Chapter 16 #2
After looking out the window to make sure nobody was lurking in the parking lot, he cautiously stepped outside.
In the car, he used the GPS to set a course for Morgan City, driving below the speed limit so as not to call attention to himself.
All he needed was to get stopped by a cop and have them find out he was still alive.
If they did, they’d probably hold him for questioning in the death of Ike Broussard—when they found out the cop was the one who’d gotten caught in the explosion.
Hopefully, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon because the big advantage Craig had now was that Reynard thought he was dead. If he could keep it that way, he’d have a better chance to get Stephanie out of there.
And then what? He’d worry about that after he sprang her.
When he reached the approximate vicinity, he stopped at one of the gas stations.
After filling his tank, he went inside the station.
As soon as he saw the racks of junk food, he realized he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. He put a soft drink and some peanut butter cheese crackers on the counter and paid for them, along with the gas, glad that he’d brought a fair amount of cash with him—and that he also had the thugs’ money.
But eventually, he was going to need more cash.
Maybe he could rob the gas station, he thought with a snort before turning toward the cashier.
He ran his hand through his hair and looked around like he thought the interior of the station would answer a vital question.
“I’m supposed to be delivering an important package to the Reynard estate,” he said as he put his wallet back into his pocket, but I’m not sure of the address. “Can you tell me where it is?”
“It’s about five miles south of town on the Old River Road,” the man answered. “But you won’t get in unless they’re expecting you because there’s a guard at the gate.
“Thanks for the information,” he said.
Before leaving town, he stopped at a dry goods store and bought a tractor cap and a work shirt, which he put on in the men’s room.
He would have to stop and buy some more clothing, because he’d lost everything in the explosion.
But he had brought his computer along in the car, which kept him from having to make a major purchase.
After doing what he could on short notice to disguise his appearance, he used the GPS to find Old River Road, then drove south.
As the gas station attendant had said, the Reynard estate was surrounded by a high chain-link fence, topped with razor wire.
A gate manned by several guards controlled access to the property.
As he drove past without stopping, he glimpsed a stately plantation house through the live oaks lining the drive.
How much surveillance equipment did Reynard have, he wondered as he put a mile between himself and the gate. Pulling off the road, into a small clearing, he tried to send his mind to Stephanie, but he was too far away and couldn’t reach her.
He’d have to come back at night, hoping that he could get close enough without alerting Reynard’s goons.
A knock at the door made Stephanie go rigid. When the door opened, she expected to see John, but it was only Claire.
“How are you feeling?” her assistant asked.
“Better.”
“Dinner is in an hour. I’m sure you want John to see you at your best. Why don’t you take a nice hot shower and look through the clothes in the closet.”
“Thank you,” she said, as she climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom, which turned out to be large and luxurious—a place she would have enjoyed if her stomach hadn’t been tied in knots.
A shower and nice clothing. Was John thinking about taking her to bed after dinner? If he was, she prayed she could derail that plan.
Once she’d showered, she dried her hair and tamed it into a style she knew John had admired. Then she went to the closet to see what outfits were available.
There were a number of tasteful gowns and dresses, probably chosen by Claire, who was using the knowledge of style she’d learned at the shop.
Stephanie ground her teeth when she thought about her sweet little assistant.
It went to show that you couldn’t always tell a person’s real motivation.
She should have thought about that when she let John Reynard into her life.
Well, it was too late to worry about what she should have done.
She had to think carefully about what she was going to do now.
After looking through the dresses, she selected a pale green dinner gown, then did a careful job with her makeup, trying to present herself as the happy bride who had finally moved into the very well-appointed home of her fiancé.
But she hesitated at the door to her room, wishing she could stay locked away where John couldn’t touch her.
“Stop it,” she muttered to herself. “You have to face him, and you have to make him absolutely sure that you’re relieved to be here.”
After taking a deep breath and letting it out, she stepped into the hall and headed for the stairs.
John and Claire were waiting for her in the drawing room, sitting with their heads together, speaking in low voices.
She stood for a moment in the doorway, observing the intimacy between them, and confirming her earlier thought that they were probably sleeping together.
That would have made her angry if she’d cared about her relationship with John Reynard.
Under the circumstances, she couldn’t help thinking that the other woman was doing her a big favor by letting John satisfy his carnal needs with her instead of his fiancée.
They stopped talking abruptly when they noticed her in the doorway, and she couldn’t help thinking that they had been talking about her.
John looked her up and down, taking in the makeup and the dress she’d chosen.
“I must say, you look lovely, my dear,” he said, getting up and coming over to plant a kiss on her cheek.
“Thank you.”
“Can I offer you some wine? I remember you like merlot.”
“Yes,” she answered. She wasn’t going to drink much because she needed to keep her wits about her. But she’d got an idea when John had offered her a drink.
She looked toward the glass he’d left on the end table and saw amber liquid and ice cubes. Probably bourbon, which was his whiskey of choice.
Have some more bourbon, she silently told him. Drink more bourbon. You want to drink a lot of it tonight—to celebrate your impending marriage.
She waited with her heart pounding while he poured her a glass of red wine, then hesitated for a moment at the bar.
Again, she sent her message and felt a thrill of relief and satisfaction when he reached for the Jack Daniels bottle and poured himself a drink.
He brought her the wine, then did a double take when he realized he already had a glass of whiskey sitting on the side table. Quickly he took it away and put it in the sink.
“We should eat,” he said. “Matilda has prepared a delicious dinner for your homecoming. All the Creole treats you love. We’re starting with Oysters Bienville. Then we have jambalaya, and we’re finishing with Bananas Foster.”
“That sounds wonderful,” she managed to say when she wondered how she could swallow any of it.
Bring your drink, she told John, and he obliged her by picking up his glass and carrying it into the dining room.
They took their seats at the table, where the staff gave everybody speculative looks, and she wondered what had been going on between John and Claire. Had they flaunted their relationship or had the servants simply picked up on the intimacy between them?
The maid brought the baked oysters, the shells resting on a bed of hot salt, then served each of them two.
As Stephanie started to scoop the contents out of the shell, using the small oyster fork, a jolt of mental energy made her hand shake and the shell clatter against the dish.
John gave her a sharp look. “What?”
“I . . . just touched the hot oyster shell by accident,” she lied.
“Let me see.”
“Really, it was just enough to startle me,” she said as she held out her hand, fighting madly to stay calm.
Craig had just contacted her.
Sorry, he apologized.
Where are you? she asked as she bent to fork up the oyster in its creamy sauce, hoping her face wasn’t flushed. Craig was close by. Close enough to contact her.
I’m at the edge of the plantation. Around back.
Be careful, she warned, marveling that he could speak to her from so far away. Maybe it had something to do with the way that woman Rachel had connected her and Craig a while ago.
I am being careful. I just wanted you to know I’m here.
She forced herself to eat the oyster, then smiled at John. “This is so good.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I’d like some more wine,” she said. And you want more bourbon. Lots more bourbon.
They finished the meal, and when they got up from the table, John approached her, putting his arm around her shoulders so that his fingers brushed the top of her breast.
She caught her breath, knowing that she was playing a dangerous game. The whiskey had made him amorous, but had he drunk enough to keep him from performing?
“Let’s have a nightcap in the lounge,” she murmured, reinforcing the invitation with a mental suggestion, which she expanded to include Claire. The longer she could keep the other woman with them, the longer she could keep John from pawing her, she hoped.
The three of them sat together in the lounge. To avoid conversation, she suggested, Let’s watch a movie.
“I wanted . . .” John said, then trailed off as though he had forgotten that he was hot to take his fiancée to bed.
Stephanie silently pushed the movie idea as she brought everyone a drink.
John picked an action adventure, which was better than something sexy. But he crowded against her on the sofa, his lips brushing her cheek and his hand touching her leg or the side of her breast.
She fought not to cringe as she kept making suggestions that he drink, and by the time the movie was over, he was unsteady on his feet. Yet he clamped his arm around her as they walked to the stairs.
Her heart was in her throat as she let him walk her up the steps. Inside she was screaming, you’re so sleepy. All you want to do is fall on your bed and sleep. You’ll enjoy making love to Stephanie so much more when your head doesn’t feel so fuzzy.
She held her breath as they passed her room, then continued on to his.
He stood wavering in the doorway, and she helped him inside, easing him onto the bed . He closed his eyes as she pulled off his shoes. Then his eyes blinked open and focused on her.
“Did you hear me talking about that murder?” he asked.
“What?” she gasped out. “What are you talking about?”
“At that reception at the . . . what was it . . . the St. Charles Club. You know, where we first met. I was talking to Larry Dalton about, you know.”
Her heart was in her throat.
“I know what?”
“That drug enforcement agent who went into the ocean when he was messing with my shipment from Taiwan.”
“No,” she breathed.
“Got to keep you close,” he muttered, “in case you heard. A wife can’t testify against her husband.”
Her heart was already pounding so hard that she could barely breathe. Then as his hand reached for her, she felt her heart leap into her throat.