday night. So don’t be thrown if I show up as his ‘date’”—I crooked my fingers into quotation marks—“at his mom’s birthday dinner Saturday. It’s just because he’s a chicken and doesn’t want to admit he’s been lying to her all this time.”

Jake grinned. “You’re gonna meet Norma and pretend to be Alex’s girlfriend?”

I shrugged. “We’ve been dating since Katrina, didn’t you know?”

“I hadn’t planned to go, but now I have to. You and Norma.” He shook his head, laughing. He didn’t seem jealous, and I hoped that was a sign the cousins were outgrowing their fierce rivalry.

We fought over the check, but Jake insisted on paying so I let him. I was still out for the big seafood fest all the mers had enjoyed in Buras. The Elders were waiting on a detailed expense breakdown and a report on why they should pay for it.

We stood out front while the valet went for Jake’s truck, and I closed my eyes, feeling content. The night air was crisp and cool, and being here with Jake felt right. It was nice to step away from mermen and dead wizards and the River Styx for one night.

“You ready for some music?” Jake stood behind me and slipped an arm around my shoulders. “I have it on good authority he’s going to play a couple of your favorites.”

“I do love to hear that man sing, even though it’s in French and I can’t understand most of it.” I leaned against him and smiled. The real world would come barging back in soon enough. Tonight, I was content just to be.

*   *   *

The Gator was already packed when we arrived, but Jake shepherded me to the front, where a small table sat before the stage with two chairs, two glasses, a bottle of wine, and a
RESERVED
sign in the middle.

Jake pulled out a chair for me and grinned. Here was a man who knew what a girl wanted.

For ninety minutes, we sat side by side, Jake occasionally leaning over to whisper something about a song and, once, to plant a soft kiss on my jaw. When Zachary finished with an unplugged version of “Lumière Dans le Noir,” one of my favorites, I almost purred like Sebastian.

I met Zachary without making too big an ass of myself, and finished my wine while Jake made sure the man got safely out of the bar without being hassled.

Business at the Gator continued without missing a beat. The jukebox grooved out BeauSoleil, and the crowds settled in for the night. The last I’d spent any real time here, National Guardsmen and emergency workers assigned to New Orleans for post-hurricane security comprised most of the crowd. Now, college kids and tourists slammed down hurricanes and Abitas and a bouncer stood at the door.

“Want to go upstairs for a while?” Jake held up the bottle of Riesling.

I thought of Alex’s warnings about not being alone with Jake, and realized he was just trying to manage me by planting doubts in my mind. Big jerk. Same as making me think of his talented lips when I was with Jean Lafitte.

“I’d love to.”

Jake leaned over and said something to Leyla that sent her big doe eyes narrowing in my direction, and we headed for the back.

He went into his small kitchen to get fresh glasses, and my gaze was drawn to the table. It was covered with guns, boxes of ammunition, and things I couldn’t identify but looked big and nasty and lethal.

“What’s the arsenal for?” I frowned at the biggest piece of equipment. Rocket launcher? Flamethrower? Whatever, it looked like it could kill something big.

He flicked his eyes over the collection. “Welcome to my new life, sunshine. Every monster needs its own flavor of weapon. I’m still trying to learn what all of them do, and which ones are needed for which pretes.”

He picked up a box and held it open for me to see.

“Bullets?”

“Silver,” he said. “To kill werewolves and loup-garou.”

Yikes. “You’re helping Alex with the investigation, not so much with prete calls. How much of this stuff do you really think you’ll use?”

His voice was soft. “I’m going to be killing things, DJ. Alex is doing sentinel work, not me. Enforcers don’t just investigate.”

He handed me a glass of wine and walked back into the living room, setting the bottle on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “That’s what I’m suited for now anyway. I like it, even though I think I shouldn’t. It bothers me that I want to kill things.” His grip on his wineglass tightened.

“Sometimes you don’t have a choice.” That sounded lame, but I wasn’t sure how to handle the direction this conversation was taking.

Alex had been trained as a killer, but he didn’t talk much about his enforcer runs. He liked his weapons, but seemed to have a clear vision of what was good and what was bad—and no qualms about killing what was bad. Sometimes Alex’s life outlook was too black-and-white for my taste, but Jake seemed to be wandering lost. Maybe Alex had been right to worry about him, and I had been arrogant to think he was okay.

I followed Jake into the living room, sparsely furnished with an old bookshelf full of video and stereo equipment, a couple of chairs and lamps, a beat-up coffee table, and the same old worn brown sofa that had probably been here when he and Ken first bought the bar.

I noticed an empty square on the wall that was a lighter shade of beige, where the shadowbox with his Marine Corps medals had hung. He’d taken it down. Just how much emotional trouble was he in?

Even though I’d promised myself to stay out of his head tonight, I tried to get a read on Jake’s emotions. Nothing came through but a fuzzy were signature. Loup-garou didn’t broadcast well.

I took a sip of wine, sat beside him on the sofa, and tried for an easy subject. “Tell me about your leg. Is it healed?”

He flexed his right knee and looked down at it. “Yeah, before I shifted the first time, the surgeons took out all the rods and pins and put it in a cast. I split the cast during the change and when I shifted back, it was healed. Just like I’d never been hurt except I’ll always have the scars.”

Jake had been backed off a cliff in an attack on his Marine unit in the mountains of Afghanistan in 2003. The fall saved his life, but the damage to his leg had been permanent. Or so they thought.

“Alex says you’re running again.”

His smile had an edge to it. “Yeah, like it never happened. It makes me wonder what the hell we were even doing over there.”

I frowned. “You mean in Afghanistan?”

He stared somewhere past my shoulder. “The world we were fighting to protect? Doesn’t exist, never did.” He shook his head, jaw tight. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to go there tonight.”

“But—”

“Hush.” He leaned over and put his wineglass on the coffee table and moved closer to me, taking my glass and setting it beside his. “Been thinking about you a long time, and we’re not gonna talk about anything except what’s right in this room, right now. You and me.”