Part 3 (1/2)
sounds right.”
”Any identifying marks? A mole or birthmark?”
”Didn't see any.”
Ry glanced up. ”I thought you were going to give me a description.”
”She was covered in black from head to toe. You've seen a nun, haven't you? They wear black ...
everywhere.”
”Everywhere?”
Blu refused to let Ry get under his skin. ”I'll let you know once I find her.”
”So what we've got is a pair ofthe d.a.m.nedest brown eyes, and she'smaybe four inches over five feet.
And she's wearing black ...everywhere.”
Blu wished he had something more to offer. ”Ah, her mouth...”
Ry was waiting with his pen poised. ”Yeah?”
”Ah, she's got... She's got great teeth.”
”Teeth?” Ry tossed the pen onto the desk. ”Well, h.e.l.l, that makes all the difference in the world. We'll
see her coming, then.”
”I'm out of here.” Blu was on his way up once more.
”Sit down,” Ry growled. ”I need some coffee. You want some?”
”No.” Blu watched his brother-in-law stand and head for the coffeepot in the corner. Ry was an inch
shorter than Blu's six-three, and where Blu's eyes were a deep chocolate, almost black, Ry's were as blue as the morning sky. His sandy-brown hair was cropped close to his head, and the comfortable jeans and boots he refused to give up after making detective, fit the rugged Texan perfectly.
At thirty-four, Ry's status with the NOPD had steadily climbed. He was not only considered a fine homicide detective, but the next in line for a promotion. But more importantly was his claim to being the luckiest man alive since he'd married Blu's sister-a beautiful nightclub singer twelve years younger than him, who kept the Toucan Lounge in the French Quarter packed to full-house capacity three nights a week.
”She gave me another name, too,” Blu drawled. ”She asked if I knew a woman by the name of Kristen Harris.”
”And do you?”
”No.”
Ry returned to his chair with a cup of coffee. He jotted the name down beneath Salvador Maland's. ”So how did you and our little nun part company? How did you disarm her? Did you get the gun? We could trace-”
”No gun.” Blu confessed.
Ry eyed the cut and fresh bruise on Blu's forehead. ”What's that from?”
Blu hadn't intended to go into the details of how she'd gotten away from him, but if he didn't... ”She, uh,
she told me to...” ”She told you to what?” Ry prompted. ”To strip,”Blu confessed grudgingly. Rywas in the process of taking a sip of his coffee. He promptly choked and messed his s.h.i.+rt. ”Dammit.”
He eyed the brown stain spreading on his broad chest, then, still scowling, looked back at Blu. ”And did you?”
”Did I what?”
”Strip?”
”I took my boots off.” Blu rubbed his temple, remembering the way she'd smashed the heel into his head.
”I toppled her before I lost my pants. But then she hit me over the head with my boot.”
While Ry laughed, and patted dry the stain on his s.h.i.+rt, Blu climbed out of the chair, jammed his hand into his jeans' pocket and paced back to the window. ”It wasn't that d.a.m.n funny.”
”Normally I'd agree if it had happened to someone else. But you've got to admit it's not every day a nun asks the Blu Devil to strip at gunpoint, then knocks him out. With his own boot, no less.”
When Blu only grunted, Ry sobered-a little. ”Okay, let me run these names through the computer and give Jackson a call. When he finds out something he'll be in touch.”
Before Blu could agree, his sister opened the door and stuck her head inside. Surprise filled Margo's eyes when she saw who stood in her husband's office.
”Blu? What are you doing here?” When she spied the cut on her brother's head, she gasped. ”Oh, my G.o.d! What happened?”