A Whisper in the Dark (27 page)

Remembering she’d ripped the buttons from his shirt, Julia risked a glance at John. Relief flooded her when she realized he’d zipped his bomber jacket.

“Good work on the stalker. I appreciate you keeping my daughter safe.”

“I was glad to help.”

Grimacing, the elder Wainwright gave his hand a final shake and lowered his voice. “If you ever want to talk about anything at all, I hope you’ll call me.” He lifted a business card from the breast pocket of his suit and handed it to John. “Anytime, son. Day or night.”

John glanced at the card, then dropped it into his pocket. “Thanks.”

Wainwright turned to Julia and kissed the top of her head. “Darlin’, I’ll see you in a few days,” he said and started toward the door.

TWENTY-TWO

Julia looked up from the stack of books she was logging into the inventory database and frowned at her younger sister. “I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about.”

“You are
so
not good at playing dumb.” When Julia said nothing, Claudia rolled her eyes. “I’m talking about you and John in that storage room last night.”

“Oh. That. Well, I hate to disappoint you, but there’s nothing to tell.”

“That’s interesting.” Café au lait in hand, Claudia crossed to Julia’s desk and plopped into the visitor chair. “Because nothing sure has you blushing.”

Julia tried to hide the blush by looking at her computer screen, but her younger sister was far too astute. “He kissed you, didn’t he? That’s how all your lipstick got rubbed off.”

“He didn’t kiss me.”

“Oh, my God.”

Julia looked up. “What?” she asked irritably.

“You did more than kiss, didn’t you? I see it in your eyes. Julia!”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!”

“Anyone with more than two brain cells can see you and John are hot for each other.”

“Does that include Dad?”

“You might be able to fool Dad. I mean, come on, most father’s wear blinders when it comes to their daughters’ sex lives.”

“Stop right there.”

Claudia continued as if she hadn’t heard. “He probably still thinks you’re a virgin.” She laughed. “Good grief, he probably thinks
I’m
still a virgin.”

Julia looked at her younger sister, mildly alarmed. She knew it was probably naïve, but she’d also thought Claudia was still a virgin. “I do not want to hear this.”

But evidently Claudia was enjoying herself far too much to let the subject drop. “When you opened that door last night . . . I swear, I’ve never seen you look so flustered.” She sighed. “And John looked just plain adorable.”

“John is a lot of things,” Julia said. “Adorable is not one of them.”

“I guess sexy would be a better term.”

John was the one subject Julia did not want to discuss this morning. The memory of their encounter in the storage room had kept her up half the night. The erotic dreams that followed had kept her up the other half. This morning she felt bleary-eyed, exhausted and embarrassed.

“Talking about me again?”

Julia looked away from her computer to see Jacob enter the store through the rear door, looking snazzy in a vintage jacket and burgundy turtleneck. He shrugged. “I heard ‘sexy’ and just assumed.”

Claudia rolled her eyes. “I’m talking about John Merrick.”

Jacob smirked and shot Julia a knowing look. “Are we confessing our sins this morning?”

“I have nothing to confess,” Julia snapped.

Claudia nodded. “She’s sticking to the we-were-just-talking story.”

“Well I guess that explains that wet spot on her skirt.”

Julia shot him a warning look. “That’s enough.”

Claudia’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God. Julia! You did more than kiss!”

“Both of you are just a word or two away from getting fired.” It was an idle threat. One Julia made every so often when her employees pushed just a little too hard.

“Julia, I like him,” Claudia said in a softer voice. “I think he’s a nice guy.”

“I think he’s an alcoholic,” Jacob put in.

Julia rose abruptly. “Nobody asked either of you for an opinion,” she said and started toward the storage room.

She wasn’t sure why she was so cranky this morning. She wanted to believe it was the lack of sleep. The troubling turn of events the night before. But as she turned on the storage room light and looked around, it struck her why her mood was dark. The room seemed empty without John. She didn’t know where he was or when she would see him again. Both of those things bothered her more than she wanted them to, no matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise. She knew it was crazy. He was the last man on earth she should be interested in.

But she was. More than interested, if she wanted to be honest about it.

Damn it.

Shoving thoughts of him aside, she went to the shelf for the box of manila folders, opened it and counted out a dozen for the files she needed to make. She happened to glance down as she counted and found herself looking at a half a dozen white buttons.

“Julia.”

She started at the sound of her sister’s voice, then turned to face her. “Don’t start.”

Julia moved away from the buttons, but her younger sister had already spotted them. Her expression sobered. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset.”

“If you don’t want to tell me what happened last night, you don’t have to.”

“Well, I appreciate your letting me off the hook.” Tucking the folders beneath her arm, Julia started toward the door.

Claudia blocked her path. “I just want you to know that if you need to talk, I’m here.”

“What I need to do is get these files made so I can open the shop.”

And try to make it through the rest of the day without thinking about John Merrick.

 
John woke to the incessant blare of the phone and a
headache that was in the process of grinding his brain into mush. He rolled onto his side and knocked the phone off the night table before realizing the sound wasn’t the phone at all, but his doorbell.

He squinted at the alarm clock, wondering if it was five A.M., or five P.M., and tried not to wonder what that said about his state of mind. The doorbell blasted again and he decided it didn’t matter. He was going to kill the son of a bitch ringing it.

Groaning, he threw his legs over the side of the bed. Nausea seesawed in his gut, and for an instant he wondered if he was going to throw up. After a few seconds the nausea passed. He got unsteadily to his feet and stepped into his jeans. Weaving drunkenly, he made his way to the living room, stumbled into the foyer and reached the door. He opened it without checking the peephole.

Mitch stood in the darkened hall looking pissed off and aching for a fight. “You missed your firearm proficiency test this morning.”

John tried to close the door, but Mitch shoved it open and stepped inside.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he demanded.

“Can it, bro. I’m not in the mood.” John started to turn away, but Mitch caught his arm and spun him around.

“I vouched for you,” he said. “I told them you were a good cop. That you were reliable and they should hire you. You made a goddamn liar out of me.”

“You made a liar out of yourself.”

Mitch’s lips pulled into a snarl. “You didn’t even bother to call.” He sniffed. “You smell like booze, John. You were fucking drunk, weren’t you?”

“I told you I didn’t want the job.”

“What the hell are you going to do with the rest of your life? Crawl into a bottle and feel sorry for yourself until you die?”

Because the statement was so pathetically close to the truth, John turned away and started for the bathroom. “Something like that.”

Mitch grasped his arm and spun him around again, then gave him a shove. “Don’t fucking walk away from me. I put it on the line for you and you blew it.”

John’s temper sparked. Moving more quickly than he’d thought himself capable of, he slapped the other man’s hands off him. But Mitch was ready. Using both hands, he shoved John against the wall hard enough to send a picture to the floor.

“I’m not going to stand around and watch you self-destruct.”

“No one’s asking you to.”

“For God’s sake, John, I’m trying to help you.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“There’s a place for you with the New Orleans PD. I don’t understand why you won’t at least try to help yourself.”

Something inside John broke open. Temper. Two months of regret and rage and grief. Moving quickly, he grabbed his brother by the lapels, spun him around and slammed him against the wall. “How the hell can I be a cop when I can’t even pick up my fucking gun!” he screamed. “I don’t have the guts to touch it. I can barely fucking look at it! How the hell am I supposed to deal with that?”

Mitch blinked, allowing himself to be pinned for several interminable seconds. Then he shook off John’s hands and shoved away from the wall. When he looked at John, there was pity in his eyes. He might as well pulled out his revolver and shot him in the heart. Pity was the one thing John could not handle.

“Don’t look at me that way,” he snarled. “Don’t fucking feel sorry for me.”

Mitch shook his head. “I don’t need to. You feel sorry for yourself enough for both of us.”

Giving himself a hard shake, John flung open the door and turned away. “Get out,” he said.

He heard Mitch moving behind him, but John didn’t turn around. He didn’t want his brother’s sympathy. He sure as hell didn’t want his pity.

“Maybe you ought to get yourself some help, bro.”

“Words aren’t going to fix the problem,” John said.

“You can’t let this beat you.”

“It already has.”

“What are you going to do? Run away? Crawl under some rock and hide for the rest of your life?”

“I’m going to the cabin for a few days.”

“Oh, that’ll fix everything. Go to the cabin. Drink a couple of bottles of booze.”

When John said nothing, Mitch sighed. “I never had you pegged as a coward, man.”

Slowly, John turned to face him. “Me neither,” he said. “Looks like both of us will have to settle for less, doesn’t it?”

Shaking his head, Mitch walked out and slammed the door in his face.

 
“You sure you don’t want us to walk you home?”

“Are you kidding?” Julia stood with Rory and Claudia on the sidewalk outside Dannigan’s House of Creole and breathed in the cool, damp air of the French Quarter. “After a week of having to look over my shoulder, walking home by myself is going to be a treat.”

Dinner with her sister and Rory was the most fun she’d had in days. The three of them had spent nearly two hours in a dimly lit booth savoring Chef Dannigan’s mirliton ratatouille, a bottle of merlot and a pot of chicory-laced coffee.

Now the food sat comfortably in her stomach. The wine buzzed pleasantly in her head. She could still taste the bitterness of the chicory on her tongue. Around her, the French Quarter buzzed with a rowdy pre-Mardi Gras crowd. She couldn’t think of any place she’d rather be.

“Claudia and I are going to Ray’s,” Rory said. “Will you come with us?”

The offer was tempting. Ray’s was a jazz club on the east side of the Quarter. The music—mostly local bands—was legendary. The atmosphere was all dark wood, palms and smoke. But Julia had always been in tune with her younger sister; she sensed Claudia and Rory wanted to be alone.

“Thanks, but I’ll take a rain check.”

Claudia’s gaze met hers. “You sure? We’d love to have you.”

Julia leaned close. “Your good manners are showing.”

Her younger sister rolled her eyes. “I mean it. Come with us.”

“I’ve got some work to catch up on anyway,” Julia said.

Rory took Claudia’s hand, and she smiled at him. The moment didn’t elude Julia. She wasn’t sure exactly when it had happened, but she was pretty sure her younger sister had fallen in love. The thought gave her a twinge that was both happy and melancholy. Rory might look Goth with his long black hair, pierced ears and funky trench coat, but the more Julia got to know him, the more she came to realize he was a good kid just trying to find his place in a world that could be confusing.

“You’re sure you ought to be walking home after dark?” Claudia asked.

Julia didn’t miss the concern in her sister’s eyes and stepped close to hug her. “Don’t worry, Claude. Nicholas Vester is in jail where he belongs. I’m perfectly safe.” She motioned toward the Quarter with its wet cobblestones and ancient bricks. “It’s a beautiful night, and I’m going to enjoy it.”

Shoving her sister to arm’s length, Julia turned to Rory and gave him a hug. She could tell by his expression the gesture surprised him. But if he and Claudia were getting serious, he was going to have to get used to it. The Wain-wrights were a clan of huggers.

“Don’t keep her out too late,” Julia said.

He grinned. “I’ll have her home by midnight.”

“Be forewarned: Dad will hold you to it.”

Julia left them at the corner and started down St. Peter toward home at a brisk walk, her denim skirt swishing against her leather boots. The night was mild, with a moist breeze that brought with it the earthy smell of the river. Around her, groups of tourists huddled on the sidewalk. Couples paused at storefront windows to admire merchandise or browse the menus posted by the restaurants. A lone saxophonist played at the mouth of an alley, the lilting notes floating like poetry on the night air.

Julia smiled as she took it all in. A sense of freedom engulfed her at the thought of walking home without having to worry about some crazy stalker jumping out of the shadows. The French Quarter was one of her favorite places on earth. Everything about it fascinated her. The people. The buildings. The river. The history. The food. No matter how many years she lived here, she would never become immune to its unique charm.