Cypress Nights (6 page)

Later still, the same morning

F
inally Bleu was home—but not alone.

Roche jogged around his BMW and met her before she could climb out.

Her own car was in the carport, driven there by Madge with help from Sam Bush.

Roche bent down to look at Bleu.

She got the full effect of his vivid blue eyes.

“Are you sleeping?” he said.

Bleu let out a breath. “I was thinking,” she said. “But I might be able to sleep with my eyes open. At least this morning.”

“I'd better get you inside, and make sure you're okay.”

She wasn't okay, not as long as he hovered over her, so close she wouldn't have to move to touch him. Another very deep breath didn't help much.

Now, she had to tell him he wouldn't be coming in or making sure she was okay. She still couldn't imagine why,
out of all the women he must meet, he seemed determined to make her one of his conquests.

That was a mean thought. As soon as he'd shown interest, she had encouraged him, and he probably had no idea about the fears that never completely left her.

Roche held out a hand and said, “Hold on and I'll pull you up,” which he did. “Holy…You don't need much of a pull.”

“Wait till breakfast settles on my hips.” She said the darndest things when she was rattled.

He gave her a quizzical stare and stepped back to look her up and down. “Okay, if you say so.” The slight shake of his head wasn't subtle enough to be missed. “Do you want to get the stuff out of your car?”

She had forgotten all about the work she'd left there. “I'll do that,” she said. “But you don't need to waste any more time with me. I'm great now.”

He didn't move, while she went into the carport and pulled on the door handle of the Honda. It slipped painfully from her fingers, bent one of her nails back. She sucked in air and flapped her throbbing hand. Madge would never leave someone's car unlocked and she hadn't this time.

“You okay?” Roche said.

“Ow, ow, ow.”

“You're not okay?”

“I'm stupid. I do everything in a rush and end up hurting myself.” The darn nail felt awful. “I guess I earned my reputation for being a klutz.”

She kept pressure on her nail bed and glanced at Roche. Now what had she said? His face was expressionless, but he studied her so closely she felt hot all over.

“Give me that,” he said, taking her hand in his and
pressing harder than she had. Roche wasn't holding her hand with a fraction of his strength. If he were angry, or frustrated, he could be formidable. He could crush her if he wanted to.

Irrational thoughts didn't strike Bleu often, but when they did, they troubled her deeply.

“Where are your keys?” He took the strap of her purse from her shoulder and opened the flap for her.

“Darn it! Last night when we heard Cyrus coming from the rectory, I threw all my things into the car. My keys were on top of the pile.”

He frowned at her. “So Madge drove here, then what? She locked the car and took them back with her?”

“Don't worry about this. I'll figure out how to get inside the house. Please, I'd feel better if you got on with your day. You're a busy man.”

“My assistant is covering for me today. You've met Sig Smith? He's the psychologist who works with me.”

He's letting me know he's cleared his day.
“I've met Sig,” she said. “He's a really nice man. Go home and sleep now. Thank you for putting up with me.”

The way he moved, or rather readjusted his stance, raised the tiny hairs at the back of Bleu's neck. A subtly wider planting of his feet, his weight shifting slightly onto one leg.

Her townhouse stood at the far end of Cypress Place and he had made himself more of a barrier between Bleu and the rest of the cul-de-sac. A visual exertion of power.

Or one more example of her insecurity around men. She was reading something into every move he made, and that wasn't fair—to either of them.

But there was a stillness about him, a watchful waiting. Her reaction to him, the intense awareness, gnawed at her.

“Who lives next door?” he asked, squinting into the sun.

“Nobody right now. It's kind of nice.”

“Kind of remote, you mean.” He glanced around. The townhouses were in a cul-de-sac, but nothing had been built on the access street. Looking at her again, he said, “You're all on your own out here. I don't like that.”

He had no right to like or dislike anything she was or did, yet he gave his opinions as if they should carry weight with her. Did his assumption of power, of having the upper hand, make her feel important to him—or belittled? Her husband had put her down, devalued her—and punished her—all in the name of showing her how weak she was.

“Bleu?” Roche said. “What are you thinking?”

“Just that I'm not on my own out here. Reb Girard's clinic isn't far away.”

Dr. Reb took care of general medicine in Toussaint.

“On Catfish Alley?” Roche said. “Unless you can jump the high fences behind this place, you'd have to run the equivalent of four blocks to get there.”

Bleu wanted him to go, but wanted him to stay, both at the same time. Some quiet time on her own was essential. “I'm not expecting the enemy to charge in right now.”

He didn't respond, just watched her face with those quiet eyes. He also continued to stand, unmoving, a solid flesh-and-blood barrier to her moving around as she pleased.

She was being fanciful, and she couldn't stand wimpy, fanciful women.

Her cell was in her bag and Bleu needed a diversion. She dialed the rectory and got Madge who asked Bleu to wait.

After a long pause when Bleu would have sworn
Madge covered the mouthpiece at her end, she came back on and said, “Sorry about that. Just the things you'd expect after what's happened over here. Give me another second.”

Another pause followed, while Bleu carefully avoided looking at Roche's face. Instead, she followed the long, muscular lines of his legs inside well-washed jeans, faded at the knee, the pockets and over the part that stretched tight enough to show his metal zipper. A damp rush heated her up all over.

“Bleu?” Madge said.

“Yes, here,” Bleu said. “Before I come into the office, I want to go over the feedback forms I got last night. I could be pretty late, because I'm only just going to start.”

“Sounds good. I'll tell Cyrus.”

Bleu could hear voices in the background, but didn't mention the noise. “Thank you for driving my car back. All my papers are in it. Madge, where did you put the keys? My house key's on that ring, too.”

Madge groaned. “I was going to hide them there, but they're in my bag. My car's in the shop. Sam followed me when I drove yours over, but he's gone now. It's okay. What am I thinking? Cyrus will let me use the Impala.”

Bleu heard a male voice that didn't belong to Cyrus, and Madge said, “I won't be able to leave yet.” More male rumble. “I don't know when I will be able to come.”

“It's okay,” Bleu said. “I've got plenty to do today. I'll work on some cost analyses. By this afternoon I'll be back to normal and I'll walk over there.”

The jeans were loose at Roche's flat belly. They rode a couple of inches beneath his waist and humidity stuck his white shirt to his abs like paint applied on a corrugated metal.

Bleu moistened her lips.

Madge started to argue, but Bleu pulled her attention from Roche's body and cut her off. “Nope, I can get in. No problem. See you later.”

Bleu put the phone back in her purse. “Thanks for waiting around,” she said to Roche. “Go get some rest. You didn't sleep any more than I did last night.”

“Anyone who was ever an intern is used to sleep deprivation. Slave labor and torture at the same time. It's all part of the initiation into medicine.” He gave her one of his slight smiles and bowed his head. His thick, black curly hair had needed cutting for some time, but Bleu liked it just the way it was.

She also more than liked the dark shadow of beard on his face.
Sexy.
She couldn't look away, or grasp the feelings she was having. He made her want to be excited by him.

“How will you get inside?” he asked, sizing up her townhouse. “If you say you don't lock one of the doors, I may turn into a wild man.”

Startled down to earth—almost—she turned up the corners of her mouth.

His hands, pushed into his pockets, tested the zipper cruelly.

“It's a secret,” she told him, trying for lightness. “If I tell you about it, then I'll have to kill you.”

Something like surprise entered his eyes. Did he think she was too serious to come up with a well-worn one-liner?

“You do have something unlocked, don't you?” he said. “Or something that's easy to undo. That won't cut it anymore. In future, this place has to be real tight.”

“You're right,” she told him. “I'll take care of it right away.”

“I'll go get your keys,” he said.

“No. Thank you anyway. I'll be ready for a good walk later.”

He smiled slightly. “I liked kissing you last night.”

His abrupt comment caught her off guard. Her stomach tightened. But she kept a smile on her face and gave him a little wave. “Thank you, Roche. You're good for my ego. I hope we'll see you at the building-fund party. Don't be surprised if someone suggests you'll be happier if you give a lot of money away.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Sounds familiar. I'll be there. But I'm not leaving you here until I know you're safe.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he shook his head and said, “I mean it. This is as much for me as it is for you—almost. I wouldn't feel right if I drove away with you standing here.”

As tired as she was, she could still think as fast as she needed to. “I understand. Once I'm in, I'll let you know.” She hurried briskly toward the corner of the townhouse.

The building was on an uphill sloping lot. Although she had only been there a few weeks, on Bleu's side of a dividing fence there were already signs of new things growing, including some vivid bedding plants. Next door, the ground sprouted only patchy scrub grass.

She half ran up the slope beside the house and ducked under the gallery on the back of the house. The aluminum stepladder stored there was light and easy to drag out.

Sweat ran between her shoulder blades.

It wasn't so easy to haul the ladder up steps to the gallery and open it beside the door so she could climb up and reach the lintel. Dust fluttered down when she removed her hidden key. This was the first time she'd used it.

“I wouldn't need a ladder to get that,” Roche said from behind her.

Bleu closed her eyes for an instant. “Lucky you. I'm not tall enough.”

“Are you deliberately obtuse? Where do people usually hide spare door keys? Don't bother to tell me, I'll save you the trouble.
Over a door.
Anyone could get in with that.”

She grimaced. “Lots of people put their spare key under a flowerpot.”

“That's not so funny right now,” he said.

“No one comes here.”

“But they could.”

He was getting angry. Anger was unbearable. “You're right,” she said, climbing down to the wooden slats of the gallery floor again. “I'll find a good place for it. One of those magnetic key boxes would be a good idea. I'll get to it today.”

Roche folded the stepladder. “Where does this go?”

“Under the gallery,” she said.

“Uh-huh—really difficult to find, hmm?”

“Yes, but it's easier than having to carry it from the garage.”

He whistled softly, wiped his free hand on his jeans. His big shoulders rose and stayed there. She felt a little sick. Roche thought she was idiotic. She
was
sometimes, but she didn't want him to think so.

What do I want from him?

“I'll put this back in the carport for now. An intruder might be afraid of making too much noise getting it off its hooks. There
are
hanging hooks?”

“Of course.” She prayed there were.

“That's not a whole lot of reassurance, but it's some.”

Carrying the ladder over his shoulder, he walked away.

Bleu opened the back door and all but fell through it, she was in such a hurry to be in her own place. She hurried through the kitchen and living room that covered most of the ground floor and, after a peek through lowered blinds, she opened her front door.