Stranger, Seducer, Protector

It had not been to like it.

Falling for Jacinth would undermine the most important investigation of his life. Yet, he was falling, and falling hard.

It wasn’t just the physical attraction, though that was dynamite. It was everything about her.

He felt this fierce need to protect her, but the one she needed protection from most was him. He couldn’t keep his hands off her. And that kiss last night had equaled the thrill of having sex with any other woman he’d ever been with. Pulling away and leaving her at the door had been downright painful.

None of that changed what he had to do, but he couldn’t be lover and destroyer. He’d have to put the skids on any romantic involvement.

His mind understood that. His body was the traitor.

Stranger, Seducer, Protector

Joanna Wayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

TO ALL MY READERS WHO LOVE NEW ORLEANS AND THE

MYSTERY AND ROMANCE IT INSPIRES. AND A SPECIAL

SMILE AND WAVE TO ALL LOUISIANA FRIENDS AND FAMILY.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joanna Wayne was born and raised in Shreveport, Louisiana, and received her undergraduate and graduate degrees from LSU-Shreveport. She moved to New Orleans in 1984, and it was there that she attended her first writing class and joined her first professional writing organization. Her debut novel, Deep in the Bayou, was published in 1994.

Now, dozens of published books later, Joanna has made a name for herself as being on the cutting edge of romantic suspense in both series and single-title novels. She has been on the Waldenbooks bestseller list for romance and has won many industry awards. She is also a popular speaker at writing organizations and local community functions and has taught creative writing at the University of New Orleans Metropolitan College.

Joanna currently resides in a small community forty miles north of Houston, Texas, with her husband. Though she still has many family and emotional ties to Louisiana, she loves living in the Lone Star State. You may write Joanna at P.O. Box 852, Montgomery, Texas 77356.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Nick Bruno —He’s dead set on only one thing—until he meets Jacinth Villaré.

Jacinth Villaré —The sprawling Esplanade Avenue mansion she and her sister have inherited has turned into a nightmare.

Elton Bruno —Nick’s father. He’s spent most of his adult life in prison for a crime he claims he didn’t commit.

Caitlyn Villaré —Jacinth’s sister, who is away on her honeymoon.

Dr. Reginald Jefferies —Jacinth’s professor friend and mentor.

Detective Ron Greene —He’s determined to make an arrest.

Joy Adams, Cecelia Davis and Jewel Benet —Three New Orleans exotic dancers who disappeared without a trace.

Sophie and Micah Villaré —Jacinth’s parents, no longer living.

Marie Villaré —Jacinth’s grandmother, who willed her and Caitlyn the aging mansion.

Luther Villaré —Micah Villaré’s half brother.

Carrie Marks —Luther’s girlfriend before he was murdered.

Gladys Findley —Jacinth’s next-door neighbor.

Eric Ledeaux —An old friend of Marie’s before her death, and a spurned lover of Joy Adams’s.

Billy Raquet —Carrie Marks’s current boyfriend. Bill and Eugenia Kibecti —Friends of Dr. Jefferies who own a historic home with a secret passageway.

Sarah Livingston —Joy Adams’s roommate when Joy disappeared.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter One

Her heart pounded and cold sweat trickled down her face and between her breasts. There was no mistaking the creaks of the aged floorboards outside her room.

He was there, pacing, watching, anticipating the moment when he would place his cold, meaty fingers around her neck and squeeze the breath from her lungs.

The doorbell rang. Jacinth Villaré’s heart jumped to her throat and the gritty suspense novel she’d been reading slipped from her hands and slapped against the blue quilt. Apprehension lingered. Who would be visiting this time of night?

She glanced at the clock next to her bed. It was only ten after ten, not really considered late in the Big Easy, though Jacinth had snuggled into bed with her book a full hour ago.

The visitor at the door was likely a lost tourist looking for the bed-and-breakfast where he’d rented a room for the night. There were two in Jacinth’s block alone, one owned by the friendly gay couple who lived just to the right of her.

The bell rang again. She untangled herself from the crisp percale sheets, threw her legs over the side of the bed and felt the familiar tingle of old wool as her heels and toes caressed the worn rug.

She reached back for the book to tuck it beneath the covers, and then realized the act would be a waste of time.

Romantic suspense was her secret escape from the stacks of historically accurate novels and legitimate works of nonfiction that defined her serious, academic persona.

But no one would be visiting her bedroom tonight.

Unfortunately, that was also true for every other night in the recent past and likely the immediate future. Working toward her doctorate and keeping up with her duties as a teacher left no time to invest in a relationship.

Her hands automatically grabbed for her tatty chenille robe before she changed her mind and left it hanging from the bedpost. Her nightshirt covered more than the shorts and T-shirt she’d worn to rake the yard this afternoon.

She flicked the light switch at the top of the winding staircase. Shimmery illumination from the cut-glass chandelier crept over the walls like golden wings.

Repairing and cleaning the monstrous antique had taken months, but the air of opulence it provided the old family home was definitely worth the time and cost.

The floorboards creaked eerily as she traipsed the hallway of the sprawling mansion. Reaching the wide double doors, Jacinth cautiously put her eye to the peephole. The gas lantern near the front walk painted entrancing shadows across the man at her door, but did nothing to disguise his rugged masculinity.

Hard bodied, clearly evident in the black T-shirt he was wearing. Unruly dark hair peeking from beneath a Saints cap. A face with character and craggy angles. The kind of stranger you’d invite into an erotic dream—but not into your living room at ten at night.

Jacinth unlatched the door and eased it open a crack, leaving the security chain firmly in place. “Can I help you?”

“Just thought I’d warn you that you’re going to have one hell of a water bill if you don’t turn off your sprinkler system.”

“I don’t have a sprinkler system.”

“Then you’ve got bigger problems.”

She glanced past the man and at a stream of water flowing across her soggy front yard and pouring over the curb like an infinity pool.

She groaned. “Another wretched trick of this money pit posing as a house. I know the plumber better than I know my neighbors. I’ll call him.”

“I can locate the outside valve and turn your water off if you like. Then you could wait until morning to call him. That might save you paying double or even triple for an after-hours emergency call.”

Money she didn’t have to waste. “I’d appreciate that.” Her wary nature checked in again. “Who are you?”

“Sorry. Guess I should have introduced myself. Name’s Nick Bruno. I’m moving in next door to you.”

“Into the B and B?”

“The other next door. I rented the carriage house apartment from Gladys Findley.”

Bruno. The same last name as the man who’d killed her father. Not that she could hold that against this guy, unless… “You’re not kin to Elton Bruno, are you?”

He looked bewildered. “Who is that?”

“Forget it.”

Jacinth couldn’t see the street in front of the Findley house from this angle, but she had noticed that the “furnished apartment for rent” sign had still been in place when she’d raked the latest deluge of oak leaves from the lawn late this afternoon. “When did you move in?”

“I haven’t yet. I just closed the deal this afternoon and I was bringing over a few boxes tonight. I didn’t expect to need rubber boots.”

“Sorry. Years of neglect have left this house a catastrophe waiting to happen. I’m afraid that living next to me, you’ll never know what to expect.”

“Sounds intriguing.”

The deep timbre of his voice coupled with a seductive smile raised her pulse more effectively than her nightly sit-ups had. “I’m Jacinth Villaré,” she said, finally unlatching the safety chain and extending a hand.

Her cat appeared from nowhere and curled around Jacinth’s ankle, feigning protectiveness. Jacinth reached down to pick her up, but the feline yowled and made a stealthy dart toward freedom.

“Come back here, Sin,” she ordered a cat that never followed her commands.

Nick snatched up the cat before it could sink into the watery slush. “Sin? Interesting name for this bad boy.”

“She’s a girl. And Sin is short for Sinister, a name well deserved for her evil stare when the royal highness’s dignity is affronted.”

He held the cat up for Jacinth to rescue from his strong arms.

Sin arched her back and showed her claws as if ready to attack. Nick ignored her antics.

“I’d recommend filling some kitchen pots and your bathtub with water before I cut it off. But with that leak, you can expect the pressure to be low.”

“Thanks. I will. Give me ten minutes.”

“Perfect.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” she called as he walked away.

Jacinth hurried to the kitchen, filled a few pots for drinking water and then raced up the stairs to fill the tub in her bathroom. The pressure was indeed low, but if Hunky Nick gave her the full ten minutes, she could collect enough water to flush the commode until the leak was fixed.

Hunky Nick who was now her next-door neighbor. Probably married or gay, she cautioned a few unexpected, lustful vibes.

The bathtub was almost full when the decreased flow from the faucet turned into a trickle and then stopped altogether. Evidently, Nick had located the valve and likely saved her a fortune on her water and plumbing bills.

Married or not, the guy was handy to have around.

Now back to bed to finish the last chapter in her book, though she feared Nick’s image might replace the description the author had provided for the hero. Her hand was on the doorknob when a crash behind her created a deluge of flying debris.

She spun around to find that the back wall had caved in, dropping huge chunks of plaster into her tub of previously clean water. A wall she had only last week spent hours painting.

Her spirits caved with the chalky drywall. Why had she fallen in love with a house that didn’t love her back?

More plaster fell, a lump of it landing near her feet. She started to step over it. Only…

Cripes!

It wasn’t plaster. It was…

A scream tore from her throat as a decaying head rolled against her bare foot and its remaining, wiry blond hair came to rest against Jacinth’s toes.

Chapter Two

The scream stopped Nick in his tracks. No mistaking its origin. It had come from the second floor of the Villaré house.

Adrenaline shot through him, triggering his instincts for danger. The boxes he was carrying slipped from his grasp and crashed to the damp ground near his pickup truck. A pair of tennis shoes and some DVDs flew out of one.

He could see nothing but escaping rectangles of light from the windows of the Villaré house, but he grabbed the loaded Glock from under the driver’s seat before he took off, sloshing in the mud toward the scream.

He took Jacinth’s front steps two at a time, then pressed on the bell with the index finger of his left hand. His right hand held the Glock.

“Jacinth,” he called. “Are you okay?”

No answer. No more screams. Nothing from the house except dead silence. The scream echoed though his mind. Hair-raising. Bloodcurdling.

He was ready to shoot off the lock when he heard footsteps approach the door.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me—Nick. I heard you scream.”

She unlocked the door and opened it, standing in it rather than inviting him in. Her eyes were wide, her gorgeous face a ghostly white, and her hair was covered with dust and bits of what looked like chalk.

Nick kept his finger poised near the trigger. He stretched his neck, trying to see past her and into the house. All he saw were indistinct shadows lurking in the hallway beyond the foyer.

“Is someone here with you?”

“No. At least no one who’s currently alive.”

“Care to explain?”

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as if trying to gain control. “The walls in one upstairs bathroom collapsed and a woman’s head fell out of the debris and rolled across the tile.” She shuddered again.

“A human head fell out of your wall?”

“I know how bizarre this must sound, but you can’t say I didn’t warn you about living next to me.”

“Too late. I’ve already paid the deposit and the first month’s rent.”

She was trying to make light of the nightmarish situation now, but he’d heard the scream. It had vibrated with pure terror. He held the gun where she could see it.

“If there’s a problem, I can help.”

She hesitated, eyeing him warily, her gaze lingering on his pistol.

“Do you have a license to carry that thing?”

“A weapon, not a thing.” Transferring the automatic .45 to his left hand, he retrieved a business card from the back pocket of his jeans. He handed it to her.

She read it and then stared up at him from beneath incredibly dark and thick lashes. “So you’re a private detective.”

“Yep. I’m legitimate and harmless.”

“That’s what all the B-movie psychos say.” But she finally stepped aside for him to enter.

Their bare arms brushed. The feel of satiny softness so unlike his own weathered skin caught him off guard. So did the surge of arousal that followed.

He stepped away as she closed and locked the door behind them.

He followed her up a wide, winding staircase, mesmerized by the sensuous sway of her hips. He’d never expected Jacinth Villaré to be this hot.

What he had planned might turn out to be a lot like playing catch with a hand grenade.

His sinuses rebelled as she led him into a high-ceilinged, narrow bathroom at the head of the stairs. The wall behind the tub had collapsed as if it had been shaken from its supports by a devastating earthquake. Stooping, he picked up a large chunk of plaster and turned it over in his hand a couple of times.

“This is damp. You must have a leak in the wall, as well. That’s probably what caused the collapse.”

“I can live with crumbling walls.” She pointed at the floor next to a woven clothes hamper. “That has got to go.”

He stared at the rotting head. Definitely human.

“Someone must have decapitated her and buried the head inside the walls of the house,” Jacinth said, her voice steadier and her mood seemingly calmer now that he was on the scene with her.

“Looks that way,” he agreed. “I’m not sure the victim is female, though. A lot of male French Quarter inhabitants wear their hair long.”

She nodded. “At least the decay explains the smell,” Jacinth said.

“Not nearly as bad as I would have expected,” Nick said.

“But the odor was nauseating in this room when we first took possession of the house. My sister Caitlyn was convinced it was a backup in the sewerage lines. The plumber we called assured us the smell was from something that had died in the wall. We assumed he meant something like a rat or a squirrel. It never dawned on either of us that the source of the odor might be human.”

“What did you do?”

“Called an exterminator. He checked the attic, but didn’t find what was causing the stench. Thankfully, he got rid of some rodents we didn’t know we had. Then we hired a handyman to secure the structure to keep out future pests.”

“And the sickening odor?”

“The exterminator used some kind of expensive chemical to subdue it. It took three treatments.”

Nick settled on his haunches for a better look at the head. He couldn’t tell how long it had been rotting in the walls, but his educated guess was no more than eighteen months.

“How long have you lived in the house?” he asked.

“Just under a year, but our first visit was immediately after my grandmother’s will was probated. That was fourteen months ago.”

Old murder tales went with the house like crawfish and étouffée, but it rattled Nick to think this atrocity might have taken place after Jacinth and her sister had moved in.

“Where’s your sister?” he asked.

“On her honeymoon.”

He hadn’t realized she’d gotten married, though he’d thoroughly researched both sisters. Caitlyn was the drama queen who made a living by giving tours of the ghostly and sometimes dangerous Cities of the Dead that housed the Quarter’s famed crypts and tombs. She’d nearly gotten herself killed in that capacity.

Jacinth was the quiet and studious type, a graduate student with a teaching assistantship at Tulane. Brainy and sophisticated. Unquestionably, not his type.

Too bad she was so damned attractive. And that was without a trace of makeup and with her silky, dark hair disheveled and powdered with grayish, flaky plaster.

Best not to even glance at the cotton nightshirt that skimmed her perky breasts and danced about her shapely legs.

“I’m calling the cops,” Jacinth announced, “though I doubt they’ll rush right over to examine a decayed body that may have been entombed in the wall for years.”

Bringing in the cops at this stage of the game might complicate his mission, but there was little he could do about that now. He waited as she made the call, his mind dealing with ways to handle the new layers of intricacies.

“They’re sending a uniformed officer to deal with the situation,” Jacinth said once she’d broken the connection. “They said we shouldn’t touch anything before he arrives—as if I would willingly touch that head. But I guess I should get Sin out of here.”

Jacinth reached up to a shelf just over her head where Sin had settled, looking as if she were poised for an ambush. Jacinth’s nightshirt inched up her thighs.

Nick grew instantly hard. Sin avoided Jacinth’s grasping hands and pounced on Nick’s back, letting her claws scrape the skin at the back of his neck before it leaped from his shoulders to the top of the clothes hamper.

Jacinth scolded the cat. The feline demonstrated the stare that had earned her name. Nick was undaunted. He figured he’d had the scratch and the stare coming to him for the thoughts he’d had about the cat’s owner.

“Maybe we should go back downstairs and wait for the cop,” Nick said.

“I appreciate you coming to my rescue tonight, Nick, but there’s really no reason for you to stay. I’ll be fine now that I’ve calmed down—unless the house decides to hurl the rest of the corpse at me.”

“I wouldn’t rule that out.”

She looked back to the freakish head. “Good point. But it’s late and you probably still have boxes to carry inside.”

“Only a couple. And I’m a night owl. I’d be happy to stay.”

“In that case, I wouldn’t mind the company.” Jacinth covered her mouth and coughed. “My throat feels as if I’ve been eating grit.”

“More reason we should get out of here and close the door.” In truth, he’d like nothing better than to explore behind the walls and see what other gruesome surprises might be skulking there. Only he’d prefer to do that without Jacinth looking over his shoulder or even being in the house.

Jacinth stepped over to make another stab at retrieving Sin. The cat jumped from her reach and slunk out the door.

“She’s not the most cooperative of creatures,” Jacinth said.

“Have you had her long?”

“She came with the house. Mrs. Findley said she’d just shown up at the back door one day, and my grandmother had taken her in. She said the cat and Marie were equally cantankerous so they got along well.”

“Did your grandmother live in this house right up until she died?”

“All but the last six months of her life when she moved into a nursing/retirement center.”

“Who took care of Sin during that time?”

“Mrs. Findley, and sometimes her husband. My grandmother had left cases of food and given them a key to the house. She was here before us so now Sin thinks Caitlyn and I are the strays and she’s not too keen on letting us share the premises.”

“Too bad she can’t talk. She might be able to tell us who the head belonged to.”

Jacinth ran her fingers through her hair and a new shower of dust rained down on her shoulders. “Would you excuse me while I go wash up in some of the water I saved and put on something a bit more appropriate?”

“Not at all. Take your time. If the cop shows up before you’re ready, I’ll let him in.” And hopefully the officer would be someone new on the force who didn’t know Nick. The less Jacinth learned about him the better, at least until he’d had time to win her trust.

“You can wait in the den,” Jacinth called. “It’s to the left of the staircase, just opposite the Louis XIV style parlor. We veered away a tad from our adherence to strict historical accuracy of design in the small den and included a comfortable couch and chair along with the antique lamps and antebellum paintings.”

“I’m sure my back will appreciate that.” Nick enjoyed the view as Jacinth walked away. Images of her slipping out of the nightshirt plagued his mind. A menacing yowl jerked him back to reality.

He turned to stare at Sin who was glaring at him from the bottom step. “Got it, Sin. Jacinth is off-limits for reasons even you can’t fathom.”

JACINTH HAD RINSED her long hair over the sink with a pan of cool water. It was still dripping when she caught sight of flashing blue lights in her driveway.

She toweled it quickly and made a mostly unsuccessful attempt to smooth it back into place. She needed a shower so badly right now that she’d have paid triple overtime for a plumber.

A quick check in the mirror assured her she looked as ill put together as she felt. But the cream-colored sweater she’d pulled on over a pair of worn jeans was at least better than talking to a cop in her nightshirt.

She reached the top of the staircase as Nick ushered two police officers inside the door. One was tall and thin, his face ruddy and his sandy blond hair short and neatly combed. The other was probably a good ten years older than his partner. In his early forties, she’d guess, with a receding hairline and a slightly crooked nose.