“How’d you find out he went out with Joy?”
“I talked to her mother. She told me Joy came home crying and had bruises on her face. They didn’t want her father or brothers to find out because Vicq has such a bad reputation. Joy’s mother mentioned it to the police but they didn’t even question him.”
“It wasn’t in the police report, I read the report myself.”
“What a shocker. You said Vicq’s last name was Comeaux. Did you notice the police officer’s last name on the report? Everyone is related to everyone.”
Gator swore softly in Cajun. “I should have caught that. So Vicq Comeaux is actually a suspect. You haven’t tried to question him, have you?”
She frowned at the sharpness in his voice. “I’m not that stupid. I don’t think anyone would get anything out of him by questioning him, and certainly not a woman. The best way is for someone to get drunk with him and talk trash about women. He’s going to brag.”
“You know a lot about people, don’t you?”
“It’s a survival technique. I learned it early on. Whitney was a hell of a teacher.” She turned her face away from him, but not before he caught the glimpse of pain in her eyes. “My bet is on the boyfriend. Parsons’s son,” she continued, leaning her head against the wall and stretching her right leg out in front of her. “Something isn’t right about him.”
“I had the same feeling. Take the jeans off.”
Her gaze leapt to his, held there. “You said you weren’t going to try anything.”
“I’m not. For God’s sake, woman, you’re beautiful, but don’t flatter yourself. I’m not after your body. I’m after your leg. That’s a single body part.”
“You are too after my body. There’s heat in your eyes and” – she waved her hands around- “evidence elsewhere.”
He leaned close until his breath was warm on her lips. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, cher. I’m a man. When I get near you, there’s going to be a lot of evidence that I want you. Now get rid of the jeans. I want to see your leg.”
“I’m not showing you my leg.”
“Do you have any idea how stubborn you can look? Our children better never give me that look, although I won’t mind if they give it to you. You’d deserve it.”
“Where’s my motorcycle?”
He groaned and leaned back, hands behind his head. “Don’ be askin’ me questions that are going to get you all riled up. You’re tryin’ to get out of strippin’ for me and it won’t work. I’m going to look at your leg so you might as well just get it over and take the damned jeans off. They’re too big for you anyway.”
“I don’t have anything else to wear. My clothes were on Burrell’s houseboat.”
The little catch in her voice made his stomach flip. “Don’ start crying again. I can’t take it.”
“You just got through telling me it was good for me.”
“I was being manly and comforting you. Now it’s just plain self-preservation. I’ll buy you clothes tomorrow. You can get ten pairs of jeans for all I care.”
A faint smile curved her mouth. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
He continued to look at her pointedly.
Flame heaved a sigh. “I don’t have any underwear on. I wasn’t going to wear your brother’s. My leg is sore. I kicked the driver to make him wreck. Well,” she hedged, “I was hoping to break his neck and eliminate him altogether.”
He reached for the waistband of her jeans. “We’re going to have to do something about that temper of yours. You can’t go around killing people because they piss you off, not even when you have reason to be pissed off.” His fingers brushed bare skin. Soft skin. Her belly was firm, but so damned soft he wanted to lean forward and press his mouth against it.
She stiffened, her hands covering his, stopping the movement but holding his fingers against her stomach. He could feel the tremor running through her. “I’ll do it myself.”
“And I was having such fun.”
“Look the other way. I’m not putting on a show for you, perv.”
He closed his eyes obediently and lay back on the bed again, suddenly tired. It had been a long, frustrating day. He had more questions than answers. Burrell was dead. He was no closer to finding Joy Chiasson than the day he’d arrived in New Orleans, and he was certain when Flame peeled off her jeans, and he got a good look at her injured leg, he wasn’t going to like what he saw.
She wiggled against him as she dragged off the jeans. Twice he heard a gasp escape as she tried to be careful removing the garment. He opened his eyes just as she dragged a sheet around her.
“Fils de putin!” He bent closer to inspect her leg. “Maudit!”
“You’re looking.”
“Hell yes, I’m looking.”
“Stop swearing. It’s not that bad. A few bruises, a little swelling. What did you expect? The bike was going fast, so was the Jeep and I kicked him as hard as I could. It wasn’t all that soft when I landed either.”
“How did you manage to make it back through the swamp on this leg? You were running full-out, I saw you.”
She shrugged. “I found out a long time ago, you can endure anything if you have to. Whitney didn’t defeat me, Raoul. I learned a lot of very valuable lessons.” She looked him straight in the eye. “He isn’t going to get me back. I’d rather die. If you or anyone else managed to get me there, I’d take down his house and everyone in it. I mean it. Think long and hard on that before you decide to try bringing me back.”
He looked down at her mottled leg. From knee to hip her thigh was black and blue with ugly swollen blotches that might indicate internal bleeding. “Fils de putin.” He swore again under his breath, his hands going to her leg, lifting it onto his lap as if he could magically take the pan away.
“Are you listening to me?”
“I heard you. You need to see a doctor, Flame.”
“I meant it. I can’t go through that again. I really meant it.”
“I know. What the hell are we going to do about your leg?” His palm stroked down her skin, his touch feather-light, barely there, but she felt it all the way to her bones. I’m taking you to Grand-mere. She knows the treateur- the healer. They’ve been best friends for years.”