French Quarter Fatale, page 14
They took the elevator to the second floor and walked to the suite in an eerily silent hotel. Thankfully, the paparazzi seemed to be under control for now. Josette slipped her magnetic key into the slot, opened the door and stepped inside the room.
She pushed her hair back behind both ears and shivered as she crossed her hands over her chest.
“I know it sounds weird, but suddenly this beautiful suite feels hauntingly empty without Addison. I dread the thought of staying in here alone for what’s left of the night.”
Keenan wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. She was practically falling asleep standing up. So was he. Yet if he were to lie down beside her... Best not to even go there in his mind.
“The suite has two bedrooms. I’ll keep my own and you could take the master one where Addison slept if that’s okay,” Josette said. “I mean if it’s not too much of an imposition.”
“It’s no imposition at all if you’re sure it’s what you want.”
She nodded. “I’m sure.”
“In that case, I’ll grab a few things from my room and be right back.”
“Take your time,” she said. “I need a long, hot shower myself, though I know soap and water can’t wash tonight’s gory images from my mind.”
Josette turned and disappeared through her bedroom door.
A hotel suite fit for royalty, the most gorgeous and seductive woman that Keenan had ever spent a night with, or what little was left of this night, and he’d be sleeping by himself. The guys in the Bureau would love this.
He checked the sliding doors to the balcony before leaving. They were locked, with the light and noise reducing drapes closed. “All safe and secure.”
In his room Keenan took care of business quickly, showered, brushed his teeth, pulled on a clean shirt and a pair of jeans. He packed a duffel and carried it with him.
He entered the Princess Suite with the key card she’d given him. The only illumination was the sliver of light that shone from beneath the door of Josette’s room. He tapped lightly, not wanting to wake her if she’d fallen asleep but also not wanting to chance startling her.
No response. He eased her door open. Her bed was empty, the sheets turned down and waiting. A panicky rush of adrenaline raced through him in the brief second before he spotted her curled up in a comfortable chair near the window.
Her eyes were closed, her wet hair dripping onto the top of a satiny blue sleep shirt. Her pert breasts were outlined beneath the damp, clingy fabric. Her bare legs dangled over one arm of the chair.
He lifted her into his arms and carried her to bed. A raw, sensual urge tore through him without warning. He ached to crawl between the sheets with her and fall asleep with her in his arms.
His body burned with desire despite the fatigue, but this was not the time nor place to lose control. He tucked her between the sheets before the need for her drove him completely over the edge.
He stepped into the other bedroom but left both their doors open a crack so that he’d hear her if she needed him for anything at all.
How could he fight the attraction any longer? He’d never fallen this hard before.
Yet he couldn’t imagine this could go anywhere after this weekend.
She was a beautiful, super talented designer from Nashville. Daughter of a multimillionaire, an heiress who’d one day afford yachts or mansions in the south of France.
Keenan was FBI and loved it.
How could they tackle the challenge of making that work?
Chapter Fifteen
Keenan jerked awake to the sound of loud voices coming from the street below. It only took a moment for him to realize where he was and why he was there.
The emotional visit to the morgue. The sensual blow he’d felt when carrying Josette to the bed and tucking her beneath the luxurious sheets. The way his life was changing with every heartbeat.
Keenan had already abandoned the simple rule that had been drilled into him since his first FBI undercover assignment. No romantic entanglements with a possible suspect or someone you’re protecting.
Josette wasn’t a suspect and technically she shouldn’t need to be protected. But the neighborly little bayou community where her dad had lived all his life seemed to suddenly harbor a multitude of dangerous secrets.
He kicked off the sheets and threw his legs over the side of the bed just as his phone began to vibrate. He grabbed it quickly. The caller ID said Antoine Guillory.
For a second, he thought he’d picked up the wrong phone. But no, Antoine was calling him.
Keenan made his way to the balcony, managing not to yelp when his big toe bumped against the metal frame. His hello became a painful groan when he reached the balcony.
“Did I wake you?” Antoine asked.
“No,” Keenan said. “Have you talked to Detective Hyde?”
“I’d like to talk to you first.”
That was a surprise, unless Antoine wanted to warn him again to stay away from his daughter. “What can I help you with?” Keenan asked.
“Before we talk, I need to tell you one thing. I’d prefer Josette not know about this conversation until I know better how to handle this.”
“Keeping secrets from Josette is not easy,” Keenan said. “I’m sure you know that.”
“At any rate, I don’t know if you’re the best person for me to talk to, but I know Josette solidly believes in you and that goes a long way with me. Where is my daughter now?”
“Josette and I are both still in the hotel in the French Quarter. I’m on the balcony right now trying to keep from waking her. She’s asleep in the suite she shared with Addison, but I expect her to stir any moment now.”
“I’m sure the first thing she’ll want to do once she hears the morning news is to head to Alligator Cove.”
“I assume you mean the news about the body being taken from the bayou. If so, I can assure you that Josette saw the body and it isn’t Isadora.”
“Good. Then I guess we can meet at my house.”
“If you’re sure that’s what you want,” Keenan told him.
“I’m not sure of anything, but we have to do something, and we can’t put it off any longer.”
“What do you want to talk to me about?”
“A kidnapping.”
“Whoa. Did I hear that right? Are you saying that you believe Isadora Guillory has been kidnapped?”
“All I’m sure of is that someone—maybe several someones—are demanding a ransom from me in order to free Isadora.”
“Free her from whom? From where?”
“That wasn’t made clear. Apparently, she’s being held hostage but there was no clue as to where or why she is being held.”
“How did this person or persons communicate his orders with you?”
“I got a note on Thursday, attached to my shrimp boat.”
“Was it handwritten?”
“Yes, but—” Antoine hesitated. “Look, I know I messed up. I was so distraught, so angry that I balled it up and threw it in the bayou.”
Keenan didn’t have the heart to chastise the man for his stupidity. Instead, he asked, “What did it say?”
“The note specified that I must have twenty-four thousand dollars in cash ready for exchange sometime before midnight on Mardi Gras day. If there is any sign of a cop anywhere around, they will kill Isadora. And they warned they were deadly serious.”
* * *
“KEENAN.” JOSETTE’S VOICE was raspy. Even that increased his pulse rate.
“It’s just me,” he said. “Sorry for waking you.”
“You didn’t. I was already fighting my way out of the dregs of sleep.”
She was still in bed, her ebony-colored hair haloed against the snowy white pillow. Her gaze locked with his, her dark, expressive eyes mesmerizing.
How could anyone look that good on so little sleep?
“What time is it?” Josette asked.
“A few minutes before ten.”
She jerked up on her elbows. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“Nope. You’re sleeping through the excitement. The daiquiri shops will have a roaring business going by now.”
“I can skip the daiquiri, but I’d kill for a coffee.”
“Great idea,” Keenan said. “You order. I’ll brush my teeth, throw on some clothes and be right out.”
His phone vibrated as he shut her bedroom door behind him. He checked the caller ID.
“Morning, Moose. What are you doing up before noon?”
“Sara just got a call from Beth who got a call from Mrs. Landry who got the news from an app on her phone. Bad news travels fast.”
“If you’re talking about the body the police pulled from Bayou Lafourche yesterday, the news could have been a lot worse for Josette. She viewed it in the morgue in the wee hours of the morning and determined it wasn’t Isadora.”
“That’s not the story the press is peddling,” Moose said.
“I’m sure their tale is far more tantalizing,” Keenan said. Yet not nearly as fascinating and creative as the truth. He wondered how much of that Josette would have to deal with before this day was over.
“Did they mention Josette?” Keenan asked.
“Not that I heard. Are you and Josette still planning to visit her dad this afternoon?”
“Unless she’s changed her mind overnight and I don’t see that happening.”
“Do you and Josette need us to go with you?” Moose offered.
“No, we’re fine with just the two of us.”
“I noticed.”
A few minutes later, Josette joined him for coffee in the living room of the suite, fully dressed.
“Mind if I turn on the TV for a few minutes?” Josette asked.
“No, but I should warn you that you may not like what you see and hear.”
“I’d be shocked if I did.”
Josette channel surfed and landed on a local station that was interrupting its festival coverage with the breaking news.
“There is speculation that a body recovered from Bayou Lafourche yesterday could possibly be that of television superstar Isadora Guillory, wife of local shrimper Antoine Guillory.”
Josette jumped up, the coffee nearly spilling at the sudden movement. “Dad’s right. This is far worse than simple harassment. The NOPD obviously released that information after I assured them that wasn’t Mother.”
“Do you want to call your dad?”
“No. Let’s just hit the road.” She put down her coffee cup, then headed out the door. “I’ll text Dad along the way. He may refuse to talk to me, anyway.”
To Josette’s surprise, Antoine was not only willing to talk to her, he was waiting at the door when they arrived at his house. Coffee cup in hand, he waved them in. He looked far more worried than happy to see her, however.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Dad, but it’s nice to be invited into the house instead of being pushed away.”
Antoine sipped his coffee. “You may change your mind when you hear what I have to say.”
“Then we should go ahead and get it over with.”
Antoine nodded in agreement. He led them inside and when everyone was seated, he wasted no time. “I’ve received a ransom demand for your mother. They’re asking for twenty-four thousand dollars to be paid before the end of today.”
Josette felt her heart crumble. “Someone has Mother? Who? Where? Is she safe? Have you talked to her?”
Antoine shook his head. “No one has talked to me or gotten back to me since I received the note on Thursday.”
“Where is the money?”
“I’m getting it together,” Antoine said.
Getting it together? Was that why he sold the Lady Isadora? The timing was right. She remembered he’d said the sale would go through on Tuesday.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the kidnapping, Dad? I was here but you said nothing.” She added one more thought. “Why didn’t you ask me for the money?” Secretly she railed inside at her father’s stubbornness not to use his access to Isadora’s fortune. Apparently, he was too stubborn to ask her for it, too.
Antoine dragged a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t. The kidnappers said to tell no one. I had to follow their instructions—” His breath caught and his voice was tight when he spoke again. “All I want is Isadora back home again—at any cost.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Keenan said.
The grave tone of his voice sucked the last breath out of Josette.
* * *
ANTOINE COULD NO longer sit still. He bolted out of his seat and paced the room.
“It’s not the money I’m concerned about,” he insisted to Keenan. “It’s a case of making the right move. Right now, we have no proof that Isadora is safe or that anyone can produce her. That’s why I figured you could give me some guidance in how to handle all of this.”
“I think you’ve made your first sound decision,” Keenan said. “If you try to handle this without going through the cops, you will not only be breaking the law but putting Isadora and yourself in danger.”
Josette jumped out of her chair and went to Antoine. “Where is Mother supposed to be now?” she asked.
“I don’t have a clue. They make all the decisions. All I do is show up with the money when they say.” He took off his hat and raked a hand through his hair. “I can’t think straight. I’m worried that some kook found her and decided to make a fortune for himself.”
“Only, of course, twenty-four thousand isn’t a fortune,” Keenan said. “Especially when you’re talking about Isadora Guillory’s kind of wealth. If you’d planned an abduction of someone that rich and famous, you’d be looking for big bucks. Close to a million or more. In my estimation, this isn’t a ransom, it’s an act of desperation.”
“What do you mean, Keenan?” Antoine asked.
“I mean, it sounds like a distressed person who’s in such dire need of cash that he’s willing to kidnap Isadora...or pretend to.”
Josette waved her hand to stop that line of thinking. “We have to assume whoever made the demands has her. I won’t gamble with my mother’s life and call the kidnapper’s bluff.”
Her eyes implored him for help. “The FBI was involved in the beginning of Mother’s disappearance. Why can’t they put you in charge now?”
“They have someone in charge,” he explained. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t be here for you.”
Her lips formed the words Thank you as Antoine ran into the kitchen. “I’m calling Detective Hyde now.”
For a few minutes, Keenan had almost forgotten that Isadora was a lot more than Josette’s mother. She was Antoine’s wife, the woman he had always loved.
Keenan was only beginning to understand love and how it could steal your very soul.
Chapter Sixteen
Once Detective Hyde and two additional detectives arrived, they spent the next hour discussing methods utilized in kidnappings such as the one they were dealing with. Since Antoine had received the ransom demands and was supposed to receive the next instructions, he would stay at home with two lawmen.
Isadora Guillory was considered a very important subject. World-famous actress and multimillionaire. The crime was to be treated with the highest rank, significance and status.
Josette was to continue life as she knew it, lest the kidnapper get wind that Antoine had dragged her into it. Keenan was to keep an eye on Josette at all times. While not officially working for the police department, it was clear Max Hyde judged him to be totally competent.
Life as usual meant celebrating Mardi Gras by dining on crawfish at Cormier Shrimp and Crab Shack. Keenan figured mingling among the locals might yield some useful information, as well.
Tantalizing aromas met him the second he opened his car door. So did the noise and zydeco music. He opened the passenger door for Josette and linked his arm with hers as they maneuvered their way through the crowded parking lot.
Another time, he’d have found this experience today fascinating. Now all he wanted to do was take Josette away from the angst that was devouring her. She was worried about her mother and her father, everyone except herself. Keenan was doing enough of that for both of them.
Problem was, worrying in the background wasn’t his style. He yearned to be on the active side of this investigation.
He didn’t understand the crush of uninhibited attraction that had exploded between them in five short days. All he knew was that what had started as harmless attraction had taken over his heart and mind.
Unless he was reading all the signals wrong, Josette was experiencing that same smoking chemistry. He wasn’t sure if the situation they were dealing with caused the overwhelming magnetism or merely intensified it.
They stepped inside the low-slung wooden restaurant with the metal roof. The zydeco band was rocking the place so loud it seemed to vibrate the walls. The dance floor was jam-packed with people of all ages, keeping the beat and swinging their partners.
Others crowded around newspaper-covered tables, platters overflowing with boiled crawfish and crabs getting all their attention. Shells were heaped into mountainous piles in the middle of the tables.
In between all of that were rolls of paper towels, bottles of hot sauce and pitchers of cold beer.
Several people waved and called to Josette. He marveled how she kept a smile pasted on and waved back under the circumstances. He knew her insides were so tight she was near to cracking.
“Who’s the bearded guy at the bar staring me down?” Keenan asked.
“That’s T-Jack, Lorraine’s uncle who owned all this land and the restaurant in the past. He also used to own and operate an extremely successful chain of seafood markets throughout South Louisiana.”
