Shadows At Sunset (24 page)

Eight months later

J
illy Meyer balanced a bag of groceries on her hip as she fiddled with the key to her apartment. It was a tricky lock—the building with its Spanish courtyard dated back to the 1930s, and as far as Jilly could tell the locks had never been changed. She didn't mind the extra trouble, especially when she looked at the ornate key hanging next to the key to her Saturn. She'd sold the Corvette—it was too powerful, and she'd somehow lost her imperviousness to traffic tickets. After piling up three in a row she decided she needed a more sedate car.

She'd sold La Casa de Sombras. Well, the three of them had, to an independent film studio who planned to restore it to its former glory and use it as offices. She'd warned them about the ghosts, but for some reason no one ever saw them, not even Rachel-Ann.

She'd had a hard time finding an apartment that would let her bring a dog as big as Roofus, but Dean had grown into his role as corporate shark, and he'd found this place for her in a matter of hours, once the sale of La Casa was agreed upon. And the apartment had been perfect, in dire need of having the wallpaper and woodwork stripped, the leaded windows reglazed, the walls replastered. Unfortunately it was finished now, perfect, and there was nothing to occupy her. Rico and Rachel-Ann flatly refused to let her do anything to their new bungalow, so she had to make do with buying baby clothes before her sister was even four months along. Even though Consuelo insisted in shocked tones that it was bad luck. Rico and Rachel-Ann were unconcerned with bad luck.

She had no one left to take care of. Rachel-Ann was happier than she'd ever been in her life, surrounded by her huge, extended family of in-laws. If Rachel-Ann missed the brother she only knew she had for a few hours, then Consuelo and the cousins made up for it. As did the child growing within her.

And Dean had blossomed. Smooth, sure of himself, though still attached at the hip to his beloved computer, he didn't need her at all. The only creature who seemed to need her was Roofus, and even he was getting tired of the small apartment.

She braced herself as she opened the door, waiting for Roofus to bound out in an excess of canine enthusiasm, but instead she heard a soft, plaintive woof from within the dark confines of the apartment.

She dropped the bag of groceries, stumbling into the living room in sudden panic, calling his name. Only to find him sitting peacefully, his tail wagging, his huge head on Coltrane's lap.

Eight months. Eight months without a word, and there he sat, in the middle of her new apartment.

“How did you get in here?” she demanded. She didn't make the mistake of calling Roofus to her side. He looked so pleased there was a good chance he wouldn't come.

“I actually know how to pick locks. An old skill, acquired under circumstances you're better off not hearing about,” he said. His voice. She hadn't realized how much she missed the sound of it.

“Then why don't you pick your way out?” she said sweetly. He looked different. His hair was no longer bleached by the sun—it was more a sandy color, and it was shorter than she remembered. His clothes were different. No more California Armani.

“I want to talk to you.”

“I'm sure you do. How did you find me?”

“I've always known where you were.”

“That's more than I can say about you.”

“I went back to New Orleans.”

“And you think I care?” She was quite proud of herself—the brittle anger, the cool disdain. She was a better actress than she'd realized.

“Yes,” he said. “You know what my name is?”

“Probably not. You lied about everything else.”

“It's Coltrane. I mean my full name. Zachariah Redemption Coltrane. I thought it was time to start living up to it.”

“So you've redeemed yourself. I'm overjoyed to hear it. Now go away.”

“What do I have to do, Jilly? Crawl through fire?”

“What do you want from me? If it's Rachel-Ann's phone number I imagine Dean will give it to you.”

“I've seen her a number of times since last fall. I like her husband.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You were in L.A.? Because I know for sure that Rachel-Ann hasn't left.”

“Yes.”

Her icy composure was cracking fast, and she needed him out of there. It had taken her months to stop crying at the drop of a hat, months longer to finally feel like she'd have a life again. All he had to do was break into her apartment like a sneak thief for her to know she'd been fooling herself.

“What do you want from me?” she asked again. “I've got a date tonight, and I don't have time for chitchat.”

“You're still not very good at lying. You don't have a date.”

“You think no one would want me?”

“No. I think you don't want anyone but me. Don't throw that lamp at me,” he added hastily, as she glanced around her.

“It's my lamp. I can throw what I want. I'm asking you one more time. What do you want from me?”

“I have a house in the French Quarter. It's a disaster, even though it's a historic site. They used to hold Quadroon balls there. Lots of historic preservation going on. People actually care about the past in New Orleans.”

“And?”

“I've got a lousy job for shit wages. I'm a public defender, defending every kind of loser.”

“Why?”

“Because someone has to do it. Someone has to watch out for people who can't watch out for themselves.”

“Codependent,” she said.

“Takes one to know one,” he replied. “There's a huge yard at the house. Lots of room for Roofus.”

“I see,” Jilly said calmly. “You came back after all this time without a word, picked my lock because you want to take my dog away from me?”

For a moment he thought she was serious. “Jilly!” he exploded, and then stopped. “You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

“Crawling through fire is a nice image,” she said.

“I went away to see if there was any way I could still be a decent human being. You don't deserve less.”

“And now I deserve you? Lucky me,” she said lightly.

His slow, lazy smile was absolutely devastating. “Well, I doubt you'll ever be bad enough to really deserve me. But you were showing a real talent for being wicked and selfish, and I thought it was my duty to encourage that side of you.”

“Did you?”

“Hell, if you won't come for yourself, come for me. I need taking care of. Rescuing from my inner demons, and you're so good at that, Jilly. You've had so much experience taking care of everyone else.”

“Asshole,” she muttered.

“Or you could come for the best sex either of us have ever had or ever will have in our entire lives.”

“Not good enough.”

“Then come with me because I love you.”

And in the end it was that simple. “I love you, too.”

“I know,” he said.

Roofus barked as she threw the lamp at Coltrane's head. The boy had a lot of redemption left to seek, but she was going to make sure he found it.

With her, in a ruined old house in New Orleans. And maybe there'd be a little redemption left for her, as well. Even the strong one sometimes needed help.

“Are you going to marry me?”

His slow, sexy grin made her dizzy. “If you'll stop throwing things at me.”

“I want babies.”

“If you stop throwing things at me.”

“I want you.”

“Well, that, Jilly, you may have. Any time you want.”

And she did.