Tate followed. “Why Dominic? Can’t we talk to Riley? He and I speak the same language.”

But Kellan seemed to follow his line of thought. “Oh, no, we’re talking to Dominic because his sub is keeping us from ours. Yeah, I like the way you think, Cohen. Let’s have a nice talk, Dom to Dom.”

Kellan strode forward, taking the lead now. This was why Eric couldn’t give up. They worked in tandem, and he liked it that way. He couldn’t give up on his best friends, his partners.

And he damn straight wasn’t about to give up on the woman they would call their wife.


* * * *


Belle held Sir in one arm, looking up at the three-story Spanish-Colonial house. It looked unassuming from the front. Pinkish plaster walls that needed repair and blue shutters that framed what looked to be original windows. The upper levels would have a bird’s-eye view overlooking the lively, eclectic street. The walls butted up to the brick-paved sidewalk. The house oozed charm.

She’d managed to park down the street, then lug her bags through the throng of tourists who walked up and down the Quarter, even in the middle of the brisk fall morning. As she stopped before the house, she stared, letting reality soak in. This would be home now.

Coming closer, Belle decided she liked the overall vibe of the place. The air of the house looked a little sad and neglected now, but she’d change that. Since her best friend knew how to plan an escape, Kinley had already arranged for a moving service to pack up her Chicago apartment. Once her things arrived, she’d move in, spruce it up, and start a new life.

“Annabelle Wright?” A distinguished older man in a pinstripe suit strolled up the sidewalk.

She nodded, fighting back a yawn. She’d driven straight through the night from Dallas to New Orleans. Managing eight hours on largely empty roads with no sleep hadn’t been easy, but she’d had her will to keep her going.

After she’d forwarded the notes to Tate and sent her resignation letter to the office via fax, which should be monitored by the intern, she’d loaded up Kinley’s car and driven through the darkness with Sir, trying not to think about the fact that she could still feel her former bosses’ hands on her. She probably always would, but now she had a new future to focus on, one that didn’t include them.

“Yes, I’m Annabelle Wright. Are you my grandmother’s lawyer?”

The man looked to be roughly fifty, given his silvery sideburns, but otherwise in good shape. He nodded and carried his briefcase up the walk. “I’m Malcolm Gates. I’ve been handling your grandmother’s legal issues for the last twenty years. She was with my father before that. Welcome to New Orleans.”

He had a lyrical, flowing accent. N’awlins, he’d said.

Her father had grown up in the city, but she didn’t remember him with such a thick accent. She’d had family here for years, but had never visited. The way she’d heard it, this city was almost an alien world. Her drive in had confirmed that fact in some ways, but been an amazing revelation in others. She found it beautiful, odd, and more than a tad mysterious. She had a feeling she was going to like the city and spend a lot of time learning its heartbeat.

She could definitely make a fresh start in New Orleans.

He did the gentleman thing and took her suitcase, then led her through a wrought iron gate.

“Where are we going? Isn’t the front door that blue one?” She pointed to the entry facing the street at the front of the house, complete with a ratty old screen door.

“No, that was for servants and leads to the butler’s pantry and kitchen. The entry would have been more private and built before air conditioning with maximum shade in mind. It’s this way.” He wended his way into an amazing atrium-style courtyard.

Fountains and old brick, a lovely terrace with lush foliage everywhere made her drop her jaw. This was an amazing oasis in the heart of the city.

“If you don’t mind me saying so, you look an awful lot like your grandmother. Even at her advanced age, she was still one of the loveliest women in New Orleans. When the mood struck her, she would set up a table in the Square and read palms all afternoon. I think the men came to her because she was so beautiful.”

Belle reared back. “My grandmother was a palm reader?”

Was that the “tainted” life her father had objected to?

A little smile played at the corner of his lips as he ushered her forward. “She was a psychic, one of the best. I never could understand how she handled living here, but she loved it.” As they stepped onto a wide flagstone patio with a quaint white table and chairs, surrounded by a lush Eden of color, he placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “You know, the house has been vacant for some time. It will be dirty. I can have it cleaned before you take possession.”

Right now, she just wanted inside so she could cry in private and sleep. She’d find the ice cream to drown her sorrows later.

“I’ll take care of that myself.” Later. “But thank you.”

“Well, then… I have some good news for you. I’ve lined up a buyer for the place. One point two million, no repairs required. He’ll take the property as is. I think you’ll agree that’s a very good deal.”

She didn’t know exactly what the place was worth, but just a glance at the wide house with its expansive grounds, the adjacent guest house, and the property’s prime location on Dauphin Street told her it had to be worth far more. The square footage must be four thousand feet. True, she didn’t know how much repair the place needed, but she wasn’t looking for an easy sale. She wanted to fix something up and make it her own. This old home could be a showcase once she’d used her knowledge and creativity. It had great bones.

Belle cocked her head at Mr. Gates. “The will just finished probate. Has this buyer even seen the property? Has it been appraised recently? This is really sudden.”

“I understand it’s a lot to take in at once, especially after your loss. However, this buyer, a judge and a pillar of the community, is very eager. He’s had his eye on this place for years. And yes, he’s seen the home. He was a particular friend of your grandmother’s. He tried to persuade her to sell for a long time, and with Marie now gone, he’s eager to restore the property to its historic charm. I can have that money in your account by the end of the day, if you’ll send me your bank routing information. You don’t even have to spend the night here. I’ll find you a suite somewhere tonight and you can return to your life in Chicago tomorrow.”

She was a designer, not an idiot. She glanced around at the property with its southern elegance and felt herself falling in love. It wasn’t in perfect condition by any stretch, but underneath that layer of dust, small cracks, and a need for paint, Belle sensed something extraordinary.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gates. I’m not interested in selling right now, especially before I go through my grandmother’s personal effects. So I’d like to see the inside now. I’m assuming you have a key?” She sent him a tight, expectant smile.

The lawyer frowned and produced a key from his suit coat. He led her around another side of the building, up the bricked walkway, past the lovely yard, to a pair of massive double doors with an arched brow window over the top and two levels of balconies overlooking the gardens.

Seeing the house from this angle, it was official. Belle was definitely in love.

The door creaked when he opened it, and a faint musty odor greeted her, tinged by a lingering hint of perfume. But windows could be opened, fans turned on. The smell wouldn’t last, but this architecture would.

Gaping at the lovely foyer, Belle wandered inside, visually drinking in everything around her. In an instant, she envisioned the place all restored to its former glory. Mentally, she pictured the entrance with a grand, classic palate—white marble and rich floors, gray walls, crystal chandeliers, along with a pop of something bright, like red or peacock—something as bold as New Orleans. She’d drape coordinating fabric to frame the graceful windows and let light in. The area rugs would have to be replaced and the hardwoods refinished with a rich, dark stain, but the raw goods were there. No one made beautiful, solid wide planks like this anymore.

Wow.

Smiling to herself, Belle turned to Gates, ready to tell him that she had no intention of leaving. She noticed then that he hadn’t followed her inside.

He stood just beyond the threshold, his briefcase twitching at his side. “You don’t want to do this, miss. I understand that you think the place is worth more. Maybe it is, but you should take the easy money and leave this house.”

“Thank you for the advice, but I’ll be fixing it up.”

Sir’s head came up, and he started barking at an empty room.

She tried to settle him down. “Hush, now.”

Malcolm wouldn’t step a foot in the house as he pointed at Sir, who squirmed to be let down. “See, you should listen to your dog. He knows this place is bad news. Everyone who lives in the Quarter knows its…unfortunate nature,” the lawyer said with a little shudder.

“But the judge, the pillar of the community, doesn’t? Why would he want to buy this house if it’s so terrible?” God, she’d been working with lawyers too long.

“I’ve advised him against it. He’s not listening.” Gates looked somewhere between uncomfortable and spooked. “Sell it now, miss. With the exception of your grandmother, women fare poorly in this house.”

Was that some sort of veiled threat? It didn’t really sound that way, but Belle couldn’t decide exactly what that note in his voice was. “What does that mean?”