Louisiana Stalker (3 page)

They drank brandy before supper, and wine with it. Clint's preference was beer, but he knew good liquor and wine when he tasted it. Mrs. Devereaux was ordering the best.

She did, however, allow Clint to order supper for himself, and he found a steak dish on the menu. He chose steak au poivre—steak seasoned with black pepper and adorned with a brandy and cream sauce. The meat was cooked to perfection, although he might have preferred it without the sauce. He did, however, enjoy all the accompanying vegetables.

Mrs. Devereaux explained throughout dinner that her husband was in the shipping business, and made good use of the Mississippi River, shipping items from Louisiana to Minnesota, and points in between. Also, the Devereaux family had a long history in Louisiana, had a home in Baton Rouge, a home in New Orleans, and a plantation on the bayou.

“I do a lot of charity work,” she went on, “and Jeannie is invaluable to me in keeping everything running smoothly. Are you enjoying your supper?”

“Very much.”

Both women had ordered seafood. Jeannie was eating filet of sole Veronique, while Mrs. Devereaux had ordered salmon en croute.

“Will you allow me to at least order dessert for us?” she asked.

“Of course.”

She proceeded to order a raspberry brûlée for all of them, as well as coffee—French roast, of course.

 • • • 

After dessert, Mrs. Devereaux ordered more coffee and then said to Clint, “Perhaps we should get down to business?”

“Is that what this is about? Business?”

“Well . . . perhaps,” she said.

“First,” he said, “my questions.”

“Ah, yes,” she replied, “I did say I'd answer them, didn't I?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Very well.” She slid her fingertips lightly across the slopes of her breasts. “Ask away.”

Clint looked at Jeannie, who lowered her eyes once again.

“How did you know I was in Baton Rouge? And at the Cajun House?”

“That is an easy question,” she said. “Sheriff LeBlanc sent word to me that you had visited him, and told me where you were staying.”

“Why did he do that?”

“Because he knew I needed a man,” she said, “a man capable of boldness.”

“And you assumed I was such a man?”

“I am aware of your reputation, Mr. Adams,” she said, “as the Gunsmith. But I am also aware that reputations can be . . . shall we say, inflated?”

“That's more than most people seem to be aware of,” he said.

“I thought I would invite you dinner and find out for myself if you are the man I need.”

“The man you need for what?”

“A job.”

“I'm not for hire.”

“A favor, then.”

He hesitated, then said, “I have been known to do favors . . . for friends.”

“What about ladies in distress?” she asked.

“Then this job you need done,” he said, “is for you, not for your husband?”

“My husband doesn't know anything about it,” she said. “And I desire to keep it that way.”

“Is that possible?” he asked. “As powerful a man as he appears to be? Can you keep things from him?”

“I believe I can,” she said, “though not many can say the same.”

He studied her across the table.

“You're not French, are you?”

“No,” she said, “and neither am I Cajun.”

“I'd guess . . . Irish.”

She smiled.

“Very good. I am only a lady because my husband married me, Mr. Adams.”

“Clint,” he said, “please.”

“Clint,” she said. “And my friends call me . . . Cappy. Also you obviously realize by now that Capucine is not my real name.”

“Not very Irish, is it?”

“No.”

“Ma'am—” Jeannie started.

“It's all right, Jeannie,” Capucine said, “if Mr. Adams is to do what I ask of him, he must know everything.” She looked at Clint. “Isn't that true?”

He smiled across the table at her and said, “That would be extremely helpful, Cappy.”

“How does the sheriff know you need someone?”

“Well, I told him.”

“And did you tell him what you need this bold man to do?” he asked

“I did not,” she said. “I did think, at one time, that perhaps he was the man to help me, but I decided that he was not.”

“Because what you want is illegal?”

“Because I did not think he was capable of what I needed,” she said. “But I thought he might know a man who was.”

“And did he?”

She hesitated, then said, “He did know a man, but it did not work out.”

“And what happened to that man?”

“He has become part of the problem.”

“Ah . . .”

The waiter came over with a fresh pot of coffee, and they fell silent until he had withdrawn.

“So he told you he'd be on the lookout for someone else?” Clint asked.

“No,” she said, “I did not trust his judgment after . . . that, but he sent me a note telling me that the Gunsmith was in Baton Rouge. Naturally, I acted immediately and had Jeannie deliver my note.”

“And here we are,” Clint said.

“Yes, here we are,” she said. “All three of us.”

“And Jeannie,” Clint said, “she knows all the details?”

“Oh, yes,” Capucine said, “I trust her implicitly—with all the sordid details.”

“The details are sordid, are they?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“And you plan to reveal them to me here?”

“No,” she said, “not here. Someplace more private. I asked you here simply to meet you, spend time with you, and then decide if I would tell you the story. And see if you would agree to listen to it.”

“What if you tell me the whole story and I don't agree to help?”

“I think you will agree.”

“But if I don't, I'll know all the details.”

“And that will make four of us,” she said. “I'm afraid I'll have to take that chance.”

Clint picked up his cup and drank from it, then refilled it himself. He offered the coffeepot to both ladies, who refused.

“All right,” he said, “I'll listen. Where?”

“I have a pied-à-terre in the Garden District.”

Clint looked at Jeannie, who happened to be looking at him at the moment.

“A small, private set of rooms that no one knows about,” she offered.

“Ah.”

“Jeannie knows where it is,” Capucine said. “She will tell you when you escort her home this evening.”

“Oh? Will I be escorting her home tonight?”

“You will,” Capucine said. “I have another stop to make.”

“Is that wise?” he asked. “I mean, for you to go out somewhere alone?”

“I won't be alone,” she said. “My driver will be with me, and as a matter of fact, I am going to be meeting my husband for drinks.”

“Ah,” he said, “I see.”

“So,” she said “if you will join me tomorrow afternoon, I will send a carriage for you. I will pay the check while you and Jeannie start for home.”

Clint had the distinct feeling he and the assistant had just been dismissed.

 • • • 

They found Henri waiting for them out front with his cab. He hopped down to be a gentleman and help Jeannie up into his vehicle.

“Where are we headed?” he asked Clint.

“The Cajun House,” Jeannie said.

“That's my hotel,” he told her.

She looked him in the eye, something she had not done all during the meal. In fact, now that they were away from Capucine Devereaux, her entire demeanor seemed to have changed.

“I know that,” she said. “I'm not quite ready to return home yet. I thought we could have a private drink at your hotel. Is that all right?”

“Uh, that's fine,” Clint said. He looked at Henri. “You heard the lady.”

“The Cajun House,” Henri said. “Comin' up.” But instead of climbing onto his perch, he lowered his voice and asked, “And how was the meal?”

“It was fine,” Clint said, “but give me a good old American-cooked steak every time.”

“Ah,” Henri said, “that can be arranged.”

Henri got himself situated and Clint climbed into the back of the cab, sitting across from Jeannie.

“Why don't you sit over here next to me?” she suggested.

Yes, he thought, shifting his seat, definitely a different demeanor.

They rode to the Cajun House with Jeannie's hip pressed firmly against Clint's. He could feel the warmth of her through their clothes.

“I'll bet you could tell me what your employer's problem is right now,” he said.

“If I wanted to,” she said.

“And?”

“I don't want to,” she answered airily. “That's her business.”

“Isn't her business also your business?” he asked. “I mean, isn't that what being an assistant is all about?”

“Well, yeah, it is,” she said, and then added, “during business hours.”

“And when exactly did business hours end for you?” he asked her.

She put her hand on his arm and squeezed.

“The moment we left Chez Louis.”

“By the way . . .”

“Yes?”

“Is there actually a Louis?” he asked.

She laughed, and didn't answer.

 • • • 

As they entered the hotel lobby, Clint started for the bar, but Jeannie—who had linked her arm in his—yanked him back forcefully.

“The bar is this way,” he told her.

“Yes,” she said, “I know, but . . . isn't your room this way?”

“My room?”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes wide and innocent, “can't we have a drink in your room?”

“My room is nothing fancy,” he warned her. “Certainly not what you're used to.”

“As long as it has a drink,” she said, and then added, “and a bed.”

Her intention was clear, and while he had no objection to it, he felt as if he was in the company of a third woman, one who was not at supper, at all.

“Just let me stop at the front desk.”

“All right.” Reluctantly, she released his arm.

He went to the front desk, where the young desk clerk was smiling at him.

“I'll need a bottle of brandy and two glasses in my room right away.”

“Yessir!” the young man said. “Comin' up.”

Clint started away, then stopped and said, “Whoever brings them up, if I don't answer the door, tell them to just leave them outside the room.”

“Yes, sir!” the young man said with an even bigger smile.

“And wipe that smile off your face!”

Clint walked to Jeannie, took her arm, and led her up the stairs.

 • • • 

After Clint and Jeannie left, Capucine signed for the meal—which her husband would pay for later—and stepped outside. Her driver was waiting with her carriage. He opened the door for her, and she stepped into the enclosed car.

“Where to, ma'am?” he asked.

“The Club,” she told him.

“Yes, ma'am.”

He drove her to the Club, stopping at a rear door, as he usually did when he took her there. He held the carriage door open for her, helped her out, then opened the back door of the building for her.

“Shall I wait, ma'am?” he asked.

“No, Eric,” she said, “I'll be getting a ride home later.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

He closed the door behind her, climbed aboard the carriage, and drove away.

 • • • 

Once she and Clint were in his room, Jeannie said, “Seems to me a man like you would have stayed at the Palace, or some such place.”

“Much too fancy for me,” he told her.

“So you're not a fancy man?”

“I'm not.”

“So why the suit?”

“I may not stay at the Palace,” Clint said, “but I'll go there to gamble.”

“And dress the part, huh?”

“I wouldn't want to get turned away at the door,” he said.

Jeannie was wearing a wrap, which she now took off and set aside on a chair. The sweet scent he'd smelled at the restaurant was in the air, so he now knew it was her, and not Capucine.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well what?”

“Will you undress me,” she asked, raising her hands above her head, “or would you like to watch while I do it myself?”

“Why are you doing this?” Clint asked Jeannie.

She put her hands on her hips.

“Do you always ask a girl why she wants to sleep with you?” she asked.

“Not always.”

“Why now?”

“I'm curious.”

Jeannie hesitated a moment, then lifted her chin and said, “Well, she's eventually going to get you into bed. I just want to beat her to it.”

“I see.”

“Did you think it was because I was in love with you?” she asked.

“No,” he said, “I didn't think that. But what makes you think she'll eventually get me into bed?”

“It's what she does,” Jeannie said, “and I've never known of a man who told her no.”

“I might be the first.”

She laughed.

“You accepted her invitation to supper,” she said, “and you agreed to meet with her tomorrow in private. And suddenly you're going to start saying no?” She raised her arms again. “Now, what's it going to be? You or me?”

He studied her for a long moment, then said, “I'll do it.”

 • • • 

The man at the table stood up as Capucine entered the room and said, “Hello, darling.”

“Oh, do sit down,” she told him, gesturing with her hand then sitting across from him.

He did as he was told.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Pour me a brandy,” she said.

He did so, and poured himself one, from the decanter on the table between them.

“Where's Jeannie?”

“She is with Mr. Adams,” she said, “hopefully fucking his brains out.”

“Do you think he was interested in her?”

“Of course,” she said. “He's a man, isn't he? He was interested in both of us.”

“How was supper?”

“Extremely delicious, as usual,” she said, “and very, very interesting.”

“Interesting?”

“Mr. Adams is a very interesting man,” she said. “Not at all what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Well,” she said, “I expected something of a, well, barbarian.”

“And he was not?'

“Not at all,” she said.

“But he can't be a gentleman.”

“That depends on what you'd call a gentleman,” she said. “Let's just say he had excellent table manners, and leave it at that.”

“Well, all right, then,” the man said, “but . . . did he agree?”

“He agreed to meet with me tomorrow,” she told him, “in private.”

“But did he agree to help you?”

“We didn't discuss it in detail, not at the restaurant,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Too many ears.”

“So then you won't really approach him until tomorrow?” he asked.

“That's right.”

“Do you think he'll agree?”

“Oh, he'll agree, all right,” she said confidently, sipping her drink.

“How can you be so sure?”

She batted her eyelashes at him and said, “Have you ever known a man to say no to me?”

 • • • 

Clint approached Jeannie, slid his hands around her waist. He found the catch there and released it, then drew the zipper down. The dress came away from her body, exposing her breasts. He was surprised not to find support garments underneath. He thought all the women in Louisiana wore them.

“I don't like corsets,” she told him, as if reading his mind. “They make me feel . . . confined.”

He pulled the dress off her. There was a wisp of a garment around her hips, and he tugged that down to the floor. She stepped out of it and kicked it away, kept her hands over her head, which lifted her smallish breasts. He cradled them in his hands, the nipples hard against his palms, and squeezed them. She closed her eyes.

Her skin was pale and smooth. He kissed her neck, and her shoulders. The sweet smell of her skin was heady. Abruptly, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, and she said, “Yes!”