In Your Wildest Dreams (10 page)

But he liked that about her—that being nervous didn't seem to hold her back, from anything.

A wall of smoke hit him as he stepped inside.

"Hey,
bougre,"
said Shorty, the ancient Cajun bartender who had to be pushing eighty if he was a day. The wrinkled smile he cast at the sight of Jake brimmed with sincerity—he hadn't been in here for over two years. The greeting touched Jake unexpectedly.

He gave a brief nod, a quick grin. "What you say, Shorty?"

Other greetings sounded from around the bar as cops and old-timers recognized him. For some reason, he hadn't thought anyone would much notice his presence— maybe until now he'd forgotten it had been so long since he'd socialized with this crew.

"How's it hangin', Jake?"

"Long time, no see, buddy."

"Look what
fatras
de
cat drug in." The last came from

Fat Eddie, a big Cajun from even deeper in the swamps than Jake. He'd worked more than a few cases with Fat Eddie back in the day and he stepped forward to shake his old compadre's hand. "And wid
a
jolie femme
on his arm, too. Life treatin' you fine den, Broussard?" "Good enough," he lied.

"Ah, listen to him," Shorty snorted from behind the bar. "Life's
gotta
be treatin' you good you got a woman like this with you. Come here now,
catin,"
he said, waving Stephanie toward him, "and I give you a drink on the house. What's your pleasure? I'll show this old dog how to treat a lady right."

Next to him, Stephanie produced a sweet, blushing smile that, for some reason, nearly ripped a hole in his heart. "Um, okay, I'll have
...
a glass of wine. Maybe a
Chablis?"

He couldn't help smiling inwardly. Still totally unpredictable.

"You ain't from around here, are ya?" Fat Eddie leaned around to ask. "You in
de
Big Easy now, sugar. Shorty, fix
dis femme
a hurricane."

Shorty drew back in mock warning before addressing her again. "I don't know 'bout that,
catin.
Awful strong drink. You don't wanna get drunk, let this fella take advantage of you now, do ya?"

Jake cast a soft smile down at her, sorry she'd been put on the spot by his old friends, but curious to hear her answer.

She returned a look of amusement, then focused on Shorty. "I'll take my chances."

Light laughter rose from the bar and Eddie looked to Jake. "Ah, now,
dis
one, she's a good one. I like her. You wanna keep her around."

Maybe he should have said something to make it clear they weren't a couple, but he couldn't quite find the words. He hadn't anticipated any of this, hadn't thought any further ahead than this being a good place to show Tina's picture. But his old drinking buddies seemed so happy to see him with someone else, it didn't seem necessary to let them know he was still in a bad way, and that not much had changed in his life since he'd left the force.

He made small talk with Eddie and a few other guys, some in uniforms, until Shorty passed Stephanie's drink across the bar. "Put it in a clean glass and everything."

She smiled, and Shorty handed Jake a bottle of beer, still remembering what he drank. When Jake reached for his wallet, Shorty stopped him. "Ah, no,
bougre,
your money ain't no good here—tonight anyway. You get comin' in regular again,
then
you pay."

They laughed as Jake nodded his thanks, then took Stephanie's hand, drawing her deeper into the bar. They were halfway down the narrow passageway between bar stools and tables before he realized he'd followed the urge this time—taken her hand. Despite himself, he didn't let go until they reached their destination.

Tony sat by himself at a table in the corner with a mug of draft. His light brown hair was messy, his jeans and loose T-shirt just as telling. "Rough day, pard?" Jake asked.

His old partner smiled up at him through tired eyes. "Rough enough. Better now, though."

Jake could read his thoughts with ease. Tony was happy as hell to see him acting human for a change, actually coming out to a bar, and with a new woman, no less. "Don't get too excited," Jake said, glad someone had put money in the jukebox—"I'm No Angel" by Gregg All-man half-drowned his words. "Not what you think."

"Why don't you pull up a chair for yourself and the lady, and fill me in."

"I'll pull up a chair, but the fillin' in can happen another time." He dragged two wooden chairs from the next table and gave Stephanie the least rickety. As they took a seat, he got straight down to business. "Have the picture,
chère?"

Lowering her red drink to the table, she opened a little yellow purse that matched her dress. She passed him two photos—one a snapshot of a young woman in shorts and a snug tee standing on a wooden bridge, probably from a vacation, the other a professional portrait. "We both had these made for our parents' thirtieth anniversary a few years ago," she explained of the second shot.

He didn't know why it surprised him that Tina was a knockout. Probably because he hadn't quite believed she could be as pretty as her sister. Whereas Stephanie was a classic beauty, Tina struck him as the sort of girl most men would fall for faster—her eyes were filled with invitation, her clothing cut to garner attention.

He handed the photos to Tony. "Seen her anywhere?"

His friend studied the pictures. "Afraid not. Sorry." Then he raised his gaze. "Who is she?"

"An escort. Gone missin'."
Sort of,
he added in his mind. Jake still wasn't convinced the girl was missing at all, but if he wanted to find her, that kind of detail wouldn't help.

Tony handed the pictures back to Stephanie and looked to Jake. "Haven't heard about any missing girls lately."

"I called the police," Stephanie volunteered, "but they didn't seem concerned. She's my sister."

"I
am
the police," Tony informed her kindly, "but yeah, they might brush off a missing person in that line of work quicker than not. How long has she been gone?" "A few weeks."

Tony nodded, shifting his eyes to Jake. "I'll keep my eyes open."

"Thanks," Jake said.

"You might, uh, show those to Fat Eddie before you go"

"Oh?" Fat Eddie worked homicide these days.

"Girl down by the river last week." Tony spoke low, clearly trying to sound casual, and not saying the girl by the river was dead. Jake still thought it was pretty obvious, so he hoped Stephanie couldn't hear over Gregg All-man's gravelly voice.

"Listen,
beb,
I'm gonna show these around the bar a few minutes," he said, plucking the photos back out of her hand. "You sit here and drink your drink, chat with Tony."

"I wouldn't trust me with her if I were you," his friend quipped.

"I'm not worried." Friendly banter, his way of saying Tony was no competition. They'd once exchanged similar conversation over Becky. The memory made his gut clench lightly, and for the first time since walking in the door, he remembered there was a good reason he didn't go out, didn't see people—it still hurt too much. For now, though, he pushed away the recollections and focused on what he'd come here to do.

Approaching the bar, he placed his hand on Fat Eddie's shoulder. As always, the man wore a cheap suit and a tie with a spot on it. He held up the pictures. "Seen her?"

Eddie leaned in to look close, shaking his head. "A hot cookie like dat, I'd remember."

Jake swallowed. "Tony said you had a homicide down by the river."

Eddie looked again, then gave his head a solemn shake. "Girl we found was heavier, didn't look like
dis
at all."

Relief on Stephanie's behalf rushed through him. He wasn't sure when he'd gotten emotionally involved in this, but he couldn't imagine having to tell her Tina was dead. "You see a girl looks like this one, you let Tony know, okay?"

"You got it, pal."

As he started to walk away, Eddie grabbed his wrist and Jake looked up. "Really is good to see you, Jake. You should come around more, shoot
de
bull wid me."

Jake pressed his hps together tightly. It was good to see Eddie, too—but as for coming around, he wasn't planning to make it a habit. "Maybe," he said anyway.

Fat Eddie slapped him on the back and laughed. "Dat'd be good, real good."

After leaving the Pirate's Den, they stopped at a couple of other out-of-the-way haunts, but not places where Jake seemed as well-known or warmly regarded. He showed the pictures to one or two guys inside each place, still with no luck.

As usual with Jake, Stephanie found herself experiencing warring emotions. Her hope deflated a little at each shaking head they encountered, and at the same time she was shamefully overcome with an attraction to her companion that escalated with each passing minute. How could she be thinking about
that
at a time like
this?

Each small touch of his hand, every meeting with those dark eyes, carried her a little deeper into desire. Such an unfamiliar territory. Unfamiliar, at least, for a very long time. It made her remember that as a teenager, she'd never really gotten hold of it, never reached a place where she could push it away with any success. And as an adult, she'd had no practice with it.

So when they turned a corner onto Bourbon Street, suddenly thrust into flashing lights and a street party that happened every night, she didn't flinch when Jake took her hand. She hated being unable to control her reaction to him, but at the same time she loved succumbing to it.

Although it was September, heat and humidity still soaked the air where people stood in clusters, drinking, laughing, eating. Open-air storefronts offered T-shirts,
Mardi Gras
beads, and frozen daiquiris in countless flavors, while music spilled onto the closed-to-traffic thoroughfare—rock, jazz, and Cajun all vying to be heard the loudest.

They passed a strip bar where two young women wearing skimpy bras and thong panties posed provocatively in the doorway. Just as she felt her face growing warmer with embarrassment, one of the girls smiled at Jake—and Stephanie wanted to kill her. Could she not see they were holding hands? And—

Oh God. This was it. She was losing her mind.

You and he are not a couple.

And the only reason he tried to seduce you the other night was to teach you a lesson.

"Where are we going now?" she asked, growing uncomfortable in the heart of the red-light district.

"Place just up ahead here. The Playpen."

She came to a dead halt, jerking Jake to a stop as well. He turned to look at her.

"Is that a strip club?"

He nodded easily. "Yeah. Why?"

She pulled in her breath. "Why on earth would we go to a strip club?"

Jake blinked, tilted his head, his look making her feel childish. But she couldn't help it—she couldn't imagine going into a place like that.

"Chère,
you remember the last guy we spoke to, at LaFitte's?"

She thought back to the bar, and the guy—a handsome man in his late thirties with curling brown hair—then nodded.

"Danny Richards, my boss at Sophia's. He's a decent guy, I've known him a lotta years, and he's pretty familiar with the clientele on the third floor. What I'm sayin' is, he
knows
the high-end escort business in this town."

"And?"

"I mentioned Tina by name and showed her picture, and he's never seen her."

Stephanie's heart plummeted a little further.

"Makes me think we've exhausted our resources in the high-priced escort market," he said. "But what happens to some girls is—they try turnin' tricks, can't handle it, and take the next highest-payin' road, which is strippin'."

"Oh. Oh God," she murmured as the idea settled over her.

It shouldn't seem worse than prostitution, but she couldn't imagine taking her clothes off for a roomful of men. At least at Sophia's, there was some semblance of elegance. She shook her head. "I don't think Tina could be a stripper."

He narrowed his gaze on her, pointed but kind. "Did you think she could be a hooker?"

Another flood of ugly acceptance washed through her as she whispered her reply. "No."