She closed the bag. The screwdriver and the set he talked about had been nestled in a side compartment. Hidden. “You know the way to my heart.”
The arm around her shoulders tensed. “And you know how to take mine.”
Her eyes widened.
But before she could question him, they were moving again. Strolling past the brightly colored lights and signs that hung over the bars. People danced and called out from the second-story balconies that were all along the street. No cars, just people. People in the road. People spilling from the bars. People walking with enormous drinks in their hands.
Some people stumbling toward the curb.
It was close to eleven p.m., and the party certainly seemed to be going strong. Music blasted from the open doors they passed, and some women who appeared to be wearing nothing more than sheer negligees crooked their fingers at Remy in invitation.
She swallowed and edged ever closer to him.Not happening, ladies.
They kept strolling down the street, and everywhere she looked, there was something new to see. A trumpet playerblasted from a corner, and a horse-drawn carriage skirted by on a crossroad.
“Did you know that your grandfather owned the bar here on Bourbon?”
“No.” He’d mentioned that to her on the car ride over.
“And the attorney, Morris Hade, you’ve never heard of him?”
She shook her head. “When my grandfather died, there wasn’t any legal paperwork or wills. I thought it was because he was living under an assumed name. Hard to legally give property to a relative when you don’t have an identity.”
“Um. That’s probably why it made things so easy for Morris.” Anger beat in his voice. “The bastard was all too eager to sell the information he possessed to Preston. Don’t worry, we’ll be dealing with him, too. No one takes away the things that belong to you.”
The crowd had begun to thin. Not as many bars. Not as many people.
“The last bar on Bourbon street is Lafitte’s,” Remy murmured. “We’re not going quite that far. In fact, we’re here.” He turned to the right. Toward a building on the corner, two stories. Like the other buildings, it looked historic. In other words…very, very old. The white paint over the bricks had faded, and big, blue shutters surrounded what looked like four different doors that led inside from the street.
“The number of entrances and exits will work to our advantage. People will clear out fast when they see the smoke.” He stepped toward the building.
She hauled him back. Though she made the gesture look more like a fierce hug than a grab. Her arms wrapped tightly around him, and she rose to whisper in his ear, “Smoke? You didn’t say anything about setting a fire!”
“Relax, love,” he breathed back. “It’s all distraction. Just smoke bombs. A technique I learned from my father. If you want to clear a building, sometimes, you need a few special effects.”
The idea still made her nervous.
“When they’re running out, we’ll be running for the safe. Then you can work your magic.”
He seemed to have such confidence in her. Jacqueline’s stomach twisted. “What if I can’t do it?”
Remy eased back and stared down at her. “You can.”
Too much faith. “The other two were easy. I-I think anyone with a bit of skill could have done those. This will be different. I’mnotmy grandfather. Everything could go very wrong.”
He caught her hand. Brought it to his lips. “In that case, we improvise.”
“Remy…”
Using his hold on her hand, he tugged her through the nearby, open door and into the dimly lit bar. Music blared. Drinks clinked. And fear iced her blood.
***
The bastard had been a no-show so far.
Preston choked back his rage as he sat in the back seat of his parked car. He’d expected Rembrandt to rush to the house in the French Quarter. To come busting in with his grand plans of theft. In return, Preston had been ready to have his guards eliminate the bastard. After all, when an intruder broke into your home, weren’t you allowed to defend yourself? To do whatever was necessary if you feared for your life?
He’d already had the perfect story ready for the cops. A career thief had broken into his home, threatened him, and his guards had been given no choice but to shoot.