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  That was a case of gray area that Shel could decipher, but the law would not. Given the sizeable delivery she’d had on her, even a good defense and brief jail time would have taken her child away from her for years. Shel figured she’d made the best decision given the grim circumstances. It had almost worked.

  She blinked away the ugly memory and focused on Kathleen Fortier. She and her child may also be residing in a gray area. Shel felt in her gut that something was amiss. Given the new parameters she had set for herself, she figured it was worth a try exploring the odd feeling.

  Yes, she was now freely admitting to herself that she was embarking on a new life. It was a journey begun the moment she’d accepted Richard Fortier’s down payment. The deal was further sealed when she’d abandoned her car. Now, there was nothing left for her in Louisiana, excepting a possible pile of cash should she deem Kathleen unfit after all and turn over her location to Fortier. Since making the decision, Zoey had been at the front of her brain. It wasn’t just the young mother thing or the bad place thing, but now, just as Zoey had been, Shel was also desperate for a clean break from her former life.

  This assignment was an operation that required patience, not that she was blessed with an abundance of such, but she’d already decided this would be her last case. She’d vowed to turn over a new leaf, with or without money, though she knew her preference.

  She thought about the gallery and its owner and his misconception about Shel being a “good spirit.” She didn’t aspire to be a great person, just a better one. But that wasn’t what was bothering her. What kept her awake was another notion that tickled the deep recesses of Shel’s thoughts, that Kathleen Fortier, in her paint-spattered apron, with her mussed up, butchered hair, was undoubtedly one of the most attractive women she had ever laid eyes on. Admittedly, it made being patient more tolerable.

  She had always been a sucker for a damsel in distress, especially a pretty one. She quietly hoped that wasn’t what was driving her desire to do the right thing or there would be no evidence of real change at all.

  She squeezed her eyes tightly closed and put Kathleen’s sweet face, aqua-hued eyes, and exquisite, petite body out of her thoughts. She tried not to worry about her fascination with the beautiful woman or about a child who, in a few weeks, could possibly be without her mother.

  Shel drifted to sleep and from one erotic dream to another until an ear-splitting scream tore through the otherwise silent night.

  Chapter Nine

  With feet thoroughly entangled in sheets, Shel sprang from the bed then promptly went sprawling on the floor. She cursed and crawled free, bumping around the darkness of the unfamiliar house until she arrived at the front door.

  She bolted for the street, running hard toward the source of the shriek. The fact that she had no shoes and no gun occurred to her with each waking moment, along with all the horrible possibilities about what she might discover when she reached the yellow house.

  Light softly glowed from behind the front window blinds. Shel’s heart slammed wildly against her ribs, further fueling her adrenaline rush. She hoped the kid was okay. She hoped she hadn’t screwed things up by not calling Fortier as soon as she knew his wife’s exact location. After all, he’d warned her that Kathleen was violently insane. Had she done as she was instructed, Fortier would have his daughter back and Shel would be on an island somewhere, relieving any possible guilt with expensive, therapeutic cocktails.

  She tamped down rising fears along with the guilt of knowing that by protecting her paycheck, she’d possibly brought harm to the child. She’d drawn things out, milked the advance, and for what? Her own morbid curiosity?

  Shel came in for a landing on the doorstep beneath an ancient, yellow striped canopy and hammered her fist against the front door. Instantly, the light in the house’s main room switched off.

  “Yeah, that’ll work,” she sarcastically muttered. She pounded more vigorously on the door and yelled, “I know you’re there—I live across the street!”

  The house remained dark and silent, igniting fury within her. It was absurd that Kathleen could pretend a devastating scream had not just originated from her house, or that the front windows weren’t just lighted. Shel pounded until her fist was sore. “I’m not leaving, so you might as well come to the door!”

  She considered going around back, but heard a series of locks unlatching. Then the front door barely opened. Mrs. Richard Fortier stared at her through a three-inch gap protected by a chain guard.

  After a week of seeing those haunting eyes in her dreams, here they were, up close and personal. Kathleen’s distress was so devastatingly powerful Shel felt the impact from the front stoop.

  “Everything’s fine,” Kathleen mumbled. “Thanks for your concern.”

  She started to shut the door, but Shel stopped it with the heel of her hand. “So, what’s with the racket, then?”

  “It was nothing, really.”

  A slight breeze made Shel suddenly very aware that she stood there in nothing more than her customary night attire. She looked down at long legs that looked preposterously gangly in boxer shorts, and her tank shirt was so thin, why bother at all? Struck by a twinge of unexpected self-consciousness, she tugged the hem of her shirt lower, and awkwardly shielded her chest with an arm. “I’m staying across the street, I heard you scream.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but it was nothing. Thank you for checking.”

  Regardless of her attire—in fact, maybe because of it—Shel quickly grew impatient. “Lady, dogs are barking for a three-mile radius. Don’t tell me it was nothing.”

  “I said I apologize. Now, it’s late.” Kathleen started to close the door once more, but Shel wedged a solid fist between the frame and the door. Obviously startled, Kathleen stared. Finally showing evidence of a temper, she spat, “I’ll call the police.”

  “Be my guest. I was about to call them myself.” Shel removed her hand, folded both arms over her chest and waited to see what impact her bold statement would have.

  Kathleen’s glare turned harder and colder, causing notions of pets with snapped necks to swirl around Shel’s brain. She remained resolute.

  When Kathleen’s shoulders pitched slightly forward, Shel knew the police would not be summoned. She hoped her relief wasn’t abundantly evident. Though surrender hung between them, she and Kathleen remained frozen in their quiet standoff.

  Finally, Kathleen whispered, “Please just go. It won’t happen again.”

  A three-inch look into Kathleen’s world was all she’d get unless she acted quickly and she very much wanted to see that the little girl was okay. Taking advantage of her first successful bluff, she pressed her luck. Leaning her head against the doorframe, she said, “There could be some weirdo in there holding you hostage, okay? Let me in to see for myself and I’ll go home and go to bed. Otherwise, I’m calling the police. Your choice.”

  The door closed.

  For a moment, Shel considered the impossibility that she’d failed. Then she heard the chain sliding and in seconds the door opened and Kathleen stood on the doorstep wearing a terse expression and a simple bathrobe, her arms folded across her chest.

  Up close, she was able to confirm her initial suspicion that Kathleen Fortier was quite small. Not that Shel had her pegged for a giant, but certainly she hadn’t looked this delicate in photographs, or even from the other side of the street. Her pixie hair hardly shielded her wide, worried eyes and she looked regretful about that at the moment.

  “Whatever it takes to get you to leave,” the woman angrily whispered.

  Shel waited for Kathleen to move before stepping past the threshold into the cottage. “Thank you.” She wished she had her badge, though flashing a badge might have sent the woman right over the edge, thereby possibly putting the child in even greater danger. A child who was, at present, nowhere in sight.

  She forged ahead and extended her hand in a businesslike move. “I’m Shel Carson. I just moved in across the stree
t.” No sense in lying at this point since Kathleen would probably know her identity before it was all over anyway. She chalked it up as another step in the direction of honest living.

  Kathleen remained still, ignoring Shel’s hand. “Could you just get this over with?” She dropped the whisper, and only then did Shel notice her odd dialect. Kathleen Fortier pronounced every letter of every word. The woman was becoming more of a mystery with each passing moment.

  A soft-sounding hiccup drew their attention to the hallway. Wearing a pink Minnie Mouse nightgown, Harper stood clutching a well-worn stuffed rabbit. The child’s shoulders twitched with hiccups and the funny little sniff-squeaks toddlers made when they were coming down from a good cry.

  Having thoroughly memorized a showcase of photographs taken at every age, Shel could easily confirm this was Richard Fortier’s child. More than ever, she was acutely aware of her own near nakedness. She smiled at the little girl and squeezed her arms more tightly around herself in an effort to hide whatever she could.

  Harper Fortier stared at her. She wondered if the brand of leeriness in the child’s eyes had been inherited from her mother. Harper looked too young to have already developed such an obvious mistrust for adults.

  Kathleen spun around. “Go back to bed, now.” When the little girl didn’t move, her mother issued another sterner warning. “Go on. I’ll bring you a drink as soon as our company leaves.” She turned to face Shel, making her point crystal clear. “Which will be in only a second.”

  When Kathleen said “drink,” her accent made itself known. The word sounded more like “drank.” It was clear to Shel that the woman was attempting to iron out her New Orleans vernacular. Shel marveled at the ridiculously botched ruse.

  From where she stood, she scanned the child, inventorying for bruises or other evidence of harm that could possibly jeopardize her payday, thereby necessitating immediate intervention. The child flinched with each hiccupped sob and looked petrified, but appeared to Shel to be in otherwise good physical health.

  Kathleen hurriedly ushered the child down the hallway and returned in moments. Standing solidly in front of Shel, she rasped, “Are you satisfied now?”

  “Cute kid.” Shel’s bare feet took a few steps in one direction, then the other, while she viewed what she could of the home’s interior. She casually asked, “Who was screaming and why?”

  “My daughter saw a bug.”

  Shel was dumbstruck. “Kid gets pretty upset over a bug.”

  “They…they’re monsters here,” Kathleen stammered.

  Shel knew firsthand the insects in Louisiana were big enough to saddle. The whole conversation was preposterous. “Yeah? Where you from?”

  The question went unanswered. She glanced around, making mental notes. The house was done simply in tasteful neutral tones accented by natural objects like seashells and pinecones. The décor was unpretentious, and in fact hardly even qualified as décor, the polar opposite of what she’d expected to find in a millionaire’s wife’s home.

  A rag doll lay in a crumpled heap on an off-white couch. A snapshot of mother and daughter leaned against a lamp on a plain wooden end table. The furnishings were all very basic and impersonal.

  She gave the conversation a little push. “You two live here alone?”

  “Do you want to check for yourself?” Kathleen asked, resurrecting her cold, stiff tone.

  Shel wanted to take her up on the offer, but instead turned to face her unwilling host. She studied Kathleen a moment. “No.”

  “Are we done?”

  The fearful scream replayed itself in Shel’s brain, igniting a flurry of what-if scenarios. She took a step closer, leaned very near Kathleen’s ear, and whispered, “Is there anyone in your house right now who shouldn’t be here?”

  “Yes,” Kathleen said in an equally low voice. She, too, leaned slightly forward, mimicking Shel’s stance. “You.”

  “Okay.” Standing so close to Kathleen, Shel detected the faint scent of baby powder and fresh laundry. Just like that, harsh images of the woman mistreating her child were quickly replaced with softer ones, like Kathleen stepping out of the shower, blotting herself dry with a fluffy towel, sprinkling baby powder on all the parts presently covered by a very thin robe with a pink collar…

  She felt a twinge in her groin and hurriedly stepped out of Kathleen’s personal space and its accompanying delicious scent. “Very good.”

  “Are you leaving now?”

  Shel blinked, surprised at Kathleen’s defensive attitude. “Look, don’t get wise with me. Somebody over here starts screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night. Excuse me for getting neighborly, making sure there’s not some weirdo in your house.”

  Kathleen rocked back on her bare heels and made a show of taking in a full-length view of Shel in her basic underwear. “Nobody’s saying there’s not.”

  Shel nodded and smiled. “Good one, Miss…?”She waited for Kathleen to supply the last name.

  Kathleen said nothing.

  “Okay, Miss Whatever—at least we’re on a first-name basis. It was nice to meet you.” Shel pushed through the door, stepped onto the porch, and turned to say goodbye in time to see the door slam. To nobody but the pitch-black night, she added, “Sort of.”

  She shook her head, struggling to process the house and its odd occupants. Careful of her bare feet, she hiked to the edge of the yard and started to cross the street. A rare approaching car flashed red strobes effectively stopping her in her tracks dead center of the roadway. She sighed and bowed her head in defeat, an action that again forced her to note her skimpy wardrobe.

  “Great,” she muttered, giving a forced friendly wave to the police officer she couldn’t yet see. She squinted into the bright, bobbing flashlight beam aimed right in her face.

  “What gives, lady?” a tough-sounding woman asked her.

  The light abruptly switched off and Shel was left blinking away residual spots. When she could finally see, she tried not to chuckle at the fact that the woman behind the gravelly voice and big flashlight wasn’t a hair over five feet tall, and about half again as wide. The officer’s hair resembled a red Brillo pad spilling out from beneath her official cap. The officer held out a hand and made a gimme motion.

  “Come on, hotshot. I’m going to need to see some ID.”

  “Well, I don’t carry it in these,” Shel said angrily, looking down at her boxers. She’d finally arrived at the complete end of her patience.

  “Why are you running around the neighborhood in your skivvies, anyway?”

  “Just visiting a neighbor.”

  The squatty officer glanced at her wristwatch and arched an eyebrow. “At two a.m.? What kind of visit you call that? Booty call?”

  Shel glanced at the little yellow cottage, fury burning hot inside her. First, an already restless night’s sleep had been rudely interrupted by a scream that had her running around the neighborhood in her “skivvies,” as the officer had kindly pointed out. Second, knowing full well that she’d only had good intentions, Kathleen Fortier had the nerve not only to ignore the drama now unfolding in the street, but she was callous enough to turn off every light in her house, and apparently go to bed.

  “Christ,” she mumbled. Her gaze went to the bossy uniformed dame. She realized the officer was not going away until she’d seen ID. She motioned toward the little green ranch house. “Follow me inside so I can get it.”

  The officer glanced at the house and looked back at her with a funny expression. “You a renter?”

  “Well, I’m not a squatter,” Shel coldly answered, having already anticipated the next question.

  The officer got back into her patrol car and veered it to the side of the road. Having properly parked, she got out again and followed Shel inside.

  In moments, Shel emerged from her bedroom wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, her driver’s license in hand. In the dim lamplight, she looked at the officer’s name badge: K. Milford. She handed over the ID. “Here you are,
Officer Milford.”

  “You’re from Louisiana.”

  “That’s what it says.”

  “You’re not winning a lot of points with me,” Milford said in her flinty voice. She lowered the license and glared at Shel. “You some kind of smartass or something?”

  Shel rolled her eyes, but asked herself how many idiots she’d dealt with when she was working street patrol, first step in her cop career. Twenty years ago suddenly felt like yesterday. It was especially tricky being a woman. Everybody gave you attitude. Plus, this woman was no spring chick; God only knew how long she’d been at this racket. All things considered, Shel calmed down. “I heard a noise, jumped out of bed, and ran outside to see what it was. New neighborhood makes me a little nervous.”

  Milford cockily tilted her head to the side and grinned. “What you got to be nervous about?”

  Shel plopped heavily on the couch, ignoring the puff of dust that rose up around her. “I’m a former cop, all right? I hear a noise and I react. That’s what I do.”

  “Former?” Milford didn’t cut her any slack. “You’re a young one.”

  “Injured in the line of duty. They retired me out.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but who was Officer Milford going to check with at two o’clock in the morning? Besides, in a few days, one way or the other, the uppity seaside town, its high-dollar residents, and its nosy red-headed cop would be forever in her rearview mirror. Just because she was turning over a new leaf didn’t mean she had to provide a thorough explanation to every single person she encountered. There was something to be said for preserving anonymity.

  Milford seemed to soften her tone and stance. “So when did you get here?”

  “Today.” Shel squinted at her watch and amended her statement. “Yesterday. Welcome to Naples, right?”

  “Not much of a welcome, but probably all you’re going to get around this place.” Milford dropped the driver’s license on Shel’s lap and started for the door, her corpulent bottom swaying wide. She paused before making her exit. “You’re different—an outsider if ever there was one, so you better learn to fit in.”