Relentless Seduction Read online

“You’re disturbing my customers.” Once outside, he whistled for a cab down the street and tugged her to the curb as it pulled up. “Les Chambres Royale,” he bent to inform the cabbie, and then opened the back door for her.

  “I’m not l-leaving without some information.” She managed to fold her arms over nice-size curves that had been hidden before by her crocheted...whatever she called that thing. At the same time, she hitched her huge purse up onto her shoulder and pushed her eyeglasses higher on her nose. Why did he find that appealing?

  “Look, this isn’t the kind of place you want to be hanging around.”

  She rolled her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’m staying here to find my friend.”

  “It’s my bar and I say you’re not.”

  “Hey, is someone getting in or what?” the cabbie yelled out the window.

  Rafe leaned in the front window. “Start the meter.” When he looked back at the woman, she was biting her thumbnail and he could’ve sworn he saw the wheels and cogs turning as a plan formed.

  “If you don’t let me inside, I swear I’ll come back every night, stand outside your d-door and ask everyone before they enter—”

  “Okay, okay.” Damn it. “If I say I’ll see what I can find out, will you get in the damn cab?”

  She smiled and Rafe blinked. When she smiled it changed her entire face. Softened it. Brightened it. “You promise? You want Julia’s picture? I can make copies. I’ll b-bring them tomorrow.”

  He took her elbow and guided her into the backseat of the cab. “Don’t come here. I’ll call you if I learn anything.” He slammed the door and bent at the waist to look her in the eyes. “Just don’t get your hopes up.”

  She scowled and might have responded, but the cab pulled away.

  As Rafe watched the checkered cab disappear into the mist of the chilly night, the back of his neck itched. After a lifetime of getting into it, scheming to get out of it and learning to avoid it, he knew trouble when he saw it.

  And that woman was going to be trouble.

  2

  THE NEXT NIGHT CLAIRE slipped unobtrusively onto a low red velvet sofa in the back of Once Bitten and scanned the crowd around her.

  No sign of Julia tonight, either. Or the guy she’d taken off with.

  Panic was invading Claire’s psyche like the bacteria she studied under a microscope. Experimenting with different cell lines for the production of recombinant molecules seemed like child’s play compared to dealing with this mess. In fact, she’d conference-called her team back in Boston this morning to check on their latest cell culture development, and it seemed they were doing just fine without her.

  That had been somewhat...disconcerting.

  Then she’d placed a call to her mother and father to update them on her progress in finding Julia. At least they took her concerns seriously. Unlike the police force here.

  She’d waited around the French Quarter station almost two hours this morning before a detective finally spoke with her. Of course, he’d told her the same thing the officer had told her yesterday. It was Mardi Gras, lots of people go missing and show up a couple of days later, hung over, and with a great story to tell their grandkids, etc.

  Officially, Julia wouldn’t be considered missing until tomorrow morning when she’d been gone for forty-eight hours. And Claire had looked up the statistics. The chances of finding someone after the first forty-eight hours lowered dramatically. Anything could’ve happened to her by now.

  It was obvious Claire couldn’t wait for the police.

  A familiar ball of frustration roiled in her stomach and she clenched her fists. If only she hadn’t agreed to go to Mardi Gras with Julia.

  No. If she’d refused to accompany her friend on this trip, Julia would’ve just gone to New Orleans alone. And then no one would’ve even known she’d disappeared.

  Julia was impulsive, and even sometimes foolish, but she would never just take off without eventually checking in. Something was wrong. And she had to find her friend before it was—statistically speaking—too late.

  Worst case scenarios kept flashing through her mind. Julia robbed and beaten. Or maybe that guy she’d gone off with had drugged and raped her. Maybe she’d been left for dead in some alley. Or kidnapped and sold into white slavery—

  Okay. Maybe that was just too far. The best way to help her best friend was to remain calm and breathe deeply. She resumed scanning the crowds for Julia.

  “You the one caused the trouble here last night?”

  Claire shifted on the sofa and her vision was blocked by a silky, floor-length black dress molded to a petite frame from ankle to bosom. The woman’s jet-black hair was spiked out on the left side of her head and shaved bald on the right. She had so many piercings, rings and studs through her lip, brows, nose and ears, that Claire couldn’t count them all.

  “Listen.” The woman crouched before her, bringing their eyes level. “We don’t need no trouble in this place.” She poked her finger at Claire. “I saw your friend here the other night and she was fine when she left. That’s all you need to know about Once Bitten. So you should get your big ol’ a—”

  “It’s okay, Ro. I’ll handle this.” The bartender from the night before spoke from behind Claire.

  Startled, Claire jerked around and fell off the sofa, landing on her butt. Oh, geez. Maybe she could just crawl into one of these coffins.

  The woman, Ro, straightened, slapped her hands on her slim hips and flattened her lips at the bartender. Then with a shrug of one shoulder, she sauntered off.

  “You all right?” He bent to take her elbow and helped pull her to her feet. She could hear the smirk in his tone.

  “Fine. I’m fine.” Her face felt on fire and she couldn’t look at him as she brushed off her corduroys.

  “I thought I told you not to come back here.”

  The back of her neck tingled as she felt his stare on her. She knew what he saw. A frumpy, frizzy-haired, nerd-head. And he was impossibly handsome with his perfectly unshaven jaw and his tousled dark hair and his intense gray eyes.

  What did it matter? She was here to find Julia.

  “Come with me.” He grasped her arm and tugged her along behind him to the bar, confident that she would obey. She almost yanked out of his hold, but he might have information for her.

  “Drink this.” He grabbed a shot glass and filled it with brown liquid from a bottle that read, “Wild Turkey.”

  “I don’t need whiskey.”

  “It’s bourbon. And you definitely look like you need it.”

  Claire took the glass and brought it cautiously to her lips. Then she glanced at the bartender.

  He folded his arms over his chest. “If I wanted you gone, I wouldn’t need to drug you. I could just throw you out like I did last night.”

  True. But she still didn’t trust him. She took a careful sip. Fire. Burning the back of her throat, all the way down to her stomach. She gasped, grabbed her throat and glared at him.

  “It gets better. Take another sip.”

  She was feeling less tense, so she sipped again. “Mmm.” She nodded her agreement.

  He raised a smug brow. “What are you doing here?”

  “You said you’d call.”

  He shook his hair away from his eyes. “I said I’d let you know if I learned anything.”

  “I’m not disrupting your bar. I’m just watching to see if Julia or that guy comes in.”

  “And then what?”

  “What?”

  “What’ll you do if the guy does show up? You think you can appeal to his sense of honor and he’ll just confess to whatever it is he did with your friend?”

  Her stomach tightened as his soft Southern accent contrasted sharply with images of Julia fighting for her life, being tied up and throw in a trunk, injured or...dead. “Well, I’ll—I’ll call the police and tell them to bring him in for questioning.”

  “And what if he says he left her alive and well the other night?”

 
She folded her arms, mimicking him. “Whose side are you on?”

  “I’m on my own side. I don’t want another scene in my bar.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll question him once he leaves your bar.”

  He shook his head. “You got a death wish, cher?”

  Cher? The Cajun shorthand for cherie? Darling in French. Something in her stomach fluttered and tingled. No one had ever called her darling before. Not that he meant it as an endearment. He didn’t even know her. He probably called every woman that so he wouldn’t have to remember her name the next morning.

  She straightened her spine. “My name is Claire.” She offered her right hand. “Claire Brooks. And you are?”

  One corner of his mouth curled up. “You gave me your card last night, Doctor, remember?”

  “Oh.” She could feel her face heating again. Another dorky move. But what was new? She kept her hand extended, and...he took it.

  “Rafe Moreau.”

  She smiled. So silly to be happy over a handshake. “Mr. Moreau.”

  “Rafe will do.” His hand enveloped hers in warmth. Her hands were always so cold, it felt wonderful, the heat, the roughness of his palm and the wave of awareness that swept over her. Skin touching skin. His very maleness so close to her, exuding some sort of sexual heat.

  She snatched her hand away.

  He probably wasn’t even conscious of how sexy he was.

  “Listen, Claire. Why don’t you go back—”

  She gasped.

  “What?”

  Ignoring Rafe, Claire shoved away from the bar and strode across the lounge area. She stepped in front of a punked-out bleached blonde. “Where did you get that?” Claire pointed to the necklace draped over the blonde’s black leather bustier. Hanging from a thick silver chain was a pewter pentacle about two inches in diameter.

  She screwed up her face in a look of disgust and turned away. “None of your business.”

  Claire grabbed her arm. She’d finally found a lead to Julia and she wasn’t about to lose it. “It most certainly is my business. I know for a fact that necklace couldn’t possibly belong to you.”

  The woman yanked her arm from Claire’s grasp. “You don’t know nuthin’. Now, get out of my face before I—”

  “Is there a problem here?” Rafe appeared beside Claire and stepped between them.

  “Yeah, this bitch is bothering me.”

  “Rafe. That necklace.” Claire pointed to the jewelry on the chain. “It belongs to Julia. She would never part with it willingly.”

  Rafe glanced from Claire to the necklace, then back to Claire. “How can you be sure?”

  Claire narrowed her eyes at the woman. “Maybe I should just call the police and let them look into it.”

  “Man, she’s crazy. I’m outta here.” The woman spun to leave, but Rafe clutched her shoulder.

  “This will just take a sec.” He stared at the woman and whatever she saw in his expression convinced her to wait. Nice talent to have.

  The bleached blonde shrugged. “Whatever.”

  Rafe looked back at Claire.

  “I gave it to Julia for her graduation from Cosmetology School. It’s engraved on the back. My name and her name and the date, 5-27-04.”

  Rafe raised his brows and turned toward the bustiered woman. “Free drinks the rest of the night if you let me see the back of your necklace.”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “Sure!” She wrenched the chain up and over her head and dropped it in his waiting palm.

  Rafe turned it over and Claire leaned in to look.

  As she’d known it would be, there on the back was the engraving that proved it was Julia’s.

  * * *

  “I TOLD YOU!” Dr. Claire Brooks tried to snatch the necklace from him, but Rafe was quicker, dodging her grasp.

  Undeterred, the stubborn woman gave her attention to the blonde. “Where did you get this?”

  The blonde sniffed. “Why should I tell you?”

  “I could pay you.”

  Whoa. Rafe almost warned the good doctor against offering money, but hey, he’d done enough already.

  Blondie hesitated. “Yeah? How much?”

  The doctor’s brow crinkled and she lifted her huge purse to her chest, dug around inside it and finally produced a couple of bills. “Would you take twenty dollars?”

  “Make it fifty.”

  Heh. Blondie was no fool.

  “I’ll give you seventy-five,” the doctor shot back, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “For the information and the necklace.”

  The blonde’s eyes glittered with greed. “I got it at the Blue Bayou Flea Market.” She held her palm out expectantly.

  The naive doctor set her chin. “Which stall?”

  The blonde pursed her lips and scowled. “I don’t know! Hey, are you gonna pay me or what?”

  Dr. Brooks turned her back, hunched over and pulled something out from the neckline of her shirt. Turning back around, she slapped the money into Blondie’s waiting hand, who made a beeline for the bar.

  Shaking his head, Rafe handed the necklace to the doctor. “You paid way too much for that, cher.”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t want to cause another disturbance in your bar.”

  Rafe blinked. Had she truly been worried about his business? Right. She probably just didn’t want to get thrown out again.

  “Well, thank you for your help.” She extended her hand. “Offering that woman free drinks all night was extremely generous of you.”

  Rafe stared at her right hand. He should shake it and get her out of his life forever. “Tell the police. Let them check it out.”

  She dropped her hand. “Of course, I’ll tell them.”

  Good.

  “But I also intend to search the flea market myself.”

  Of course she did. He shook his head.

  “If it’s anything like the flea markets back home in Missouri, this place will have hundreds of stalls. I doubt the N.O.P.D. will have the manpower to question each one of the proprietors.”

  Rafe shrugged. He didn’t need to get any more involved.

  She placed her hand on his forearm and he tensed reflexively. “Really, thank you.” Her lips curved in a small smile before she turned toward the front door.

  “Hey,” he called after her. When she looked back he folded his arms across his chest, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in his gut. “Don’t stay out after dark.”

  She frowned. “I can take care of myself.” Her expression became smug. “I have my trusty can of pepper spray.”

  Pepper spray? She thought that would deter a gang during a turf war or stop a junkie jonesing for a hit? Damn it, what did he care what this woman did? He stared after her as she walked out of his bar and his life. Good riddance. He didn’t need her causing him any more trouble.

  He went back to his bartending and didn’t give her another thought the rest of the night. Except for the times he glanced down at the tub of strawberries. Or when he had to pour Blondie another free drink. Or when the front door would open and he’d look over expecting to see her walking back in.

  He cursed under his breath long and low the third time he caught himself feeling vaguely disappointed when it wasn’t her. What was wrong with him?

  About four o’clock he locked the door behind the last straggling customers and headed for his office in the back.

  Ro was lounging on his sofa, already changed into jeans and a tank top. “Free drinks, Rafe? All night?” She scowled and pursed her lips. “That’s your idea of handling it?”

  “My bar.” He plunked down in his chair, pulled the bank bag out of the desk drawer and stuffed all the cash from the night’s take into it. He’d count it later.

  “It’s just that I’ve never seen you take on a charity case before.”

  “It’s not charity.” What was Ro’s problem, anyway? “I got her out of here with the least amount of commotion. Commotion is bad for business.”

  Ro looked suspicious. �
��So, is she gone for good now?”

  “Yep.” But something told him the doctor’s situation wasn’t going to be so easily solved.

  “So...you want to...” Ro dangled her leg off the edge of the sofa. “Let off a little steam?”

  Normally, he might have taken her up on her offer. “Nah, I better get the accounts payable since it’s almost the end of the month.” He opened his accounts book and grabbed a pencil.

  Ro blinked, and then got to her feet. “Sure. Some other time, maybe.” She sauntered to the door, opened it and then turned back. “I got a bad feeling about that strange woman, Rafe.” He looked up at her and she seemed genuinely worried. Then she stepped out and closed the door behind her.

  Rafe studied the spot where she’d stood for a moment, ran a hand over his jaw and then turned back to his desk. He worked the books for half an hour, but he couldn’t concentrate. He was restless. Something did feel wrong, but he couldn’t place what.

  Disgusted with himself, he slammed his accounting book closed and trudged upstairs to his tiny apartment. He rubbed his stomach, trying to ignore that hollow pit feeling he always got when the shit was about to hit the fan. The way it always did, sooner or later.

  Things were going pretty well with his bar right now though.

  For seven long years he’d worked like a dog on off-shore rigs in the Gulf to save enough to buy his own place. Then, it’d taken months to find real estate he could afford in the perfect location for his bar. And after signing the papers for this place, he’d overseen a complete remodel, spending six months getting it decked out just the way he wanted it.

  The old man had drummed into him night after drunken night that he’d never be worth anything. Turning a profit on this place had been a big “Screw you, you old bastard!” to the man who’d raised him from the age of twelve. And though his pappy had been long dead, it’d still felt good.

  By the time Rafe stepped out of the shower and got in bed, the sun was almost up. He laced his fingers behind his head and stared at a spot on the ceiling. He’d done what he’d set out to do. He’d proved his pappy wrong. He had everything he wanted. So, naturally, something was about to take it all away. Story of his life.