I waited.
“Her hotel room was cleaned out—all of her personal belongings are gone—and there just happens to be missing recorded footage, ten minutes of deleted time on the hotel’s security surveillance.”
“That sounds like an inside job. Has the hotel staff been questioned?”
Richard nodded before his expression turned concerned. “This damn thing is blowing up. If we could just find Miss O’Brien...”
“Do you think this woman is in danger?”
“We believe there’s a connection. She has a background in computers that might account for the hack in the Drury Plaza’s security. Right now, if we’re looking at a homicide, she’s our number-one suspect.”
I was a master at disguise, not in the way of illusion but in hiding my feelings, emotions, or reactions. It was a skill I’d perfected since childhood. I’d watched men die and not batted an eye. I’d even been the one to pull the trigger without any visible reaction, one that most would call normal. I’d listened as women professed their undying love or begged for pleasure, only to walk away.
And yet the prosecutor’s last sentence almost was my undoing. “I’m sorry. Did you say that she is your number-one suspect? Then you’re saying that she’s dangerous?”
Richard Michelson stood. “Just do me a favor, Everett. I don’t want you dragged into this. I’m trying to tamp down the flames. It has the potential of a front-page story that could burn down New Orleans again.”
There were many tales of lore regarding multiple fires in New Orleans. While those were actual, what Michelson was discussing was metaphoric.
“Why is that?” I asked. “Not to sound callous, but people die in New Orleans every day.” I had the picture of one man on my phone.
“I had a gut feeling about that name—O’Brien.”
I shrugged. “Relatively common.”
“It’s an old story from when I was fresh out of law school and I was asked to help with something a bit unusual. I can’t share the particulars, but let me just say that if this woman is who I think she is, she could be coming for you.”
“For me?” I scoffed. “Are you suggesting that I should be fearful of a woman?”
“I’ve got a bad feeling.” He shook his head. “There could be ghosts from the past coming back to New Orleans, and if I’m right, you would be in their sights.”
Their sights? Do modern-day ghosts carry guns?
I supposed if he was talking about Kyle, the answer was yes.
Pushing off from the chair, I offered Michelson my hand. “Thank you, Richard, for the warning. I’ll be sure to have this old house exorcised. No ghosts are welcome here.”
He shifted his feet. “There’s been some talk, and you and I both know that anything like this...anything that would put you into the spotlight isn’t helpful. Your father saved my girl. I owe him to do the same. That’s why I’m here, to warn you. Emma O’Brien could be a threat, maybe not physically, but her presence will start questions that are better left unasked.”
Emma
“Tonight when I come for you.”
It had been one of the last things Rett said before he leftmy suite, as Ian called it. Rett had told me to rest, and I supposed I should have listened. However, being in a cage, a box, or a suite, didn’t facilitate my relaxation. With each passing minute, I found it more difficult to cope with this odd reality.
For a distraction, I’d decided to try the large bathtub. If I were to be honest, the bath was amazing. With multiple options for bath beads and oils, I was able to soak in the relaxing waters as eucalyptus filled the air and oils covered my skin in liquid satin. Once I was saturated to the point of pruniness, I climbed from the bath, stepped into the glass shower, and investigated the controls that looked more like an airplane’s cockpit than a shower.
Water dumped from above, much like a spa, before another showerhead rained over me allowing me to wash, rinse, and condition my hair. I confessed, if only to myself, that I was out of my league when it came to Everett Ramses.
There was a part of me that wanted to show him that I was capable of accepting anything he threw my way. That included the perception of my equality. If he were fresh and clean and dressed to perfection, I would be also. While there was something a bit erotic about the inequality during a physical encounter, I was determined that at all other times, I’d show him that I wasn’t intimidated. I could be the queen at his side that fate demanded even if I wasn’t certain what that would entail.
There was a lot I didn’t know or understand. Instead of concentrating on the task he’d proposed as a whole, I found it helpful to break it into smaller, more conquerable chunks. As I showered, I concentrated on what the evening would bring.
Would this be the night we consummated this relationship, or would the evening end with a handshake at the door?
I refused to recognize thatthe doorwas the entrance to my place of captivity.
While I wasn’t certain about consummation, I was confident that there would be more than a handshake. Despite the uneasiness during our midday meal, I found myself looking forward to—dare I sayexcited for—what the evening and night had to bring. In my mind, I began to build our impending dinner into more—into a date, for lack of a better term.