Chapter 2

It looked even worse up close…brick, weather-beaten and worn, an unadorned rectangle. Two-story, maybe eight apartments, definitely low-rent housing, probably Section 8 or HUD-maintained, very unattractive and completely depressing.

Why am I here? What do I expect to accomplish? Other than getting a tongue-lashing for interfering in a stranger’s life and reminding her of the humiliation she experienced in the store.

He couldn’t get her face out of his mind or the way the little girl looked at him. Or maybe he merely wanted to see how her body looked when it wasn't wearing the all-encompassing sweatshirt.

Getting out of the Jag, he went into the building.

The door stuck and the hinges were loose. He had to lift it and push with his shoulder to get it open. There was a crescent-shaped scrape on the uncarpeted wooden boards where it dragged the floor and it stayed open when he released it. Pushing it shut, he turned around.

The foyer was unheated except for a cloud of cooking odors. Someone was frying fish with an overlay of pork chops and cornbread, a veritable miasma of fragrances floating visibly in the air. None of it was unpleasant but mixed together, they were a little overpowering.

He studied the row of mailboxes nailed against the wall.

What had the manager called her?

Richmond, that was it. No first name.

He checked the badly-scribbled names on the little white tabs…Johnson…Scarberry… William Richmond…there it was. She hadn’t had her husband’s name taken off the mailbox yet.

8-B, second floor.

Luc started up the stairs.

By the third step, a new smell added itself to the others, the grease-filled, mouth-watering fragrance of chicken being fried. He was certain he could hear it sizzling behind one of the thin inner walls.

Had she found food? A friendly neighbor, perhaps? Was she preparing supper at that very moment for herself and Merry?

At 8-B, he hesitated.

Got to give her some reason for being here.

Thinking quickly, he dug into his trouser pocket, bringing out a handful of change. Sorting through them, he found what he needed.

Three pennies.

For a moment longer, he stood with one hand raised, then brought his knuckles down decisively and firmly upon the worn, splintered wood.

“Just a minute!” came a muffled response.

Footsteps approached the door. There was a fumbling of locks. She probably had one of those useless burglar chains. The door opened barely enough for him to see part of a pale cheek and one eye peeping out. Even in the dim light of the hallway, he could see the red around that eye and the watery look it held.

“Yes…? Oh.” She recognized him. “You’re the man who…” She stopped, then said rudely, “What do you want?”

“I came to give you this.” He held out the three pennies.

She looked down at them and frowned.

“Your change.”

Her gaze went from his hand to his face. Easing her own through the open space, she reached out.

It would be so easy to seize that hand, and…

She snatched the three cents off his palm, pulling her hand back.

“You didn’t have to do that.” The door swung open a little wider as she put them into her pocket, pulling up the hem of the sweatshirt to do so.

Damn it. He’d hoped she might’ve changed into something else by now. Male curiosity still wondered about the body beneath that baggy garment. He wanted to see if her boobs were big or small, if she was a natural blonde or not.

I want to get you naked, lady, and see your goodies for myself. That shook him a little. Why the hell am I thinking such a thing about a complete stranger? Okay, so it’d been a while since he’d gotten any, before Montreal, in fact, but… Luc never went in for pick-ups or one-night stands.

Damn, man! Are you that desperate?

“I know, but… My name’s Luc Deveraux, Mrs. Richmond, and I’d like to talk to you.” He forced his thoughts onto less lascivious lines, words coming out quickly but calmly. “May I come in?”

He took a step forward.

“I don’t think so.”

Luc stopped.

She stared at him as if trying to decide whether or not he was some kind of lunatic who’d attack her. Sacré, doesn’t she realize how vulnerable she already is…five-foot, probably hundred-pounds…standing in an open doorway?

“I swear I’m harmless,” he assured her.

Her look said otherwise.

“You can leave the door open, if you like.” He managed a smile, his most prepossessing one.

She thought about that. Then, she shut the door.

In a moment, he heard the chain being removed. The door swung open again and she stepped back, making a beckoning gesture with one hand.

Luke walked inside.

As soon as he was barely over the threshold, she raised a hand. He stopped, looking around.

The room was totally bare. No furniture whatsoever. There were marks on the floor where a sofa, a chair, and several other pieces had stood but now they were gone. He wondered if they’d been repossessed or sold. It wasn’t a large room, with a single window looking down onto the street.

At the back, in a little alcove, was a minute kitchen with a small table and one chair almost filling the entire space. Illumination from a bare bulb in the kitchen ceiling spilled into the living room, giving enough light to see by.

To the left was another door. A bedroom, he guessed.

Merry was nowhere in sight.

“Please forgive me if I don’t invite you to sit down.” She allowed herself an ironic smile as she pushed the door against the wall so it was wide open. “My living room furniture’s at a minimum these days.”

He shrugged away the inconvenience, saw her shiver, and wrap her arms about herself. It was cold in the room and the air rushing in from the hallway wasn’t helping. He could feel it on his hands and face though his overcoat was warm enough. He had it unbuttoned, in fact.

“Where’s Merry?”

“Taking a nap.” If she was surprised by his too-familiar use of her daughter’s name, she didn’t show it. “After she finished that doughnut you so kindly supplied… Thank you, by the way. I think I forgot to say that before.”

“Oui, but it doesn’t matter.” Now that he was here, actually face-to-face with her, his idea seemed so harebrained he hesitated to voice it, so he simply stared at her, and enjoying what he saw.

She was small, almost dainty, shorter than he’d originally thought, barely skimming five feet, if even that, making him, at six foot three, feel like a giant.

So pale. She looked as if she’d never seen the sun. It wasn’t the pallor of illness, however, but the translucent fairness of a true blonde. Like his mother’s skin had been.

Peaches and cream, that’s how Gran’père described it. Peaches and cream and sugar and spice and everything nice, that’s what she is, he was sure of it, and why was he thinking such stupid and poetic things? Why didn’t he get on with it?

He knew why. He wanted to stroke her cheek, assure himself of its velvety smoothness. The fingers of his right hand twitched imperceptibly.

Do that, Luc, and you’re sure to get yourself slapped, maybe worse. She had the look of someone who’d knee him in the jewels if he got too close.

* * *

Julie stared back, a little frown wrinkling her forehead. Her own thoughts were more confused than Luc’s.

Why doesn’t he say something? Did I make a mistake by letting him in here?

Of course, she had. Wasn’t he a stranger?

Not very smart, Julie.

She glanced over her shoulder at the door. I’m sure I can get out before he makes a move toward me. But that would mean leaving Merry…

He certainly didn’t look dangerous, she decided, the way he was standing with his hands in his pockets, was very handsome in fact, if a little too tall for her tastes. She didn’t like having to look up at anyone, which usually happened because of her own lack of height. He was undoubtedly muscular. She could sense the power in the body hidden by the heavy overcoat.

That coat…it looked so warm and soft. Bet it’s cashmere or something as expensive. How wonderful to have something like that.

It had been so cold outside this morning, was cold right now. She wondered how it would feel to have those cashmere-covered arms wrapped around her, cuddling her against the warmth of his body.

He was still looking at her with the strangest expression, as if he were trying to memorize her features with those green eyes…

Not green… hazel. Maybe. At the moment as serious as any she had ever seen and his hair… She’d never known anyone with hair that color, a deep bronze. She’d thought it was short but as he walked past her into the living room, she saw it was pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck. Unbound, it was probably longer than her own. She thought it odd that in spite of the season, he looked so tanned, his skin color contrasting with his hair.

It was time to break the silence.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Deveraux?”

That brought him out of his reverie and immediately put him into another.

“I…uh…” Carefully, as if he were thinking out a very difficult problem, he said, “I hope it’s what I can do for you, Mrs. Richmond.”

Oh, no, he’s selling something. Now, she’d have to tell him she hadn’t any money, but he already knew that, didn’t he?

His next words confirmed this fact.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping and I’m sorry I had to witness that little scene in the store but…it would appear you and your daughter are very much in financial need.”

Nice way to put it.

“I’m afraid that’s true, Mr. Deveraux.” No need to deny it. The whole building, the neighborhood, probably all of Dallas, knew by now.

Julie Richmond is penniless.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked up at him. Her breasts made two very slight curves in the front of the oversized shirt and she couldn’t prevent a blush as she saw his eyes flick down to them and back to her face.

“Why should my financial status concern you? What do you want?”

“I’ve a problem, Mrs. Richmond.” Still having no idea how to tell her, Luc said the first thing coming into his mind. “I need a woman and I think you’re the one I’ve been looking for.”

The minute the words were spoken he knew they were a mistake. Mon Dieu, that’s wrong, all wrong. It wasn’t what he intended to say at all. He could tell by the look on her face his apparent crudeness shocked her.

Why don’t I ever think these things out beforehand?

Before he could take back the words or stammer out an explanation, she dropped her arms, hands clenched into fists.

God, is she going to take a swing at me?

“Out.” She bit off the word so sharply it should’ve bled. “Now.”

“No, wait…”

“I think you’d better leave, Mr. Deveraux.”

“Please, I-I didn’t mean…” Merde, he was stammering like a teenager. Not surprising, since he had both feet in his mouth. “Let me explain.”

“No explanations are necessary.” Back rigid, she jabbed a shaking finger at the open door. “I think you’ve made yourself clear enough. Get out of here.”

The gesture was so dramatic, he expected her to add, and never darken my doorway again. He’d have laughed if she hadn’t looked so insulted. That might really make her aim one at him.

“I was afraid I made a mistake letting you in here. It appears I was right.”

“I only want to…”

“I think it’s very plain what you want.” She glared at him. “Let me tell you I’m not that desperate yet!”

With a short, stiff gesture, she motioned to the hall again, mouth set in a teeth-gritting line. He could almost hear them grinding together.

“Now, get out.” A pause, and then, surprisingly, she added, “Please.”

“Look…” He felt in his breast pocket, found a business card and a pen. “Here’s my card.” A quick scribble on its back. “I’m staying at the Dallas Sheraton. If you decide you want to hear what I have to say…”

He held the card out to her.

“I don’t think we’ll be talking again, Mr. Deveraux.” She surprised him by taking the card, then nodded at the door.

Luc walked out. He didn’t look back as the door slammed, nor as he heard the lock and chain slide into place.

I certainly blew that one. Handled it with my usual ham-handed finesse. When will I ever think before I open my big mouth? Once again, it had been graphically revealed to him why his business partner did all the public relations for the firm and he took care of the on-site work.

Donovan Grant once told him if he were to handle the clients, they’d be out of business within a week. He simply wasn’t good at talking to people, no matter the reason, as this little episode had proven.

He was definitely not people-friendly.

Don could have gone in there, explained the problem and within two minutes, had her packing to go to Louisiana with him. Now, because he had once more opened his mouth and inserted both feet up to his knees, not only was he going to be traveling alone but he was in for a very unpleasant confrontation with Gran’père.

Sighing, Luc went down the stairs.

After struggling once more with the door and making certain it stayed shut behind him, he stood beside the car and lit a cigarette.

The wind was starting to blow again. He pulled his gloves from his pocket, putting them on, welcoming the warmth they gave his chilled fingers.

Why does February have to be so damned cold and wet, anyway?

At least it didn’t snow here, although the way his luck was running, they might have a blizzard tonight. Oui, a blizzard and the planes would be grounded and he couldn’t fly out and Gran’père would have to wait for his visit and in the meantime, a miracle would happen, and…

Who am I kidding?

Taking two puffs from the cigarette, he dropped it, grinding it into the sidewalk, then pulled his sunglasses out of his pocket. He might not need them but at that moment he wanted something to hide behind. As he glanced at the upstairs window, he thought was hers, he saw a shadowy figure behind the curtain.

Probably making certain he drove off and going to call a cop if he didn’t.

* * *

Upstairs, Julie tried to force confused thoughts and anger into some semblance of calm.

He’s such a nice-looking man, so handsome. He certainly didn’t look the type who’d have to pay a woman to go to bed with him but obviously he was. Feeling the heat of a blush burning her face, she peered through the dusty curtain without touching it.

He was still standing there, looking up, smoking a cigarette. He’d put on gloves and from somewhere produced a pair of very dark sunglasses. The wind was pulling at his hair, making some of it escape the tie, fluttering it about his face. In the winter sunshine it looked brighter, almost copper, and wasn’t straight as she had thought, for the loose locks were being whipped into curls.

In the pale sunlight, the dark glasses like an impenetrable mask, he looked very dangerous and foreboding, and Julie’s already overwrought imagination began to conjure threatening images.

What if the overcoat hid a shoulder holster? Oh, God, is he a criminal of some kind? A hit man? With that long hair, the sunglasses, and the heavy black coat, he certainly looked the way the movies portrayed them.

A hired killer, at loose ends, looking for a little…entertainment…before going on to his next contract?

The fear she should have felt at last earlier came crashing in.

Julie, you’re an idiot.

She had let him into the apartment where she was alone with Merry. William always said she was too trusting, didn’t he?

Oh, William…

Silently, she watched, barely daring to breathe as Luc got into the car and drove off. It wasn’t until the Jag disappeared around the corner that she took another breath. Only then did she realize she was still clutching the card he’d given her.

She looked down at the engraved name upon it.

Deveraux & Donovan, Architects.

Okay, so he isn’t a hired killer.

“I don’t think so, Mr. Deveraux.” Walking into the kitchen, she dropped the card into the grocery bag serving as a garbage can, then dusted her hands together dramatically. She supposed she should have been flattered he wanted her, but she felt anything but. She’d told him the truth. She wasn’t that desperate.

Not yet.

* * *

Seven o’clock the next morning, after searching the refrigerator, all the kitchen cabinets, and ransacking the tiny pantry…after trying to explain to Merry why there was no breakfast available…she scrabbled through the trash bag, looking for the card. Retrieving it from under a used tissue and a banana peel, she held it up, brushing away a crumb of cereal and a smear of margarine.

For several seconds, she stared at the words Luc had written on the back. Sheraton, Room 202. Then she raced out of the apartment and across the hall, where she pounded on the opposite door.

“Delaine? Delaine! I need to talk to you.”