AVAILABLE FILE FORMATS: HTML for the standard computer, PDF for Adobe Reader, Rocket for the Rocket and REB1100, MS Reader for the PC and Pocket PC, FUB for eBookMan, Mobipocket for Palm Pilot, Pocket PC, and eBookMan, and KML for hiebook

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

Chapter One

New Orleans:

The tiny brass bells on the Damaris Detective Agency's front door pealed like thunder in Justine's ears. She held her breath until they jingled again. Good. Tito Benes was gone. She looked down at her hands and counted her fingers. Good. She still had ten.

It was too bad she didn't have anything else to count on.

Her boyfriend, Weston Riley, had dumped her at lunch. She'd returned to find an eviction notice tacked to the front door. Then the capper... Tito showing up to demand she pay back the full amount of her father's gambling debts by the end of the day.

By the end of the day. Where the hell was she going to find that kind of money?

Still shaking, Justine stared out of her open office door at the sleek, modern reception area, bereft of a receptionist. She'd let Sally go three weeks before. Firing her had been like losing family. The last thought tore at her heart and Justine averted her eyes from the darkened office opposite hers.

"Why, Daddy? Why?" she whispered, fingers twisting her dark curls. "How could you leave me to face this alone?" Her hands froze on a tangle. Was that the bell on the front door? It jingled again as the door closed.

Justine sprang to her feet. Oh God! Tito had changed his mind! She was trapped, the only exit was the front door. She had the fleeting impulse to grab the gun in her purse, but knew she'd be signing her death warrant if she used it. Instead, she grabbed the phone and stabbed out the numbers 911.

As the line rang dully in her ear, a shadow filled her office doorway. A shadow too large to be Tito's. Clutching the phone receiver, she turned away from it. She didn't want to see the bullet coming.

"Hello, cheré."

Justine froze. There was no mistaking that seductive Cajun drawl. That velvet voice which haunted her night and day. It belonged to the man who made her boyfriend...her ex-boyfriend, Weston, pale by comparison. The man she'd thought she'd never see again. Gathering every ounce of control she could muster, she carefully hung up the phone and said, "Hello, Reed."

Reed Burkett leaned against the doorjamb, his casual stance betrayed by the intensity of his dark green eyes. "I hope you don't mind me dropping by without an appointment. Couldn't seem to get Sally on the phone."

He was the last person she wanted to see right now, and yet, the only one.

She'd thought he'd cared for her...once. Flushed with the successful conclusion of his case, a single jubilant kiss had flared into something more between them. Desire had pushed pride and common sense aside and for one white-hot night, he had been hers.

When morning came and he told her they'd made a mistake, she hadn't been surprised, but it had hurt all the same. The memory of his rejection jabbed at her heart, the most devastating blow in a day already filled with punches.

How dare he sound nonchalant when her own emotions threatened to boil over? She wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg him to keep her safe. She wanted to slap that charming, lopsided smile off his face.

Instead, she slumped into her chair. Her legs wouldn't have held her up much longer anyway. "Sally's...taking the day off. Please, come in and take a seat." She nodded stiffly at the leather chairs before her desk.

He smiled, making her already racing heart skip a beat. "Don't mind if I do," he said, pushing away from the door to stroll over to a chair. "You're looking good. Prettier than a sunrise over the bayou."

Justine refrained from returning the compliment, although Reed looked good to her too. Better than good, dammit!

His chestnut hair was pulled back in a rakish ponytail. It was positively sinful the way his broad shoulders filled the dark brown suit. The tanned skin of his high-boned cheeks stood out in stark contrast with his chambray shirt. His royal blue tie, patterned with a spidery yellow lightning bolt, had been loosened in concession to the New Orleans heat and humidity.

She could not, would not, bring herself to look at his mouth. The mouth with the slightly fuller bottom lip. The mouth that could drive her insane with kisses. Not that it felt any safer to look him in the eye, but perhaps saner to do so.

She had to get a grip. She didn't want him to know about Tito. Her nerves felt stretched to their limits as she finally met his gaze and said, "So. To what do I owe the pleasure?" When his smile slowly widened, she felt the need to qualify the question. "I mean, what brings you here?"

"You still mad at me, cheré?"

"We're adults, Reed. Now that I've had some time to think things over, I've come to see you were absolutely right. What happened that night in Dallas--" she took a deep breath, then plunged ahead, "was a mistake. It wasn't anything more than the logical result of us working together for so long. I apologize for my unprofessional behavior and any harsh words I might have said at the time."

Reed chuckled. "Logical result, eh? As I recollect, you threw a vase at me when I told you that."

Justine frowned. Well, at least he was doing his usual terrific job of helping her forget everything else. "Since you were my client, I was of course concerned with your interests. I felt it was my duty to warn you of the possible deceptions--"

Reed cut her off with an impatient gesture. "I'm the one who should apologize. You were mad because I told you we'd made a mistake. And after I'd just spent the whole night ravishing your luscious body, you had every right to be. That vase had nothing to do with paternity tests and we both know it."

She looked down at her hands. To her disgust, they were still trembling. "I see no point in rehashing all this now. You made your choice, and under the circumstances, I completely understand your position."

"Which position was that, cheré? With me on top...or bottom?"

Her head snapped up. The man was still as depraved and arrogant as ever. How could she have fallen in love with such an insensitive idiot? What infuriated her more was feeling the lightning bolt of arousal searing her insides. "Get out," she hissed.

He held up a hand. "Sorry, sorry. I never could resist teasing you. Look, I am here on business." His smile turned into a grin as he shrugged off her scowl. "No, really, I am. I need an investigator and you're the only person qualified for the job."

"Although I'm flattered by your confidence, I suggest you check the yellow pages, because I'd rather face a pack of rabid dogs than work for you again. Now, get out!"

"I'll pay any price you ask. From what I hear, you need all the cash you can get."

Her jaw dropped open. She shut it quickly. Did he know? How could he? Words raced through her head, but none came out.

He laughed, causing her to simmer all the more. "You ought to know I'd check out your situation before asking you to take this case again. By the look on your face and this empty office, I'd say my sources are right. You're hard up. You're desperate. You need me."

How was she supposed to swallow that? She couldn't. He was laughing at her! Anger clawed her insides, but she'd be damned if she'd give him the satisfaction of seeing her truly pissed.

Instead, she retreated into hostile civility. "You are sadly, sadly, mistaken to think I need your help, Reed Burkett. Damaris Detective Agency is doing just fine, thank you. And I'll have you know--" She paused, then her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'take this case again'? Are you telling me Dixie's pulled another disappearing act?"

For the first time, Reed's expression grew somber. "In a manner of speaking, yes. Dixie's part of the reason I'm here, but it's Marc I'm concerned about."

Justine stared, trying to read his thoughts, but Reed had on his poker face now. A sure sign he didn't like what he had to say. That could only mean one thing and she said it aloud, "You had the paternity test done."

"Yes. The results came out pretty much as you predicted too. Would it make you feel better if you said, 'I told you so, Reed'?"

"Of course not!" she snapped, although she did feel a bit smug to have her suspicions about Dixie Dupree's scheming ways confirmed. "I assume the test proved Marc is not your son?"

He nodded, and she felt herself soften. Reed had really hired her for the sake of the child he'd thought was his, not to find his high school sweetheart, Dixie. Justine knew how important family was to him. "I'm sorry, Reed. I really am."

"It's worse than that. Dixie's not his mother either."

"What?"

"Dixie's not his mother," Reed repeated. "Now do you see why I need you? I have a little boy living in my house who doesn't belong there. For all I know, Dixie might have kidnapped the child. And since he won't speak--"

"What do you mean, won't speak?" Justine tried to picture the child she'd spent four months trying to find and resurrected a vague image of sad green eyes and golden hair. She'd only seen him from a distance at the Dallas/Fort Worth airport on that last fateful day.

She'd also seen Dixie and Reed's passionate reunion kiss. The memory of their embrace had burned into her mind, keeping her sane whenever the insane urge to call him came over her.

"Just what I said. The child won't speak. It's not that he can't talk; at least, we think he can, because he understands what people say. And he does make the occasional sound. He just won't talk. Maman's been treating him, but she thinks he's not going to say a word until he's good and ready. God only knows what Dixie's done to him."

"Reed, you should go straight to the police. Kidnapping is a very serious charge."

"Don't you think I know that?" In one of those lightning fast movements Justine remembered so well, Reed got up and began pacing the small room. "Sweet Jesus, I'm not a fool!"

"I never said you were."

"The hell you didn't. That day in Dallas you called me an idiot and far worse for letting myself be caught in Dixie's trap."

"I was angry then. It doesn't change the fact that if Marc is not your son or Dixie's, then you're aiding and abetting a crime by keeping him in your house. Turn the matter over to the police."

"Why? So Social Services can get into the act and take the boy away? That's wrong, Justine. He doesn't need to be stuck in an institution with a lot of 'experts' poking and prodding him like a lab rat. Marc's just a scared little kid. And I will not let him be stuck in a foster home just because Dixie was a stone bitch who never gave a damn about anyone except herself. The boy's better off surrounded by people who care about him."

He stopped pacing and slapped his hands on top of her desk. Leaning forward, he said, "What I need is someone who knows Dixie's movements for the last few years, someone who can be discreet, someone to help me find this boy's real home. In short, I need you, Justine."

There was no mistaking the determination glowing in his sea-green eyes. Looking into them was like plunging into the Gulf of Mexico. And just as dangerous, she reminded herself, fighting the urge to back away.

His face hovered inches away from hers. She watched as his gaze focused on her mouth and inwardly squirmed. I need you, Justine. If only he meant those words in the way she wanted to hear them.

It was hard to think coherently with him standing this close, but she forced herself to concentrate on the conversation at hand. "Reed, the solution's simple. Just find Dixie and get her to tell you the truth."

He made a noise as if she'd punched a hole in his lungs and sank back into the chair. "No, it's not simple. Hell, you know by now nothing Dixie does is ever simple."

She stood with the intention of getting the old case file. "Oh, you're just being negative. I can give you a list of all her old contacts. Surely, she'll surface somewhere among her seedy little friends now that her charade has been discovered."

"Sit down, Justine. I told you, it's not that simple."

"Reed--" she felt her temper flare again. Why did he always have to act as if Dixie Dupree was evil incarnate? For heavens sakes, she was just a woman! And not a very bright woman to try snaring Reed with a ploy as old as a false paternity claim at that.

Even though Justine had been suspicious right from the start, she'd grudgingly come to accept through her research the plausibility of the claim. Dixie and Reed had certainly been red-hot lovers in high school. Dixie had vanished shortly after she'd graduated, so there was a possibility she'd had Reed's child. Still, this paternity test proved Justine's first instincts had been right.

"I said, sit down, Justine."

Seething, she glared at him, but the look on his face made her wary. Something was wrong here. Very wrong. She returned to her seat, feeling certain she wasn't going to like what he had to say.

She didn't.

"Dixie's dead, cheré. Whatever she knew about where Marc came from and how she got him, she took with her to the grave."

Good Lord! She'd had a feeling this case would turn out like this! Before she could stop herself, Justine blurted out the first thought that popped into her mind, "Oh my God, Reed! Did you have to kill her?"

Chapter Two

Reed fought back a laugh. Damn if the girl didn't sound serious! If he wasn't so irritated she believed he could do such a thing, he'd be tempted to kiss the scowl right off her face. He didn't want to care about what she thought of him, but the ugly truth was he did. He cared about Justine more than he'd ever want to admit to anybody.

Especially her.

He'd missed her so much. He'd missed simply chatting with her on the phone. He'd missed their mealtime business meetings. How many times had he thought of something he wanted to share with her and been frustrated by being unable to do it?

Hundreds of times.

How many nights had he lay awake, remembering her oval face, always so open and honest? So quick to smile, to frown, to set his blood on fire with a mere glance of those exotic golden eyes. Her eyes had always reminded him of Clovis, his black Maine Coon cat. Mysterious and reserved, yet brimming with a bit of jungle feline.

How many nights had he replayed the sound of her mellow, whiskey-rich voice in his mind? A voice made of smoke and sultry passions, the kind of voice that brought a man to his knees. Remembering her laugh, her whisper, torturing himself in his empty bed with the memory of her groans of pleasure?

It seemed like an eternity of nights, though in reality, it had only been three months since that morning in Dallas.

He sighed and tried to pull himself together by staring at her hair instead of her accusing eyes. Though she'd tried to tame those blue-black curls into a business-like chignon, curling tendrils caressed her neck. He could imagine it floating free about her shoulders, drooping gypsy-like over an eye. Kiss those luscious lips? Damn if he'd rather just rip off her sophisticated yellow power suit and take her right here and now.

Bon dieu! He wanted her more than ever. Not just for sex; he wanted the whole package. Telling her they'd made a mistake that morning in Dallas had been his mistake. When he'd heard she found a new flame, he'd burned with jealousy and had taken steps to get the competition out of the way.

Taken steps and succeeded. Her erstwhile flame, Weston Riley was his-tor-y! The phone call he'd received minutes before had confirmed that. Now that he'd eliminated the competition, it was time to take back what he considered his--Justine.

Course, she'd probably make things difficult. She always did.

Lips twitching back a smile, he finally answered her question. "I didn't kill Dixie, cheré."

"Well then, who did?"

"Why do you think she was murdered?"

"Because--" her peach colored cheeks turned coral. "I just assumed somebody killed her. Let's face it, Dixie had a way of making people angry."

Reed nodded. "That she did, but the sheriff's department ruled her death an accident. She drowned in my swimming pool."

Justine let out a huff. "Yeah, right. And you had nothing to do with this?"

"Are you implying I did?"

"Come on, Reed. You hated her guts when you weren't trying to get into her panties! I find it hard to believe a healthy woman like Dixie could accidentally drown in a swimming pool. Was she hit in the head? Drugged? Or what?"

Dammit. She really did think he was a killer. He'd had enough of this shit back home. "I wasn't there when it happened. Satisfied? I was in Dallas, taking care of business, which is where I'd be right now if I didn't have this mess on my hands. So are you going to help me or not?"

She looked down at her desk, shielding her eyes from his. Something else was going on with Justine that he couldn't quite put a finger on. It had been obvious she was upset from the moment he'd stepped inside her office. Surely, she couldn't have cared about Weston Riley that much. "I don't know," she said slowly. "If I was to take the case, I'd have to demand certain conditions."

Reed felt his body coil tight with tension. He didn't know what bothered him more, the fact she obviously didn't believe him, or that she seemingly couldn't care less he'd walked back into her life again. He hadn't expected her to throw herself into his arms, although, that would have been nice. A slap would have been just as good. But this... this civility was driving him right up the wall.

"Name your conditions," he said through gritted teeth.

"First, I'd have to check out your alibi. I don't work for murderers."

He almost snapped it was too bad her dear daddy didn't follow that rule, but he managed to bite back the retort. He'd heard rumors here and there about Justine's father swimming with the loan sharks. It had given him cause for concern.

Though she'd never believe it, he'd been planning on coming back to see Justine before Dixie had died. Just to make sure she was okay. Well, not just to check on her. He did want her back, but now that he was here, he was worried he might be too late.

Too late because it seemed she didn't give a damn about him any more. Too late because it looked as if Justine was already in trouble. Though damn her eyes, she'd never admit it.

"Fine. Go ahead and check. Like I said, I was in Dallas."

"All right then, second. I'll have to ask for a retainer up front. You were right when you guessed I'm in a bit of a financial bind these days."

Reed patted his shirt pocket and said, "No problem. I have my checkbook right here. All you have to do is name your price and we're back in business."

Her eyes lifted in that jungle cat stare he knew so well and had missed so much. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay. This time the fee is a hundred thousand dollars."

Reed blinked, then cautiously schooled his face to a blank expression. "A hundred thousand dollars? That's a mite steep, don't you think?"

"Take it or leave it, Reed," she murmured, lowering her eyes again.

He gave her a long look. Why did it always come down to money? Sure, he had tons of it. But once, just once, it'd be nice to have a woman care about him, not his bank balance. He'd thought Justine had cared, but now he wasn't so sure. "All right," he said, removing his checkbook from his pocket. "A hundred thousand it is then."

As he wrote out the check, he felt heat rising up the back of his neck. Maybe he deserved this. He'd used her badly and turn about was fair play, right? Still, as he scrawled his signature across the bottom, the warm spot on the back of his neck grew hotter.

Slowly, he tore off the check and held it out. "Now, does another romp in the sack come with this, or is that going to cost me extra?"

Justine gaped at him for a few seconds, then surged to her feet. "That's it! Get out! I don't care how much money you offer. There's no way I can work with you."

Reed didn't so much as twitch in the direction of the door, even though he felt a jolt of exultation. By God, she did still care! Otherwise, his wisecrack wouldn't have pissed her off.

"Face it, babe. You need me and my money as bad as I need you and that brain of yours. So why not just admit it and let's get down to business?"

"Business? I'll give you business, you lying, arrogant, half-witted Cajun!"

With a growl, she threw her business ledger at him, followed by a framed picture. Reed deflected the missiles as best he could, but it was difficult since he was laughing so hard. He realized he'd missed her temper too. A plastic coffee mug, the same one he'd given her last Mardi Gras, plinked off his forehead. Reed caught a glimpse of the Acadian words 'laissez les bons temps rouler' on the side of the cup as it hit the floor.

Maman had always said it took a good whack to get her boys' attention. Getting hit by a cheap insulated mug wouldn't ordinarily count as a whack, but as Justine's hand closed about a leaded glass paperweight, she had Reed's full attention. He leapt to his feet and grabbed her arms before she could launch the heavy artillery. A mistake, since touching her satin soft skin sent his thoughts to the winds.

Apparently though, Justine had let off enough steam. She immediately went still, contempt glittering in her damn cat-eyes. Two options here, either kiss the girl or let her go. With some regret, he took the latter. He released her and stepped away cautiously.

"Just get the hell out of here, Reed," she whispered. "It won't work."

"I told you I need you and I meant it." He slapped the check onto her desk. "Take your time and think about it, but just remember, when I'm determined to have my way, I usually get what I want."

She shook her head. "Not this time, mon cher. Now get out."

Their eyes locked for a minute, but Reed knew he'd pushed his luck far enough. So he nodded and headed for the door. "Good-bye for now then, Justine. I suspect I'll be hearing from you soon."

He closed the door before the paperweight could hit him, but it made him smile to hear it crash against the wood. "Ah, laissez les bons temps rouler," he chuckled.

Yes, indeed! Now that he was back in business with Justine, he was more than ready to 'let the good times roll'. And even though Justine wouldn't admit it, he bet she felt the same.

* * *

Still shaking, Justine walked down Canal Street towards André's restaurant. Her little office and apartment house, located on the fringe of the business district, stood in the shadows of skyscrapers and hotels. Out here, many blocks away from the river, the glass and steel had not taken over yet. There were still some fine examples of the Greek revival architecture to see, along with the elegant cast iron structures, with their soaring pilasters and intricate curlicues.

Glancing over her shoulder, Justine could see the balcony of her apartment, with its jungle of potted plants and white wrought iron bistro set. It occurred to her that being evicted meant she wasn't only out of an office, but was also losing her home. The thought hit her like a fist. She didn't have anywhere to go.

And if she didn't pay off Tito with Reed's money, she'd definitely have to go somewhere. Fast.

For now, she settled on going to André's. Her feet trod the familiar route, weaving about tourists, shoppers, street vendors, and businessmen with an assurance she didn't feel. The noise was a barely registered din, drowned out by the shouts of outrage and betrayal echoing in her mind. The jumble of city scents, wafted about by the humid breeze, were an unwelcome distraction instead of the usual intoxicating delight.

She loved it here. She loved the noise, the urban sights and smells. Even with the deteriorating conditions in the city, the rampant crime, the influx of losers and users, it was home. How could she leave it all behind?

As she neared André's eatery, she could not even work up her usual admiration for the fine lines of the historic baroque building. It was as if the last ounce of joy had been squeezed from her heart. She wondered if she would ever feel joy again.

"Back so soon?" the doorman said, cheerfully. Justine forced a smile and nodded, not wanting to let her ill spirits ruin the man's day.

However, she felt no such compunction about hiding her feelings from André. The minute she saw the small, dark man huddled in his usual spot over the reservation book, the unshed tears she'd held back all day started to fall. She stumbled towards him, blindly bumping aside the customers hovering about the carpeted foyer.

André caught her adroitly with one arm about her shoulders, at the same time snapping his fingers for an employee to take his place. A red-jacketed man appeared like a jack-in-the-box to do just that.

"What's this?" André asked, guiding her away from the foyer towards his office. "Are these tears for that imbecile Weston Riley? I've already told you, Cherie, you can do better than him!"

"No, No!" Justine wailed. "It's horrible, André. My life has been devastated."

"Ah!" He opened the door to his office and gestured for her to go inside. "So this is about business instead of the loss of your stupid boyfriend. At least that makes sense."

He led her to a delicately carved Queen Anne chair, gestured at her to sit down, then headed over to the rich mahogany sideboard to pour them both a glass of sherry. She watched as he poured, his small fine-boned hands making every gesture with an elegantly masculine authority that belied his size.

André Owens wore his Creole ancestry proudly, a true old-time New Orleans man down to his dapper white suits and spotless patent leather shoes. He kept his thick graying black hair and pencil thin mustache neatly trimmed and flawlessly groomed. On first sight, he tended to strike people as someone who'd stepped out of another age, an impression of which he was well aware and secretly delighted in nurturing.

His appearance and manners were always as coolly impeccable as his restaurant. Only the warmth that danced behind his sienna brown eyes showed the very human and sensitive side of his character. A side he seldom chose to show, true. But one that Justine had learned she could depend on as surely as rain in summer.

He handed her the tiny crystal glass and said, "Now drink this, and let's discuss the situation calmly. With business problems, there are always solutions. The trick is not to let your pride stand in the way of seeing them."

André took a seat behind his small secretaire, steepling his fingers before him as he studied Justine. She self-consciously sniffled and sipped under his scrutiny, hating herself for crying, but for once, unable to stop her tears. A fat drop splattered into her glass, setting off a whirlpool of amber-colored ripples.

The sherry tasted as airy as smoke, warming her throat and her insides. Almost as warm as she felt when she was near...no! She would not think about him. The memory of Reed's mocking arrogance soared through her, bringing heat to her cheeks that had nothing to do with alcohol.

At least, it calmed her enough to be able to look André in the eye and see his nod of approval. "Good," he murmured, "that's the Justine I know. Now you tell me what this is all about. I assume it has to do with the debts David left behind."

"I'm broke, André." It surprised her to hear the words trip so easily off her lips. "Ever since Daddy told that bastard Tito I'd pay off his debts, the man's been hounding me. I've been giving him regular payments, but with no new clients coming in and the kind of interest he charges, I can't get caught up. Today was the last straw. First I got an eviction notice and then--well, Tito Benes paid me a personal visit to let me know today was my last chance. He wants the debt paid in full."

Andréa slapped the secretaire with his palm. "Mon dieu, this is all my fault! How I curse the day David and I took that trip to the Gold Coast casinos."

"We've been over this before, André. How were you to know Daddy was a compulsive gambler? You were just trying to cheer him up after Mama died."

"Yes, but I should have suspected something was wrong after he lost all the money he had and came to me for more. It wasn't like David to ask for a loan."

"Well, he certainly got over that, didn't he?" Justine said, a touch too tartly. She couldn't help herself. After all, her father had abandoned her and left his debts as a going away present.

"I've offered to help, but you wouldn't let me," André said. "Does this mean you've finally come to your senses?"

She shook her head, but before she could explain, André launched into a tirade. "You do not know how men like Tito Benes operate, Justine. Now he's put you on notice, there's no telling what he'll do."

Justine almost told André that Tito had already told her exactly what he'd do. Cut off a finger for every day she owed the debt. And after she ran out of fingers...Justine shuddered. No, she couldn't tell André that.

"I could kill David for doing this," André was saying, "If I ever find him, maybe I will."

"You know you don't mean that," Justine said, her eyes widening. This was about as close as she'd ever seen André come to losing his composure.

Running a hand over his hair, he sighed, "No, of course, I don't. But Cherie, I am worried about you, and while I might not actually kill your father, I feel very angry. And helpless. Please, Justine, let me give you whatever money you owe this Benes creature and let's be done with all this nonsense once and for all."

She was tempted to say yes, but she knew André had invested heavily into the creation of a second restaurant. If she took his money, he might be forced into bankruptcy.

That just wouldn't be fair--not when she had another option.

Reed's check felt like it was burning a hole in the pocket of her jacket. Did she dare she risk her heart again to save her life? What other choice did she have?

None, that's what. She sighed and said, "It's very kind of you to offer, but I can't let you do that, André."

"Kindness has nothing to do with it," he growled. "This is about love. You are like a daughter to me. I can't sit idly by while you suffer like this. Please, please, stop being so stubborn and let me help you! What other options do you have?"

"I do have one," she admitted slowly. The words came hard. Admitting out loud that she would even consider working for Reed again felt like chewing on glass.

André's dark expression brightened. "You do?"

She nodded, feeling the blush on her cheeks spread all over her body. Would it really be so bad? After all, the case involved finding the family of a little boy. If she managed to find them, then that would be a good thing, right? Every child deserved to be with his parents.

Even when they were adults, she thought sadly.

"Well, don't leave me hanging, child. What is this other option?"

Justine looked down at her glass and mumbled, "He came back, you see." André knew the full story of what went on in Dallas and she wasn't sure how he would react.

André let out a huff of air. "Surely you don't mean that idiot Weston? You just rid yourself of the lout and if you took him back for his money, then that--"

"No, not Weston. You know who I mean--him."

She glanced up and saw a glint come into André's dark eyes, "Ahhh, I see. You're talking about that bastard Cajun."

"Yes," she muttered miserably. "And I've told you before, André, he's not really a bastard. Insensitive and arrogant maybe, but where it really counts, Reed is a good man."

"Ha! That is a matter of opinion. What does he want this time? To bed you night and day while you find another one of his girlfriends?"

"André!"

"The man is a rogue, Justine. Why on earth would you want to get involved with him again?"

"Because he's given me a check for a hundred thousand dollars to find the real parents of that little boy."

With a smug smile, André leaned back in his chair. "So--you were right about that, were you?"

Justine couldn't resist returning the smile. "Yes, I was."

"And now, he wants you to straighten out this mess. I'll admit, a hundred thousand dollars is tempting, but I'd rather you take money from me than see you hurt by him again. Forget it, Justine. Tell that piece of swamp trash to handle his own problems and let me help you solve yours."

"You don't understand, Dixie's dead. He has no way of knowing where she got the boy."

André arched an eyebrow. "I see. Did the Cajun kill her?"

"Of course not!" Justine exclaimed. André just continued to stare and she confessed, "Actually, the thought occurred to me too. I asked him if he did it. I think that annoyed him a little."

"Did it?"

"Yes."

André smiled. "Good."

They broke into laughter. For the first time all day, Justine felt optimistic about her future. She finished the rest of her sherry and got up to pour some more. As she replaced the decanter on the sideboard, André asked, "Do you still love him?"

Her hand stilled. She could lie and say no, but André could spot any prevarication on her part from a mile away. So she simply shrugged as she reseated herself in the chair. André let out a deep sigh. "I thought so."

"I won't let my feelings interfere this time. With that much money, I can pay Tito Benes and maybe still have enough left to salvage the agency."

"Is it worth risking your heart? If you're doing this for David's sake, then Cherie, let it go. Let me pay off this Benes and you go make a new life for yourself."

"Do you think I'm doing this for Daddy? I love the business too. You know that."

André shook his head. "So you say."

"I do!"

"Then if you won't take money from me, I suppose your only option is to take the Cajun's case." André's smile grew wider. "Besides, this will give you the opportunity to have your own revenge. Serves the bastard right after the way he treated you."

"Revenge never entered my mind."

André laughed, "I doubt that, but maybe not. Still, should the opportunity present itself to give him have a taste of the heartache he gave you, I say you take it."

Justine couldn't resist his infectious grin. "Who knows?" she said. "Maybe I will."

Chapter Three

During the one and half-hour drive from New Orleans to Tenebraux Bayou, Justine figured she must have spent every minute along the way thinking about Reed.

It was hard not to think about him. She'd spent the last three days refusing his demands for lunch or dinner meetings. When she'd worked with him before, they'd often met over meals to discuss his case. She remembered those meetings fondly, because it was through them she got to know the real Reed.

However, now she couldn't bear the thought of sitting across the table from him and trying to pretend Dallas never happened. She knew they needed to talk...just not in some romantic bistro or café.

She should have spent those three days doing the background legwork on his case. But, except for a few calls to confirm Reed's alibi, she couldn't bring herself to crack open his file. Besides, she knew all she needed to know about Reed Burkett, didn't she?

He was a shrewd businessman, building his empire, Burkett Communications Systems, up from a mom and pop cable television company. Today, BCS provided fiber optic data lines for numerous corporations, had its own TV and radio broadcast stations, and was shortly to launch a state-of-the-art Internet access service.

Not bad for the son of a part-time shrimper and trapper. She'd always admired Reed as a businessman, but she knew he was also a two-faced, cold-hearted, unfeeling, son-of-a... well, let's face it, Justine, she told herself. You let him use you.

Sure, he had a gorgeous smile and could make a woman's toes curl with a kiss. But she'd known from the very start Reed wasn't capable of loving a woman. He only thought they were good for one thing...sex. If she'd been delusional enough to think he cared about her, that was her fault, not his.

At least now she was thinking with her head and not her heart. She wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

So why, Justine's conscience asked, as she drove onto a dirt road lined with moss-laden cypress trees, did you agree to spend the weekend out here in the Cajun's lair?

To interview the family and go through Dixie's personal effects, of course. Reed had said Marc didn't talk, but if she could draw him out, she could solve this case before the weekend was over. There was also the possibility Dixie had passed along some information via an off-hand remark or two. So she really did need to talk to everyone Dixie had been in contact with, which included unfortunately, Reed.

It'll be safer to interview Reed with the rest of his family around, she thought. Yes, she'd been right to put him off until now. She didn't really put much stock in finding anything helpful among Dixie's possessions since Reed said both he and the sheriff had already searched her room. Still, they were men and didn't know how to think like a woman, so something might turn up.

And even though she'd paid off Tito Benes, she'd been eager to get out of New Orleans. Once he had his money, Tito had acted amiable enough, but Justine still felt the urge to count her fingers after he'd left. She cursed her father for ever putting her in such a precarious position.

Besides, she thought, as she turned her car onto the winding drive that led to the Burkett family land, she wasn't planning on staying here, exactly. There was a motel ten miles up the road that would suit her just fine.

Though that shut up her pesky conscience, she couldn't deny the shimmer of anticipation jolting her insides as she stopped her beat-up Chevy at the gravel track that forked off into the three driveways of the Burkett Family's houses. The Chevy's engine ticked and wheezed as she studied the setting before her.

Before her were three houses set apart by several hundred yards of lush growth and what looked like several hundred years in age. Justine knew from previous visits the history of each home.

The house to her left was the home of Mason Burkett, Reed's older brother. Mace, as he was called by the family, didn't actually own the place anymore even though he had designed the stately plantation-style home. He was an architect by trade and a successful one at that.

Instead, the house belonged to his first wife, the famous romance novelist, Miranda Thibaux. He'd given it to her as part of their divorce settlement. Miranda spent most of her time in New York, but on occasion came back when she felt the need for peace and quiet. Or maybe just to irritate Mace. Opinions on that tended to vary.

Since the divorce, Mace lived with Reed and had remarried five times. From what Justine remembered, he was about to embark on his sixth marriage. Miranda had never remarried. It was an odd situation all around. From this vantage point, Justine could just barely make out the stately white columns and wide galleries of Mason's...or rather Miranda's, beautiful home.

Not so the case with Reed's house off to her right. The huge, contemporary structure, also of Mace's design, had soaring lines of wood and glass and stood boldly amongst its smaller neighbors. The one concession to tradition was the triple-story verandahs set facing the bayou. A stone trail led around the back of the three-car garage to the pool and Maman Ruby's greenhouse.

Straight ahead lay Ruby Burkett's cottage, almost half a century old. It looked like a tiny speck set against the glistening background of Tenebraux Bayou, but Justine remembered well the simple square wooden columns of its front porch, the wonderful smell of Maman's flower garden and the quiet sound of water lapping against the dock pilings. Though Maman could have lived in either of her sons' beautiful homes, she preferred to remain in the house that had been built by her husband and their joined families.

Besides Maman would say with a gleeful smile, it was the best place to keep an eye on what her hellion children were doing.

Justine felt her anticipation rise as she parked the car in front of Reed's home. She was early and hoped to catch Reed off guard. Leaving her suitcase in the car, she hurried up the front steps to ring the doorbell. No answer. She rang the bell again and still no answer. With an exasperated mutter, Justine lifted her hand to knock, only to have the door suddenly pop open. A dour-faced woman wearing a cheerful apron and dough on her hands confronted her.

"Oh, it's you again. The nosy one," she said.

Justine lowered her fist and slapped on a bright smile. "Hello, Anna. It's nice to see you too." The smile was not returned. Anna merely stared at her with impassive dark eyes. "I'm here to see Reed," Justine added, hoping that clarified things for the housekeeper.

"Reed ain't here. He took the boy to a picture show."

"May I come inside and wait for him?"

"It's none of my never mind," said Anna with a shrug. She stepped back and waited for Justine to enter. Using her elbow to shut the door behind her, Anna said, "I ain't got time to entertain any nosy city women. As you can see, I'm busy." She held up her doughy hands as proof, then headed for the kitchen.

"Need any help?" Justine offered, her enthusiasm fading fast.

"No!" Anna called over her shoulder. "If you want to bother someone, go out by the pool."

Justine contemplated the woman's grey hair and broad back as she moved away. Fat chance Dixie had shared any intimate chats with Anna, so there was little point in quizzing the housekeeper. With a sigh, she stepped across the terra cotta tiles of the gathering room to go out back to the pool area.

The room was furnished in a clean, contemporary style done in the earth tones Reed always favored. A large fawn-colored sectional sofa surrounded the large stone fireplace that served as the room's focal point. Throw rugs in greens and blues added a welcome touch of color, as well as many ferns and ficus trees. Reed had the same affection for plants his mother did and from time to time liked to putter around with her out in the greenhouse.

Justine reached the rear portion of the house, which consisted of a glass wall. From here, she could see someone was indeed sitting out by the pool, although she didn't recognize the elegant woman in the wide-brimmed straw hat. Setting down her purse on a nearby table, Justine stepped through the French doors to introduce herself.

The woman didn't look up as Justine approached, seemingly engrossed in the book she read. Her hat and large dark sunglasses obscured most of her heart-shaped face, but didn't hide the strawberry-blonde hair that hung down to her shoulders, nor the clear, rosy complexion of her skin.

She wore a long white crochet cover-up over a shiny silver one-piece bathing suit. Silver bracelets jangled on her lean wrist as she turned a page. Her feet were bare save for the pink nail varnish on her toes.

"Hello?" Justine said, hesitantly. The woman jumped, then blinked up at her. "Sorry to disturb you," Justine added in a rush. "I'm Justine Damaris and I just thought I'd--"

The woman grinned, tossed the book aside and all but leapt out of her chaise to offer an immaculately manicured hand for Justine to shake. "So you're the one! Oh, I've wanted so much to meet you. Maman told me you'd be coming out here this weekend and I must have a million questions I'd like to ask."

She pumped Justine's hand up and down twice briskly, then released it and returned to her chaise. "Help yourself to my cooler and have a seat. I always bring my own drinks out to the house since Anna is--well, she's just Anna, that's all."

"Um, yes. That about sums Anna up," Justine muttered. She sat down in the chaise next to the woman to open the cooler stashed between the two chairs. Inside, she found bottles of tea, water, lemonade and a few pre-mixed cocktails. Thinking it best to keep her wits about her, Justine opted for the tea.

"You're Miranda Thibaux, aren't you?" she asked, unscrewing the lid to take a sip.

Miranda chuckled, "Figured that out fast, didn't you? Reed always said you were a great detective."

Justine suppressed the flush of pleasure over Reed's compliment. "Well, it wasn't that hard to guess. I've read all your books. You're a wonderful writer."

Miranda peered over the top of her sunglasses at her. Bright blue eyes sparkled mischievously from behind the frames. "Why, thank you so much. Considering how bad the critics panned my last one, you might be the only fan I have left. However, I'm guessing you figured it out based on me mentioning I always bring my own drinks when I drop by. Am I right?"

Justine laughed and settled back into the chaise. "That you are. Although, from what I've heard, your permanent home is in New York."

One of Miranda's hands curled into a fist. Her eyes grew misty. "No, I don't really think of New York as home. Tenebraux Bayou will always be home to me. It's where my heart is."

Ah, so Miranda was still in love with Mace. Justine wondered how that could be, considering the man kept marrying one girl after another. Then again, if Mace hadn't had some feelings for Miranda, he wouldn't have given her their house in the divorce settlement.

She reminded herself she wasn't here to figure out the mysteries of Miranda and Mace's love life. Her job was to find the parents of a young boy. With that in mind, she cleared her throat and asked, "Were you here when Dixie died?"

"Reed was right. You're always on the case, aren't you?" Miranda laughed, her hand uncurling. Justine could see where her long nails had bit into her palm. "No, as soon as I heard Dixie moved in, I made a point of not coming around. Dixie and I never got along. Goes all the way back to our high school days. So you might say I wasn't exactly overcome with grief to hear that she died. Just surprised to learn no one had killed her."

"Funny, I had the same reaction," Justine said carefully.

"Just about everybody did. Poor Reed! Leave it to Dixie to dump all her woes on his doorstep." Miranda leaned forward to whisper. "You know, town gossip has it Reed somehow managed to bump her off, but don't you go believing that for a minute. It was probably an accident, just like the coroner said. Still, considering how many people hated Dixie, it does make a person wonder."

Justine looked at the pool and shivered. "She died right here, I guess."

"Yes, she did," Miranda said, her voice still hushed. "Maybe it's kind of creepy for us to be sitting out here talking about her like this, but I can't help thinking that's the way she would have wanted it. Dixie always did love to be the center of attention. The sad part is, she never realized she didn't have to go to such drastic lengths to get it."

Justine slanted her gaze back at Miranda. The woman shrugged and added more briskly, "Don't get me wrong, I'm still not sorry she's gone. I just abhor waste. Dixie had the looks and brains to be anything she wanted to be, but instead, she turned to schemes and using people to get her way."

"Like how she used little Marc to get to Reed?"

Miranda nodded, her face going a shade paler. "Exactly. I think of all the terrible things she ever did, this was the worst. To steal a child and claim it as your own? You wonder what would possess a person to do something like that, but then when you realize it's Dixie we're talking about here, it's not that surprising."

"But we don't know if she actually kidnapped Marc," Justine pointed out. "That's what Reed hired me to find out."

"Well, good luck to you on that. Dixie always was an expert at covering her tracks." Miranda sat up to retrieve a bottle of rumrunner cocktail from the cooler. "It sure is a hot one today. I hope Anna took the time to get you settled in. You might want to put your suit on if you're going to sit out here with me."

"I--uh--I wasn't planning on staying at the house," Justine stammered, feeling her cheeks start to burn again.

"You're not?" Miranda arched a delicate blonde eyebrow. "Well, that's sure going to surprise Reed."

"There's a motel a few miles up the road. It'll do just fine." Justine could feel her cheeks getting hotter as Miranda lowered her sunglasses to skewer her with a sharp stare.

"Uh-huh," Miranda said, sounding carefully neutral. "I'm sure it would. But hey, I got a better idea. You can stay at my place."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose. You probably need peace and quiet to work in."

Miranda reached over to pat Justine's hand. "Nonsense! You wouldn't be imposing at all. To tell you the truth, all the 'peace and quiet' over there gets on my nerves. And I have scads of room. You're staying with me and that's that. Okay?"

Justine hesitated a moment. Oh, what the hell, it would be easier to conduct interviews this way. "You're sure it won't be a problem?"

Miranda's gaze drifted off and her hand suddenly gripped Justine's tight. "Of course, I'm sure. With just us girls there, it'll be fun." She paused, then let go to wave and call out, "Why hi there, you two! Did you have a nice time?"

Justine looked over and saw Mason and a lovely young woman strolling down the deck towards them. They both wore jeans and boots. Mace looked haggard, but the perky brunette with the short, sleek haircut at his side seemed to be simply bursting with energy.

"Oh, Miranda," the brunette trilled, "we had the most marvelous ride! Thank you so much for suggesting it. Mace must know every little ol' trail around these parts. I'm just sorry you weren't feeling well enough to join us. Is your headache better now?"

Miranda smiled benignly as the couple joined them. "Much better, Cindy. I'm glad to hear you and Mace had a nice time."

"I didn't say I had a nice time," Mace rumbled, bending over to fetch a couple of drinks from Miranda's cooler. He was a bigger, burlier version of Reed, but his chestnut hair was shorter and lighter in color, and his eyes looked more hazel than Reed's cool, clear green. His eyes flicked over Justine, reflecting a touch of weary recognition as he straightened to pass a bottle of lemonade to Cindy.

"Hi, Justine," he said. "You just get here?"

Justine opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, Cindy squealed, "Ooo, sweetie! You mean she's the one?" She didn't wait for Mace to speak either. Instead, she pushed him aside to offer her hand to Justine.

"Cynthia Potts, but you can call me Cindy," she said. "Everybody does. This is just too cool! I've never met a real-life private eye. Have you ever had to plug a man before? Oh, it's just such a pleasure to meet you, I'm sure."

Cindy shook Justine's hand vigorously the entire time she talked. Taking in Cindy's diamond nose-ring and the gold stud that pierced the woman's tongue, Justine cautiously disengaged herself. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Cindy. And uh--no. I've never had to shoot anyone before. Most of the work I do is fairly tedious. Research stuff, you know."

Not one to be easily deflated, Cindy gushed on, "I bet it's far more thrilling than you're willing to let on. I watch those detective shows on TV all the time and--oh, but I must look a sight! I bet I smell just like my horse, what was her name, sweetie? Bonnet, that's it! I bet I smell like Bonnet." She gulped her lemonade, then set her bottle down on the cooler. "I'll just go wash up and then I'll be back and you can tell me all about it, okay? See you later."

Cindy gave Mace a quick peck on the cheek, waved at Miranda, then bounced into the house. Watching the young woman's retreat, Miranda commented blandly, "If this one doesn't kill you, Mace, I don't know what will."

"You're a fine one to talk. Whose big idea was it for us to go horseback riding in the first place?" he growled. "You're the one who loves horses, not me. Besides that, the mosquitoes damn near ate us alive."

Miranda studied her nails. "You didn't have to go, you know. I just thought it might be nice for Cindy to see a little of the local scenery."

Mace snorted. "Local scenery, my ass! I know what you're up to, Miranda, and I'm telling you, it's not going to work. Get your butt back to New York where it belongs, do you hear me?"

"Oh, but Mace, Cindy wants me to help her shop for her trousseau. You don't want your bride to be disappointed, do you?" Mace made a gargling sound while Miranda smiled at Justine. "Aren't weddings just the most romantic thing? And thanks to Mason, we get to have one almost every year. It's so thoughtful of him."

"Yes, very thoughtful," Justine agreed with a grin. She wasn't quite sure just what was going on, but she had already decided to take Miranda's side.

"That's it! I've had it!" Mace yelled. "I'm going upstairs to take a long, hot soak and I expect you--" he stabbed a finger at Miranda's nose, "to be gone when I get done!"

"Mason Alan Burkett! What on earth are you hollering about?" The thin, heavily accented voice snapped like a whip through the humid air from somewhere in the vicinity of the greenhouse. Mace jerked as if he had indeed been struck by rawhide, then immediately assumed a shame-faced stance.

"Nothing, Maman!" he called back. "I was just having a talk with Miranda." Miranda giggled and blew him a kiss, causing his black scowl to deepen.

Justine saw a tiny woman step from around the corner of the pool house. She wore a battered straw hat and a gardener's smock with tools hanging out of its many pockets. A plain denim skirt peeked out from beneath the smock. Black bedroom slippers covered her feet. She moved towards the group with a steady, unhurried gait, but as she approached, Justine could see the bright gleam of the elderly woman's green eyes.

Ruby Burkett, the matriarch of the Burkett clan, might be small in stature, but as Justine had learned from past experience, that had never hindered her ability to discipline her children. If she said jump, Reed and Mace asked, 'How high, Maman?'

It wasn't just the family who admired and respected her. As a 'treater' or rather a healer, the Acadian people from all the neighboring areas came to Ruby for help and advice. Ruby treated anyone who asked, using her folklore wisdom and down-to-earth common sense to lend a helping hand.

"Mais jamais," Ruby said, her tone bland. "Sure did sound like hollering to me."

"That's because he was hollering," Miranda said. "He's mad because I suggested he and Cindy take a ride this morning. Now he wants me to leave home again."

Ruby tapped her slippered foot and folded her arms. "Stupid reason to get mad at the girl, Mason. You got no right to order her out of her home either."

Justine could see Mace's jaw tighten, but he didn't argue. "Excuse me, ladies. I need to go take a bath." He spun around and stomped off to the house, leaving his mother staring after his broad back thoughtfully.

"He'll come around," she sighed. "I didn't raise any stupid sons."

"Just hard-headed ones," Miranda said.

Ruby grinned. "Well, they get that from me!" She turned her attention to Justine. "Nice to see you again, Justine. Oh, don't get up," she added, when Justine started to rise. She ambled over to sit on the edge of Miranda's chair, her garden tools clinking softly as she sat. "Are you having any luck finding Marc's family?"

"None so far," Justine said, feeling a pang of guilt. She really hadn't tried to find them yet. "I'm hoping I can get the boy to talk to me."

Ruby shook her head. "Poor sweet child hasn't spoke a word the whole time he's been here. Still, there might be a way he can help. He likes to draw. I have his pictures all over my cottage. Maybe one of those will give you something to go on." She frowned, causing the wrinkles in her face to deepen. Ruby didn't frown very often.

"Is something wrong?"

The elderly woman's expression cleared. "No, not really. It's just that Marc's drawings are so sad. I don't think the child knows what it's like to be happy." She reached over to pat Justine's hand. "You'll see what I mean. I don't want to interfere with your work, but I'm asking you to go easy with him, all right? Don't push."

Justine felt her eyes grow misty. The poor kid sounded miserable. "I promise I won't, Ruby."

Ruby smiled. "Good. I have your word then. In the meantime, let's go get you settled into your room. I'm guessing Anna probably didn't bother with that."

"She's staying with me," Miranda said.

Ruby arched a thin grey eyebrow. "That so?" When both Justine and Miranda nodded, Ruby's smile grew wider. "Serves Reed right," she chuckled, rising to her feet.

She started to move away, but paused. "Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you, Miranda." Ruby dug into one of her pockets and pulled out a thin blue bottle, capped with a cork. "I made this for you, dear. It's special bath oil. Now, you only need to use a little at a time, because it's very potent." She handed the bottle over to Miranda.

Miranda examined it curiously. "What's it do?"

"Never you mind what it does. Just be sure you use it right before you come to supper. Like I said, it's potent. A drop or two is all you need. You should share some with Justine here. I think you'll both like what it does for you."

Whistling a cheery Cajun tune, Ruby strolled away, leaving Miranda and Justine peering at the bottle. "What do you really think it does?" Justine whispered.

Miranda shook her head. "Lord only knows, but whatever it is, I'm going to find out. Maman's potions are famous for curing whatever ails you."

Just then, Reed stepped out into the pool area. One look at him in his blue T-shirt and jean shorts made Justine's heart start to pound. "I don't know, Miranda," she said softly, "for some ailments, there doesn't seem to be any cure."

To order or learn more!