Thigh High (19 page)

“At least I understand why now.” Nessa lifted her hands, looked at them as if they were a stranger's, and lowered them into her lap again. “They're stealing money and it's like a scholarship fund for the ones in need.”

“That it is,” Maddy agreed.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Nessa caught sight of a man standing at the end of the porch. She jumped; subconsciously she'd known Jeremiah would show up soon.

But it wasn't Jeremiah. It was a tall, blond stranger.

Then as he walked toward her, she knew him.

It was Daniel. Daniel, dressed as a man in jeans, a T-shirt, and a vest. A vest that covered his paid-for-in-crime breasts.

The truth hit Nessa like a blast. “You're helping them.” That was how the aunts managed the masks and the makeup and the…the…Nessa didn't know what he'd been helping them with. She only knew that this was the final blow.

He hung his head. “I am so sorry.”

She didn't give a damn about his contrition. “How could you? How long have you…?”

“Since the second year.” He pulled up a chair, sat down close enough that his knees touched hers, and tried to take her hands.

She pulled them away. “I thought you were my friend.”

“Don't, Nessa. I am your friend. When I realized what they were doing, I tried to talk them out of it, too.” He glanced toward the end of the porch. “But I had about as much luck as you just did.”

He'd heard it all, or at least enough of it to know she'd been soundly ignored.

“They won't stop,” he said. “They were going to get caught or killed, and I knew they didn't have a chance with the wigs and the hats out of the attic.”

Nessa kept her gaze level and cold. She folded her arms across her chest.

“Okay. You can be mad if you want. But, Nessa, those women have saved my life. I couldn't stand by while they were arrested or killed.” Daniel looked wretched and guilty…. And defiant. “So I got my friend that makes masks for films—he's good, he works with Spielberg—and told him they were for a special Mardi Gras celebration at the club. When Miss Hestia and Miss Calista tell me it's time, I help them get ready, and then I go and do whatever needs to be done to distract the security guard.”

“I saw you. On last year's security video. I couldn't quite place you. Because you were a man.” Nessa pinched the bridge of her nose. “Don't you realize that you could get arrested or killed?”

“The thought has crossed my mind.”

She lowered her hand. “So first Daniel figured it out, then Maddy. Any others?”

They shook their heads.

“But it stands to reason that if we put two and two together, sooner or later other people will, too,” Maddy said.

“Especially with the pressure Mr. MacNaught is putting on the police chief.” Nessa closed her eyes as she remembered. “Jeremiah is probably watching the video right now. If he figures out why I knocked Georgia down, I'll be arrested as an accessory to the crime, and who's going to believe me when I say I didn't know it was going on? I work for the bank. I know a lot about the security and the shifts for the guards. I have reason to hold a grudge. And I—”

“You what?” Maddy prompted.

“Nessa, you didn't sleep with Mr. Mac, did you?” Daniel sounded horrified.

Now it was Nessa's turn to be defiant. “Why not? Isn't that what everybody wanted? Was for poor, lonely Nessa to get laid?”

“Not me.” Maddy glared in old-lady indignation. “I wanted you to have some good man court you. I didn't want you to sleep with him. I still have some morals.”

Nessa scrambled to make an excuse. “I didn't mean to do it, Miss Maddy. I just couldn't…”

“You couldn't help it?” Daniel grinned. “I'm glad to hear that. It's about time you had some passion in your life.”

“That's not all I've got in my life.” Nessa's low voice was tense and furious. “I've got two aunts who rob banks for excitement, and if I get arrested with them, who the hell is going to get them out?”

Mac strolled up the front walk of the Dahl House. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the porch and looked toward Nessa, rocking on the swing. “I'm beginning to know my way around New Orleans. I took the cable car from the bank, expecting to find you here…. And here you are.”

“You could have called my cell.” Nessa looked cool and composed. If he hadn't seen the video he would never have believed she had witnessed a robbery.

Maybe…planned a robbery.

“But I wanted to see you.” He prowled up the stairs. “Wanted to see if you were all right after your harrowing experience.”

She didn't say
What harrowing experience?
But she looked at him so blankly, she might as well have. “I never expected to see it happen right before my eyes.”

“You were so surprised you foiled the officer who would certainly have ended the crime spree.”

“Is one robbery a year considered a crime spree? I suppose it is, if it continues unabated.” Nessa gestured to the chair opposite her. “Won't you sit down?”

“I talked to Officer Able, and she said she told you not to follow her.” He sat on the swing beside Nessa, deliberately crowding her.

Nessa didn't react in any way. “I didn't listen. Maybe because I know the manager and the whole bank crew. Maybe because if I witnessed one of the crimes in person, I could solve it, spit in Mr. MacNaught's face, and get a new job. Mostly because I am so sick and tired of being the model employee and the model citizen.” Nessa closed her eyes as if the tiredness had bled into her bones. “It's gotten me nowhere. So I ran after Georgia and into the crime scene.”

“I watched the video repeatedly. You screamed about a mouse and jumped at Georgia. But I didn't see the mouse that scared you.” He'd looked, too. Watched that moment on the security tape over and over again.

When she had run in the bank, she'd been nothing more than one of the onlookers. No one had given her any respect, paid her any attention, looked to her for instruction. Mac had seen that, and absolved her from guilt in the robberies.

Then a mouse had run over her foot. She had looked around the bank lobby, observed the situation. Jumped, screamed, ran at Georgia and knocked her down, foiling the possible capture of the Beaded Bandits.

And in that long, telling hesitation, she had once again roused his suspicions.

“In one stupid moment of fear, I messed up the biggest catch my best friend could ever have made.” For the first time, Nessa's voice wobbled. “Georgia would have gotten a commendation. Maybe a promotion. Probably a reward. And I screwed it up for her.”

Even now, Nessa stared blindly at the street before them, and he would swear she saw nothing.

“You're in shock.” He slid his arm around her. “What do you think?”

“I think you're right.” Turning her head into his shoulder, she burst into tears.

This was not theatrical crying. These weren't pretty tears. They wrenched from her in huge, heaving gasps that convulsed her body. She curled toward him as if agony gripped her.

Yet still Mac watched her with an assessing gaze, weighing her anguish against his suspicions. Her unhappiness seemed genuine enough, but he of all people knew how well people could pretend affection and regret, and what appears to be true is not necessarily so.

He had known Nessa would be uncomfortable and off balance about their tryst in the vault, so “Mr. MacNaught” had sent an e-mail to Decker to remove Nessa from the case of the Beaded Bandits, and tell her the promotion would never come through. Mac had pushed her hard, but he'd seen pressure work before, to squeeze out an unwilling confession or reveal a deep secret.

Maybe she was innocent—of the bank robberies, if not of criminal carelessness with his bank's money—and he had to be sure. He
had
to be.

Women liked him for his looks, his money, and his power. He had never cared what drove their passion; he wasn't interested in relationships, only satisfaction.

But Nessa was different. She was part of a close society with tight family ties. She seemed happy with her life, with her friends, yet the need to succeed drove her.

He understood that need; it was the force that drove him also. But he was driven by bitterness and revenge, and she by loyalty and enthusiasm.

If Nessa was really what she appeared to be, he would give her everything—his heart, his soul, his confidence.

And if she lied…he would make her pay.

When her tears had slackened, he hugged her again. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“Yes.” Her voice was small and shaky. “Do you have a handkerchief?”

He handed it over.

She mopped off her face and blew her nose. “I'll wash it for you.” Leaning back in the swing, she sat on her backbone, stretched out her legs, and stared at the street. “What a lousy day.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Let's see. I go into work, the meanest woman in the world does
not
act surprised, horrified, and guilty about locking us in the vault—”

“No, she didn't, did she?” In all that had occurred, he hadn't had a chance to follow that up.

“—And she tells me Mr. MacNaught has decided, because he's an idiot who believes every drop of poison she pours into his ear, that I'm not working with you anymore on the case and I'm back to being the bank's slave labor, and that I'm never going to get a promotion. Then I run away to talk to a friend, and while we're in the middle of a heart-to-heart, the Beaded Bandits strike, I do just what I'm not supposed to do, run to the bank, and find out…” She sat shaking her head.

“Find out what?”

She looked at him as if she'd forgotten he was there. “Find out I'm not the person I thought I was.”

“Because you screwed up?”

“I sure did. I didn't think I could be more unhappy, and yet…here I am.”

From inside the house, he heard the sound of heels on the hardwood floor.

With a slap of the screen door, Hestia stepped out on the porch.

To his surprise, Mac found himself rising to his feet. Here in New Orleans, especially with the Dahl girls, old-fashioned manners seemed natural.

Hestia accepted his courtesy as her due. “Mr. Mac, how pleasant to see you again. Nessa…child, have you been crying?” Her kindly face clouded with concern, and she hurried over and lifted Nessa's face. In a stern voice totally unlike her usual congenial tones, she demanded, “Mr. Mac, have you been making my great-niece cry?”

Like an impatient child, Nessa pushed her aunt's hand away. “No, it's not him. It's the Beaded Bandits.”

“What about them?” Hestia asked.

“I saw them rob the bank today, and they make me very unhappy.” Nessa sounded petulant.

Hestia drew herself up to her full height, a tall, thin, elegant elderly woman with white hair and patrician features. “Forget about them. They're not your problem.”

“I wish I could,” Nessa said.

Turning to Jeremiah, Hestia said, “Mr. Mac, any man who holds a woman while she cries deserves a home-cooked meal, and except for a few of the boarders who'll be in and out, we're dining alone tonight. Won't you stay and eat dinner with us?”

“I would love that. Thank you, Miss Hestia,” Jeremiah said.

“Nessa, you go upstairs and wash your face. I'll tell Miss Maddy to set another place at the table. Mr. Mac, you can go into the library and pour us drinks.”

Nessa glared at her great-aunt. How could she be so casual? Frustration made her want to do something she'd never done in her whole life—lie on the floor, kick her heels, and throw a tantrum.

Taking a compact out of her pocket, Hestia opened it and held it out to Nessa.

A glimpse into the mirror proved one thing—Nessa did not cry pretty tears. With an exclamation of horror, she fled into the house and right into the arms of Ryan Wright.

“Whoa, babe, slow down!” He steadied her, caught a glimpse of her blotchy face, and stepped back as if she had leprosy. “You okay?”

“Fine.” Her voice was a little hoarse, and she cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here, remember?” He gave her one of his charming, boyish grins.

If Jeremiah was strong whisky, this guy was a wine spritzer with lots of ice.

“Skeeter and I came back and sacked out for a few hours. We've been playing on the streets night and day.”

Skeeter stood by the door to the dining room, holding the instrument cases, his face glowing with sunburn and sweat already breaking out on his forehead.

She waved and smiled.

He bobbed up and down in greeting.

“Now we're going out again.” Ryan wore a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt that glowed like neon, showed off his buff arms, and would for sure get him the attention he craved. “We are making so much money. Those tourists are tossing twenties, and when we play 'When the Saints Go Marching In,' sometimes it's fifties and hundreds.”

“That's great!” She edged toward the stairs. “I'd love to chat, but look at me. I had a little female upset and I need to go wash my face.”

“I'm going to have so much money, I can buy this house.”

“That is such good news. Not that we're selling…” She made it up two steps.

“Come on, man,” Skeeter said.

Ryan kept up with her, talking fast. “What do you say? You could meet me tonight. You could watch us play, we could grab some drinks and dinner, and we could have some laughs.”

“Thank you. That's very kind. But I'm busy tonight.” Was he ever going to get the message? She'd already turned him down a hundred times.

“Come on. It'll be fun!”

“I don't go down to the French Quarter at night during Mardi Gras.” She took the stairs slowly, trying to be polite, desperate to get away.

“I'll protect you.”

“I know you would. I have complete confidence in you. But it's been an awful day, and I just can't.” She fled up the stairs and down the corridor into her bedroom. Shutting the door behind her, she leaned against it and closed her eyes.

She was so sick of boarders. She had to get them out of her home.

Her eyes popped open in horror. And the more people who lived here, the more likely one of them would figure out that her aunts were the Beaded Bandits.

But surely none of them could imagine Miss Calista and Miss Hestia in the role…. But Jeremiah could. He was smart, he was ruthless, and investigating these robberies was his job.

And he was downstairs with her aunts right now.

Nessa dashed toward the bathroom.

When she opened the door a half hour later, she'd showered, washed and styled her hair, reapplied her ruined makeup, and changed into an orange top and a pair of linen trousers.

She didn't do the full grooming ritual to impress Jeremiah. She did it because the day that had started out with such promise had gone to hell in a handcart.

She shut the door behind her, headed toward the stairs, and met Daniel, now Dana, floating along in a pink satin V-neck cocktail dress with matching heels and his signature feather boa.

The sight gave her a jolt. She felt as if she'd seen him naked, without his Dana persona, and when he drawled, “
Como se va,
chère, look at you! So meticulously casual, yet so chic,” she gratefully fell back into her comfort zone.

“Are you off to the club?” she asked.

“Tonight will be another big night, and, of course, since I took the afternoon off, I have to work.”

They descended the stairs together, treading carefully, both sensitive to the atmosphere between them.

They heard Calista say, “Yes, some families are truly troubled, but one must always give one's mother the benefit of the doubt. After all, how old was she when she met your father?”

“Screwed him, you mean?” Jeremiah said. “She was eighteen.”

“He sounds like the worst sort of scoundrel to me,” Hestia said.

“I am the last man to argue that.”

“And he disappeared into thin air?” The disapproval in Calista's voice deepened.

Nessa clutched Daniel's arm. In a furious whisper, she said, “They're giving him the Interrogation.” The questions they asked men they considered serious suitors. “What are they thinking?”

“They're thinking that that
thing
they did this afternoon has nothing to do with you and your happiness.”

“They're crazy.”

“They're eccentric.”

“This is beyond eccentric.”

“Okay. They're old and they don't care. How's that?”

“Fine!” She believed he was right. She just didn't like it.

Jeremiah's voice rumbled again.

With a glance toward the library, Daniel said in a low voice, “Best that I go out the back way, I think.”

“I think so, too.”

He offered his cheek.

She kissed it.

“Chin up, chère. We'll get through this.” He departed with a swish of feathers, leaving her to hurry toward the library before the aunts could propose the details of the marriage contract.

She stepped in the door.

The aunts and Maddy had Jeremiah sitting in a chair, sipping a mint julep—ice, bourbon, and mint—while they led the charge to find out if he was suitable to court their great-niece.

He looked totally at ease.

He saw her first, gave her a brief inspection, and nodded. “You look better.”

Great. He'd noticed she looked like the bottom of the bayou.

“I'll go check on dinner.” In slow increments, Maddy got to her feet.

Jeremiah rose, too.

Maddy tossed commands like a general. “Calista, you'd best set the table. Hestia, open one of the bottles of wine we have left over from the party. You two”—she waved a hand at Nessa and Jeremiah—“you visit.”

The old ladies whisked from the room.