Eden's Shadow. Jenna Ryan
In the process of handcuffing his prisoner, Armand stared at her. “You know this guy?”
“I know his mother. She lives across the courtyard. I only know Kenny in passing.”
Armand flipped the intruder over and studied his face. “How old are you? Sixteen? Seventeen?”
The young man swore at him.
“He looks sixteen,” Eden agreed. “He acts five. He’s really twenty-one.”
“Drugs?”
“For some reason he’s convinced I keep a supply of painkillers here. This is the fourth time in two months he’s broken in while I’ve been out. Before that, he was…” She stopped as the reality of the situation struck her. “Wait a minute, it’s two-thirty in the morning. What are you doing in my home, or anywhere near it for that matter?”
Wincing, she climbed to her feet.
Armand immediately abandoned his prisoner. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” She didn’t want him to touch her. However, he did, and in doing so, pinned her as effectively as he had Kenny.
“Don’t move,” he said. His fingers slid over her ribs with aggravating thoroughness. “You might have broken something.”
“I’m fine.” It took a huge effort not to grind her teeth. “Really.” She stopped his probing hands with her own. “I’d know if anything was broken. But thank you.”
“Going blind here,” Kenny wailed from the floor. “Light’s too bright.”
“Close your eyes,” Eden suggested. She concentrated on her own breathing. Why did sexy cops always have stubble? She nodded at the floor. “Worry about him, Armand. He’s photosensitive.”
He didn’t back off. “You could have a fracture and not know it.”
“Doctor first thing tomorrow—today—whatever. I promise.” When he ran his hands along her rib cage one last time and made her shiver, Eden finally took the initiative and stepped out of reach. “You haven’t answered my question, Detective.”
A smile curved his lips. “You called me Armand a minute ago.”
“I was in shock.” Because Kenny was whimpering, she took pity on him and dimmed the lights. Big mistake, she realized. It bathed the hallway in shadows and gave Armand back that air of mystery she’d been endeavoring to block out all evening.
He was taller than her and very lean. His hair fell past the collar of his shirt, curling just enough to make her fingers long to run through it.
Not going there, she promised herself and, tucking her hands behind her back, leaned against the stairwell wall.
“Why are you here?” she asked again.
He crouched to inspect Kenny’s eyes. “I had questions. When I realized you weren’t home, I waited.”
Disengaging her left hand, Eden massaged her aching ribs. “So you were on the street while Kenny was ransacking my apartment?”
“The plan was to ask questions, Eden, not anticipate a break and enter.”
“Fell asleep, huh?”
He sent her a wary look and didn’t respond.
Eden breathed in and out, decided it didn’t hurt too much, then stopped and raised her head. Where was Amorin?
“You can’t manhandle me,” Kenny snarled. “I’ll say you did if you jerk me around.”
“I’ll say he didn’t if you’ve let my cat out,” Eden retorted. “Where is she, Kenny?”
“Is she small and white?” Armand asked.
Eden followed his gaze—and pretty much gave up on the night. Her cat sat on the stairs, watching the scene below through unblinking eyes.
Setting Kenny aside, Armand reached up a finger to stroke the cat’s chest. “You don’t look much like Eden, do you, sweetheart?”
“We both scratch,” Eden remarked with mild asperity. “And, if necessary, bite.”
“Are you going to bite me?” he asked the cat.
Amorin stared for several more seconds, then rubbed her head against his hand.
“Like seeks out like.” Eden echoed Mary’s earlier sentiment. Exasperated, she glanced at Armand’s prisoner who was now on his feet. “For God’s sake, Kenny, make up your mind. Either whimper or snarl, but choose one and stick to it.”
Armand gave him a shove. “Do you want to press charges?”
“No, take him home and let his mother deal with him.”
She felt Armand’s eyes on her face. “I still have questions, Eden.”
“You won’t get coherent answers at this time of the morning, Detective. Kenny’s mother lives across the courtyard. It’s the patio with the rose arbor.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m not hurt if that’s what you mean.” There was another lamp beside her, but for some reason Eden didn’t turn it on. “Lisa’s innocent. If you’re a good cop, you’ll prove that.”
He held Kenny back as he bridged a portion of the gap between them. Even with the AC unit off and the air swirling like dark liquid around them, Eden felt the heat of his skin.
“What if I can’t prove it?” he countered softly.
She kept her head up and her eyes on his. “If you can’t,” she said, “then I will.”
“WE MADE IT THROUGH the salad course, and one drink. Maxwell ordered a glass of bourbon, and I had iced tea. He went to the men’s room while we were eating. Maybe he made a phone call then, but he didn’t call anyone from the table. He made me uncomfortable with the things he said. He swore a lot, and he had a loud voice, so everyone around us heard him. The cruder he got, the more I wanted to leave. I guess he knew that, because he laughed at me. Finally I was so embarrassed, I put my money on the table and left. He must have paid his part of the bill, too, because I’m told he came out right after me. Maybe people thought we were together, but we weren’t, Eden. I came straight home. He went on to Concordia, the plantation where the auction was going to be held…”
Eden recognized the name. She’d dated a boy in high school whose grandfather had worked there.
“It had a lopsided roof,” she said out loud in her office.
Her dental assistant, Phoebe, smiled. “You’re thinking about Concordia, am I right?”
Eden examined an X ray. “Made the morning paper, huh?”
“The whole gruesome tale. Murder at Concordia. Witness on-scene. No charges made. Police have spoken to the last person known to have seen the victim alive, one Elizabeth Jocelyn Mayne of Lanyon-Mayne fame. You okay there, Henry?” She patted the arm of their eleven-year-old patient whose eyes were glued to the overhead television. Spider-Man had him all the way.
Eden smiled. “If his eyes get any bigger, they’ll pop right out of his skull.” She returned to her work. “I didn’t read the article, Phoebe. How detailed was it?”
“Not so much. It mostly described the guy who died. Don’t get offended, okay, but I thought it was kind of cool in a morbid sort of way. I’ve never known anyone who was associated with anyone who was associated with a dead man. And a dead man with clout to boot.”
“So you’ve heard of Maxwell Burgoyne?”
“Not specifically, but they listed several of his holdings. I recognized about six of them. MamaDees Molasses and MamaDees Golden, Brown and Demerara Sugar, the LoBo record label, the