6. Jazz
6
JAZZ
POLICE SURVEILLANCE TRANSCRIPT Location: Spotted Cat Music Club Time: 23:45
Officer: Subject J. Reynaud observed meeting with multiple persons of interest. Note: Music possibly being used as cover for information exchange.
Something different about him. Not just another CI. Watch closely.
Jazz Schedule found on scene:
Midnight in New Orleans (new composition)
St. James Infirmary Blues
Original piece (untitled) dedicated to “Melody”
The last notes of my trumpet hang in the air like smoke, sweet and lingering. The crowd at The Spotted Cat goes wild, their applause a syncopated rhythm against the backdrop of clinking glasses and midnight chatter. That’s when I spot her slipping in, moving through the crowd like a melody looking for its harmony. She’s changed clothes since earlier—the blonde wig and emerald gown replaced by her natural dark waves and a simple black dress. Trying to blend in, but some songs are too distinct to hide.
Dr. Gautier’s already at the bar, pretending he isn’t watching her like a man possessed. Interesting duet, those two. His chaos to her control, his madness to her method. Makes for one hell of an arrangement.
I take my bow, drinking in the moment like it’s the finest bourbon, but my eyes never leave the story playing out by the bar. The doc’s fingers tap an erratic rhythm on his glass—the man’s got timing like a drunk hummingbird. But the way he shifts his body when another patron steps too close to her? That movement’s pure predator, smooth as a minor scale.
Tommy, our bassist, gives me a nod. “Killed it tonight, man.”
“Just another day at the office,” I reply with a lazy grin, already moving through the crowd. Reading a room’s like reading sheet music—it’s all about patterns and spaces, knowing which notes matter and which ones are just noise.
“Well, well,” I drawl, sliding into the seat across from her. “My Melody graces us with her presence tonight.”
Something softens in her expression—just for a moment, but I catch it. That’s the thing about nicknames—they’re like musical signatures, telling you what key a person’s playing in. Lucas calls her his Chimera, all scientific obsession. Ethan’s got his own name for her, I’m sure.
But to me? She’ll always be Melody—complex, beautiful, and just a little bit dangerous.
“Can’t a girl just enjoy some good music, Jazz?” she asks, but there’s tension thrumming under her words like a tight bass string.
I lean back, taking her in. There’s something different tonight—a sharp note in her usual composition. Behind her, Lucas’s manic energy has shifted from merely possessive to actively protective. Whatever went down earlier has left them both playing in a darker key.
“Melody,” I say softly, “you’re hitting notes that spell trouble. What kind of song are we performing tonight?”
She glances at Lucas, a silent communication passing between them that reads like a complicated chord progression. “I might need an alibi for the past few hours.”
“Might?” I raise an eyebrow. “Sugar, you’re wound tighter than my trumpet strings, and the good doctor over there looks ready to dissect anyone who breathes wrong in your direction. Want to tell me what kind of jazz you two been playing?”
“Melody,” she repeats softly, like she’s testing the sound. “You know, between you and Lucas, I’m collecting quite a set of names.”
“That’s ‘cause you wear too many faces, sugar,” I lean in closer, letting my voice drop to that smoky register that usually makes women melt. “But music? Music never lies. And you’ve got a melody running through you that no disguise can hide.”
A faint blush colors her cheeks, and from the bar, I hear the distinct sound of glass cracking. Lucas’s grip on his tumbler has gone white-knuckled. Man’s about as subtle as a cymbal crash in a funeral march.
“Careful, Jazz,” she warns, but there’s a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “You might make someone jealous.”
I flash her my best stage smile, the one that’s gotten me into and out of more trouble than I care to count. “Darlin’, if I was trying to make him jealous, I’d have already asked you to dance.” I wink. “Though that offer stands. Nothing says solid alibi like cutting up the dance floor with New Orleans’ finest trumpet player.”
Her laugh is genuine this time, a pure note cutting through all her careful compositions. “You’re terrible.”
“Terribly charming,” I correct, reaching out to brush an imaginary speck from her shoulder. Just to see what happens.
What happens is Lucas materializes at our table like someone conjured him with a particularly unstable chemical reaction. “Everything alright here, my Chimera?” His smile shows too many teeth, and his bow tie has come slightly undone, giving him that mad scientist edge that makes most folks nervous. And there is a slight sheen to his brown skin.
“Just fine, Doctor,” I drawl, not moving my hand. “Melody and I were discussing music theory. You know, harmony, rhythm...” I let my grin turn wicked, “chemistry.”
Lucas’s laugh has a manic edge that would send smarter men running. Good thing I’ve never claimed to be smart. “Chemistry, indeed. Though perhaps we should discuss explosive reactions and volatile compounds?”
“Boys,” Evangeline interrupts, but I catch the way her eyes dance between us, amused and maybe a little flattered. “Play nice.”
“Oh, but my dear Melody,” I purr, enjoying the way Lucas twitches at my use of her nickname, “where’s the fun in that?”
Before Lucas can respond with what I’m sure would be a fascinatingly unstable comeback, I catch a sour note in the room’s rhythm. Marcus “The Shark” Sullivan, cutting through the crowd like a wrong chord in a love song. And he’s moving straight for our complicated little trio.
I shift seamlessly into a different tune, letting my posture loosen, my smile turn lazy. Lucas, bless his brilliant, unbalanced heart, looks ready to commit murder with whatever’s in his pocket—knowing him, probably something exotic and untraceable.
“Incoming,” I murmur, just loud enough for our table to hear. “Marcus Sullivan, and he’s looking mighty interested in our Melody here.”
Evangeline’s transformation is subtle—if you weren’t watching for it, you’d miss it entirely. But I’ve got an eye for these things, and the way she adjusts her body language, her expression, it’s like watching a skilled musician switch instruments mid-song.
“Jazz, my man,” Marcus grins as he approaches, all teeth and no soul. “Killer set tonight. And Dr. Gautier, didn’t expect to see you slumming it with the jazz crowd.”
“Oh, you know me,” Lucas’s laugh has that edge that makes my skin crawl in the best way. “Always seeking new experimental environments. The effects of musical vibrations on cellular degradation are absolutely fascinating.”
Marcus blinks, clearly trying to decide if that’s a threat. His eyes land on Evangeline, and I feel my muscles tense. “And who might this lovely lady be?”
“This is Eva,” I say smooth as silk, letting my arm drape casually across the back of her chair. Protective, possessive, but in a completely different key than Lucas’s intensity. “Old friend from my Julliard days. Just in town for the night, aren’t you, sugar?”
Evangeline plays along perfectly, leaning slightly into my space like we’re old lovers sharing a secret. “Jazz always did know how to show a girl a good time.”
The way Lucas’s eyes darken at our little performance is downright delicious. Man looks like he’s cataloging all the interesting ways he could make me disappear in his lab. But he holds his peace, which tells me he’s sharp enough to read the danger in the air.
“Funny,” Marcus says, that shark smile never wavering. “You look awful familiar. Almost like someone I saw earlier tonight at the Beaumont benefit. Though she was blonde...”
“Oh, I just have one of those faces,” Evangeline laughs, the sound like honey over broken glass. “Though I’m flattered you think I could pull off blonde.”
I feel her tiny shiver at Marcus’s mention of Beaumont, and suddenly our playful game has stakes higher than a riverboat poker match. Whatever went down at that benefit, Marcus is too close to the truth for comfort.
Time to change the tune.
“Speaking of faces,” I say, standing to grab my trumpet from its case, “how about I play that song you requested earlier, Eva darlin’? The one about mistaken identities and midnight rendezvous?”
Her eyes meet mine, catching the lifeline. “You know I can never resist when you play for me, Jazz.”
Lucas, bless his psychotic soul, picks up the rhythm of our improvised tune. “Ah yes, the piece you were telling me about earlier. The one with such... fascinating chemical properties.” His smile is pure madness and warning. “The resonance frequencies can have such unexpected effects on the human nervous system.”
Marcus’s eyes narrow, but I’m already moving toward the stage, pulling Evangeline with me. “Can’t keep a lady waiting, gentlemen. Marcus, always a pleasure. Doc, try not to blow anything up while I’m gone.”
As we weave through the crowd, I feel Marcus’s gaze on us like a wrong note hanging in the air. Behind us, Lucas has shifted to block his view, probably while describing some terrifyingly specific chemical reaction that could definitely be interpreted as a threat.
“You’re playing a dangerous song tonight, Melody,” I murmur against her ear as we reach the stage. “Beaumont’s benefit, hmm? That wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the news I heard about him taking suddenly ill?”
She tenses against me. “Jazz...”
“Hey now,” I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, keeping our dance looking natural to anyone watching. “I’m not judging the tune, sugar. Just wondering if you need more than one instrument in your band.”
A genuine smile touches her lips. “Are you offering to be part of my rhythm section?”
“Darlin’, I’m offering to be whatever section you need.” I trail my fingers down her arm, noting how Lucas’s manic energy spikes visibly at the bar. “Though your mad scientist over there might have some thoughts about new additions to the ensemble.”
“Lucas is...” she pauses, and I catch something soft in her expression when she looks his way. “Complicated.”
“Like a jazz fusion piece in 7/8 time,” I agree, unable to help my grin. “All brilliant chaos and barely contained explosion. Must make for some interesting harmonies between you two.”
She actually blushes, and damn if it isn’t the prettiest thing I’ve seen all night. “You have no idea.”
“Oh, I think I’m getting the picture.” I lift my trumpet, winking at her. “Now, how about we give your alibi some solid backup vocals?”
The first notes of Midnight in New Orleans fill the air, and Evangeline settles at the edge of the stage like she belongs there. Like this is just another night, just another show, just another dance between danger and desire.
But I see the way Lucas watches her from the bar, all possessive brilliance and protective insanity. I catch how Marcus lingers by the door, his suspicion a sour note in our careful composition. And I feel the weight of whatever happened at Beaumont’s benefit hanging over us all like a storm about to break.
I pour everything into my solo—every bit of smooth charm and easy grace I can muster. The crowd sways, entranced, while Marcus finally slinks away. But the real show is the one playing out between my Melody and her mad scientist.
Lucas has moved closer to the stage, his eyes fever-bright as they follow her every movement. When she sways to my music, his fingers twitch like he’s conducting an invisible experiment. When other men look her way, his smile turns positively homicidal. It’s the most entertaining train wreck I’ve ever had the pleasure of scoring.
I transition into The Way You Look Tonight , but slower, darker—more seduction than standard. Evangeline catches my meaning and plays her part perfectly, looking for all the world like a woman who’s been here all evening, lost in the music.
“You’re enjoying this,” she accuses during a brief break between sets, her voice warm with amusement.
“Now, Melody,” I drawl, watching Lucas’s eye twitch at the nickname, “what kind of musician would I be if I didn’t enjoy a good performance?” I lean in close, ostensibly to adjust my mic stand. “Though I gotta say, you and the doc make for one hell of a duet. All that brilliant darkness recognizing its own kind.”
She glances at Lucas, and I catch something in her expression—a harmony I hadn’t expected. “He’s...”
“Completely unhinged?” I offer helpfully. “Brilliantly unstable? Homicidally devoted?”
“All of the above,” she admits with a small smile.
“And you love it,” I observe, keeping my voice light but knowing. “The way he looks at you like you’re his favorite experiment and greatest obsession all rolled into one.”
The blush that colors her cheeks is answer enough. From his spot by the stage, Lucas’s manic grin suggests he’s plotting at least three different ways to make me disappear in his lab. But there’s also something else there—a reluctant recognition that maybe, just maybe, our little trio could make some beautiful music together.
“Last song of the night,” I announce to the crowd, lifting my trumpet. “This one’s for all the complicated lovers out there.”
The opening notes of My Funny Valentine fill the air, but I give it an edge—something darker, more dangerous. A love song for monsters and madmen, for brilliant killers and the chaos they create together.
Evangeline’s eyes close as she listens, and Lucas watches her with that intense mix of scientific fascination and raw possession that seems to be his natural state. They’re an equation I never expected to solve, but somehow it works—her deadly grace and his unhinged brilliance, with maybe just a touch of my smooth jazz to round out the sound.
As the final notes fade away, I know three things for certain:
One: Whatever went down at Beaumont’s benefit was just the opening number.
Two: Marcus is going to be a problem we’ll need to handle soon.
And three: I’ve just signed up to play backup in the most dangerous band in New Orleans.
But watching Evangeline—my Melody—move through the dispersing crowd to where Lucas waits with barely contained chaos, I can’t bring myself to regret it. Some songs are worth the risk, and this one promises to be the performance of a lifetime.
“Goodnight, sugar,” I call after her. “Try not to create too much beautiful chaos together.”
Lucas’s laugh carries that edge of brilliant madness, while Evangeline shoots me a smile that’s pure temptation. As they disappear into the New Orleans night, I start packing up my trumpet, humming under my breath.
This is definitely going to be one hell of a show.