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After he left, she walked outside to her garden and felt the warmth of the morning sun warm her back. Though it was just a little past ten, she didn’t have another client scheduled for the rest of the day, so she could spend more time helping Selma find her daughters.
If they’re still alive.
“Don’t think that way,” she said, though she knew the odds of recovering the girls alive were diminishing with each passing hour. Trying to stay positive, she watched a sparrow flutter in the branches of the tree. St. Ives had also noticed the bird and made a nervous little groan of frustration at not being able to reach it.
“Stick with the mice. Or better yet, any rats hanging out here, okay?” She bent down to pet the tabby’s soft head, but he was having none of it. Focused on the bird, he ignored Bria
Had someone been out here last night?
Her skin crawled at the thought of it.
The crepe myrtle seemed undisturbed . . . but the fronds of a fern were twisted, a few flattened, as if stepped on. A cold wash of fear spilled down her spine.
Had there actually been someone standing here in this very spot, peering through the window, watching as she showered?
“No way,” she whispered as St. Ives crept around the corner to move stealthily through the foliage. The cat stopped at her feet and looked up to meow at her. “Hey, buddy.” Bending over, she picked him up, catching him squarely this time. Holding his furry body against her chest, she walked to the front of the house where her small front yard ran into the sidewalk. There was a short wrought-iron fence around the front of her property with an unlocked gate leading to the front door. Anyone could have stepped through or climbed over, but who? And why? What kind of perv?
She didn’t want to think about it, but vowed to keep her blinds closed and windows shut at night. That would pose a problem in the bathroom, where steam built up when she showered. Maybe it was time to fix the exhaust fan that had given up the ghost six months earlier, and install motion detector lights outside the house. Or she could go to a local shelter and rescue a dog, a big dog that would cause any prowler to think twice about trespassing. She was definitely warming to that idea, as long as the dog got along with cats; well, at least with one overweight yellow tabby.
“That’s a must, isn’t it?” she said to St. Ives, as if the tabby could read her mind, or understand her words. “But it could be time to expand the family. What do you think? Hmm?” She buried her nose in his soft fur and he began to purr as she carried him inside and made a mental note to install the lights and fix the fan.
For now, the dog would have to remain on her wish list.
She had work to do today. The first order of business was to do some checking on Jase Bridges, find out a little information on the reporter. Just who was he? Certainly far more than the hell-raiser she remembered from her youth. Letting St. Ives climb onto the bookcase, Bria
Although she told herself that she was checking out Jase Bridges to screen him for Selma, she had to admit that she found him more than a little fascinating. Sure, she’d like his help in finding the missing De
“Don’t go there,” she warned herself. Getting involved with a man right now was a distraction she didn’t need. More than that. Getting involved with Jase Bridges would be a mistake. A big mistake. At least until Selma’s daughters were located.
But she did need to know more about him, especially if she agreed to work with him. “Forewarned is forearmed,” she reminded herself, remembering one of her mother’s favorite phrases.
He’d worked for several newspapers, including the Sava
“You’re hopeless,” she said aloud, then looked up to find St. Ives sitting on a shelf, flicking his ringed tail and staring at her as if he agreed.
“Son of a bitch!” Jase whispered under his breath as he glowered at the computer screen. His oath seemed to go u
“Trouble?” Meri-Jo Williams asked from her desk barely six feet from his. Meri-Jo, always competitive and all of twenty-three, considered herself a dyed-in-the-wool journalist, fighting sexism to find her niche in the hardscrabble world of news. All bullshit.
“Nothing,” Jase said.
“Didn’t sound like nothing.” Her drawl, accentuated by the arch of a single, perfectly plucked eyebrow, accused him of the lie.
No way was he going to tell her that the document on the computer screen was personal. The last thing he needed was Meri-Jo breathing down his neck.
After being shut down by Bentz at the homicide crime scene, he’d spent a little time talking to the building’s superintendent, extracting the basics for his story, along with some sketchy information on the victim, Teri Gaines. He’d been careful not to cross the line, hadn’t pushed to view the crime scene or anything that would, at this point, piss off anyone in the department. He needed to do this job, of course, but it would be downright stupid to step on any toes in the New Orleans Police Department if he wanted to join their ranks.
“Wait. You’re working on the murder of the prostitute, right?” Meri-Jo was interested because she wanted his job. She knew he was thinking of leaving, and she made zero bones about the fact that she coveted his position as the crime writer. She wanted it now. Or sooner. “Trying to tie this one in with Father John?” She waved a hand, as if shooing away a bothersome fly. “Right? That psycho who dressed himself as a priest and killed hookers.” She gave a fake shudder. “What a douche.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“The truth, Bridges. The only way I ‘put it.’” She hooked her fingers into air quotes and glared at him as if he’d somehow offended her. Meri-Jo prided herself on being a fact-finding, truth-seeking, hungry-but-honest reporter who took her job more than seriously.
“Yeah, right,” Matthew Ke