Night Moves: Dream Man/After the Night (13 page)

She got up and went in search of Carlene DuBois. The front desk was empty, and the rest of the library appeared to be, too. “Mrs. DuBois?” she called, the sound absorbed and flattened by the rows of books. Carlene heard her, however, for there was the squeak of rubber-soled shoes on the tile.

“Right here,” said Carlene cheerfully, emerging from the back of the reference book section. “Did you find what you needed?”

“Yes, I did, thank you. I noticed something else that puzzled me, though. It was just a little article, but it said that Gray Rouillard had taken over control of the family businesses. This was twelve years ago, and it seemed strange, because Gray had to have been only in his early twenties—”

“My, yes. You must have left before the big scandal, or maybe you were too young to pay much attention to that sort of thing. We moved to town, oh, eleven years ago, and it was still a hot topic of conversation then, I can tell you.”

“What scandal?” Faith tensed, her puzzlement turning into alarm. Something wasn’t right.

“Why, when Guy Rouillard ran off with his mistress. I don’t know who she was, but everyone says she was nothing but trash. He must have absolutely lost his mind, is all I can say, to walk off from his family and fortune the way he did.”

“He never came back?” Faith couldn’t hide her shock, but Carlene saw nothing wrong with that reaction.

“No one’s seen hide nor hair of him since then. When he left, he stayed gone. Some say his wife was enough to drive any man away, but I can’t say for sure myself, because I’ve never met her. Folks say she hasn’t left the house since the day he walked out. He never even bothered to get in touch with his own children again.”

Faith was staggered. Guy Rouillard had adored his kids; regardless of his feelings for his wife, there had never been any doubt about how much he had loved Gray and Monica.

“I suppose Mrs. Rouillard divorced him?” she asked, but Carlene shook her head.

“Never has. Reckon she didn’t want him to be able to marry again, if he was so inclined. Anyway, as young as Mr. Gray was, he stepped into his father’s shoes and things carried on just as if Mr. Rouillard was still here. Probably better, from what folks say.”

“I was too young to remember much about him,” Faith lied. “I do remember that he was a sort of local hero, playing football at LSU, things like that.”

“Well, honey, let me tell you, things haven’t changed much,” Carlene said, and fanned herself with her hand. “Lordy, that man rates a ten on my scale, I can tell you. He makes my heart flutter, and me ten years older than he is and about to be a grandmother besides!” She blushed, but gave a surprisingly bawdy laugh. “It might be those bedroom eyes, or maybe it’s the hair. Or it
could
be that tight little butt!” She sighed dreamily. “He’s a scoundrel, all right, but who cares?”

“Does he know you’re sweet on him?” Faith teased.

“Honey, every woman in town is sweet on him, and yes, he knows it, the devil.” Carlene gave her lusty laugh again. “My husband teases me about getting
his
ear pierced so he can compete.”

Gray had a pierced ear? Faith found herself caught in
imagination, and shook herself free. What she had learned was startling, and she needed to be alone so she could think things through.

She glanced at her watch. “It’s almost closing time, so I’d better clear out. Thanks for your help, Mrs. DuBois. It was nice meeting you.”

“You, too.” Carlene paused. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name.”

Because it hadn’t been thrown, but Faith saw no reason not to tell her. “I’m Faith Hardy,” she said.

“Well, nice to meet you, Faith. That’s such a pretty, old-fashioned name. You don’t hear it much anymore.”

“No, I suppose you don’t.” Faith glanced at her watch again. “Good-bye. Thanks again for your help.”

“Any time.”

Faith drove back to the motel, stopping by McDonald’s for a sandwich. She didn’t particularly like fast food, but didn’t want to go to a restaurant where she might be recognized, so she made do. She ate half the sandwich and tossed the rest of it in the trash, too disturbed to have much of an appetite.

Guy Rouillard had disappeared. But if he hadn’t run away with Renee, what
had
happened to him?

Faith lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, trying to sort things out. Guy wouldn’t have walked away from his home, his family, his wealth, without a reason. Everyone had thought Renee was that reason, but Faith knew it wasn’t so. And even if he had simply gotten fed up with his marriage, why hadn’t he just gotten a divorce? The Rouillards were Catholic, but divorce wasn’t a problem unless he wanted to remarry. But he had never seemed to be an unhappy man; why should he be? His world had been the way he wanted it. She couldn’t think of any reason why he would have left so abruptly, without word, and never tried to contact his family.

Unless he was dead.

The possibility—no, the
probability
—was stunning. Faith felt almost sick at the idea as she considered and rejected scenarios. He might have simply gone away for a couple of days and suddenly gotten sick, or maybe had an
accident, but if either of those possibilities had been the case, he would have been found, identified, his family notified. That hadn’t happened. Guy Rouillard had disappeared, on the same night her mother had run away.

Dear God, had Renee killed him? Faith sat up and distractedly ran her hands through her hair. She couldn’t dismiss the thought, even though she couldn’t see her mother doing such a thing. Renee had the morals of an alley cat, but she wasn’t, never had been, a violent person.

Amos, then? Faith could better envision that. If he’d thought he could get away with it, Amos had been capable of anything. But she remembered that night well; Amos had staggered home around nine, already falling down drunk and swearing at her because Renee wasn’t at home. Both Russ and Nicky, also drunk, had come home after that. Could one of them have killed Guy Rouillard, or perhaps even both of them? But nothing had seemed out of the ordinary, and Faith would have sworn they had been as surprised as she when Renee didn’t come home. More than that, they simply hadn’t
cared
that their mother was sleeping with Guy; neither had Amos, for that matter.

Who else was possible? Maybe Mrs. Rouillard. Maybe Noelle had killed her husband because she was tired of his unfaithfulness, though from all reports he had been sleeping around since the beginning of their marriage, and she had never seemed to care, had even been grateful. His affair with Renee had been going on for years; why should she suddenly object to it? No, Faith doubted Noelle had cared enough even to scold him, much less go to the trouble of murder.

That left one person: Gray.

Forcefully she rejected that thought. No, not Gray. She remembered his face as it had been when he had come to the shack that morning, and as he had been that awful night. She remembered his fury, his implacable hatred. Gray had thought his father had run away with her mother, and he’d been in a rage.

But Gray had had the most to gain from his father’s death. With Guy gone, he had taken over the reins to the Rouillard fortune, and made himself even wealthier, from what the librarian had said. He had been groomed from the day of his
birth to one day step into his father’s shoes; had he gotten tired of waiting, and put Guy out of the way?

Faith’s thoughts darted around like a squirrel in a cage, banging against the bars. The door rattled under the force of several heavy blows and she jumped, startled and not a little alarmed. Why would anyone be at her door? No one knew where she was, so there couldn’t be a message from her office. She got up and went to the door, but didn’t open it. There wasn’t a peephole, either, she noticed. “Who is it?”

“Gray Rouillard.”

Her heart almost stopped beating. It had been twelve years since she had heard that deep, smoky voice, but she went weak at the sound of it, excitement mingled with fear. He had hurt her worse than anyone else in her life, but still he had the power to electrify every cell in her body with nothing but his voice. Just hearing him again made her feel like the child she had been at fourteen, all shivery and agitated at his nearness. And always, always, was that ugly counterweight pulling her in the opposite direction, the stark memory of him saying,
You’re trash.
She had never been able to find any balance where Gray was concerned, had never been able to forget him, dream and nightmare combined.

The timing of his arrival made her skin prickle. Had she conjured him up with her thoughts? She stood there for so long that the door rattled again under the impact of his fist.

“Open up.” In his tone was the iron authority of someone who expected to be obeyed, immediately, and intended to see that he was.

Cautiously she unchained the door and opened it, and looked up at the man she hadn’t seen for a dozen years. It didn’t matter. No matter how long it had been, she would have recognized him. He stood there in the doorway, disdaining to come in, and the impact of his physical presence took her breath.

He was bigger than she remembered, but then six four always seemed taller when you were looking up at it. His waist and hips were still lean, but he was heavier through the chest and shoulders, having achieved the hard solidity of manhood. And he was definitely a man, all hint of boyhood
long gone. His face was leaner, stronger, more harsh, with grooves bracketing his mouth and lines of maturity at the corners of his eyes. She stared up into the face of a pirate, and knew why Carlene DuBois had gotten the shivers at the mere mention of his name. His black hair was longer than she had ever seen it before, pulled back from his face and secured at the nape of his neck. A tiny diamond winked in his left earlobe. At twenty-two, he had been impressive. At thirty-four, he was dangerous, a pirate in nature as well as appearance. Looking at him made her feel hot and shivery all at once, her heart suddenly pounding so hard, she wondered that he couldn’t hear it. She recognized the symptoms, and hated her sickness. God, was she doomed to spend her entire life going weak at the sight or sound of Gray Rouillard? Why couldn’t she get beyond that leftover childhood reaction?

Above the thin blade of his nose, his sinfully dark eyes were still cold and implacable.

The sensual line of his mouth twisted as he looked down at her. “Faith Devlin,” he said. “Reuben was right; you look just like your mother.”

But if he had changed, so had she. Faith had won her confidence the hard way. She gave him a cool little smile and said, “Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment. I don’t know why you’re here, and it doesn’t matter. This motel belongs to me. You aren’t welcome. You have half an hour to get packed and get out.” He gave her a wolfish smile that wasn’t really a smile. “Or do I have to call the sheriff again to get rid of you?”

The memory of that night lay between them, so strong that it was almost tangible. For a moment she saw again the lights, felt the confused terror, but she refused to let him throw her into a state of panic. Instead she gave a graceful shrug and turned away from him, strolling into the small dressing area, where she efficiently swept her few toiletries into her overnight case and took her single change of clothes from the rack. Acutely aware of those dark eyes boring a hole through her, Faith folded the clothes over her arm, slipped on her shoes, picked up her purse, and sauntered past him without ever changing her calm expression.

As she drove away from the motel, on her way back to Baton Rouge, he was still standing in the open door staring after her.

•  •  •

Faith Devlin! How about that for a blast from the past? Gray stood watching her taillights until they disappeared from view. When Reuben had called to tell him that a woman who was the spitting image of Renee Devlin had checked into the motel, and that she had registered as Faith D. Hardy, he’d had no doubt about her identity. So one of the Devlin spawn had finally worked up the nerve to come back to Prescott! He wasn’t surprised that it was Faith. She had always had more backbone than the rest of the bunch put together. Which didn’t mean he’d been inclined to let her stay.

He turned back into the lighted room that she had abandoned with so little fuss. Without any fuss, damn it. If he’d wanted a fight, she hadn’t obliged him. She hadn’t even asked for a refund on her credit card. Without so much as a flicker of an eyelash, she had gathered up her stuff and left. It hadn’t taken a minute; hell, he doubted it had taken her thirty seconds.

She was gone, and except for the wrinkled bedspread, the room was as pristine as if she’d never been there, but her presence still lingered. There was a sweet, faintly spicy scent in the air that overrode the staleness endemic to all motel rooms, and his blood stirred in instinctive reaction to it. It was the smell of woman, universal in some ways, exclusive to her in others. He stepped farther into the room, drawn by that elusive scent, his nostrils flaring like a stallion’s.

Faith Devlin. Just hearing her name had brought back that night and he had seen her again in his mind, silent and willowy, with that dark-fire hair tumbling over her shoulders and her slender body silhouetted inside her thin nightgown, weaving a sensual spell over the deputies and himself. She had been only a kid then, for God’s sake, but she had had her mother’s sultry aura even then.

When she had opened the door to this room and he had seen her again, he had been stunned. She looked so much like Renee that he’d wanted to throttle her, but at the same
time there was no mistaking her for her mother. Faith was a little taller, still more slender than voluptuous, though she had filled out nicely in the twelve years since he’d last seen her. Her coloring was the same as Renee’s: the dark red mane, the slumberous gold-flecked green eyes, the translucent skin. What had infuriated him, though, was her effortless sensuality, and his own unwilling reaction to it. It wasn’t anything she had said or done, or even what she’d been wearing, which had been a stylish business suit. A Devlin wearing a suit, by God! No, it had been something intrinsic in her nature, something Renee had also possessed. The older daughter—he couldn’t remember her name—hadn’t had that potent allure. She had been easy and cheap, not sexy. Faith was sexy. Not overtly so, as Renee had been, but just as potent. He had looked into those cat eyes and thought of the bed just behind her, thought of tangled sheets and hot flesh, of having her naked beneath him and feeling her thighs clasp his hips just as he found the soft opening between her legs and pushed deep inside . . .