His goal had been to spend time with her.

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

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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.

She motioned for them to join her upstairs. Nick led the way, his confident swagger making him look perfectly at home in this house that still made Jacinth feel like a trespasser from time to time.

The cops flashed their badges and identified themselves. The young one was Jordon Sims. The older one was Mike Jones. His expression held a tinge of aggravation as if he expected this was some kind of teenage hoax.

She introduced herself and got what sounded more like a grunt than a greeting in return. Mike immediately turned his attention to Nick.

“You never get too far from trouble, do you?” Mike snapped.

Nick smirked. “I’m lucky that way.”

“I take it you two know each other,” Jacinth said, as the tension between them spiked.

“Too well.” Mike let it go at that and scanned the area. “Where’s this body part that you claim fell from the wall.”

Claim, as if her version were in doubt. “On the floor in the guest bathroom where it fell. Follow me.”

She opened the door, pointed at the head and immediately started coughing. The dust had settled in the room like a milky cloud of poisonous smoke. Both Mike and Jordon stepped over the worst of the debris to reach the decomposing body part. Neither she nor Nick crowded into the space with them.

Mike stooped for a closer look. “You have any idea how this got in the walls?”

“Not a clue,” Jacinth answered. “The house has been standing since the Civil War.”

“The head hasn’t been hanging around for nearly that long,” Mike quipped.

“How long has it been hanging around?” Jacinth asked.

“Can’t say for sure, but my guess is that the victim was living and breathing this time a year ago. We’ll get a more accurate estimate from the forensics team.”

If the officer was even close to right, the decapitation took place after her grandmother had died or at least after she’d gone to live in the nursing home. It was a relief to know she couldn’t have been involved in any way.

The frightening part was that the victim could have been killed in this very house after Jacinth and Caitlyn had inherited it.

“Are you the current owner of the house?” Jordon asked.

“Yes. Well, my sister and I own it together. We inherited it from my grandmother.”

“How long have you lived in the house?”

“Eleven months. We’d planned to fix it up and sell it, but then we fell in love with it and decided to stay.”

Of course they didn’t realize then that it came with spare body parts. Or that the constant repairs needed to keep it livable would drive them to the edge of bankruptcy.

She went over the facts about the inheritance from her grandmother, Marie Villaré.

Jordon made notes. “Did your grandmother live alone prior to moving into the Sunnydale Retirement Center?”

“As far as I know,” Jacinth said. “We weren’t close. In fact, I hadn’t seen her since I was small child.”

Mike used the cuff of his shirtsleeve to wipe a smear of dust from the tip of his nose. “Why is that?”

“My mother had issues with my father’s family and had severed all ties with them when I was just a toddler.”

“Maybe for good reason,” Jordon said. “What about your father?”

“He was murdered here in New Orleans over twenty years ago. I don’t really remember him.”

“How old was Marie Villaré when she died?”

“Seventy.”

“Cause of death?”

“She had a heart attack. She’d been diagnosed with coronary problems and diabetes just before moving to the Sunnydale Center.”

Jordon continued to stare at the head as Mike stood and stepped away from it.

“Helen Fizelle will have a field day with this one,” Jordon said. “Decapitation and missing body parts in a crumbling mansion on the edge of the French Quarter. Right up her alley.”

“Who’s Helen Fizelle?” Jacinth asked.

“She heads up the skeletal recovery team. Worked with the FBI’s Body Farm up in Knoxville a few years back. Nothing she likes better than a case like this.”

“You won’t have to leave the head here until she can see it, will you?”

“Nah,” Mike said, scrunching his mouth into a bizarre shape. “We’ll take pictures and then deliver the skeletal remains to Forensic Sciences. The CSU investigation can wait until morning to take a look around, seeing as how the crime scene is already polluted and not how the killer left it.”

“But we’ll tape off the bathroom,” Jordon added. “You’ll need to stay out of it and leave things exactly as they are until the detective gives you the okay to clean it up. I’m sure a house this size has plenty of other bathrooms.”

“Yes.” Unfortunately, none of the other four had been completely remodeled as this one had. One step forward, ten steps back.

“You’ll need to close the door and keep that cat out of here, too,” Mike added, turning and scowling at Sin, who had crept into the room and scooted beneath the antique claw-foot tub.

“And, of course, the homicide detective assigned to the case will want to question you further.”

“Question me about what? I’ve told you all I know.”

Mike ignored the question and avoided eye contact with her, instead studying the ceiling as if he expected a new rain of additional body parts at any moment.

“Why not have the CSU team come out and investigate tonight?” Nick asked. “They might be able to locate the rest of the body inside the crumbling cavity and hand over all the remains to Helen at once.”

“Anything they’ll find has been here for months,” Mike said. “I don’t reckon it’s going to deteriorate that more much by morning.”

“Just trying to help.”

“If I need your help, Bruno, I’ll ask for it. Wouldn’t stand around waiting if I was you.”

Hostility fired like flint between the two men.

Mike pulled a small camera from his shirt pocket.

“Let’s give them work room,” Jacinth offered in an attempt to keep the peace. She swooped up Sin and she and Nick left the two men alone to take their pictures.

Sin cuddled in her arms for all of a minute before she squirmed her way free and pranced to the door of Marie’s old bedroom. Without a look back, the silver-gray Persian disappeared into the dark, antique-filled room that still held the lingering fragrance of lavender.

“What’s with you and Officer Friendly?” Jacinth asked as soon as they were out of Mike and Jordon’s earshot.

“It’s a long story.”

“How about the condensed version?”

“We had a run-in a while back.”

“About what?”

“His failure to adequately protect the integrity of the evidence in a case I was hired to investigate.”

So the conflict between them was at the professional level. That relieved her mind a bit.

“Whatever he does tonight is fine with me,” Jacinth said, “as long as the decapitated head leaves with him.”

“Not a chance he’ll leave that behind,” Nick assured her. “The chief would have his head.”

“Do you think he’s right about the approximate date of death?”

“Close. Temperature variances and humidity make it difficult to estimate, but forensics will get a handle on it.”

Jacinth stopped on the bottom stair and leaned against the polished mahogany banister. “I really appreciate your coming to my rescue tonight. But I’ve taken enough of your time. You should get back to your boxes.”

“If you’re still nervous, I could hang around, have a beer and keep you company until Jordon and Mike are finished.”

“I’m fine,” she said. And she didn’t have a beer in the house.

She walked him to the door. Nick lingered, leaning against the door frame, his gaze locked with hers. Awareness slithered through her, warm and a tad unsettling.

“Thanks again,” she whispered, hating that her voice held a throaty rasp. Just the dust, she told herself.

Yet when he leaned in closer, a tingling sensation danced up her spine. Instead of a kiss, he trailed a rough finger down her cheek. “I’m not quite through moving in, but I’m staying in the carriage house tonight. If you need anything at all, just call.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

She closed and locked the door behind him, leaning against it to regain the equilibrium his touch had destroyed. Seconds later, she stepped to the front window in the stuffy parlor, pulled back the heavy drapes and watched Nick swagger back to his truck.

When he turned toward the house, she stepped away quickly, feeling a bit like she used to when her mother had caught her reading under the sheet with a flashlight long after her bedtime.

The imagery evolved and instead of a book cuddled beneath her sheets, she imagined Nick there. She closed her eyes and willed it away. She had just inherited a whole new set of problems and the last thing she needed was a sexy neighbor she knew absolutely nothing about to complicate matters.

Chapter Three

Nick shucked his jeans and hung them on the back of the antique rocker in his new bedroom. The bedroom was larger than what he was used to, more windows, higher ceilings, newer carpet. And neater. He hadn’t had time to litter the place with his newspapers, shoes and dirty clothes yet.

The bed looked comfortable, not that he ever slept soundly or long. He’d be lucky if he got more than a few hours’ sleep tonight.

Nothing wrong with the Findleys’ carriage house, except that he hated the strangeness, especially when he had a perfectly good house on the Westbank.

But when he’d spotted the Furnished Apartment for Rent sign on the Findleys’ front yard, he’d jumped at the chance to rent it. It was perfect for what he needed.

Jacinth’s leaky pipe couldn’t have fit better with his plans if he’d taken a monkey wrench to it and released the deluge himself. The decapitated head he could have done without.

The last thing he’d expected or needed was a new murder to intersect with the old one. The situation would complicate matters, but at least it had gotten him inside the crumbling mansion and closer to Jacinth. It was a start.

Which was why he couldn’t let Jacinth get to him on a personal level.

He just had to remember she was a Villaré. That should be enough to quell any lustful vibes she inspired, as long as he didn’t look into those bewitching dark-chocolate eyes of hers.

He shook his head as he threw back the sheet and collapsed onto the bed. Thinking of Jacinth’s eyes—or any other of her body parts for that matter—would not help him get to sleep. And he’d have to be up at dawn for the one date he always kept.

A date that would serve as a bitter reminder that Nick was running out of time.

JACINTH WOKE WITH A START as the piercing ring of her cell phone broke through the layers of sleep. She’d lain awake until after four. That seemed only minutes ago, but already slanted rays of sunshine pushed through the half-closed blinds.

Jacinth fumbled for the phone, knocking her paperback novel to the floor. She cringed at the thud. Her head hurt. Her sinuses were clogged. Her mouth was so dry it was difficult to swallow.

She mumbled a hello.

“Jacinth?”

Caitlyn. Jacinth took a deep breath and tried to sound enthusiastic. “What are you doing calling this time of the morning? Don’t tell me the honeymoon’s grown boring.”

“The honeymoon is sheer perfection, and the beach condo we rented has a marvelous view. When the sun hits the water, the Gulf appears striped with the most regal shades of emerald and turquoise I have ever seen.”

“Sounds divine.”

“It is, and you sound hoarse. Are you coming down with something?”

A case of crumbling drywall overload. Jacinth would have loved to spill the whole story and get her sister’s take on last night’s gore.

But Caitlyn had been through her own nightmare mere weeks before, barely escaping with her life before she married Marcus. She deserved this period of unadulterated happiness.

“I feel fine,” Jacinth said, “but my allergies are kicking up. Probably some fall-blooming plant we didn’t have in Ohio.”

“Maybe you should see the doctor.”

“I will if it gets worse. Now tell me about the Florida Panhandle. Is the sand really as soft and sugar-white as they say?”

“Absolutely.” Caitlyn raved on, excitement and happiness radiating from her voice. Jacinth only half listened, her mind already jumping ahead to the promised visit from a homicide detective and the CSU unit.

And hopefully a visit from the plumber. She needed a shower in the worst way.

As soon as they’d said their goodbyes, Jacinth threw her legs over the side of the bed, tiptoed to the window and stared out at the dew-kissed lawn. The St. Augustine grass was still green and growing in spite of the scattering of leaves that had fallen from the aged live oaks that grew on her and the Findleys’ property.

Her gaze moved to the carriage house where Nick had said he’d be if she needed anything at all. A tinge of awareness titillated her senses, just as it had when he’d leaned in so close last night.

It was a schoolgirl response brought on by over-wrought emotions. She did not get giddy over men she barely knew, no matter how helpful and sexy.

At any rate, his promise to be there if she needed him apparently didn’t extend to the daylight hours. His truck was gone from the driveway. If he was working, he’d definitely gotten an early start.

She needed to, as well. But first, caffeine. The stairs creaked and groaned as she shuffled down them. When she’d first moved into the house, she’d reacted to every ghostly rasp and moan, thinking someone was behind her.

She thought of them as the whispered secrets of the Villarés who’d lived and died in the house for generations. At least she had until last night. Now she wondered if the walls were merely preparing to drop another body part on her.

And this after the building inspector she’d hired had assured her the foundation was sound and that with loving care and timely repairs the house might stand another hundred and fifty years.

Sin indulged in a kind of purring yowl and walked to her empty feeding dish as Jacinth stepped into the kitchen.

“I know. Time for breakfast. As if you’d let me forget. My grandmother obviously spoiled you rotten.”

From the cabinet Jacinth took a can of the fishy-smelling canned food that Sin loved, opened it and filled the cat’s bowl. She gave her fresh water, as well, and then started a full pot of coffee. She had a feeling she’d need it before the day was over.

Her thoughts went back to her grandmother as the enticing odor of brewing coffee filled the cozy kitchen. Marie Villaré had never been a part of Jacinth’s life. Jacinth didn’t remember one birthday card or phone call from the woman. Her name was never mentioned by Jacinth’s mother. Yet the inheritance that Marie Villaré had left Jacinth and Caitlyn served as a golden binding, reaching from beyond the grave to connect Jacinth with her Villaré ancestors and especially with her grandmother.

Yet numerous questions still went unanswered.

Had Marie ever wondered about her granddaughters? Why had she made no attempt to contact them even after their mother had died of cancer? If she had no interest in knowing them, why will them this house?

Had Jacinth’s mother left New Orleans because of her husband’s murder, or had Marie Villaré done something to cause Sophie to leave Louisiana and never return or even want to speak of the city or this house again?

The phone rang as Jacinth poured her coffee, jerking her back to the present. A drop of hot liquid spilled over her fingers.

“I’m Detective Ron Greene,” said the voice on the line as soon as she’d identified herself. “I hear you had a little excitement at your place last night.”

“Shock might be a better word.”

“Yeah. I’m reading the police report now. Some of the details are a little fuzzy. I’ll need to talk to you as soon as possible. Do you have any problem with me coming over this morning?”

“No. I’m available anytime.”

“Then I’m on my way. The Crime Scene Unit will get there at approximately the same time.”

“That will be fine.”

The sooner they got this over with the better. Grabbing her coffee cup, Jacinth headed back upstairs to get dressed.

She hesitated a few seconds in front of the closed door to her crime-scene bathroom. Maybe this old house was cursed after all and had stealthily lured Jacinth and Caitlyn into its web of evil.

And maybe Jacinth had been sniffing too much plaster.

She shook off the mood and hurried to get dressed for her own reality CSI.

NICK TOOK THE hard plastic chair in front of the pane of thick glass. As always, this place, with its institutional gray walls, armed and aloof guards and acrid smell of cleansers and sweat, created a hard knot in the depths of his gut.

He’d been ten years old when he’d come here the first time. It was also the first time since he was a first grader that he’d laid eyes on the father he’d been told was out of county on a special mission for his country.

His boyhood superhero instantly dissolved into a flesh-and-blood disillusionment, leaving a hole the size of a bowling ball in his heart.

Nick hadn’t said a word to the stranger staring back at him. Finally his mother dragged him back to their old Chevy and he’d thrown up all the way home, soaking the backseat with vomit. His mother had cried hysterically and just kept driving.

He hadn’t returned to the prison until he was sixteen years old, two months after his mother had remarried and moved to Pennsylvania, leaving him to live with his paternal grandparents while he finished high school.

The second visit to the prison had been at the urging of his grandfather. No pressure, Gramps had promised. Nick only had to go and make up his own mind if he wanted to engage. If not, they’d leave and nothing would be lost except the morning.

Nick hadn’t walked away and the sluggish, agonizing process of building a relationship with his father had begun that day.

Nick watched a woman walk across the floor of the visitor center flanked by two preschoolers. The girl’s short ponytail was tied with a bright pink ribbon that matched her shirt. A worn teddy bear with one arm missing was clutched in her right hand.

The boy was tugging at his mother’s skirt, as if trying to slow down her progress across the scuffed tile floor. An action figure dangled from his fingers.

Nick swallowed hard, aching for the kids. If they were here to visit their father, they had a tough road in front of them.

A slight tapping on the window got Nick’s attention. His father smiled broadly as if they were meeting for lunch or to go to a Saints game. Nick saw past the smile to the dark bags around his father’s sunken eyes, the pall of his complexion and the swollen jowls.

The chemo was doing a number on him.

Nick picked up the phone in front of him. “How you doing, Dad?”

“I’m hanging in there.”

“Are they taking care of you?”

“Yep. Dr. Singleton makes sure of that.”

Tom Singleton was his oncologist, the one making the decisions on Elton Bruno’s medical care. Nick had talked to him by phone a couple of times and checked out his reputation on the internet. He was a well-respected doctor.

That didn’t make it any easier for Nick to watch his father go through the treatments knowing they might be in vain and that his father could die in this prison. Knowing he might die waiting for a parole that wouldn’t come for a crime Nick was certain his father hadn’t committed.

“What’s going on with you?” Elton asked. “Any interesting new cases?”

“One. I can’t talk about it yet, but when it’s solved, I’ll feed you all the details.”

“Sounds good. Weather’s great today. You going fishing when you leave here?”

“Not today.”

“Got other plans?”

“Thinking of volunteering to fix a busted pipe for a friend.” Unless the plumber had beat him to it.

“A lady friend?”

“How’d you guess?”

“You never liked plumbing when you were working with your grandfather. I figured you had to have some pretty good motivation to make you volunteer your services.”

“Not the kind of motivation you’re thinking. She’s just a neighbor.”

“Then you should blow the plumbing off and go fishing. The day is too nice to waste hanging out with rusted metal.”

“Good point.”

Elton curled his hands around the back of his head and leaned back, balancing his chair on the two back legs as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “I’d like to go pole me a pirogue down a lazy bayou and pull in a couple of spiky, mustached old catfish. Fry them right there over an open fire. Down them with a six-pack of cold ones for a chaser while the gators float by and the blue jays squawk overhead.”

For most men, that wasn’t much to ask. Nick planned to do everything in his power to see that Elton had the chance to live that dream before he died.

“Any word from your attorney on the parole hearing?”

“I’m nowhere near the top of the list. But if I do get out of here, we’re going to take that fishing trip.”

“I’ll be ready,” Nick said.

“I want me some boiled crawfish, too. Some days I can almost smell them.” Elton smiled. “Course it always turns out it’s just the spices in the heartburn chow I’m smelling.”

Elton sat up straight again. “You know what else I’d like?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“To touch a woman, a real woman with curves and soft skin and hair that smells like flowers in springtime. You know the kind of woman I’m talking about?”

An image of Jacinth slipped into Nick’s consciousness. A Villaré—of all people to think of here in this place. “Yeah, I know the kind of woman you mean. They usually spell trouble.”

“Just a thought,” Elton said, this time chuckling into the phone. “Hell, even if I had a woman like that I probably couldn’t get it up with all this chemo they’re shooting into me.”

Probably not the best place to go with this conversation. “Did you give any more thought to what I asked you about last time I was here?” Nick asked.

Elton rubbed his jaw as all sign of his forced smile vanished.

“I’ve thought about it for the last twenty-two years. I’ve come up with a thousand different theories about who might have killed Micah, but none of them holds water. Truth is, with all the scenarios I’ve considered, I don’t even trust my memories any longer. But it’s all in the trial notes.”

Notes that Nick had been over a thousand times before and gotten nowhere with. But the trial had been manipulated by lawyers and layered with rules, objections and emotions. Truth could get tangled up in that.

“Just think about it again, Dad.”

“It won’t help. I don’t have anything new to tell you, son. I wish I did.”

But Nick was not about to give up, not while his father had a breath left in his cancer-wracked body.

Someone had gotten away with murder and his father was paying for the crime. He had a good idea who that someone was.

But he needed more than supposition. He needed proof. That’s where Jacinth came in.

RON GREENE WOULD NEVER be cast as the lead on a TV detective show. His face was pocked and treaded, likely the result of teenage acne gone mad and apparently untreated. His scowl was perpetual, the lines in his brow permanent, the wrinkles deeply furrowed though he was probably no more than mid-fifties.

But he definitely had that detective air about him, authoritative and intimidating. Even Sin had gone into hiding when he showed up.

That was two hours ago. Now the CSU was done and gone, leaving Ron Greene time to focus all his attention on Jacinth.

Just looking into his piercing eyes inspired guilt and gave her a compelling desire to confess something. The worst offense she could think of was running a yellow light on her way to work last Tuesday. She doubted the detective would be impressed.

She led him to the kitchen for the interrogation, or chat as he referred to it. The parlor with its uncomfortable antique seating seemed a poor fit for his six-foot-plus frame. The den seemed too cozy.

He turned down her offer of coffee and asked for water as he dropped into one of the kitchen chairs. “Mind if I tape our conversation?” he asked.

“No, why would I?”

“No reason, but I’m required to ask.” He took a small recorder from his shirt pocket, set it on the table in front of him and pushed a button.

A green light flashed and suddenly she grew nervous, though she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if he could possibly consider her a suspect. Or could he?

Nonetheless, she was only telling the truth and that wouldn’t change. So why worry that it was being taped?

“Some of this is in the police report,” the detective said, “but I’ll have you restate it for my records.”

She nodded.

“Will you state your full name and age?”

“Jacinth Elizabeth Villaré. I’m twenty-four years old.”

“Single?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you lived at this address?”

“Eleven months.” She went over the details of the inheritance once again—explaining how she and Caitlyn had come down to New Orleans from Ohio with the intention of picking up the keys from the estate attorney and listing the house with a real estate company.

“What made you decide to stay?” Greene asked.

Admitting they’d fallen in love with the house and felt it was calling to them sounded far too corny to share with the blunt detective. “We found the city intriguing and Tulane University offered the graduate program I was looking for.”

“What program would that be?”

“American Cultural History.”

“It says in the police report that you work at Tulane.”

“I have a teaching assistantship while I complete my doctorate. I don’t see how these questions are going to help you find out what happened to the woman who lost her head.”

“I’m just trying to get a timeline here. What I’m going to need from you are the names of anyone who had access to the house after it was deeded to you. Construction workers, friends, cleaning staff, anyone who had a key or had one in his possession long enough to have one made.”

“I’ll have to give that some thought.” Unfortunately, there had been a constant stream of workers in those first few weeks after she and Caitlyn had moved in.

“I’d like to have the list by tonight. You can always add names later as you think of them. I’ll give you my card and you can fax the names to me.”

“Okay.”

“And I’m going to need as much information as I can get on your late grandmother’s lifestyle. Names of her caretakers. Whether or not she had renters or frequent visitors. Names of her friends.”

“I won’t be much help to you there. I didn’t have a relationship with my grandmother. The last contact I had with her was when I was two years old.”

Detective Greene shot her a look of undisguised skepticism. “So how did you get in the will?”

“My best guess is that my sister and I are the only living relatives she had left. I can’t swear to that, though.”

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and raked his fingers through his thinning hair. “Your knowing nothing about the house before you moved in will complicate the investigation,” he said, his expression suggesting she’d let him down.

“What about letters, diaries, old photos? Your grandmother must have left some of those around the house.”

“Not that we’ve located.”

“See what you can find.”

“I’ve already searched the closets and the attic and every place else she might have kept personal information. I didn’t find anything except some old receipts and Post-it notes she had stuck on half the surfaces in the house.”

Jacinth smiled as she remembered her grandmother’s haphazard method of organizing. “They were mostly reminders of appointments and to take her meds.”

“What kind of appointments?”

“Doctors. Hair. Nails. Gladys Findley said she was very concerned about her appearance right up until the end.”

“Who’s Gladys Findley?”

“My next-door neighbor.” She nodded toward the window with a view of the Findley house.

“Do you still have the notes?”

“No. They didn’t seem important.” Jacinth rearranged herself in the chair and met the detective’s steely gaze. She had a few questions of her own and this seemed as good a time as any to ask them. “Do you have a definitive answer for how long the victim had been dead?”

“Not yet.”

“An ID?”

“No. She’s still labeled the Jane Doe head.”

“What about the search you just made of my bathroom?”

“What about it?”

“Did you find any more skeletal remains?”

“This is a police matter now. I’m not at liberty to discuss specifics of the evidence.”

“It’s my house. I have a right to know if there are bodies inside my walls.”

“As far as I can tell, you’re clear of corpses.”

She sighed, relieved. “Does that mean I can start repairing the room?”

“I’d hold off on structural repairs in case we need to investigate further. You could go ahead and have the plumbing checked out and also the roof. You seem to have a leak somewhere. The walls are wet from the inside out.”

“I will.” As soon as she could afford it. That might not be anytime soon.

“Has anything like this ever happened before?” she asked.

“Women decapitated?”

“No, bodies or body parts found inside houses in this area?”

“Not recently. Until I get a complete autopsy report, we don’t even know if the victim was alive or dead when the decapitation took place. It could be a sick prank, teenagers stealing bodies from the cemetery and conducting their own science experiments.”

“The neighbors haven’t mentioned any teenagers living in this house.”

“No, but they could have had access to it during the time it was empty.”

The detective turned off his recorder and returned it to his pocket as he stretched to a standing position. “You can relax,” the detective said, offering his first attempt at empathy. “I don’t think you’re in any danger, Ms. Villaré. But use caution. Don’t open your door to strangers or get involved with people you know nothing about. I would advise that even if we hadn’t found the partial remains of Jane Doe. You can’t be too careful these days.”

She preached that same thing herself and yet she’d opened her door to Nick last night. Thankfully, he’d just been a helpful neighbor, one she’d likely never see again.

A man would have to be crazy to get involved with this mess. She walked out to the porch with the detective as he was leaving. No sign of Nick’s truck. He was probably staying as far away from her as possible.

Who could blame him?

JACINTH LUGGED THE LAST TWO bags from the car to the kitchen. Considering that Caitlyn and Marcus were in Florida and Jacinth spent most of her waking hours at the university, it was ridiculous how many groceries she’d bought.

She tackled putting away the refrigerator items first, pretty sure just handling the carton of chocolate-fudge ice cream added a few inches to her hips. Had she not been in the frozen-treat aisle when the plumber had returned her call, she could have resisted the fattening splurge.

It would be Monday afternoon before he could get to the busted water pipe so that she could have running water again. That meant she’d have to drive over to the university to wash her hair and shower in the gym facilities.

The yogurt and skim milk were staples, as were her fruit, granola, cheese, salad makings and an assortment of canned and boxed soups. And she’d stocked up on Prissy Whiskers, the only cat food Sin deemed flavor-some enough for her majesty’s taste buds.

The beer was another story. She didn’t drink it. She knew nothing about it. Nonetheless, she’d picked up two six-packs, one imported, one domestic. It took some creative rearranging in her fridge to make room for them.

Not that there was any reason to expect her hunky neighbor would drop by for a visit, although his truck was in the driveway now.

Not that she cared. She wasn’t the least bit infatuated by him.

Kicking out of her shoes at the foot of the stairs, she went upstairs to work on her list for the detective and see why Sin was making such a racket. The pitiful meowing grew louder as Jacinth reached the top step.

“Sin, what are you into now?”

There was no sign of the cat, but the mewing turned to an earsplitting howl now that Sin had an audience. Jacinth searched for her without luck until she realized that the wail was coming from behind the closed door of Marie’s old bedroom.

Jacinth opened the door and Sin instantly grew quiet. The feline sat perfectly still, nailing Jacinth with her menacing yellow-eyed stare as if she were the culprit. Jacinth stooped to pick her up.

“You did this to yourself, Sin, though I can’t imagine how you got the door shut tight. And you’ve made a mess of this room.”

The books and framed pictures that lined the shelves were askance. One book was on the floor. So was a shattered vase that Jacinth would have sworn was too heavy for the cat to budge.

She sniffed as an unfamiliar scent assaulted her nostrils. “Did you spill something, Sin? Naughty cat.”

Jacinth searched but couldn’t find the source of the odor. Yet it persisted. A bit nauseating. Similar to the cheap aftershave one of her students apparently used in lieu of deodorant.

The smell had not been in this room before. Her chest constricted, making it difficult to breathe. Had someone been in the room while she was out?

Taking a deep breath, she carried Sin out of the room and shut the door behind her. Her nerves were shot. She was overreacting. There had been half a dozen CSU professionals in her house this morning. Their scents probably mingled and lingered and only seemed stronger in Marie’s room because it had been shut up.

Her doorbell rang and Jacinth jumped as if she’d been poked with a sharp fork. She wasn’t expecting company. Sin hissed and wiggled from her grasp, jumping from her arms to the floor.

Jacinth hurried down the stairs and peeked through the peephole. It was Nick. She threw open the door and stared for a few seconds, taking him in, right down to the metal toolbox he held in his right hand.

His jeans were worn, frayed at the hem, ripped across his left thigh. His T-shirt was faded, the fit tight across his broad, muscular chest, the short sleeves rolled up.

Totally lacking in sophistication.

Sex appeal out the wazoo.

“Heard you need a plumber,” he said. His smile lit up his face. “Unless you’ve already been serviced.”

Her senses vibrated. “I haven’t been serviced, but can I afford you?”

“I’m sure we can work something out.”

“In that case, when can you start?”

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