They made it to the sofa in the parlor. She tugged at the buttons on his jeans. His erection jackknifed from the spread of his clothing. It was just great sex.

God help him, it was so much more.

Later, with her curled on his chest, he stared at the ceiling and wondered again how he had survived the days without her.

Well, now he had her.

Just how the hell did he keep her? Even in his arms, she seemed elusive. And mysterious.

“I’m hopping into the shower,” she murmured against his flesh. “Just for a minute.” With grace and agility, she rose and was gone. He heard the water running. In a few minutes, she was back out, wearing her white dress, her tanned flesh glowing beautifully, her red hair loose over her shoulders.

“Ready?”

“Give me two minutes,” he told her.

“Two minutes?”

“Okay, five.”

But he really did wash and dress that quickly. He was afraid to let her out of his sight for long.

Afraid she would disappear. Into thin air. Into mist.

CHAPTER 9

They wandered around for an hour, down narrow streets beneath overhanging balconies. They stopped for rich cafe au lait on Prince Street, and ambled to Jackson Square to throw breadcrumbs to the birds.

They talked mostly about New Orleans, about its rich and varied history—avoiding the topic of murder.

As they kept wandering, Sean became involved in their discussion regarding Andrew Jackson, and he didn’t realize that they had come to the statue of his Civil War ancestor until they were standing right beneath it.

He looked up.

Another Sean, a different time, and a far different world.

Captain Sean Canady stood in the military frockcoat of his day, plumed slouch hat low over his forehead, scabbard and sword at his side, one booted foot set atop a rock as he looked out over the city he loved with handsomely chiseled marble eyes. A plaque at the statue’s base mentioned the dates of his birth and his death, and his valiant achievements. He had died in his attempt to save the city of New Orleans; he was a hero who defended his men to his own tragic death, and he would live on forever in history as a seeker of justice.

“Quite an impressive fellow, eh?” Sean inquired.

Maggie looked at him a trifle strangely, he thought. She seemed a little pale. “You look just like him.”

“Do I?” Sean stared up at the statue—carved with beard and collar-length hair. “Hard to tell. I need the frockcoat and the stance, don’t you think?”

She seemed to be shivering. He slipped an arm around her. “Hey, you don’t believe in ghosts, do you?

Not a sophisticate such as yourself!”

She withdrew slightly from him, studying his eyes. “Don’t you believe in ghosts?” she asked.

He frowned, amused. He shook his head. “No. I don’t believe in ghosts. Or haunts. And hey, he was supposedly a good guy— if he came back to haunt us, he’d be a benevolent spirit, right?” She shrugged. “He would be a benevolent spirit.”

“Meaning ...?” Sean queried, bemused. She was usually just so damned matter-of-fact.

“Don’t you ever think sometimes that ...”

“That what?”

“I...” She looked at him, then moistened her lips. “I don’t know. That there’s evil in the air sometimes, I suppose.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts at all, that’s for certain.”

She looked at him, shaking her head. “If you don’t believe in ghosts, haunts, spirits—or the like—how do you explain the murders?”

“Explain them? People were viciously killed.”

“How?”

His eyes narrowed and he frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know, just exactly how? How do you explain the lack of blood, or the body of a butchered victim being moved from a hotel room without witnesses noticing a thing?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Jesus, Maggie, if only that could be my answer! Spirits. I don’t believe in evil spirits. People commit evil. There’s an evil man killing people, and I’m going to find him and turn him over to the due process of the law.”

She shook her head suddenly. “I don’t think it’s going to be that easy, Sean. I ...” She broke off, interrupted as a bloodcurdling scream suddenly filled the air.

Sean backed away, frowning, quickly looking down the street. A young blond woman had emerged from one of the dusky, side-street jazz clubs. She wore sandals, a halter top, and a short skirt. Blood dripped from her hand as she backed away from the door, staring in horror at the burly, dark-haired and bearded fellow who followed her out. The man cast back his head and began laughing. The sound was strangely demonic, and the man seemed heedless of witnesses as he came after the young woman, wielding a broken bottle.

“Hell!” Sean muttered. “Shit! Maggie, stay here, please, wait for me.”

“Sean ...”

He left Maggie by the statue, tearing across the street, drawing his police .38 special, which remained his weapon of choice.

The man was almost atop the shrieking girl. By now, another fellow, staggering—an unbroken whiskey bottle in his casual grasp—had followed the first one out.

“Cut her, cut her, cut the bitch!” yelled the second fellow. He was skinny, and had rotten teeth. “Cut her, Ray, come on, she called us both cocksuckers, cut her up, let her see ... hey, Ray, come on, my man, you done got the power!”

Passersby around them came to a halt, rooted to the ground with horror and fear as they watched the husky one called Ray as he quickened his pace, staring at the terror-stricken girl, laughing at her as he moved like a bird of prey ready to pounce upon a quivering mouse.

“Stop!” Sean commanded.

Old Ray ignored him.

“Mind your own business, eh, sucker?” the skinny fellow with the bad teeth yelled. “She’s my woman, been doing a lot of wrong. Ray here’s gonna carve her up—just a few words of description on her face—and her cheatin‘ tits, maybe, too!”

Tears streaked down the girl’s face. She had been pretty once; Sean noted she was now far too thin and frazzled. He noted the veins in her arms. Drugs. A lot of drugs. Drugs cost money. Maybe she belonged to old rotten-teeth with the skinny butt over there—egging the big man on—but she was probably working the streets for the money to keep up her habit.

She stared at Sean, fear in her huge blue eyes. She didn’t trust anyone. Poor little creature. She wasn’t a mouse. Just a sad little street-rat.

“Come on. It’s all right!” Sean said quietly to the girl.

She was so terrified, she still didn’t seem to hear him.

Ray was closing the distance between them.

Sean caught her arm, drawing her slightly behind him. He stared at Ray, who returned his stare. Ray’s eyes didn’t look crazed, but his laughter continued to ring with chilling effect.

“Shoot me—you’re going to shoot me? I’ll kill you deader than a door nail, copper!” the man cried.

“Copper, copper, he’s a freakin‘ copper?” the skinny one cried.

“Shut up, Rutger!” Ray snapped. “Well, well, a copper!” he continued, his eyes on Sean. “Chop, chop, chop up the cop, eh?”

“Another foot and I shoot you—asshole!” Sean said with a polite smile. His gun was aimed dead on Ray’s heart.

To Sean’s amazement, Ray kept coming forward. Sean fired a warning shot.

“Halt! Stand still and drop that bottle!”

“Little man, little man, get out of my way!” the man bellowed, casting his head back.

“Tell him who you are, Ray, tell him what you told me— then cut up that cunt!” Rutger called to him.

Ray grinned.

Just like the devil.

“So good, Ray. Go on, tell me who you are,” Sean encouraged.

“Don’t you know me? I am God, I am Satan, I am invincible.”

“Oh, yeah, well, I’m Lieutenant Canady. And what you are is dead if you don’t do what I say!”

“Tough boy, tough boy, eh?” Ray said, and his voice was deep and husky, somehow getting beneath Sean’s skin. “I want the girl, copper. Just get out of my way. I want the precious little dove, want to play

...” He made a strangely obscene gesture with his tongue. “Drink her all up, all up.” He made a licking motion. “Carve her ... like a little roast piglet!”

The girl remained behind Sean, clinging to his arm, shaking like a leaf blown in winter. “It’s all right,” he said quietly to her.

“But—”

The man let out a roaring sound. “I want the girl!” He started forward.

“Get her, Ray!” Rutger cheered.

No more warning shots. Sean was tempted to go for the heart. He aimed for the leg.

His shot was true, striking the kneecap. The man should have fallen in almost unendurable pain. He jolted, but kept coming forward. Near, nearer.

“Damn you, last chance. Halt!” Sean shouted himself.

The streets came alive with the man’s startling laughter again. No choice. Sean fired directly into the man’s chest.

The fellow fell against him, clawing to reach the girl, who began to shriek again. Sean was amazed by the tremendous force with which the man grappled with him. They went crashing down to the sidewalk together. The man still held his broken beer bottle. Dark eyes malevolent, he tried to slash at Sean’s neck. Sean rolled, dragging the man with him, at last pinioning the fellow to the ground.

The dark eyes looked up at him. Rolled so that the whites were all that eerily remained visible.

Ray’s eyes closed.

Sean put his fingers to the man’s throat. No pulse. He was cold. Cold as ice.

Listening to the sound of police sirens, Sean eased back, exhausted, amazed. Where the hell had the fellow come up with such strength?

He staggered to his feet, faltering. Ray had taken a toll on him. He tried to shake it off, and somewhat succeeded. The girl stood behind him, sobbing softly, stuttering out words. “Ray’s gone, but Rutger’s going to kill me now, oh, God, I don’t stand a chance, I don’t stand a chance. You’d think he couldn’t hurt me ‘cause he’s so skinny and scrawny ... he’s nearly choked me before!” she ended on a whimper.