Josette (4 page)

Josette retreated to her own chambers. Locking the door behind her, she went directly to the étagère and the mother-of-pearl inlaid box sitting on a glass shelf. Opening it, she removed the few sundry articles that would prove of interest to Alexia's quicksilver mind, and lifted out the false bottom. Inside the black velvet recesses, she retrieved the gold watch she'd stolen from Cameron some fifteen years ago, along with his diamond stick pin from that first night he'd bedded her sister. He'd not even noticed that particular item had gone missing when she'd bumped into him accidentally on purpose after spying him and his cousin leaving Madame Olympée's bordello.

Josette had been an excellent pickpocket back then.

Even better than Alexia was now.

What an unholy mess! Cameron turned onto St. Charles Avenue, slowing his pace in an effort to keep perspiration at bay. Had he been in San Francisco, he'd be moving at a near trot, using speed to release some of this god-awful pent-up frustration. He glanced around at the mansions lining the street. Not a soul in sight. Not even a trolley to hasten his journey to the shipping offices. No wonder—it was high noon. Only idiots wandered about in heat and humidity so stifling it muddled one's brain. At least the branches of the tall oak trees lining either side of the walkway met overhead, creating a leafy, sun-dappled canopy.

Solange.
After so many years, he could not conjure up her features, though their feverish couplings still haunted the perimeter of his mind. He doubted any man forgot his first sojourn into the exquisite mysteries of woman. In the past, he'd occasionally reveled in those passionate memories, but no longer. Of late, they had become specters in the night, robbing his soul of sleep. He wanted them gone.

He swept the back of his hand across his damp brow. What had Madame Olympée been thinking, allowing him and Trevor to run loose in her establishment at such tender ages? No sense blaming her; she was an astute businesswoman. He and Trevor had dropped so much coin night after night, they'd probably bankrolled her for a good ten years.
Merde
, but they'd been reckless fools, feeding off each other's daring escapades. Good that they'd finally turned their energy into productive measures and built the shipping empire—that is, after turning the better part of France and Italy upside down in their waywardness.

But a father at seventeen? And what of poor Solange? To hell with her deliberate intention to trick him, she'd been just as young and foolish. And no matter whom she was related to, she hadn't deserved to die as a result of her fanciful and misguided imprudence. His gut clenched. “Christ.”

And then there was Josette—lovely, ethereal, strong-minded Josette. Why the devil had he crossed the line and reached out and touched her? One curled finger beneath her chin, and her very essence seeped through the layers of his flesh, dipped into his blood and heated it. He shoved a hand through his hair and cursed aloud. He had no business contemplating anything of a salacious nature with the sister of the woman who might have borne his child.

Tell that to his brain . . . and body.

He looked to the sky, through the branches of the great oak boughs hovering above him like a lacy emerald umbrella. “Tell me this isn't true. Tell me this is merely a nightmare from which I shall shortly awaken.”

Returning his focus to the lane in front of him, his feet pounded a path to his destination. Lost in thought, he didn't glance up again until he approached the offices of Andrews Shipping Company Ltd. He sucked in a breath and halted. There, heavy in the water, floated the
Dianah
.

God, he'd not expected to see his late wife's name emblazoned on one of his vessels. He'd changed the shipping routes after her death so he wouldn't have to be reminded of his loss every time the ship sailed into port. The clipper must have recently docked, arriving from the east, but why so many guards? What the devil was she carrying?

“Cameron!” a male voice bellowed.

Jerked out of his reverie, Cameron turned and spied a tall, broad-shouldered man eating up the banquette with his long legs. Cameron squinted. Good God, was that Trevor's younger brother? His cousin had grown into manhood and, in doing so, changed so much as to be barely recognizable. “Michel?”

“The very one.” Michel's words carried that soft Southern but educated drawl. He clasped Cameron's outstretched hand and, with a slap on the back, gave him a quick hug. “Abbott told me you'd arrived yesterday on the morning tide.”

“
Merde
, I wouldn't have recognized you in passing,” Cameron said.

Unlike Trevor and Cameron, who resembled their respective mothers, Michel was the very image of his English father, tall and brown-haired. His prominent nose suited him better than it did the patriarch. Michel grinned. “Just when I thought I was doomed to remain skinny as a vine, I filled out until I can boast that I now stand head and shoulders beside you and Trevor.”

He turned and, with a sweep of his arm, guided Cameron into the company offices. “I can't tell you how good it is to see you. It's been what, four years since you passed through here on your way to San Francisco? I thought you'd gone off to China on the
Serenity
.”

Cameron walked around a large, waist-high table situated in the center of the room, filled with maps and journals. His trained eyes missed nothing. “A temporary change in plans. Very temporary. Abbott said you were in Baton Rouge on business.”

“I was. I returned a couple of hours ago. We've got a new sugarcane contract up there. Abbott's out to lunch, but need I tell you what a valuable accountant he is? The San Francisco office may have lost him to us, but we couldn't be more delighted. He's the best there is when it comes to numbers. Are you staying at the family town house?”

Cameron shook his head. “No. I figured you'd taken up residence there since you now work for the company, so I checked into the St. Charles rather than intrude.”

Michel settled into a chair in front of a massive desk covered with paperwork. He picked up a pen and twirled it between his fingers, humor tracing fine lines about his eyes. “I bought a place of my own. Since my looks don't have a chance of attracting a comely wife, perhaps my fortune and a mansion in the Garden District might. Are you here to stay, then?”

“God, no
.
I have every intention of sailing off into the sunset, even though it looks like it'll be on something other than the
Serenity
.”

“Back through the wretched Horn to China?”

“
Non
, likely in another direction. The Caribbean or back to England to pay respects to my father, and Trevor and his family, before heading out again.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Not that it matters much where I go. Any direction will do.” He stared through the window at the ship, and at his wife's name painted on the bow. That familiar sense of having been kicked in the gut shortened his breath.

Michel shifted in his chair. “I'm sorry for your loss, Cam.”

“Indeed.” Lord, but he would be glad when condolences had run their course. The last thing he needed were reminders of the life he no longer lived.

“For what it's worth,” Michel said, “I'm glad you're here. I'm too new at all this to meet the level of excellence you and Trevor have achieved. Now that Cooper's gone to San Francisco, I could use any advice you might have to offer.”

“You're likely doing a fine job as manager. You don't need me interfering, but I'd like to take a look at the books, general business, that sort of thing, as long as I'm here.”

“Of course. I'd rather you did, as a matter of fact. Two sets of eyes and an excellent accountant. You've made my day.”

“I was surprised when I learned you wanted to take over the New Orleans offices,” Cameron said. “I thought you meant to throw your hat into the political arena after university.”

“I had no idea how much I'd take to the business. I despised it growing up. You know how it was with both our fathers always gone, late nights over the books when they were here. Then, when Mother died and Father remained home with us, his somber mood only added to my idea that the business wasn't for me. As for politics, I came to the conclusion that I can do as much good sticking my nose into things around here as in Washington.” He grinned. “Nawlins is in my blood.”

Cameron wandered around the office, his peripheral vision filled with the clipper bearing his wife's name across her bow. “What's your cargo on the
Dianah
that requires so many guards?”

“Rum.”

“An entire load? Egads. That's literally playing with fire.”

Michel frowned, his pen paused in midair. “She arrived late yesterday from the Bahamas. Didn't you get the missive telling you I signed a five-year contract with Gosling Brothers to ship to both Nawlins and San Francisco?”

Cameron took a bead on Michel. Something wasn't right. “No, and no wonder the extra guards. A shipment of gold wouldn't have drawn this much attention in these parts. But that much rum is a mighty volatile cargo.”

“That's the problem, I'm afraid. There's already cargo missing.”

Cameron unbuttoned his jacket, spread it apart, and set his hands on his hips. “How did that happen?”

Michel shrugged. “I wasn't here last night, so I can't say, but the guards saw nothing.”

“Sounds like maybe one or more of them might be involved?”

“We're looking into it, and any insight you have will be appreciated.” Michel picked up a stack of papers. “Look at these. Orders from every good restaurant in town. And there are others. Some are from private individuals, and there's even one from Madame Olympée. Every one of these orders is for what's aboard the
Dianah
. Word travels fast in this town.”

“Did those doing the requisitioning know a shipment was due prior to its arrival?”

Michel shook his head and laid the pile down. “I only intended to supply our sailors their daily rations, here and in San Francisco, but it looks like we've stumbled upon a new line of business.”

Cameron strode to the desk and picking up the orders, sifted through them. “There's no finer rum than what Gosling Brothers produces. If I resided here or ran any kind of decent establishment, my order would be among these. Do you have a secure storage area?”

Michel tossed his pen down and leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “I certainly thought so until now. How the devil did someone manage a theft right under our noses?”

“Any idea what Bastièn and René Thibodeaux are up to nowadays?”

“You don't think those two are capable—” Michel sprang from his chair. “René, yes. Bastièn, no.”

“Why not Bastièn?”

Michel let go a burst of laughter. “That scoundrel is currently employed in the position of his dreams.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, Madame Olympée has him servicing young and lonely widows, and some not so widowed, I hear.”

“The devil you say. When did Madame start hiring males?”

“About a month ago. Bastièn is a veritable swamp alligator turned into a sleek panther. He's been seen on the streets wearing the finest cut of cloth and acting the perfect gentleman. It seems he has been well-trained by Madame, and his—ahem—schedule is full. As far as thieving rum, I'd leave him out of the mix.”

And he happens to be Alexia's uncle.
Cameron pinched the bridge of his nose. “What of Lucien, their cousin?”

Michel raised a hand. “That good-for-nothing has his own stills. I doubt he'd know the difference between moonshine and quality rum. If you intend to look to that family, I'd lay my odds on René.”

“Then we shall.”

A black cat curled in one corner of the office stood, hunched his back, and stretched slow and easy. Flicking his tail, he arrogantly walked to the map and charts table. In one leap, he landed there and sauntered across the sailing chart, where he curled up and stared at Cameron through yellow eyes.

“Unusual cat with those yellow eyes and that tip of white on his tail as though it's been dipped in paint. It looks familiar. Any others like him around?”

Michel shook his head. “That's Midnight. He's one of a kind. Everyone on these docks knows Midnight.”

“He looks like a miniature of one of those panthers that roam the bayous.”

“Doesn't he, though? Fierce-looking critter, but he's gentle enough. Until he sees a rodent. Best mouser in the parish. I swear, he can walk in front of a ship and send any rat within a hundred yards scurrying upriver. Abbott's fair attached to the thing, and was a bit unnerved when it went missing yesterday. Thought he'd lost him, but the little beast is back. Odd, though. He said Midnight isn't inclined to wander far.”

Bloody hell, if that wasn't the same little beast Alexia had sneaked into the hotel suite last night, the little thief. Cameron perused the room. “Do you keep everything locked up good and tight when you leave for the day? What about any cash?”

Michel picked up his pen and set it twirling between his fingers again. “We have a guard on the docks, and since you and Trevor are charter members of the Bank of Nawlins, we get special privileges, so money is deposited every day no matter the time. Not a cent left in here after I lock up.”

“Be sure to keep it that way.” Cameron flipped a few pages of the log, then closed it. Distracted as he'd been, he hadn't a clue what he'd just read. “And double the guards around wherever you intend to store the rum.”

Michel leaned back in his chair and studied Cameron. “You seem distracted, cousin. Anything you care to discuss?”

Cameron folded his arms over his chest and moving to the bay window, stared out at the
Dianah
. “As a matter of fact, there is something I'd like to run past you. If you have no plans for this evening, would you care to meet up at Antoine's?”

“Eight o'clock good for you?” Michel asked.

“That'll do.”

Michel tossed his pen from hand to hand. “Have you eaten yet? If it's a serious matter, we could discuss it over lunch.”

Cameron strode to the door. “Oh, it could turn out to be a very serious matter indeed, but it'll have to wait until tonight. I'm in need of a little conversation with Madam Olympée beforehand.”