In Dreams. Patricia Rosemoor
“What? You think I should get involved?”
Marcus grinned at him. “Go for it, B.B.”
“I meant as a private investigator.”
“Well, not quite what I had in mind—”
“I know what you had in mind, Marcus. Playtime is always what you have in mind,” Justin muttered, driving Lucy’s car around to the back of the house where it would be less conspicuous.
Stephen pulled the truck up and parked it next to the car as additional camouflage.
Truth be told, he could use some playtime. And he hadn’t missed a single one of Lucy Ryan’s many charms. But while he had a lot of faults, taking advantage of a woman who was skating on thin ice wasn’t one of them, so he might as well keep his libido in check.
“She’s going to be flying back to her life in New Orleans as soon as I return her car keys,” he said more to himself than to his brother.
“So don’t give them to her yet…for her own good, of course. Or stop hiding at the fishing camp and fly home after her. Whatever it takes.” Marcus slapped him on the back in a go get her manner.
Justin was thinking about doing that very thing as they headed for the back steps.
But was he really ready to face New Orleans?
To face his failure?
To face a ghost of his own making?
Laughter spilled out of the house, the inviting sound lightening his mood. Lucy’s laughter. It sounded good. It sounded right.
It melted something inside him.
He hadn’t had much to smile about lately outside of family, but Justin felt his chest tighten as he opened the kitchen door and went inside.
THE EDGINESS Lucy had felt on being left with the two women was completely gone by the time Justin and his brothers walked through the kitchen door. Marie and Tante Jeanette were delightful women who—though seeming to sense there was something wrong, that information was being kept from them—had done their best to put her at ease. After she’d made her call to Dana, assuring her that she was all right, Marie entertained her with stories of Justin’s boyhood bayou exploits.
Laughter bubbled from Lucy as she listened to his mother relate how Justin at age ten had set out to feed the poor alligators because he thought that being so slow and all, they couldn’t get their own food. So he’d taken a raw chicken into the pirogue and had wheeled it out to feed the alligators. That’s when he’d learned how fast they could move when food was involved.
“So which story is Mama telling you?” Justin asked as he entered the kitchen.
“The one about the alligators,” she said, trying not to snort.
He smiled, then gazed intently at her.
Suddenly breathless, Lucy said, “So you got my car out and it’s okay, right?”
“Drove it with no problems,” he said.
“So I should probably go.”
Not that the idea thrilled her. It made her feel as if she were tied up in knots inside.
Going to the police with a slew of half truths wasn’t her idea of something to look forward to. And if they tracked down the murderer and his accomplices and brought them in on charges, she would be expected to testify. Then she would have to lie and say she witnessed something she’d only seen in a dream, not in reality, because who would believe her otherwise?
How did she get around that?
Justin eyed his mama and aunt and then indicated Lucy should follow him to the living room.
Once there, he spoke in a lowered voice. “I think you should give it a day. Between the wound and those thugs looking for you—”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m okay, really.”
The longer she waited, the colder her feet would get about reporting the crime. And the closer she would come to psychic dreams she had no intention of fulfilling despite the fact that the man central to those dreams was so tempting.
“At least come back to the fishing camp so I can change the dressing.”
“Why not just do it here?”
“I don’t want to alarm Mama and Tante Jeanette.”
“They already saw the bandage and asked me about it.”
“What did you say?”
“I didn’t tell them I’d been shot if that’s what you’re worried about. But I didn’t exactly lie, either. I just said that it happened when my car went off the road and you patched me up.”
“Quick thinking, chère.”
Without warning, Justin palmed her bare flesh between the crop top and pants and cupped the area around the bandage with his hand.
Her body immediately responding, Lucy sucked in her breath. “What are you doing?”
“Feeling for heat that would indicate the wound is infected.”
His touch was making her flesh curl with anticipation that had nothing to do with the wound. Her mouth went dry and her pulse raced.
She whispered, “I barely know the wound is there.”
But touching her like that, Justin was making her hot, reminding her of the dreams. Every detail. She ought to step back, away from him, but somehow she couldn’t. The heat spread randomly from where he still touched her to every other part of her body.
And he was feeling it, too. She could see it in his expression that went from relaxed to taut in a matter of seconds. And in the way he was looking at her….
Justin’s face seemed to draw closer and closer. Unless she was mistaken, he was thinking of kissing her. And then he seemed to think better, caught himself and pulled away.
Lucy felt her body sag with the relief of tension. She wrapped her arms around herself as if by doing so, she could protect herself against a renewal of sensation.
He was saying, “I don’t think you ought to head back to New Orleans, just yet,” when Stephen appeared in the doorway.
“Out front,” he said.
Justin rushed to the front window, but held out a hand indicating Lucy should stay where she was. “Two strangers on foot casing the area. It might be them.”
“The men who tried to kill me last night?”
He nodded. “What did they look like?”
“Stocky. Expensively dressed. One had thinning light hair, the other salt-and-pepper.”
“That’s them. Stephen, take Lucy upstairs and away from the windows.”
As if someone had to tell her to stay out of sight! Lucy bit back a retort and told herself to be grateful that Justin was trying to help her. Obviously, his brothers, too. She guessed he’d gotten them up to speed when they went to fetch her car.
“What’s going on?” Marie asked from the kitchen as Stephen guided her to the stairs.
“We’re taking care of it, Mama,” Stephen told her. “Just remember you don’t know anything about any Lucy Ryan.”
Marie’s expression darkened and she murmured, “Oh, dear,” as she shooed them up the stairs.
4
STEPHEN OPENED a door to a room that faced the street and said, “Justin’s room, when he visits.”
In spite of the danger lurking outside, Lucy felt a distinct tingle when she stepped into the room filled with memorabilia of Justin’s youth. She shook