Downtown Debutante

Grif strolled past the restaurant’s window for the third time and paused to study the menu posted near the door. The guy was not exactly subtle. Brenna was very observant, and she was going to spot him if he wasn’t more careful.

The food arrived, along with Brenna’s beer in a frosty mug. Heath’s mouth watered. He loved a cold beer as much as the next guy, and it sure would go down good with the spicy shrimp-and-rice dish in front of him. But he could not afford to muddle his thinking or take the edge off his reflexes, even for a moment.

The oyster platter, on the other hand, didn’t tempt him in the slightest. He had to look away as Brenna slid the raw ones into her mouth and practically swallowed them whole.

“They’re aphrodisiacs, you know,” she said lightly.

“That’s an old-wives’ tale.”

“Care to test it out? There’s plenty here to share.”

“I’ll stick to my own meal, thanks.” It was pretty good, he had to admit, though his experience with Cajun cuisine was somewhat limited. As for Brenna’s flirtation, he didn’t take it seriously. “Anyway, I don’t need oysters.” The words popped out, seemingly of their own accord. He saw he’d at least surprised Brenna, if not shocked her. He’d shocked himself, though he tried real hard not to show it. What had made him say something like that?

How about the truth? All right, so the little blond thief made him hot and bothered like no woman had since he’d outgrown watching the Playboy Channel. That didn’t mean he had to act on it. He would just keep his lips zipped from now on—and his pants zipped forever as far as she was concerned.

Brenna polished off her oysters. He wasn’t surprised when she wanted dessert. She ordered bread pudding with two spoons and insisted he try a bite. It did smell pretty good, so he dished a little bit onto his spoon, topped off with a smidge of whipped cream and tasted it.

It was heaven, a heady concoction drowning in butter, brown sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg, studded with pecans and topped with a brandy rum sauce. One bite enveloped all of his senses at once. He was even aware of the sound of Brenna licking her lips.

“Too sweet, right?” she said.

“Not this time.” He took another bite, then another. Oh, he could get addicted to this in a hurry. Well, hell, this was one sin he could commit without worrying about what Ketcher would think.

By the time they left Big Daddy’s Oyster Bar, Heath wished he’d been a bit more circumspect. If he had to suddenly chase a suspect, he wouldn’t be able to run half a block.

It was a few more blocks to the convention center, right on the Mississippi River, and Heath was glad for the walk. Once they entered the modern building, crowded with tourists, he felt more at home. Here there were several men in suits. They looked like they might be gem dealers. No one gave him a second look.

Brenna, however, always got a second and sometimes a third or fourth look. Aw, hell, she’d stand out even if she wore a nun’s habit. It wasn’t how she looked so much as the energy she gave off. She was pure charisma in a pint-size package.

“You’re looking forward to this,” he observed as they took the elevator up to the third-floor exhibit hall.

“I love looking at jewelry.”

“I hadn’t guessed.” This afternoon he’d almost had to bodily drag her out of several stores. She’d wanted to try on everything, study how it was made, ask questions about the stones. She could tell almost to the year when each piece had been made just by the cut of the gem and the style and color of the setting.

“Remember,” he said, “there’s no time for browsing or trying stuff on. The ad said there would be hundreds of exhibitors. We need to look through every display for the stolen jewelry. Keep an eye out for Marvin, too. If you see him—”

“I know. Don’t confront him. Keep my distance. Leave it to you. Believe me, I learned my lesson in Faring. I’m not going to risk losing him again.”

They had to pay a cover charge at the door of the exhibit hall. When they entered, Heath was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of jewelry displayed. He’d never seen so much shiny stuff in one place.

“We need a plan,” he said quickly as Brenna immediately darted to the first booth that caught her eye. “Down one row, up another. Let’s cover as much territory as we can. Maybe we should split up.” If she was planning to meet Marvin, this might be the place. He wanted to give her every opportunity to carry out her plan.

“If we conduct ourselves like generals inspecting the troops, we’ll stand out,” she said. “We have to amble. We should stick together. You might not recognize my jewelry from the drawings.”

Heath was surprised Brenna didn’t jump at the chance to split up. If she were truly trying to meet up with Marvin or get a message to him, she would want to get rid of Heath. Once again, he entertained the possibility that he was wrong about her. But how could he be, when the evidence was so condemning?

Evidence could be faked, he reminded himself. He knew Marvin was clever. He could have…No. Heath wasn’t going there. Christine had been funny and sexy and very, very lovable. Those qualities had blinded him to the secret life she’d been leading, when the facts had been right in front of him. He wouldn’t, couldn’t make the same mistake with Brenna. Criminals could be cute and sexy and funny.

They spent close to three hours wending their way down one aisle and another. He had to give Brenna credit, she didn’t dawdle. She occasionally asked a question of any exhibitor who seemed to favor contemporary designs, claiming she was looking for a particular kind of sapphire ring to complement an outfit. The ring she described was one of the most distinctive pieces that had been stolen, she’d told Heath earlier, and she was hoping someone might have seen it.

But no one took the bait.

“I think maybe we should quit for the evening,” Brenna said suddenly. “I’m not feeling very well.”

“I’m not surprised, after all those oysters.” But she did look a bit pale, he noted, and a thin sheen of perspiration shimmered on her upper lip.

“Seriously. I need to go back to the Magnolia and lie down or something. We can get an early start in the morning.”

“Okay.” He was dead on his feet, too. Anyway, it was almost closing time, and most of the exhibitors were securing their spaces for the night.

Brenna headed for the exit. But she’d only taken a few steps when she skidded to a stop. “Oh, my God.”

“What? Are you going to be sick?” Heath asked, alarmed.

“Probably. But that’s not—” She made a beeline for a nearby exhibitor called French Quarter Chic.

Oh, hell. The lady from the chat room. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed the sign himself.

MANNING THE BOOTH was a trashy-looking bleached blonde in her late forties with a seventies Farrah Fawcett hairdo. She was chatting with an older man in a cowboy hat, showing him various diamond engagement rings while the much-younger woman at his side squealed and simpered.

Heath cast around for Grif. Where was he?

Brenna rapidly scanned the showcases, then gasped and grabbed Heath’s arm. “That’s my necklace!” Then, before Heath could even react, she added, “I’m definitely going to be sick.” And she bolted for the exit.

Chapter Three

The bleached blonde, whose name tag identified her as Alice Smith, stopped midsentence. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’d like to see the opal necklace,” he said, indicating the piece Brenna had pointed to. It did resemble one of the sketched designs Brenna had provided when she’d first filed the theft complaint. But did it have Brenna’s jeweler’s mark? That would be the key to identifying the piece.

“The show is about to close for the night,” Alice said, “and I’ve really got to help this gentleman here. Maybe you could come back tomorrow?”

“I won’t be able to do that,” he said firmly, finding it highly odd that the woman wouldn’t do anything possible to close the sale tonight. He’d seen how eager these exhibitors were to part customers from their cash. “I’d just like to take a quick look at the necklace.”

“I can only wait on one customer at a time,” she said curtly. “For security reasons.” She picked up a can of cola from the table and took a quick gulp from it, then returned her attention to the man in the cowboy hat.

Something didn’t feel right here.

Mr. Cowboy Hat stepped aside. “You go ahead and help this gentleman,” he said to Alice. “Delia and I want to talk a bit in private.” He handed the ring he’d been looking at back to Alice and walked away.

Hesitating, Alice extracted the pendant from the case and displayed it against her manicured hand, tilting it this way and that to catch the light in a practiced gesture. “You probably just cost me a sale, you know. That guy was about to pull out his platinum American Express.”

“Sorry.”

He looked closely at the pendant, which featured a round, flat fire opal the size of a nickel, encased in a disc of gold and platinum. It had a sort of Art Deco feel to it, but modern, too. Very clean lines.

“Where did this come from?” he asked casually.