Hall, Jessica (14 page)

"No." Shame, not desire, made her shiver. She didn't want
Caine, but she couldn't stop her body from responding to the stimulation.
"I'm disgusted."

"With me?" He cupped the back of her neck and tipped her
chin up to brush a featherlight kiss over her lips. "Or yourself? Maybe
those city boys didn't teach you right."

Dread settled in the pit of her stomach as she remembered
something Marc had told her. "If Marc had become governor, he would have
introduced new legislation to hire more Fish and Game wardens, to stop illegal
harvesting and smuggling. That would have put you and your friends out of
business. You knew that."

Caine lifted his head. "Now he won't. Run along,
Isabel."

She wanted to shriek at him, to claw his face. "I never
thought you'd follow in your father's footsteps, Caine."

His smirk disappeared. "You don't know the first thing about
me."

She remembered falling onto Marc's body, and the blood on her
hands. "Did you kill him, Caine?"

"No, but I'm glad he's dead." Now he had his hands on
the lapels of her stolen lab coat, but there was nothing seductive about it.
"You got anything else you want to say to me before I toss your smart ass
in the river?"

"You're pathetic." She looked at his crew, who were
silently watching the exchange. The impassive faces outraged her. "Don't
you know what they'll do? Marc LeClare was a powerful man. The police
will
come
in here looking for Billy, and anyone who helps him
will
go to prison.
Including your idiot boss here. Then who's going to provide for your wives and
your children?"

An angry murmur ran through the crew.

Caine didn't like that. "You'd best worry about who's gonna
take care of you now,
chère."

A shadow separated from the trees, and dull metal glinted as a man
pointed a gun at Caine's head. "That's enough," J. D. said. "Let
her go."

The big Cajun slowly took his hands from the white lab coat.
"Well, now, ain't this a night for reunions?"

Sable stared at J. D., torn between horror and relief. How had he
known where she would go? Would he get her out of here?

"Come here, Sable." J. D. kept his aim level and motionless.
"Now."

The crew moved forward, forming a tight wall behind Sable and
Caine. She glanced over her shoulder and saw oyster knives appear in tight
hands. "This isn't finished, Caine. I'm going to tell them."

"You do that, Isabel." The big man gave her a small
push
in J. D.'s direction. "But take your cop boyfriend on outta here first,
before he ends up like
your
daddy."

Moriah watched as Laure sobbed against Elizabet Gamble's shoulder.
She wished she could do the same, but anger and guilt had somehow frozen her
inside.

She'd tried to do what she could for Laure after she'd met her at
the police station, but when Moriah had seen Isabel Duchesne, it had rendered
her almost completely speechless.

Of course Laure had adored her husband, and was simply devastated.
Moriah knew she should have been able to say something, summon some words of
condolence, but instead she'd merely hovered and tried not to think about
Isabel Duchesne, or how she could have known Marc LeClare.

She'd failed, naturally. She had never completely forgotten about
Sable. The image of the shy girl in her cheap lace dress had haunted her for
years.

Moriah had called her mother, but she was out shopping, so she had
been obliged to drive Laure home. The only other person she could think to call
was Elizabet Gamble, who happened to be one of Laure's oldest friends. She had
come, and was now providing the sympathy and comfort Moriah couldn't.

She was glad that Elizabet and Louie had come, but Moriah had
never felt more useless in her life.

A kind hand touched her shoulder. "Why don't we go on into
the kitchen?" Louie Gamble murmured. "Give the ladies some time to
talk."

Moriah nodded and followed Elizabet's husband out of the parlor
and down the hall to the darkened kitchen. Laure had sent the horrified
servants home earlier, but the cook had left out gourmet cold meats, cheeses,
and sliced breads on one of the counters. Take
out containers from
Krewe of Louis stood in neat stacks beside the sandwich platters.

Funeral food,
Moriah's mother called it.
People
like to have something to nibble on when someone dies. Makes them feel better.

Her stomach clenched tighter as she looked away from the expensive
spread. "I don't think I can eat anything, Louie."

"You sit down." He guided her to a chair, then took off
his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Unlike his sons, Louie Gamble was a
short, stocky man who paid no attention to his own receding silver hair and the
extra pounds he carried. He went through the cabinets with the confidence of a
man who had spent most of his adult life in a kitchen, and in a few minutes had
a pot of hot tea and some shortbread on the table.

Moriah accepted the tea he poured for her and tried to summon a
grateful smile. She felt cold, so cold that it wouldn't have surprised her to
see frost form over the steaming cup between her palms. "Thank you."

When she didn't add anything to the brew, he reached across and
put two spoons of sugar in her cup. "It'll help," he assured her,
stirring it in. "You feel like talking about what happened down at the
police station?"

Politely she took a sip of the too-sweet tea. "They wanted to
get a statement or something, but Laure was too upset to talk to anyone. There
were reporters all over the place. They went crazy when they saw that
girl."

Seeing Sable had shocked her, but not as much as seeing J. D. with
his arm around her. For a moment she felt as if they had all been transported
back in time to that night of the dance, only J. D. was there and saw what
Moriah and the others had done.

Does she remember me? What if she tells him?

"I expect they'll send someone to the house to talk with
Laure tomorrow." Louie rubbed his forehead. "Can you stay with her,
honey?"

"Of course." No matter how she felt, there was no
question of her leaving the poor woman alone. "I'll take care of her, and
I'm sure my mother can come over in the morning." Her hands started
trembling again, and she set down the cup quickly.

He watched her hands. "I could ask Eliza to stay with
you."

"No, we'll be fine." She met his kind gaze. "Louie,
do you remember Sable Duchesne?"

"Of course I do." He thought for a minute. "You
knew her, too, didn't you? Back at Tulane?"

What would he say if she told him that she and her friends had
tortured the girl?

"I remember her dating J. D.," Moriah said, keeping her
expression blank. "I think they broke up right before he graduated."
Thanks
to what we did.
"I didn't know her very well."

"She was a sweet girl. Odd that Marc never mentioned her to
me." Louie took a piece of shortbread and absently crumbled it over his
napkin. "J. D. will look after her."

Moriah hadn't given J. D. a single thought since Laure had called
her from the police station. When the desk sergeant had told Moriah he'd be the
detective handling the case, she had still been too shocked about Marc's death
to register it. The disbelief and misery inside her gave way to new humiliation
and anger. J. D. had been questioning Sable Duchesne when Moriah went to meet
him for lunch. Terri Vincent must have known about that, and yet she hadn't
breathed a word to her.

J. D. had never looked twice at Moriah when he'd been dating Sable
in college. He'd been crazy in love with the Cajun girl, and everyone had known
it. Especially Moriah.

Her only thoughts had been of poor Laure, until she'd seen J. D.
and Sable come out of the elevator. She'd seen the way J. D. had looked at her.

That was mainly why Moriah hadn't been thinking about him. J. D.
had never looked at her like that.

Elizabet Gamble quietly entered the kitchen. "I talked Laure
into lying down in her room. Hopefully she'll sleep for a few hours." She
began putting away the food. "Moriah, will you be all right here by
yourself with her tonight? I'll come back first thing in the morning."

Moriah nodded quickly as she got up from the table to help her.
"Thank you so much for coming."

"I'm glad you called us, honey." Elizabet pressed a
brief kiss to her forehead before turning to her husband. "Would you go
and bring the car around, Louie? Moriah and I will put these things away."

Her husband paused long enough to give Moriah an affectionate hug
before leaving the kitchen.

Elizabet's smile vanished as soon as her husband was out of
hearing range. "Did you hear about the girl they found with Marc?"

"Isabel Duchesne." Moriah snapped the top back over a
container of chopped chicken liver. "I saw her at the police
station."

"Why would Marc have anything to do with that girl?"

Moriah had no love for Sable, but J. D.'s mother loathed her. What
his friends had done ten years ago had actually been for Elizabet. Oh, she
hadn't come right out and told them to do anything to the girl, but
she'd
made it plain she'd be very happy to see Sable and J. D. break up. Moriah and
her friends had taken it from there.

"I don't know." She took a handful of crackers and
stuffed them into a plastic bag, breaking most of them in the process.
"They're saying she was involved with him."

"I'm sure they'll be saying all kinds of things, but I knew
Marc." Elizabet thumped a roll of foil on the counter. "He was never
unfaithful to his wife."

Moriah sighed. "Are you sure about that?"

"As sure as I am of you, honey." The older woman put an
arm around her shoulders. "Now, if s up to us and the rest of Laure's
friends to make sure that the truth is known. We can do that, can't we?"

J. D. remained motionless as Sable left the dock and walked toward
him. Gantry and his men made no moves to come after her, but he wasn't taking
any chances, not with all the knives they were carrying. He didn't like the way
the big Cajun was watching Sable, either—of all of them, Gantry would be the
most trouble.

As soon as she came within reach, J. D. hauled her back against
him. With one arm locked around her waist, he dragged her into the shadows, out
of sight.

"J. D., I—"

"Shut up."

Though there were some angry mutters, the fishermen turned around
and went back to work. Gantry remained on the dock, staring in their direction.

Sable touched J. D.'s arm, straining away from him. "I
won't—"

"I said, shut up." He turned her around and
maneuvered
her through the scrub, then marched her down the dirt road, keeping one hand
clamped on the back of her neck.

She didn't resist, though his pace and the uneven surface made her
stumble once or twice. When he felt sure no one was coming after them, he
pushed his gun back into his shoulder holster, although he left the strap off
in case he'd have to get at it again. The old man's car was where she'd left
it, the keys still in the ignition. He marched her past it to his own car.

Sable stopped by the driver's-side door. She was staring at the
ground, her shoulders hunched. "I'm sorry."

"Did he hurt you?" he demanded, looking all over her. He
hadn't seen any wounds in the lights from the dock, but it was almost
pitch-black here and he wanted to be sure.

She shook her head.

"Good."

He shoved her back against the car, pushing one of his thighs
between hers, pinning her there with his weight. Her hands got caught between
their bodies, one against his chest, the other sandwiched by his hip and her
stomach. It didn't matter—she wouldn't be needing her hands for the next few
minutes. He pulled her head back by the hair, too fast for her to do more than
gasp.

That was fine, too—he wanted her mouth open for him.

He thought kissing her would be better than strangling her, and it
was. Much better. Her lips were just as lush and soft as he remembered, and
offered no resistance.

Not that J. D. would have tolerated any, even for a second. After
ten years of not knowing what had
happened to her, and everything
she'd put him through today, and then seeing Gantry all over her?

He'd earned this much.

Her mouth tasted cool and sweet and slammed into him like the
recoil of a .45 rapid-firing at a range target.

J. D. felt her fingers curl into his jacket as he spread his hand
over her scalp, angling her face against his. Frustration and rage and fear
made him rough, and he tasted a trace of her blood on his tongue, but she took
that without opposition as well. She was taking everything he gave her without
a sound, and that silent submission made the snarling desire inside him swell
to the edge of madness.