Be My Baby (9 page)

Then her spine stiffened. Well. There was always the little trick she’d learned during that ill-conceived infatuation with her father’s chauffeur the summer she was sixteen, she supposed.
Granted, that was some time ago, but her memory was really quite excellent, so the mechanics of the procedure should come back to her. She was, after all, a Butler; there was little she couldn’t do once she’d set her mind to it.

Excusing herself to May Ellen, she went to see what she could do about removing Sergeant Dupree from their lives once and for all.

“Don’t they serve any food around here that’s bigger than a quarter?”

“Behave yourself, Beauregard, and I’ll buy you your very own poor boy when the party’s over.”

Beau hooked a finger beneath his tie and tugged at the knot. He bared his teeth at an approaching matron and watched her swerve off to intercept someone else. Then he turned his attention to the trace of amusement quirking Juliet’s lips. He leaned closer. “How ’bout I behave myself and you tell the Pissant you want me removed from your case, instead?”

The tiny smile disappeared. “I’ll tell you what,” she replied with distant courtesy. “You let me do my job, and the minute I catch my breath I’ll give the idea my utmost consideration.”

Everything inside him stilled. Staring at her, he slowly straightened, lowering his hand. “You will?”

“Yes.” There was no amusement in her eyes now. They were so remote when they met his, in fact, that he might have been a stranger accosting her on the street. “Excuse me, won’t you? I need to circulate.”

He watched her walk away. Well…good. That would be the best thing for both of them. Chances were, she was tired of the hassle, too. Tired of
him
, no doubt. Hell, by this time tomorrow he’d probably be back on the job. That was…good. Great. He grabbed a handful of hors d’oeuvres from a tray proffered by a silent, white-coated waiter and moved into an unoccupied corner next to the Belgium marble fireplace, where he could divide his time between casing the crowd and observing Juliet at work.

Shindigs like this made him twitch. Too much meaningless chatter, too many people posturing. Not that plenty of the folks in attendance weren’t sincerely committed to the preservation of historic homes like the one that hosted this hoedown. And a grand old place it was, too, with its warm wood, twelve-inch-thick brick and plaster walls, and ancient leaded glasswork in the sugarcane and palmetto motif. He just couldn’t see getting all rabid about it.

Listening to Juliet’s polite handling of a man who went on and on about staying true to the integrity of the period, however, he had to admit she had class. None of the dives he’d dragged her to had managed to diminish it. She unfailingly treated everyone with the same grave respect he watched her giving to the Historical Society man.

It suddenly struck him that she didn’t smile much. Maybe life at the top wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, because last night was probably the happiest he’d ever seen her, and it had taken a
damn high-speed chase to put that huge, uninhibited smile on her face.

He shifted uncomfortably. Thinking about last night was neither smart nor productive.

An hour later, the function began to wind down. As the crowd around Juliet thinned, Beau began closing the distance he’d been keeping from her. He watched Celeste approach and moved in even closer. Appearances seemed more important to the old dame than any safety considerations, and he didn’t trust her not to propose some harebrained scheme.

His instincts were sound, for he heard her murmur, “Edward and I will be saying our good-byes in a moment. Why don’t you ride home with us and save the detective”—her voice had lowered to a near-whisper, as if loath to divulge his identity to the few oblivious guests who had somehow overlooked his gun—“from making the drive.”

“Yes, fine. Let me just—”

Beau stepped forward, unaccountably irritated. “You’ll ride with me,” he said flatly.

Celeste turned to him, five feet two inches of titanium-edged willpower in a perfumed and powdered package. “Surely, Mr. Dupree, that’s unnecessary. We’re going straight back to the Garden Crown. No harm will come to her.”

“Necessary or not, she rides with me. And it’s Sergeant Dupree.” He turned to Juliet. “I do my job. And until I hear otherwise, Rosebud, that means keeping you out of trouble.”

“Well, really.” Celeste eyed him with chill disapproval. “She’s an Astor Lowell, for gracious
sake. What kind of trouble could she possibly—”

“It’s all right, Celeste,” Juliet interrupted. “Beauregard will see me home.”

“But—”

“Thank you for your offer, though,” she said gently. “It was very kind. I’ll see you at the hotel.”

“Are you sure, dear?”

“Yes.”

“Very well.” Celeste gave Beau a searching look. She opened her mouth as if to say something further. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.

“Let me just say my good-byes,” Juliet said quietly.

Beau was still feeling inexplicably angry as he held the GTO’s passenger door for her several moments later. She slid in without a word, never once looked at him, and clearly had nothing to say.

And none of it should have mattered.

It
didn’t
matter. But to take his mind off an urgent desire to pound something, he centered his concentration firmly on the road, practicing a driving exercise he’d developed years ago.

His aim was to negate the need to come to a full stop. So, he didn’t roar down the road with his usual breakneck speed. Perhaps he still drove too fast by most people’s standards, but it took attention and a regard to detail to seamlessly avoid the use of his brakes, instead gearing down for smoother, more controlled slowdowns. On this side of the river, however, with less traffic congestion than the city and fewer lights to time, it was less
of a challenge. More skill was needed by far in town.

Maybe that was why, when he finally had to use his brakes as the cut-off car in the ferry line, his temper wasn’t noticeably improved. He smacked the steering wheel with his palm. “Son of a bitch!” Knowing they’d be the first car on the next boat didn’t make it easier to watch this one pull away from the levy.

Juliet gave him a cool glance, then silently climbed from the car. Swearing under his breath, he got out, too.

Neither of them spoke. They stood and watched the boat traffic on the Mississippi until a new ferry jockeyed up to the slip. Then, without a word of discussion, they turned and climbed back into the car.

When the last vehicle had debarked from the boat, Beau fired up the engine and started down the ramp from the levy. It wasn’t until he tapped his brakes in preparation to the sharp turn onto the side-loaded ferry that he realized they had trouble.

The peddle went to the floor.

“Shit!” He pumped the brakes, but they were gone. He yanked up on the emergency lever.

Nothing.

The metal-heavy GTO rolled onto the ferry moving much too fast.

“Beau?” Juliet’s voice rose questioningly and she made a frantic grab for the dashboard.

A ferryman leaped out of the way as Beau cranked hard on the wheel, and the car swerved to the right around the wheelhouse, skidding along
the deck. He double-clutched into first gear and the engine roared like a wounded lion as it wound down—but they were still approaching the front of the boat much too rapidly.

“Oh, my god, oh, my god,” Juliet moaned. Then she shrieked. “Beau, we’re going to go right off the end!”

“Get read to unbuckle your seat belt and swim,” Beau said tensely.

A second later the car crashed through the metal end-poles and a double rope of chain, and bottomed out as its front wheels dropped clean off the end of the craft. The automobile’s underside screamed as it screeched along the edge of the boat. Then the vehicle shuddered to a stop. It creaked and tipped forward. It rocked back slightly, then tipped toward the water again, rear wheels lifting off the deck.

There it settled, precarious as a compromised teeter-totter. Beau shot a sidelong glance at Juliet, who sat, white as a ghost, frozen in her seat next to him. “Stay very, very still, sugar,” he warned her quietly.

One wrong breath, and they were going to slide headlong into the murky depths of the Mississippi River.

P
aralyzed, Juliet stared down at the water in horror. Grungy green foam roiled and lapped at the boat’s hull, churned up by the ferry’s engine. She couldn’t wrench her gaze away from the sight, and she felt the riled torrent was utterly capable of sucking them, car and all, right into the abyss, where it would roll them over and over as it dragged them to the bottom, the way she’d once heard crocodiles did with their prey.

Then someone cut the boat’s engine, and the water slowly settled.

Hypnotized by the river that appeared a mere hairbreadth away, she was only peripherally aware of shouts and footsteps pounding toward them across the metal deck. She watched the water smooth out, saw where the sun penetrated its uppermost stratum to infuse it with a luminous, brownish green light for a short depth, before it once again turned impenetrable. She listened to the sounds of her own blood rushing through her ear
drums, felt her heartbeat throbbing in her fingertips, and was distantly aware that Beau was talking to her. She couldn’t make sense of his words, although she did receive some comfort from the low, soothing tone of his voice.

“Dawlin’? Do you hear me, Juliet? Answer me, dammit.”

The words bounced and rebounded in her mind like a hard rubber ball shot into an empty closet. They were just beginning to sort themselves into coherency when his hand inched across the console and touched her knee.

She jerked in surprise, and the hood of the car tipped farther toward the water. Beau swore, Juliet screamed, and the car’s back wheels began to raise higher and higher off the deck. She grabbed for the dash as if stiff-arming herself away from it could counteract the dangerous new angle, and felt her eyes stretch in their sockets as the river seemed to rush up to meet them.

Then something slammed hard against the trunk of the car, and the dizzying tilt toward the water halted. The hood slowly righted itself, and she gingerly let go of the dashboard and turned her head.

The biggest man she’d ever seen sprawled across the back of the trunk. He had long greasy hair, twining snakes and naked women tattooed on his brawny arms, and a grimy white tank top that showcased an enormous beer belly and hairy shoulders. She’d never seen such a beautiful sight in her life.

He doffed his Bayou Tours baseball cap at her. “T-Ray Breaux, ma’am, at yer service. Don’ you
worry, you—we gon’ get you outta dere faster ’n you kin say crawfish boil.” Then he twisted around and yelled over his shoulder, “Gi’dat hook on down here, L’Roy!”

Juliet turned back around and unfastened her seatbelt. Beau reached over and touched her hand.

“You okay?”

Swallowing, she nodded. “What on earth happened, Beauregard?”

“Brakes were gone. There must be a leak somewhere in the line.”

A tow truck backed up to them and a wiry redhead jumped out of the cab. He guided a cable-fed hook over to the GTO and squatted down to attach it to the axle. “Whoo. Glad to see yer big ole butt’s good for sumpin, T-Ray. Dis here’s a fine car.”

“Dese babies’re classic, dem,” T-Ray agreed. “Hate to see one end up in da drink.”

A moment later, the car lurched and bumped back onto the safety of the deck, and Beau and Juliet climbed out. The minute her feet touched the solid deck, she started to shake. Hugging herself, she turned her back on the men, mortified to be falling apart now when everything was finally all right.

Beau gently turned her back around and murmured, “Heyyy, Juliet, don’t be embarrassed about a few jitters. That was a little too close for comfort.”

She trembled harder.

Hooking the crook of his elbow around her neck, he pulled her into his chest. “Shhh,” he breathed even though she hadn’t made a sound. As she stood stiff as a post against him, he rubbed his free
hand up and down her back, hugging and patting her as if she were one of his sisters. “You’re okay now, Juliet Rose,” he crooned, rocking her from side to side. “You’re okay.”

The slight stubble that had already grown from his jaw snagged at her hair as he turned his head to look at the two men. Turning her cheek against his hot, damp throat, she also looked at them as Beau said, “Thank you. I don’t know where y’all came from, but you sure as hell saved our butts. Not to mention my baby, here.” One of his hands left Juliet’s back long enough to pat the GTO’s fender.

“We was waitin’ in line t’board,” T-Ray said.

Leroy grinned and agreed. Then he headed for the cab of the truck. “You want me to take dis here car to a shop ova da river, I better be toinin’ my rig around.”

Between the mundane arrangements being made and the soothing matter-of-fact stroke of Beau’s hands on her back, Juliet slowly regained her composure. She awkwardly disengaged herself and smoothed her clothes back into place.

Beau looked down at her. “You okay now?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you be sorry, dawlin’. I’d start to worry if you weren’t shook.” Then the ferry employees converged on them, and he turned away to handle the explanations.

A short while later they all climbed into the tow truck’s cab, which was blessedly air-conditioned. T-Ray was so wide Juliet found herself squished be
tween Beau and the door, but she politely declined the offer to avail herself of his lap.

T-Ray and Leroy seemed to find that hilarious, and Juliet leaned forward to peer at them. “Are you gentlemen from New York?” Their accent was a curious blend of Brooklynese and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“No, ma’am. We was born ’n raised right here in Lou’siana. T-Ray ’n me, we grew up on da same banquette in da Irish Channel. Y’hoid of it?”

“I have, yes. I don’t believe I know where it is, though.”

“It’s just across Magazine from the Garden District,” Beau supplied. “Which is where Boston here is stayin’ while she’s in town,” he explained for the men’s benefit. He shifted slightly, as if trying to find a comfortable spot. Then he twisted around, plucked Juliet up, and plopped her on his lap. “There,” he muttered before she could protest. “Now we’ve all got room to breathe.”

Ignoring Leroy’s and T-Ray’s laughter, she faced forward, perched as primly upright as it was possible to get in the cab’s limited confines. It was going to be a long ride home.

Beau stopped off at the Eighth District station early the next day on his way to the Garden Crown. Forgoing the elevator, he took the stairs two at a time up to the second floor. He shoved the door open and strode into the detective’s division.

The first thing he saw Josie Lee leaning over Luke’s desk talking with great animation, and
walking up behind her, he drilled a finger into her side where he knew she was ticklish.

She yelped and reached back to grab his finger and yank it away. “Don’t do that! I’m trying to be professional here, and having my brother tickle me in public does not add to the image.”

“You’d look a lot more professional downstairs behind your own desk.”

“Oooh, aren’t we a happy camper this mornin’! I’ll have you know I’ve got five whole minutes before clock-in time, and I was just bringing Luke up to speed on your little adventure yesterday.”

“She said you lost your brakes?” Luke said incredulously.

“Yeah. Damn near went off the end of the ferry. The front wheels
did
go over the end and we would’ve dropped clean off into the river if this big guy hadn’t intervened.” He explained about T-Ray and Leroy, their unlikely Samaritans. “I tell ya, Luke, I thought the Goat—not to mention Juliet and me—was gonna be swimmin’ with the fishes for sure at the bottom of the Mississip.”

“What the hell happened?”

“You got me.” Beau plowed his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I had them haul it into the police garage, though. The guys down there said they’d give me a call as soon as someone locates the problem, but I don’t know how busy they are, so it could be a while.”

The phone on Luke’s desk rang, and holding up a finger to indicate Beau should hang on a minute, he picked up the receiver. “Gardner here. What? Yeah, he’s right here—hang on a minute.” He ex
tended the receiver to Beau. “It’s for you,” he said. “Pfeffer.”

Beau took it and hitched a thigh over the corner of Luke’s desk. “Dupree,” he said. “What can I do for you, Pfeffer?”

“Actin’ Captain Pfeffer,” corrected the temporary division head. “Come down to my office.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.” The line went dead.

Beau looked at the silent receiver in his hand and shrugged. Handing it back to Luke, he straightened. “See y’all later,” he said. “The Pissant requests the pleasure of my company.”

“I’ll walk down with you.” Josie Lee straightened away from the desk also. “See you later, Lucas.”

“Yeah. See you around, Baby Girl.” He looked at Beau. “Don’t leave without letting me know what’s going on.”

“Wonder what Pfeffer wants,” Josie Lee murmured as they loped down the stairs a moment later.

“Who the hell knows? Probably heard I was in the buildin’ and wants to rake my butt over the coals for being here instead of babysitting Juliet.”

“But your shift doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes, does it?”

“Honey chile, I never claimed the man was rational where I’m concerned.”

She patted his cheek when they reached her office. “Try not to give him heart palpitations, okay?”

“Sure thing, sugar.” He left her with a grin and strolled a few doors down to Captain Taylor’s of
fice. Grimacing to see Pfeffer had already put his nameplate on the open door, he nevertheless knocked on the doorjamb and leaned inside. “You wanted to see me?”

“C’mon in, Dupree. Shut the door.”

Beau did as requested and collapsed into the visitor’s chair, slumping back and crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. He looked across the desk at Pfeffer.

“I’m relievin’ you of guawd duty on the Lowell case,” the acting captain said without preamble.

Beau dropped his foot to the floor and sat forward. “You’re what?”

“You heard me. I’m not happy about this, Dupree, but Miss Lowell insisted.”

“When the hell did she do that?”

“‘Bout half an hour ago. Said she refused to waste the taxpayers’ money any furtha because of one inconsequential letter that nevah should have been taken so seriously in the first place.”

“Well…fine. Good. She’s right.” Beau shoved to his feet, ignoring the consternation that inexplicably knotted his stomach. He shoved his hands in his pockets and regarded Pfeffer through narrowed eyes. “I want the Panty Snatcher case back.”

“Whatevah.” Pfeffer shrugged. “Thomas Lowell’s sure not gonna be happy when he hears about this,” he murmured to himself. “But Miss Juliet’s an adult and I s’pose I can’t force her to accept protection.” He scowled at Beau. “Are you still here? Get the hell outta here and get to work.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n Bligh.” Beau snapped him an insolent salute and turned on his heel.

Luke looked up the minute he walked back into the Detective’s Division. “Well?”

“Juliet had me removed from her case.” He repeated what Pfeffer had told him.

“No shit? Well, congratulations, you got what you wanted.” Luke studied him closely. “So why is it you don’t look a little happier about it?”

“I am happy. I’m fuckin’ thrilled.”

Luke held his hands up. “Hey, buddy, whatever. It was just an observation.”

“Yeah, well, it was a lousy one. This is exactly what I’ve been angling for.”

“Sorry—didn’t mean to tread on your toes.”

Beau gave him the old Clint Eastwood expressionless stare until Luke shrugged and turned away. Then Beau stalked over to a nearby desk to use one of the computers. “Tread on my toes, my ass,” he muttered. He threw himself into a chair in front of the screen. About time he got a friggin’ minute to chase down this lead.

It took him a long time to focus, but he was hard at it an hour and a half later when the phone on his desk rang. He snatched it up and identified himself, but most of his attention was still on the computer screen on the other desk.

“Hey, this here’s Harry, down in the garage,” said the voice on the other end of the line. “I just took a look at your brake line, Sergeant, and I think you’d better come down here.”

“Somebody
cut
it?” Beau craned his neck to see the spot indicated by the mechanic. He felt Luke next to him straining to do the same as they
scanned the underside of the car hoisted on the overhead rack.

“Yeah. Look here.” The mechanic reached for the brake line on either side of where it had been severed, and turned the ends for them to see. “Clean as a whistle. I’d say somebody doesn’t like you, Dupree.”

“That may be, but practically all of Lou’siana is below sea level, for chrissake—it’s just blind luck that I played ‘Spare the Brakes’ until I reached the only hump in the entire friggin’ state. What kind of candy-ass way is that to stage an accident?”

“Not so candy-ass,” Luke disagreed after they thanked the mechanic and walked away. “All anybody’d have to know is how fast you always drive. Slam on the brakes in traffic, and you’d be crawlin’ up the ass-end of the nearest vehicle in front of you.”

“I suppose.” Beau rammed his fists in his pockets and turned to scowl at his friend. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“The threat to Miz Lowell ain’t the bullshit it first appeared.”

“Yeah. And I’ve been blowin’ it off.”

“Yeah, you’re a careless one, all right. You ever leave her unprotected on your shift?”

“Of course not, but mine
was
the only shift, and that’s not acceptable—not if anyone truly believed she was in danger in the first place. Coverage is gonna have to be set up a whole lot tighter from now on.”

“I thought you were off her case.”

“That was before I knew someone was actually
out to hurt the woman. Now that I’ve been clued in, I guess I’d better go talk to the Pissant and get myself reassigned.” He shrugged. “That oughtta be an easy enough sell. He’ll be thrilled to be back in Daddy’s good graces.”

Rocking back on his heels, Luke regarded him levelly. “What about your all-important Panty Snatcher case?”

Beau grinned, surprised at how great he felt. A weight seemed to have lifted from his shoulders. “Little Miz Juliet Rose will just have to continue taggin’ along while I take care of that, too, now, won’t she?”