A Taste of Love and Evil (7 page)

Rose noticed her fingers clenching the steering wheel. “What about compassion?”

“They can get that from someone else.” Jack leaned between the seats to scrounge in one of the bags of food for another biscuit.

“That’s so cold,” Juma said.

“You’re one to talk.” Jack slathered strawberry jam on half a biscuit, all too clearly relishing the food. “You gave up on your father, remember? Told me he was useless.”

“He
is
useless! He fries his brain with drugs, he was in and out of jail while I was a kid—and yeah, it was a lie, he’s not in jail right now—and he never stands up for me against my grandmother. Apart from giving me cool books, he does the same stupid stuff over and over…” Her mouth hung open, toast dangling from her hand. “Oh. I see what you mean.” She took a bite of toast and chewed thoughtfully.

“Still,” Rose protested, “if people’s lives are in danger—”

“I give them a chance to start over.” Jack punctuated his statement with a burp.

“Gross.” Juma opened a bag for Jack to drop his trash inside.

“And if it doesn’t work out, you just abandon them?” Rose said.

“No,” he replied impatiently. “I don’t abandon them. Gil puts them in touch with the agencies that usually handle this sort of thing.” Jack drained his orange juice and dropped the cup into the trash as well. “I do what I can, but they’re not my responsibility. Why should I care more about them than they do about themselves?” Rose heard him slide down onto his back on the bench seat. “Wake me up when we get close to Calico, or if you want me to take the wheel.”

Juma spread peanut butter on a triangle of toast and
handed it to Rose. “People have to give their relatives more chances, though, right?”

“I suppose.” Rose bit into the toast, thinking about all the chances she’d given her mother until she’d finally given up instead.

“My mother died of an overdose when I was a baby. Dad says she wasn’t much of a loss, but I would have given her a chance if I could’ve. She couldn’t possibly be worse than Grandma.” Juma scrunched up her face and peered at Rose. “You have a useless family, too?”

“I haven’t seen them in years. My mother didn’t want me when I was a kid, and she couldn’t stand me in my teens.” Rose paused, hearing Jack shift on the backseat. “Everything was my fault. I’d ruined her life, and I was ruining her marriage, too, and I was sure to ruin my little sisters’ lives as well.” She waited for Jack’s contemptuous snort. It didn’t come. “But she fed and clothed me, so I wouldn’t call her useless.”

“How could she not love you?” Juma was indignant. “You’re so nice.”

“Thanks, Juma. I try.”

“What about your dad?”

“Never met him,” Rose said. “I’m the product of a brief affair. Even when I was old enough to understand, Mom refused to talk about him.” Jack shifted again behind her. Rose squared her shoulders. “Except, of course, to tell me all my bad qualities came from him. One day when she was ranting and raving, I got so fed up I said, ‘Then where do my good qualities come from? Because they’re definitely not from you!’”

“Go, Rose!” Juma said. In the backseat, Jack let out a long slow breath and turned over.

“For my own sanity, I decided I was who I was, and that I didn’t care what she thought anymore. At sixteen, I left home for good.” She paused, fighting to keep her voice cool.
“I still miss my sisters.” She hit the power button on the CD player and let Jason Mraz take over. Juma pulled a paperback out of her pocket and hunched down over it, and a couple of CDs later they reached the outskirts of Calico, Mississippi.

Rose shut down Dave Matthews in midgrowl. “Wake up, Jack. We’re here.”

Five minutes later they pulled into the parking lot of a squat, white, asbestos-shingled house with five uncontrolled camellia bushes blooming deeply, ecstatically pink behind a chain-link fence. The house had been converted into a store with a tired-looking sign:
DICK’S BOOKS.

“We’re meeting her at a bookstore?” Delight suffused Juma’s voice. “I absolutely 1—” She cut off whatever she was about to say and cast Rose an anxious glance.

“The perfect place to wait,” smiled Rose. “I can spend hours in a bookstore.”

Juma beamed. “I could live in a bookstore.” She stuffed the paperback into her jacket pocket and hopped out of the van.

“We won’t be here long.” Jack let himself out the side door. “I hope.”

Juma scowled. “You have a problem with books?”

“No, I have a problem with waiting for someone who doesn’t show up.”

“That’s a lousy attitude,” Rose said as Juma scurried into the store.

“It’s a realistic one,” Jack replied.

Two hours and several craft books later, Rose had to admit Jack was right. He spent half an hour discussing poetry with Juma before settling down in the magazine section. Juma, alternating between
Beowulf
and a collection of Restoration plays, seemed entirely engrossed and even happy.

Rose couldn’t concentrate for worrying about the abused woman. After another hour, surfeited with crochet patterns
and craft ideas, and aware of the increasingly annoyed glances of the sole clerk manning the almost empty store, she asked Jack, “Have you spoken to Gil again?”

He glanced up from
Musician.
His eyes were bleak. “No news.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.” His voice was flat and cold.

“You must have some idea,” Rose insisted. “Some sort of backup plan.”

“When the time comes, I’ll decide.”

She could at least see to other matters. “Juma and I are hungry. How about you? I could pick something up for you.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” He took out his wallet and offered her a fifty. “There’s a burger joint across the road.” After a moment, Rose took the money and went. Jack’s long, slow sigh followed her all the way to the door.

“She made you leave school?”

There,
thought Juma,
she already doesn’t believe me.
Frowning deeply, Rose took a huge bite of her burger. Juma gave her a grossed-out look in return.
I want it raw,
Rose had told the waiter, an older guy who’d blushed like a kid.
If the cook won’t do that, make it barely seared,
she’d added, with an emphasis on the
barely.
Juma began to wonder if Rose was into some sort of kink. Regardless, she exuded something that majorly affected guys.

Whatever. If Rose wanted to kiss random truckers and get crude with over-the-hill waiters, it was her business. Juma’s business was to make use of Rose for as long as possible. Lie to her, or tell the truth? Nobody ever believed the truth. Once they met Grandma, they really didn’t.

But Rose wouldn’t meet Grandma, because Juma was never, ever going back. That thought sent a warm glow through her, from her fingertips all the way to her heart. But she had to play her cards exactly right.

Rose tipped her head to one side, reaching out a hand to finger Juma’s two ties. “Remind me to give you another tie tonight. I’ve got one that suits the green better than the orange you’re wearing, and it’ll work well with your dark hair, too.”

“Thanks.” Juma couldn’t afford to let Rose’s kindness turn her soft. Their food came, and she squeezed a little pile of ketchup onto her plate. She opened her mouth to lie, but the truth came out instead. “On my sixteenth birthday, Grandma locked me in my room and went to the school and unen-rolled me.” It was too much info, but she couldn’t unsay it. Shakily, she smothered the ketchup with Crystal hot sauce and stirred it with a fry.

Rose’s appalled gaze went from the ketchup to Juma’s face. “Why? It makes no sense!”

“It does when you’re warped like Grandma.” She ate the fry. “To go to cosmetology school, I have to have done tenth grade and be at least sixteen. I’m a year ahead, so I already had tenth grade.” More info! Ack! After she’d done so well not telling Jack anything that mattered, this totally sucked. She took a bite of hamburger. Maybe if her mouth were stuffed with food, she wouldn’t blab anymore.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t chew forever. After she swallowed, Rose asked, “Why didn’t you just reenroll yourself?”

“I tried, but they wouldn’t listen. I wish my mother was alive. She would have
made
them reenroll me.” She made the next bite last, but Rose’s inquiring look didn’t go away, and eventually, Juma had to say something.

“They went on and on about rules and regulations, and how I had to go to a different school on the other side of the parish once I’d left the regular system.” She swirled a fry through the doctored ketchup. “I don’t know if that was true or just bullshit because they’re scared of Grandma.”

“Why would the school system be scared of an old lady?”

“She knows everybody’s dirty secrets. People step carefully
around Grandma.” Juma shrugged. “I had no transportation to the other school, so it didn’t matter.”

Except that since she’d left school in the middle of the semester, she’d failed all her classes, majorly skewing her average. This meant she wouldn’t get a scholarship to Hellebore University. She’d been counting on that her entire life.

“Of course it matters,” Rose said. “If you were a year ahead, you must be on the college track.”

Juma nodded glumly. She would get to college if it killed her, even if she had to take the GED and wait a zillion years until they considered her mature. The whole world was in league against anyone who didn’t follow their ridiculous rules, but she wouldn’t knuckle under. If she was ancient before she got her doctorate, so be it. She wouldn’t let Grandma defeat her. She’d do whatever she had to do—no matter what—to win, including keeping her mouth shut about anything that would help identify her.

She polished off her burger, smothered the rest of the fries in ketchup, and finished those, too. Unfortunately, Rose ate slowly, contemplatively, as if she savored every bite of that disgustingly bloody meat. Instead of fries, she’d ordered a second burger.

Juma sucked down the rest of her Coke. She got a toothpick and meticulously picked her teeth. She went to the restroom, but she could only spend so long there. When she got back to the table, Rose was still munching away.

“Don’t worry,” Rose said. “We’ll get you enrolled in an alternative school, no problem.”

Oh, crap. Rose actually meant what she was saying. If only—

It all came pouring out. “That’s really sweet of you, but if I try to finish school someplace else, they’ll send for my records, and Grandma will find me and drag me home and lock me up until I agree to be a hairdresser. And what with no sheets to climb down anymore, and the window boarded
up and the hole in the wall fixed, and nothing sharp left in my room, I don’t know how I’ll get away again.”

“She can’t lock you up! It’s illegal!” Rose said stupidly.

“That won’t stop her,” Juma said. “It sucks to be in the dark for days.”

That familiar look of disbelief blanketed Rose’s features. Every adult got it sooner or later. Too much truth for them to bear.

Juma stood, putting on her best cocky grin. “Just for future reference, when did you start not believing me?”

Getting Rose to accept that fifty should have felt like a victory. Instead, her scrutiny and acceptance meant she was considering Jack’s feelings. Bottom line: he owed her even more.

This was getting ridiculous. Unfortunately, that didn’t make it any less painful. Perhaps the smothering necessity of gratitude was similar to the oppression Gil suffered when women succumbed to his voice. His talent helped evaluate rescues on the phone, but he couldn’t carry on a normal relationship with a woman. Bloody gifts. Constantine Du-fray’s telepathic abilities seemed to have backfired on him, too, and as for Rose, she’d lost her entire family because she was a vamp.

Jack found himself recalling his blessings—his endlessly patient mother, and his sneaky, disloyal jerk of a father, from whom he got both his chameleon ability and an endless supply of money—and shuddering at the weight of it all.

He lowered himself into a tattered leather easy chair by the front windows of the bookshop and flipped through
Guitar
magazine. Not that he expected to find anything useful about Constantine Dufray any more than in
Musician,
but it was the best he could do to pass the time. He had a bad feeling about Linda Dell. She’d pleaded with him not to come near her house, and since he couldn’t tell her about his camo, he’d had to agree.

She’d had her chance. In another hour or so, he’d have to leave. Another failure in an occupation—if you could call it that—plagued with failures.
Just let it go.
Back to Dufray, whose concert tour was almost done. He’d be back in Bayou Gavotte in a couple of days. Time to meet Constantine, assess him, and put the proposal before him.

Jack snorted at the notion of assessing Constantine, who was probably the most dangerous individual he had ever met. Dufray didn’t run the underworld—his sometime drummer, Leopard, did that—but only a fool would fail to recognize Constantine’s importance. After months scoping out the underworld, checking out all the clubs, and evaluating Bayou Gavotte’s potential as a safe haven for battered women, Jack was back to square one: it all hinged on Constantine Dufray. Did he enforce the safety standards the clubs boasted, or did he turn a blind eye?

He didn’t, if Constantine was the same person Jack had once known, but time and circumstances changed people. Could Jack commit his rescues and their shattered lives to a town controlled by a man who had, quite possibly, murdered his wife?

“Ooh, Constantine Dufray. Sex-y!”

Christ. Jack stood and gave Juma the chair and the magazine. Rose came up, holding out a paper bag from which wafted the unexpectedly welcome aroma of burger and fries. “You need to keep up your strength.”

He would never be able to even the balance at this rate.
He thanked her, making an effort to hide his dismay, but she was already looking over Juma’s shoulder at the magazine.

“He’s the sexiest Native American in the whole world.” Juma drooled over the photo of Constantine naked past his navel, with his long black hair flying and a sultry pout.

“He’s even more attractive in real life,” Rose said. “I met him backstage at a concert.”

Juma clapped a hand to her chest, mimicking a swoon. “Oh, you lucky, lucky thing! Do you think he really did poison his wife?”

Surprisingly, Rose didn’t come out with a vehement denial. “I hope not. He was sweet to me, but I think he would be capable of almost anything. He scared the shit out of my jealous boyfriend with just a look.”

That sounded right. The police hadn’t arrested Constantine, who’d been two hundred miles away performing at a club when his wife died, but the media had had a field day and bizarre theories were rife. Seemingly random outbursts of violence at his recent concerts fueled the speculation even further. Most reasonable people wouldn’t believe that stuff, but Jack knew better. Where Constantine was concerned, bizarre and violent were all too likely to be true.

“Did you know he lives in Bayou Gavotte?” Juma said. “He’s not just a rock star. He’s one of the vigilantes Jack told you about. Even if he didn’t kill his wife, he’s probably killed a bunch of other people. They say he scares people to death without even coming near them, so he never gets caught. All bad guys, of course.”

That didn’t make it right. And yet, violent crimes against women were almost nonexistent in Bayou Gavotte. Not for the first time, Jack wondered if he was afraid not for the rescues but for himself. When the eight-year-old Constantine, his best friend in the world, had up and disappeared one day, he’d gone through rage and misery and loneliness, and then gotten over it. When Constantine surfaced years
later as a violent rock star, Jack wasn’t all that surprised, but he didn’t try to contact him. Childhood friendships don’t usually rekindle well.

It wasn’t a matter of friendship anymore. He needed someplace safer and more manageable than New Orleans. Someplace where he could better maintain a low profile and keep this gig separate from the conventional charities his father dragged him into: committees, administration, fundraisers, wining and dining the wealthy.

Talk to Dufray. What’s the worst that can happen?

In his pocket, Rose’s cell phone rang. He read the display and flipped the cell phone open. “Rose’s line.”

“Damn it, where is she? This is an emergency!”

“Miles, my friend. It’s Jack again. Shall I give you to Rose?”

Rose took the phone and marched away, frowning. “What is it, Miles?”

“Your customer,” Miles said. “Violet Dupree. She’s the one who stole the Elizabethan gown.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Who told you that?”

“It’s a scam,” Miles said. “She pays the deposit, steals the goods when they’re ready, and then demands a refund.”

“That makes no sense at all. She needs the dress for—” Rose stopped herself just in time, glancing around. Juma was by the bookshelves, while Jack flipped through Sports
Illustrated
a few feet away. She had promised Violet Dupree to keep the whole thing secret, start to finish. “Some sort of social function. Lots of people will see it.” She swung away and went out the front door. “What idiot fed you this hogwash?” As if she didn’t already know.

“I know you don’t like Titania, but I won’t have you speak of her that way,” Miles said. “Titania says Violet chooses small businesses hundreds of miles away who can’t afford to follow up, and if we do, she has underworld connections who
can make our lives very uncomfortable, to say the least. I knew we shouldn’t have taken this job.”

Anxiety pricked at Rose. She shook it away and let anger take its place. How dared Titania feed Miles such lies? A mother and her chattering daughter brushed past and into the bookstore. Rose took a calming breath and reached through the fence to finger a camellia.

“Titania says she’s known Violet forever,” Miles said. “They went to school together in New Orleans. She says Violet’s father was a gangster, and Violet is just as bad.”

Rose sucked in another attempt at a deep, soothing breath. The camellia showered pink petals onto the ground. “Even if I believed that, which I don’t, I can take care of myself.”

“Rose, you left Chicago to get away from shady characters, not to end up in even worse company. Titania says Violet’s not a safe person for you to know.”

“I’m not going to date the woman, Miles.” She paced away from the bookstore, turned, and paced back. “I’m just making a costume for her.” She paced away again.
And if you say “Titania says” one more time
—

“Titania says you’re in danger. If Violet finds out you’re on to her, there’s no telling what she’ll do to make sure you keep your mouth shut. Titania says you need to turn around right now and come back to Chicago. She says—”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what Titania says!” Rose clapped the phone shut. At a small sound behind her, she swiveled.

Jack stood by the fence, his face harsh and grim. When had he come outdoors? And why was he looking at her like that?

Rose got a grip on herself. “What are you doing out here?”

He didn’t reply, and his eyes cut into her like ice picks. He must have sneaked out and camouflaged himself while the mother and her talkative daughter went in; otherwise
she would have noticed. “You were eavesdropping! Weren’t you?”

He had the grace to look abashed, but only for a second. He nodded.

Unbelievable. “Why?”

He took his time. “Let’s just say I need to know everything that’s going on.”

“‘Let’s just say’? What’s that supposed to mean?” Her fangs bucked in her gums, and she forced them back in their slots. “Tell me the truth!”

“It’s complicated. There’s a lot going down just now.”

“What does that have to do with me? I saved your sorry ass, remember?”

“I do remember, and I appreciate it, but under the circumstances I need to take note of everything going on around me, and that includes you.”

“Because you don’t trust me.” Rage boiled up and her fangs slotted down. “And why should you? I’m an animal, and a destructive one at that. You’d better start running. Closer than a hundred yards, and no telling what might happen.”

“I apologize for that, Rose. If I’d known you could hear me, I—”

“What does it matter whether I could hear you? The truth is the truth.”

“That wasn’t the truth, it was prejudice speaking, and I should know better.”

She licked her fangs, considering and rejecting this feeble attempt at recovery. “Regardless, you can’t bring yourself to trust me. Is that why you wouldn’t tell me what you’re planning to do about Linda?”

He hesitated, and that was enough to send Rose through the roof. “You think I’d do something to jeopardize an abused woman? Are you out of your mind?” Rose clamped her mouth shut to muffle a scream.

Jack raised his hands in a patronizing male gesture. “No, I don’t think that. I didn’t tell you what I was planning because I didn’t know yet.”

“Bullshit.” Rose’s phone rang again. She stormed away, flipping it open. “Damn it, Miles—”

“Don’t hang up on me. This is serious. I don’t know what to do. I can’t pay the woman back her deposit and neither can you, but at least I can get you here where you’re safe.”

“We won’t have to pay her back,” Rose said, struggling to sound confident and calm. “I’m making another costume, remember? Did you ship the supplies?” She sucked her fangs slowly into their slots, and this time they stayed put. Jack leaned against the wall, shamelessly listening now. She lowered her voice and walked away along the fence. Let him follow if he dared.

“Yes, but Titania says it’s no use. Violet will tell us it’s too late, that she’s lost confidence in us. She’ll demand her money back and order a costume from someone else, and if we don’t pay her, she’ll sue.” His voice dropped. “You know how slow business is. I don’t even have insurance anymore. I’ll have to file for bankruptcy.”

“You will not go bankrupt.” She yanked a camellia and it sprang from her hand, recklessly flinging petals to earth. “If she reneges, I’ll find a way to keep you afloat.”

“Rose, I appreciate the thought, but you can’t possibly find the kind of money I need.”

“Yes, I can,” Rose said, her morale plummeting like the deep pink petals at the prospect. “I promise.”
I’ve done it before. I can do it again.

She yanked her morale by its bootstraps and scrounged up the most cheerful voice she could find. There was no reason to believe a word Titania said. She was a thief. Since the original gown was gone, she had the audacity to expect Rose to trot right back to Chicago and make another, so she could steal that instead. “Don’t worry, Miles. I’m good at getting
money when I need to. Everything will be fine.” This time she said good-bye before hanging up. She shut the phone and sank slowly onto the curb.

Bootstraps or no, her anxiety must have shown, for Jack approached, stopping a few feet away. “Anything I can do?”

She revved herself up enough to say, “It’s my problem, not yours, and you had no business listening, and if you were a decent human being, you’d let my private conversations be just that—private.”

“I mean it. If there’s something I can do to help—”

“Stop it! You don’t owe me anything.”

“It’s got nothing to do with owing you,” he said. “If you need help—”

“I don’t,” she gritted. “It’s my problem and I’ll deal with it.”

He blew out a long breath. “Right.” He lowered himself beside her. “Now, about tonight.”

So, Titania was involved. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. Violet’s little game made sense now. What a delicious revenge, to have Jack help foil her archenemy. He had no problem appreciating the humor in that.

Except that Rose was involved as well. Violet should be thrashed for endangering her, and his blood boiled at the thought of Rose anywhere near Titania. Jesus. Rose would be safer sleeping with Dufray, whom she found so attractive. Sweet, she’d called him.

Wait. Why in hell was he jealous of Dufray, when he had no intention of succumbing to Rose’s charms himself? He needed to explain himself to her, though. She’d taken everything wrong, but when she’d licked her fangs, he’d gone totally blank.

Rose had lovely fangs, tiny and sharp, gleaming white on either side of her sweet pink tongue. Moist, delicious lips, glorious breasts, and in the women’s showers, she’d been
right to undress behind the curtain. He wouldn’t have been able to prevent himself from scanning her luscious curves.

No.

He forced his mind away from the sex bomb beside him and let his gaze roam across the bookstore parking lot, past the burger joint on the other side of the road to the sun setting behind a stand of pines. At least Rose hadn’t jumped up and stomped away the moment he approached her. She sat hunched over a little—a crying shame for such a tall, vibrant woman—looking utterly dejected. He longed to put an arm around her, pull her close, and tell her everything would be all right. Wished he could borrow Gil’s soothing voice, so she would believe him, so she would feel safe and confide in him.

How the hell was he supposed to protect a woman who couldn’t stand him?

“It’ll be dark soon,” he said. “I promised Linda Dell I wouldn’t go near her place, so I couldn’t risk it in daylight. Too many neighbors might have caught a glimpse of me, and even if I had a tranquilizer gun they would have noticed the dogs were out cold, so I—”