Part 26 (1/2)
”Intuition,” he said.
Lucian stood. Danny wasn't small, but Lucian seemed to tower over him. Of course, Danny was falling down around him, almost as if he were boneless, or melting.
She'd known Danny a while. Several years. Through his trials, his romances, his heartbreaks-bad days at the job. They'd all been out together, drinking, celebrating.
She'd never seen him drunk like this.
She started to put money on the bar; Lucian had already done so. She stared at him.
He shrugged, a half smile in place. ”The least I can do is buy you a drink.”
Danny wagged a finger at her. ”And he's going to protect you.”
”From what?”
”The creatures of the night.”
She stared at Lucian. ”And how do I know that he's not one of the creatures of the night?”
Lucian stared back. ”You don't. Shall we go?”
She didn't need to help with Danny. Lucian had an arm around his back, and Danny was clinging to Lucian's shoulder. His feet were barely touching the ground.
Outside, the jazz played on. Neon lights burned. Laughter filled the streets.
The bathe a beauty for a buck sign began to flicker.
The usual Friday-night cacophony reigned.
Sean Canady burst into the old family manor on the outskirts of New Orleans where he lived with his wife and child.
She was standing in the entry, waiting, as if she had been aware that he was arriving at just that moment.
Sometimes she still had that ability.
Her hands were folded before her; she was trying to appear serene. Her agitation was in her eyes.
He held dead still in the doorway.
”You know?” he said.
”I tried to reach you at the station.”
”I was at the morgue.”
”And the battery is dead in your cell phone.”
”You could have tried Jack's number.”
”I needed to talk to you first.”
He strode across the room to her, lifting her chin. He loved his wife.
G.o.d, he loved his wife. He kissed her lips long, hard, before saying more.
Then he drew away.
”They're back,” he said simply.
She nodded.
”How do you know?”
”Lucian was here.”
”Lucian?”
”Want a drink?”
”A big one.”
She started walking toward the right-side parlor. He followed.
It was a h.e.l.l of a fine mansion for a police officer to live in. It was Maggie's family estate, thought he would one day inherit his own. It was down the road a bit, inhabited by his father, who he prayed would live long, hale, and hearty.
She poured him a large Scotch.
He accepted it and walked toward the fireplace. ”I was at the morgue all day because the automobile accident that's been written up in the papers wasn't an accident at all.”
She poured herself a drink and sipped it. ”Not an accident? The car went halfway through a tree; the kid had been drinking-”
”Oh, yeah. All kind of alcohol and drug levels in the blood. But he was dead before he went into the tree.”
”But-”
”The head was nearly off because it had been serrated after death.
Serrated with the broken gla.s.s from the winds.h.i.+eld.”
She didn't speak. Her mouth formed an O. ”Where's Lucian?”
She shook her head. ”He wanted to talk to you, but you didn't get back, and he was restless and insisted that he had to go. But he promised he'd be back.”
”Is he worried about the MacGregor girl?”