Hall, Jessica (30 page)

"Touch me."

"Touch you... like this?" She watched his face as she
ran her fingertips in a feathery caress from the fluted opening at the top down
to the base of his shaft. "Or like... this?" She bent her head, and
did the same with her tongue before lifting up to look at him again.

"Christ." He tangled a hand in her hair, urging her lips
toward the swollen, straining head. "Put your mouth on me."

Her breath caressed him again for an agonizing moment before her
lips parted and she drew him into the incredibly soft, wet heat of her mouth.
It took every ounce of his self-control not to thrust himself deeper as she
gently sucked on him.

"Sable." The way she used her tongue made him groan and
wrap her hair around his fist. They'd never tried this back in college, and
from her tentative touch he suspected she hadn't much experience with it since.
"Have you done this before?"

"No." She met his gaze, concerned now. "Am I
awful?"

He wanted to laugh, but settled for a tender smile. "No,
baby. You're doing fine."

She drew back and reached for his other hand, then brought it to
her face. She stared up across his knotted abdomen at him as she rubbed her
cheek against his palm. "Show me how."

His eyes narrowed to slits as her mouth took him again, and he
guided her head up and down. "Don't try to take too much. Tell me when to
stop." Pushing into her lips this way, inch by slow inch, was sheer
torture—but he wouldn't hurt her this time.

She wasn't stopping, though. She kept taking more and more of him,
sucking at him and rubbing her tongue along the sides of him as he glided over
her tongue and deep into the slick, tight pleasure of her mouth. He heard and
felt the sounds she made—a low, yearning, eager hum that spilled from her
throat and caressed him as much as her lips.

"Isabel." He didn't want it to end, but he felt his
balls drawing up and tightening and knew he was only a minute from exploding.
He tried to urge her away. "Baby, stop, I'm gonna come."

She wouldn't let go of him—if anything she drew him deeper. Seeing
her mouth sliding over him, feeling the wet heat and the rhythmic tug, and
hearing the sounds she made pushed him over the edge. J. D. held her head as
the first surge shot out of him, and still she sucked and swallowed, taking
everything he gave her.

When he had shuddered out the last, she closed her eyes and rested
her cheek against his hip, letting him slide from her lips to the gentle cradle
of her fingers. For a long time he lay like that with her, waiting for his
heart to stop trying to jump through the wall of his chest.

"Jean-Del?"

He rubbed his hand against her hair. "Hmmmm?"

"Why didn't you teach me to do this before?" she
murmured, stroking him.

"I don't know. I think we would have gotten to it eventually."
He drew her up into his arms, turning so that they lay on their sides, and
brushed a tangle of
hair back from her misty eyes. "Oh, baby, don't cry on me
now."

"Can't help it." She blinked. "All these years, and
I never stopped missing you. God, we've lost so much time."

He caught the first tear as it beaded on her lashes, then
transferred it to her bottom hp, spreading it across the slightly swollen curve
before he kissed it away. "But we found each other, and I'm never letting
you go again."

She kissed him back; then she went still and raised her head.
"Look."

The late news broadcast was on the television, and a photo of
Caine Gantry was featured beside the anchorwoman. J. D. reached for the remote
on the side table and raised the volume.

"—charges against the commercial fisherman have been dropped.
Officials refuse to comment, but a source inside the NOPD claimed lack of
evidence as the reason Gantry was released."

As Cort pulled up the old Crowley parish arson case files, one of
the task force investigators looked around the edge of his door. "Marshal,
I got some guy on the phone, says he wants to talk only to you."

"Take a message."

"He said he has some real good
lagniappe
for
you."

Cort's head snapped up. "I'll take it. Close the door."
As soon as he did, he picked up the phone and punched the blinking hold button.
"Porter?"

"Nah, this is George. I work for Ronnie." The voice was
oily-smooth. "So I hear you lost a brother. Any money in finding
him?"

"Depends. How do you know if s my brother?"

"He's diddling the pretty redhead who got her picture in the
paper."

Cort heard someone arguing on the other side of his office door.
One of the voices was Terri's. "Where?"

"What's in it for me?"

"Fifty."

"Maybe you got something extra for the redhead?"

Christ, the asshole wanted to bargain with him. "A hundred
and I won't kill you."

"Hey, now, easy." George uttered a nervous laugh.
"Your brother and the girl are holed up here for the
night.
Ronnie'll be here until five a.m.—then he goes to get beignets. Best come then
for them."

Cort's door swung open, and Terri strode inside. "Right. I'll
be there."

"Don't forget my money." George hung up the phone.

The tall brunette kicked the door shut behind her.

"You and I need to talk."

He sat back in his chair. "No, we don't, but don't let that
stop you, Detective."

She stepped in front of his desk, shoving a chair out of her way.
"I'm not a detective these days; I'm a freaking secretary, thanks to
you."

"Take it up with Pellerin."

She stared at him the way she would a pile of dog shit she'd just
stepped in. "I don't get you. I really don't. I thought you cared more
about your brother than the goddamn rule book."

"I'll deal with J. D."

She slung a hand toward the window behind him. "J. D. is out
there, somewhere, and I'm pretty sure he's in trouble. You can't do this one by
the numbers, Cortland."

"If you're upset about losing the case—"

She slapped her hands on his desk and leaned over it. T don't care
about the case.
Fuck
the case. But your brother is my partner and my
best friend, and he deserves better than this from you."

Anger had made splotches of color appear under her tan. She hadn't
bothered with makeup or jewelry, and she smelled like cigarettes and coffee.
And he wanted nothing more than to reach out and grab her by her short brown
hair and haul her the rest of the way over the desk.

Realizing that made him rise to his feet and grab his
jacket.
"I've got somewhere to go. I'll walk you out to your car."

"Son of a bitch." Slowly she rocked back on her heels.
"You know where he is."

And she was too damn perceptive. He found his keys. "I said
I'll take care of him."

She blocked his way to the door.
"Where is J. D.?"

"Go home and get some sleep." His head snapped to the
side as her small, knotted fist connected with his nose, nearly breaking it. He
caught the second swing and used the momentum to whirl her around and shove her
into the wall, where he held her.

It wasn't where he wanted her, but it would have to do. "I
could have you busted down to a meter maid for this."

She made a harsh sound. "Beats the typing pool."

Weariness and the blood trickling from his nose made him release
her. As soon as he did, she turned and leaned back against the wall.

"Nice move." Her hand went to a reddening mark on her cheekbone.
"Maybe you can show me that one sometime."

"Terri—"

She shook her head. "I've got somewhere to be myself. See
you, Marshal."

Sable heard the phone ring but didn't move. She didn't think she
could even if she wanted to—
did J. D. take off the handcuffs after that last
time?
—but then she tested her wrists and found them free. The mattress
shifted as he rolled off it and went to the phone.

She yawned and rolled over, burying her face in the pillow. Next
time she'd cuff
him
to the bed.

A few minutes later something touched her bare back. "Wake
up, sweetheart."

Sable felt weight depress her side of the bed and opened her eyes.
"Jean-Del." She rolled over onto her back and stretched, sighing as
her muscles sang with a delicious soreness. He was already dressed. "What
time is it?"

"Almost dawn." He looked toward the door. "I need
you to get up, baby. We've got to move."

She frowned, then propped herself up. "What's wrong?"

"Ronnie's clerk blew the whistle on us. They're coming for
us." He handed her the clothes he'd taken from the lost-and-found box.
"Get dressed as fast as you can."

"The police?" His nod woke her up the rest of the way,
and she began jerking on the old clothes. The jeans were too baggy and the
T-shirt was too tight, but she got them on in record time and found her shoes.
"They're coming to arrest me?"

"I just need a few hours to straighten things out." He
checked his gun before placing it in his shoulder holster, and then came over
and put a roll of bills in her hand. "Go over to the Cafe du Monde and
stay there until the tourists start coming out. When they do, take a bus, not a
taxi. Go to Hilaire's and stay there."

"I'm not leaving you."

He stroked her cheek with his hand. "I'll catch up." He
took a dark blue bandanna from his pocket and folded it in a triangle, then
tied it over her hair. "I'm going out through the lobby. There's a side
entrance down the other end of the hall—you go out that way." He kissed
her brow. "Be careful."

She sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed. "I can't do
this."

"You have to." He went to the door and opened it an inch
to look out, then held his hand out to her. She went to him. "I'll meet
you at Hilaire's as soon as I can." He squeezed her hand in his.
"Stay out of sight." He brushed his mouth over hers, then slipped out
of the room.

Sable glanced around the edge of the door and saw him talking to a
dark-haired coed who had just come out of a room two doors down. The intoxicated
girl giggled and nodded, then went with him toward the lobby.

Carefully Sable edged out of the room and headed in the opposite
direction, walking toward the side-entrance doors. She could hear sirens
growing louder. Sweat trickled down her back as she walked out onto the uneven
sidewalk and crossed the street, then walked quickly down the block.

A police car whizzed past her but didn't stop.

Sable walked into the first open bar she came to, where some
hard-core partyers were still drinking and dancing to Jelly Roll Morton. She
went through the crowd to the other entrance on the opposite side of the
building, and saw the street beyond was empty.

From there she could see the front of the Lagniappe Inn, where J.
D. and the coed were surrounded by a dozen officers and a man in an NOFD
jacket. The latter she recognized as Cort, J. D.'s brother. They were standing
toe-to-toe and shouting at each other. That stopped when the coed bent over and
threw up.

"His truck isn't here." Lilah sighed as she pulled up
in
front of Cecilia and Billy's trailer. "We'd better make this fast
anyway."

"I just want my photo albums." Cecilia sat up in back
and looked over the front seat. "You can stay in the car."

"No, I'm sticking with you." Lilah smiled at her and
picked up the shotgun from the floorboards. "Don't look so scared—this is
the last time you'll ever have to see this place again."

Cecilia wouldn't feel safe until she left Billy for good, but
Lilah was helping a lot. The two of them were going all the way to California,
where Lilah said she had a sister who would put them up until they found a
place of their own. The sister owned a couple of concession stands on the beach
and promised jobs for both of them.

It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off her
shoulders.

As she took out the keys to the trailer, Cecilia's hands shook.
"I know it's silly to want a bunch of old pictures, but they're all I have
left of my family."

"It's not silly." Lilah followed her inside, then bumped
into her back. "What—" She looked past Cecilia, then lifted the
shotgun.

The dodge worked beautifully. With the help of the coed, J. D. was
able to decoy the police long enough for Sable to get away from the hotel. Now
he rode in the back of his brother's car, mainly to have time to think what his
next move should be.