BAD BOY ROMANCE: DIESEL: Contemporary Bad Boy Biker MC Romance (Box Set) (New Adult Sports Romance Short Stories Boxset) (24 page)

“What was all that conversation about?”

She shrugged one shoulder and let her eyes drop.  “Nothing.  Just tourists asking some questions.”

He dug thick brown fingers into the meat of her upper arm and led her quickly into the dish room.  She shook him free, watered down Sprite splashing on to her tight t-shirt. 

“What’s the problem?”

“I heard the word.”

“Claude, they’re just tourists.  They lost their friend.”

“You wrote an address down.” 

“Yes, their friend might be trying to sell an antique.  I sent them to Angela’s to see if he had been there yet.”

Claude straightened from glaring into her face.  She was still young, still inexperienced; she didn’t know. 

“The man; you didn’t see past his mask?”

“Mask?”  Jules ran a hand over the throbbing piece of skin Claude had gripped.  She was sure she felt a bruise coming.

“Yes, mask.  He hides it well, but
I see
it.” 

“Mask covering what?”

“He’s a shifter.”

Jules laughed covering her mouth loosely with one hand.  “Claude, you’re a riot!  There aren’t any such things!”

He stepped towards her, and she felt the air get sucked away from her. 

“You’ve learned recently there are many things real you once thought were not.  Do I speak plainly?”

“Yes.”  She wheezed, her shoulders working trying to bring more air into her constricted lungs. 

“Remember that.”  Claude whispered, and left the dish room. 

Jules heaved air into her lungs and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. 
Oh God
.

“Where is the address?”

“Dauphine Street.”

“That may be out of the French Quarter.  Pull up my phone’s GPS and let’s see if we can get directions.”  He rattled off the street number above the restaurant they had just left and waited for her to plug their destination in. 

“I’ll navigate.” 

Niall put the Mustang in gear and began driving.  He wanted to talk with her, but knew that would be fool hearty under the circumstances.  Strange city where he had no idea where he was going, the talking could wait.  They passed a three story hotel on their way out of the French Quarter, and he took note of where it was.  Sinclair had craned her neck at it.  The outside was painted a dusty rose and each tier had more of the potted ferns hanging from the wrap around balconies.  It would be a nice surprise for her later. 

The area of Dauphine Street was a little older looking than even Bourbon Street, and Sinclair once again took on the awe struck glow of someone enchanted.  The building in question was in fact a house renovated to handle a business.  The exterior was painted a deep blue, almost electric blue, and had white trim.  There was a display window, which obviously had not come as part of the original architecture.  It boasted a fancy teas set with one chipped mug.  There was a doll with a yellowed christening gown, and a stack of antique books. 
Angela’s
was painted in black flowing script at the top of the window.

“What a cool little place!”  Sinclair exclaimed. 

“Yeah.”  Niall said absently.  How could he explain the itch at the base of his neck, or the tingling in his eyes just from looking at the building?  He couldn’t tell himself why it was happening, so he doubted she would get it either. 

The inside was crammed with large cumbersome furniture, the surfaces of which were covered with trinkets and breakables of all kinds.  An armoire sat caddy corner to the front door and Niall glanced at the price tag hanging from a white string on one of its door knobs.  He let out a low whistle and allowed it to swing back into place.  It was a whopping thirty five hundred.

A husky female voice spoke quietly from behind them.  “It’s 18
th
century, French.  There are a few scratches, or else I could get a better price.” 

Niall and Sinclair turned to see a light skinned woman with pale blue eyes staring at them.  She wore a belted dress of royal blue that flowed around her calves.  One heeled foot stuck out further than the other.  Her eyes slid off of Sinclair and lost their warmth when they landed on Niall.  A slow hiss escaped between her teeth.  Sinclair didn’t notice, but Niall once again took her firmly by the hand. 

“What can I do for you?”  The woman recovered quickly, turning her attention to Sinclair.  Niall took the intentional slight, but stored it away in case he needed it later.  Anger, even the smallest amount could be useful.

“We are looking for our friend.  He has something…an antique…he may want to sell.  A waitress at a restaurant on Bourbon Street said he might have come here.”

“I see.”  The woman stepped away and touched a table with vase on top.  She ran long fingers along the edge as if checking for dust.  “And what is this item?”

Sinclair laughed nervously.  “We aren’t sure!  He kept it in a green velvet pouch and wouldn’t show it to anyone.”

The woman raised her eyes from the table to stare at an indistinct spot deeper in the store.  When she pinned Sinclair suddenly with her strange eyes, she instinctively gripped Niall’s hand tighter.  He responded with a light reassuring pressure, running his thumb over the soft skin between her forefinger and thumb. 

“Nothing like that has come through here.” 

Niall let go of Sinclair’s hand and pulled his wallet out.  The security picture of Joseph was folded into a square and shoved inside.  He had other copies in his bag, but this one would have to do.  He unfolded it and held it out to her.  She reluctantly took the paper and looked at it briefly before handing it back.

“I’ve never seen him before.”

“He’s the friend we’re looking for.  Can I leave my number with you?”

“No.  This isn’t any concern of mine.”  She turned her body and stared at them steadily. 

“Alright.”  Niall said and squeezed Sinclair’s hand once, before leading the way to the front door.  The woman appeared beside him like a shadow, her voice barely audible.  Niall could smell blood and fire. 

“
Vous etes dans la mauvaise ville, diable
.”

Niall moved through the door, pulling Sinclair with him.  He felt hot along his neck where the woman’s breath had brushed over him. 

Sinclair slammed her door and twisted in the seat to look at him.  “What did she whisper to you?”

“I don’t know.  It was French, I think.”  Niall lied. 

He put the car in gear ignoring the indistinct silhouette of the woman watching them from behind the displays in the front window.  Her words played in his head like a loop. 
You are in the wrong city, devil
.  

Just as he suspected, Sinclair loved the hotel, the minute he pulled into the tiny back parking lot and parked.  The backside was more run down than the front, but peeling paint was the only complaint he had.  The front was just fine.  He hoped the rooms would be clean. 

The lobby had worn carpet and plants in every available corner and there was an odd incense smell, but the staff was warm and offered them a suite for ten percent off.  Niall imagined it was due to a desperate need for business. 

“I would have thought a place like this would have been crawling with people wanting to rent a room!”  Sinclair exclaimed as they followed an elderly porter up the narrow stairs to the second floor. 

He crinkled his face in a scowl, deepening the many lines of his face.  His voice carried a distinctive Cajun accent.  “They think there’s ghosts.”

“Here?”

“Ah yeah.” 

“Wow!”

Niall would have thought her scared out of her mind to hear such a thing, but she seemed thrilled.  Maybe she was one of those people who only said they believed because it was the in vogue thing to do, but really didn’t believe a word of any spine tingling tale.  Either way, he was glad no more was said about it.  The porter stopped in front of a dark wood door and unlocked it with the old fashioned key.  No scan cards at this hotel. 

He opened the drapes and handed Niall the key.  The room looked like an old fashioned sitting parlor.  The couch was long and covered in a red velvet which matched the drapes and an arm chair with intricate carved wood along the back, arms, and legs.  The carpet was plush and didn’t look worn at all, in fact it looked new, and was a pale dusty rose like the exterior.  Niall was pleased to see a tiny kitchen with ice bucket, little sink, microwave, and mini fridge. 

“Have a nice stay.”  The old man murmured, tried to wink, and then shuffled to the door. 

“This place is fantastic!”  Sinclair beamed, coming out of the bedroom. 

Niall entered and looked at the elaborate bed with wispy netting crisscrossed over the top, connected by the four banisters.  The colors matched what was in the sitting room. 

“Sit on this bed!” 

Niall sat down carefully beside her and immediately wanted to lay back.  It was soft and inviting.  Sinclair grinning at him made him want to pull her down with him.  He stood quickly, and tripped, losing his balance. 

“Easy, Tiger!”  Sinclair giggled. 

Niall grabbed her wrists and pulled her closer.  “What did you say?”

“Nothing…it’s just a saying.”  Her green eyes were large and frightened. 

Niall let go of her and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Sorry.  It’s just been a strange day.  I’m tired.”

Sinclair moved past him cautiously.  “Lay down for a while.  There’s only one bed, but you can use it.  I can take the couch.” 

“It’s not very big…”

Sinclair whirled on him.  “So what are you saying?  You don’t think my fat ass can fit on it?”

Niall waved his hands in front of his chest.  “No!  I didn’t mean anything like that!” 

“Right.”  Sinclair said and stormed from the room.

Niall laid back on the bed, his head spinning.  Just what in the hell was happening?  He could feel the draw to this woman, and it was intensifying at a rate which could only mean one thing: she was destined to be his mate. 

Niall didn’t know how to feel about it.  She was pretty, nice, seemed smart.  Yet, he just didn’t know if he was ready for a mate.  He knew there was no stopping it once it happened.  If she didn’t feel it already, she too would soon.  Just their proximity alone would spark something in her. 

Niall curled up on his side thinking she probably didn’t like him very much at the moment.  It wasn’t his fault she was insecure. 

Sinclair felt stupid standing at the window crying.  He hadn’t meant anything by the comment, and even if he had, what did she care? 

She turned with a sigh and looked at the table by the sofa.  There was a phone and when she pulled the drawer open she found a telephone book. 

Sinclair sat on the sofa with the book on her lap.  Why couldn’t she do a little investigation?  She opened it to the white pages and went to the O’s.  There were fifteen Overman’s listed.  She had never met Joseph’s parents and had no idea what their first names were, or even if they were listed in the white pages, but it was worth a shot. 

Fifteen minutes later, Sinclair pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed loudly.  There was only one left: Mr. and Mrs. Walter Overman. 

The phone rang eight times, and Sinclair was about to hang up, when a winded female voice came on the line. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi.”  Sinclair said, her eyes bright and her back straight.  “I’m looking for Joseph Overman.”

There was a pause, and she could her the strike of a lighter, followed by a sharp inhalation of breath. 

“He’s not here right now.”

Bingo
.  “Do you know when he’ll be back?  It’s important that I reach him.”

Another pause.

“He didn’t say.  He breezed in here last night after a two year silence.” 

“Did he say where he was going?”

“And just who are you?”

“Sinclair…his girlfriend.”

The woman wheezed and laughed.  “Girlfriend, huh?  You better check with him on that, because he showed up here last night with some black girl.”

“We’re…having problems.”

She wheeze laughed again.  “Well, if you’re tangled up with Joseph, you’re going to have problems sure enough!” 

“Right.”  Sinclair bit her lip.  “Mrs. Overman, could I come and speak with you?”

“Honey, I don’t know why you need to do that, but sure…I guess it will be alright.”

Sinclair wrote down directions after telling her what hotel she was in.

“Mrs. Overman, please…if you see him, don’t tell him I called or that I’m coming.”

“Oh, I won’t!  It’s high time my grandson get his just desserts!” 

Grandson
?   Sinclair put the receiver back on the cradle and thought about what she would say if Joseph did happen to be there.  None of the words that came to mind should be spoken in front of someone’s grandmother.

The day was winding to a close, and Sinclair was beat, but they needed to move on this while the woman was at home.