French Quarter Fatale, page 1
His arms tightened around her and she laid her head back on his shoulder as the torch singer exaggerated every sultry note.
Josette quit talking or thinking and melted into the desire that encompassed her. The song ended long before she was ready.
Another ballad started and she stayed in his arms. This time they barely moved, but just swayed together, holding on to each other, so close the hunger inside her grew dangerously unbridled.
The band took their break after that song. She and Keenan were the last to leave the floor.
It was just a dance, she reminded herself. They were strangers in the night, caught up in a magical infatuation that was too new to trust though too hot to ignore.
They were only in New Orleans for three more days.
FRENCH QUARTER FATALE
Joanna Wayne
Joanna Wayne began her professional writing career in 1994. Now, more than fifty published books later, Joanna has gained a worldwide following with her cutting-edge romantic suspense and Texas family series, such as Sons of Troy Ledger and Big “D” Dads. Joanna currently resides in a small community north of Houston, Texas, with her husband. You may connect with her at joannawayne.com.
Books by Joanna Wayne
Harlequin Intrigue
New Orleans Noir
French Quarter Fatale
The Kavanaughs
Riding Shotgun
Quick-Draw Cowboy
Fearless Gunfighter
Dropping the Hammer
Big “D” Dads: The Daltons
Trumped Up Charges
Unrepentant Cowboy
Hard Ride to Dry Gulch
Midnight Rider
Showdown at Shadow Junction
Ambush at Dry Gulch
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Josette Guillory—Her mother is missing and she is falling in love with an FBI agent.
Keenan Carter—An FBI counterterrorist agent who’s out to protect Josette with his life.
Antoine Guillory—A shrimper, Josette’s father and possible suspect in her mother’s disappearance.
Homicide Detective Max Hyde—He backs down to no one.
Lorraine Cormier—Owns the shrimp and crab shack and the bayou fishing cabins.
To my friends and family who love a good crawfish boil,
Cajun festival and po’boy stuffed with fried oysters any day.
Contents
Prologue
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 Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Excerpt from Going Rogue in Red Rye County by Katie Mettner
Prologue
It was Mardi Gras season in New Orleans, a time when masked revelers riding on giant floats ruled the streets. A time when children sat atop Mardi Gras ladders lined up in long rows to better catch the action while everyone around them fought over doubloons and the cheap plastic beads flying from the hands of the parade riders.
And in the “anything goes” Vieux Carré, female tourists and locals alike traded modesty for the daring lifting of their shirts to offer quick glimpses of body parts usually kept hidden while in public.
But that wasn’t the scene in front of the watcher. No parades and revelry here. Just the stifling humidity and threatening wildlife of the bayou.
The watcher walked a few feet farther and the ground slowly leveled into a deepening quagmire.
An owl gave its forlorn call, the screech echoing around it.
A long black snake slithered through the bog, passing mere inches away.
The watcher didn’t give it a second look. Growing up on the bayou, you learn early which vipers are dangerous.
Learning which people were treacherous was not that easy. Figuring out whom you could trust was damn near impossible.
And getting mixed up with the wrong person could be deadly.
Chapter One
Josette Guillory rummaged in her handbag until she pulled out her vibrating phone. Her best friend’s name popped up on the screen.
Addison Landry, likely making sure Josette hadn’t backed out of her commitment.
“Hello, Addison. Have no fears,” Josette greeted. “I’ll be on the plane when it arrives in New Orleans.”
“I never doubted you. Have you boarded yet?”
“No, but the plane’s here and we have a crew. Looks like we’ll be on time.”
“Perfect. You might want to grab a nap on the flight. Party starts the minute you arrive in the Big Easy.”
“I’m sure the party is already in full swing.”
Even if it weren’t Mardi Gras weekend, the fun seldom slowed down with Addison around. Josette hadn’t met the intended groom yet but hoped Bart Gordon had enough spark and energy to keep up with his soon-to-be wife without curtailing her adventuresome spirit.
Either way, Josette couldn’t wait to meet him. All she knew for certain was that Addison was madly in love. Not for the first time, or even the dozenth time, but the first time she’d gotten anywhere near the “I do” stage.
“I’ll take a taxi to the hotel,” Josette volunteered, “but it may take a while. Traffic must be a nightmare with the first of the Friday night parades getting set to roll.”
“Worse than a nightmare. I wouldn’t do that to you. Bart will pick you up at baggage claim. Just look for the sexy hunk wearing a Saints hat.”
“Ah. Sexy hunks are always easy to spot. Let him know I’m in a purple dress with tall black boots.”
“I’ve already told him that you’ll be the most stylishly dressed, gorgeous woman around.”
“You can save the flattery. I’m already fully committed to the whole maid-of-honor shebang.”
“And you can’t imagine how much I appreciate that. I know the location and the timing are bummers for you,” Addison admitted, her voice suddenly taking on a more sober tone.
Right on both counts, Josette thought. As a uniformed agent took her place behind the gate podium, Josette couldn’t prevent her mind from traveling to her mother. The last time Josette or anyone else had seen or even heard from Isadora Guillory was almost exactly a year ago. Isadora had been celebrating Mardi Gras in the French Quarter when she simply disappeared.
Few of her fans and admirers had been totally shocked, least of all Josette. Disappearing when things weren’t going exactly her way had always been Isadora’s modus operandi.
The practice went all the way back to when Josette was three years old and Isadora deserted her and her hardworking father to go “find herself” in New York.
Isadora had not only found herself, but in the process she became one of the wealthiest and most successful TV actresses around.
But for the eccentric Isadora, it seemed that the more famous she became, the more she felt the need to escape her current life for a new adventure, usually with a new lover. Weeks in the remote South Pacific with a swarthy tycoon. Months in Iceland with a former foreign minister.
Isadora would eventually just show up one morning and make certain her publicists were immediately aware of her return. Her ardent fans would go berserk, and the writers of her TV show would find some miracle way to convince the viewers that she’d never really died. She’d get written back into the script with a huge advance in pay.
Not this time, Josette thought as a wave of goose bumps ascended her spine. Her mother had been gone an entire year, almost to the very day. She’d never disappeared that long.
For the past few months, Josette had tried telling herself Isadora had finally found her happy place—wherever that was. But she couldn’t prevent the chilling doubt that swept her. Had her mother met with foul play?
Not only did Josette worry about her mother but she was sick and tired of getting threatening calls and letters accusing her of killing Isadora so she could inherit her mother’s millions.
As passengers started lining up to board, Josette determinedly pushed Isadora from her mind. At least she tried to. She didn’t want anything to spoil her weekend with Addison on her special day.
It would be a short flight from Nashville to New Orleans, no real need to fly first class. But the Landrys were treating this as a destination wedding, even though they lived in a mansion on St. Charles Avenue, just a short ride from the French Quarter. They were footing the bill for all the expenses for the wedding party, including lodging in a luxury hotel in the heart of the old square or Vieux Carré.
Only the best for their only daughter.
Once on the plane, Josette found her window seat quickly: 4A. She lifted her small, flowered duffel bag to fit it into the overhead bin. But as the strap caught on the armrest, she teetered and the luggage bounced into the aisle s
She turned, looked up and found herself staring into a pair of ginger-brown eyes that seemed to tease without trying.
“Do you need some help with that?” the man asked, his voice deep and masculine.
“Thanks, but I can get it,” she murmured as she untangled the strap and fitted the luggage into the compartment.
“Ah, an independent woman.”
His half grin was wickedly sexy.
“Sorry,” she taunted. “I can take it out of the bin and let you put it in again if that will make you feel more manly.”
He seemed to stifle a laugh. “That’s a thought, but you could just let me buy you a drink.”
“They’re free in this section.”
“In that case, I’ll buy you two.”
Her grin matched his. “What a gentleman,” she said archly. “But I’ll be sticking to a cola. Don’t want to get tipsy before I reach Bourbon Street.”
Her arm brushed his shoulder as she slid into her seat. A ridiculous rush of awareness zinged along her nerve endings. She resolutely ignored it. This weekend was about catching up with her bestie and celebrating her happiness. Not reveling in the attention of a good-looking man.
He lingered in the aisle. “Will this be your first Mardi Gras?”
“No,” she said, “but the first in several years, so the first since I can legally flash an ID at the bar.”
“Good. I understand flashing is an integral part of celebrating the festival to its fullest.”
She’d say this. The man knew how to flirt. The glint in his eye made it hard to resist. But she tried. “So I’ve heard, but the ID is all I’ll be flashing. I’m not into cheap beads.”
“Smart woman. Hold out for the fancy throws or the Moon Pies. By the way, my name’s Keenan, in case you need help with your misbehaving luggage again.”
“I’ll try to keep it under control.”
She didn’t volunteer her name. She was always wary of strangers, even ones as sexy as Keenan. She never knew if they were interested in her for herself or her mother’s money and fame.
A middle-aged man in a dark gray business suit stopped in the aisle next to where Keenan was blocking his access to the overhead bin. The man pointed to the empty seat next to Josette. “Excuse me but I believe that’s my seat.”
“No problem,” Keenan said. “We were just chatting. My seat’s a couple of rows up.” He stepped out of the way.
Her legitimate seatmate paused. “If you’d like, I’ll be happy to change seats with you,” he offered. “I’m traveling alone.”
“That’s nice of you.” Keenan stared at Josette, his brows arched, waiting for her to respond.
“We’re not together,” she answered quickly. “But thanks for offering.”
Keenan stepped out of the man’s way but kept his eyes locked with Josette’s. “Perhaps we’ll run into each other on Bourbon Street this weekend,” he said.
“In the midst of thousands of revelers?”
He smiled. “You never know.”
As he walked toward his seat, she noticed a limp in his left leg. Whatever the physical problem, it hadn’t detracted from his charisma or the way he fit into his jeans and solid black knit pullover.
Perhaps she’d been a bit hasty in turning down the opportunity to chat with him during the flight. What harm could there possibly have been if she’d remained anonymous—which, unfortunately, she almost never did.
She was above all Isadora Guillory’s daughter and except for their hair color and age difference, they looked incredibly alike. Well, that did exaggerate the fact a bit.
No one was as knockout a beauty as Isadora.
* * *
THE LADY WAS a looker, a real Cajun beauty unless Keenan missed his guess. Hair as dark as midnight, falling past her shoulders and down her back.
Seductive, dark lashes, flawless complexion, a tempting mouth made for kissing. Damn near perfection.
He hadn’t intended to hit on her, but she was too stunning for any unattached, red-blooded, straight guy like himself to ignore.
Not to mention, she wasn’t wearing a gold band to declare her off-limits.
He fastened his seat belt. The flight attendant reached past him to hand his seatmate a drink before taking Keenan’s order for a Scotch on the rocks.
“Do you know who that lady was you were just talking to?” the man sitting beside him asked when the attendant walked away.
“Should I?”
“Ever heard of Isadora Guillory?”
“Sounds familiar.” He gave it some thought. “Is she the TV star who went missing from New Orleans last year?”
“That’s the one. Do you see the resemblance now?”
“Yes, but as I remember it, the missing actress was a good deal older than the beauty on our flight.”
“Yep,” the man agreed. “But she’s just the right age to be her daughter. I’d put money on it that she is.”
The attendant returned with Keenan’s drink. He thanked her and took a long sip. He searched his memory before turning back toward the guy with all the info.
He remembered the Bureau had been involved in the investigation of the actress, who had gone missing a year ago. But the last he’d heard through the grapevine, the police and the FBI had found no evidence of foul play. Of course, that might have changed by now. After all, the world was a small place, especially for someone as famous and recognizable as Isadora Guillory. She couldn’t have just fallen off the face of the earth.
His seatmate swallowed a mouthful of his pale ale, then continued. “You know, Isadora’s daughter is set to inherit a fortune if her mother turns up dead.”
“You seem to know a great deal about the Guillorys. Are you a friend of theirs?” Keenan asked.
“Nope, never lucky enough to meet either one of them, but my wife never missed that TV show. I watched it with her sometimes just to look at Isadora. Know what I mean?” he asked with a waggle of his eyebrows.
Keenan knew what he meant, and if Isadora was half the beauty the woman in 4A was, he could understand why.
Any other time, Keenan would have been tempted to check out the Isadora Guillory mystery on his laptop. But not today. He had no time or desire to go looking for crime in all the wrong places.
Not only was this practically his last week of rehab leave, but also it was party time, the perfect opportunity to hang out with the best group of old college buddies a guy could have.
He planned to make the most of it.
Who are you kidding? That devilish voice inside his head spoke up. You can never ignore a mystery.
Chapter Two
Approximately two hours later, Keenan’s plane taxied to the gate at Louis Armstrong Airport. Passengers began to bustle, releasing seat belts, turning on phones and gathering their belongings from seat pockets.
As soon as the buzzer sounded, they squeezed into the aisle to collect their carry-on bags. He was right in there with them, ready to deboard the 707 and stretch his stiff leg.
Keenan spotted Bart from the escalator on his way down to baggage claim. They’d been as close as brothers in Louisiana State University, but that had been several years ago.
The last time he’d seen Bart had been when they’d gotten together with two of their LSU teammates for a fly-fishing trip in Colorado last year.
Great times where they’d done as much drinking and reliving the old glory days on the gridiron as they had casting in the cold mountain stream. Both Moose and Lance were with them then and they’d be here this weekend, as well.
Bart saw Keenan, grinned and rushed over. The greeting quickly progressed into a vigorous half hugging, half back clapping.
“The quarterback has arrived. Let the games begin,” Bart said.
“Where’s Moose and Lance?” Keenan asked as they walked toward the luggage carousel.
“You’re it, so far. Moose is flying in tomorrow.”
“Bringing a girlfriend?”
“No. I think he just broke up with one.”
“What about Lance?”
“Driving down from Shreveport tomorrow afternoon.”
