Big Easy Temptation (8 page)

He cupped her chin and forced her gaze up to him. “Holland, I’m sorry. I pushed you
when I promised I wouldn’t. Can you forgive me?”

Tears shimmered in her clear blue eyes as she nodded. “It wasn’t like I didn’t respond.”

“But you weren’t ready,” he replied. “Let me be plain with you. I want you, and not
for some one-night stand. I want to try something lasting. I think we could be spectacular
together, but I want you to feel the same way. So take the time you need. Ask me any
question you want to. Test me out. I’m not going anywhere.”

He pulled her into his arms but kept the touch light, comforting.

“We’ve always been friends,” she said as she sighed and held on to him.

Friendship was important to her. She’d lost one of her best friends. While he wanted
to be more than pals with her, the fact that she was including him in her circle was
meaningful, and he would take it. “We’ll always be friends, Holland. No matter what
happens.”

“I’ll hold you to that,
Spencer.”

D
ax breathed in the humid air as they stepped outside the restaurant. Night had fallen,
which brought out the crowds in the Quarter. The streets were always crowded, but
after the sun went down . . . the real party began.

He glanced up and down the avenue, scanning for any hint of the paparazzi. Traffic
congested the street in front of them, the cars traveling from south to north. The
east/west streets were closed in the Quarter for foot traffic, and that seemed to
agitate the people who’d been foolish enough to drive. Honking and revving of engines
filled the air.

“You said it was only the one picture. That means one photographer,” Holland pointed
out. “We were in there for a long time. He’s probably moved on. I’ve heard Brad and
Angelina are in town. They’re way more interesting than you, buddy.”

She had a way of bringing him back down to earth.

“Well, I’m sorry to drag you into it anyway.” Perhaps she was right. It had only been
the one picture. That didn’t mean a horde was waiting to descend, especially since
Mad and Gabe weren’t with him.

Holland smiled his way. Feeding her seemed to have vastly improved her mood. “It’s
all right. I looked really good in that pic.”

He couldn’t argue with that. She looked gorgeous always.

Jazz music, loud and heavy, blared from the various clubs and bars that dotted the
street.

“Looks like a crazy night,” Holland said with a shake of her head.

“You’re the one who actually lives here. How do you manage it?”

She gave him a breezy little shrug. “My grandmother left me her apartment. I couldn’t
possibly sell it. Who doesn’t want to live over a real New Orleans voodoo store?”

He could think of many people. Including himself. “Anyone who doesn’t want to listen
to tours every hour of every day.”

He happened to know that the voodoo store she lived above was rumored to have been
frequented by one Marie Laveau, queen of NOLA voodoo. Informational tours stopped
by several times a day.

She simply waved off that nuisance. “The good news is my grandmother had the place
soundproofed. All the glory and fun of the French Quarter. None of the retching sounds.
Or daily tourist information. It’s a great place to live. Everything I could possibly
need is right here. You’re just a rich boy from the Garden. You can’t handle a real
party.”

Had she forgotten who the hell he was? “Oh, I assure you, some of the parties I’ve
been to would curl your toes, little girl. I went to Maddox Crawford’s twenty-first
birthday party. I have no idea how we ended up in Tijuana. We started out at a nice
restaurant in Soho. It’s a mystery.”

She shook her head and settled the strap of her laptop bag on her shoulder. “The rich
are truly different. We’re three blocks from my place. Are you heading home?”

“Not until I see you to your door.” He was going to take every damn minute he had
with her. He refused to leave her side until he absolutely had to, especially after
finding out the press was on to him. He wouldn’t leave her to face that by herself.

“I would point out that I’m carrying a gun, but I think the gentlemanly thing is nice.”

“Hell, sweetheart. I’m not being a gentleman. I can catch a cab over at your place.
I’m expecting you to protect me.” He winked.

But she could do it. Holland was more competent than anyone he knew with the singular
exception of Connor. Instead, he grinned her way and decided not to tell her that
he would walk her home because he didn’t want the evening to end.

St. Louis Street was a crowded mess, but then it was every night. Even during the
dog days of summer, the Quarter was jammed with tourists and students, all trying
to out-party the next guy.

Dax grabbed her hand so he wouldn’t lose her in the throng as he headed for her apartment.
Maybe he could convince her to fix him some coffee and they could talk a little more.
Not about the case. He wanted to forget about that for one night. He wouldn’t kiss
her again. He would show her they could be friends and when she was comfortable, he
would move them to something more physical.

A woman bumped into him, their shoulders banging together.

“Excuse me.”

“Sorry. So sorry. Hey, do you know where Bourbon Street is?” Given the way she slurred
her words, it sounded as if she’d already had enough for the night. She also looked
like she couldn’t be much past nineteen. She pushed her unruly hair out of her eyes,
which weren’t quite focused.

“Where are your parents?” Holland asked, obviously seeing what he did.

“Fucking cops.” The girl rolled her eyes and stumbled on.

“Par for the course.” Holland sighed. “I could follow her, but I don’t have jurisdiction
here. I hope she’s got a good fake ID because those boys on Bourbon Street know they’re
being watched. When we get home, I’ll call and have the street cops look for her.
At least we know where she’s going.”

A group of women decked out for a bachelorette party rambled through, causing him
to separate slightly from her.

She stepped out of the way of the drunk women. Unfortunately,
that caused Holland to step into a part of the street that hadn’t been blocked off
to traffic. A long line of cars waited, their drivers impatient. He turned in her
direction when a man on a bicycle wove through the cars.

That bike was on a collision course for Holland. Dax’s eyes widened.

“Holland!” He tried to push his way through. Only feet separated them, but he couldn’t
reach her fast enough. “Watch your twelve!”

She seemed to hear him and looked up just in time to see the bike plowing toward her.
Horns honked and the world suddenly seemed louder than before. Holland didn’t panic.
She simply stepped back up onto the curb and balanced herself.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the bike started to zoom past her, its rider thrusting
out a muscled arm. He snatched the bag right off Holland’s shoulder.

She whirled around and fell to one knee, knocking it hard against the pavement.

Dax finally managed to push his way through to her. He knelt and lifted her.

Holland clutched his hand as she struggled to her feet. “He took my computer. That
asswipe took my computer.”

Now that he knew she wasn’t hurt, Dax spun around and gave chase. If she wanted her
computer, he would get it for her.

He took off running, his feet pounding on the uneven pavement. He had to fight his
way through the crowd, keeping his eyes on that bike. As he wove through the nasty
tangle of traffic, he heard someone shouting behind him. He thought it might have
been Holland, but if he took his eyes off the man for even a second, he might lose
the thief.

Damn it, he hated not having control—over the press from following them, over his
past, and definitely over this stealing motherfucker. But he intended to hunt the
thug down and get her computer back.

Then it hit him: someone had targeted Holland, specifically went out of his way to
take her computer. The Quarter was filled with tourists who’d imbibed too much dangling
purses from their shoulders
and tucking fat wallets in their back pocket. But the guy on the bike had gone straight
for his girl. She’d just started the investigation and already someone wanted whatever
notes or evidence she had, so they’d taken her laptop.

Just like they’d taken the life from his father.

He shoved the suspicion aside in favor of running, of giving into his predatory instincts.

The bike turned, gliding down a side street.

Traffic was moving, but that didn’t matter to Dax. He heard the horns blare but ran
anyway. He slammed his hand on the hood of a car that stopped suddenly and dashed
around it, across the street, his chest heaving.

He managed to sprint onto that street and his way opened up. Then he picked up the
pace. If he let the thief sneak out of these tight streets, Dax would surely lose
him.

The guy on the bike pedaled hard, but the streets were uneven and riddled with potholes
that could trip up a person walking—much less some asshat pedaling hard to flee the
scene of his crime. Dax watched as the guy hit a big divot in the road, his body flying
forward before finally giving in to gravity.

Fucking hell, yes. This was the break he needed.

He sped up, even though his heart was threatening to pound out of his chest. He saw
Holland’s laptop bag go flying. It had been hanging from the handlebars and now flung
upward before falling once more and hitting the street.

Dax headed for it but he watched the groaning man writhe on the ground. Nondescript
besides being tall and well built, the criminal wore sweatpants and a black light
jacket.

He cursed loudly and twisted to his feet. When he spun around, Dax could see the guy
wore sunglasses under his helmet. He couldn’t tell much more than that except that
the man was tan and either Caucasian or Hispanic.

“I’m taking that bag back,” Dax yelled as he moved down the alley.

“Fuck you,” the man said in a deep voice and reached for his bike.

Darkness had fallen and very little light penetrated the bodies and buildings from
the main streets. Shadow encroached on all sides, but Dax was determined. He went
for the bag.

The man’s foot kicked out, catching him on the forearm. Dax gritted his teeth and
whirled around, attempting to stay on his feet. The asshole was stronger than he looked
and Dax found himself taking a hard punch that landed him on the ground, his knees
hitting the bricks with a jaw-jarring strike.

Pain flared through him, but he tried to shove that aside and reach for the laptop
bag.

Just as he grabbed it, Dax realized the asshole on the bike had brought along more
than a helmet for protection.

“Let go.” The man stood over him, gripping a gun in his hand.

Unfortunately, Dax knew what kind of damage a SIG Sauer could do, and the thug looked
pretty competent with the damn thing. He was forced to drop the leather satchel.

Damn it, he was in the inferior position, never thinking that his pleasant evening
with Holland could turn dangerous so quickly. He calculated his odds of distracting
the other man, but his knee had taken a nice hit, the right one bleeding. Jarring
pain swept through his thigh and gripped his kneecap. He might be able to use his
martial arts training and catch the criminal off guard with a well-aimed kick using
his uninjured leg, but if he couldn’t sprint away, Dax knew he’d have a big, fatal
hole in his body.

“I’m serious, fucker,” the man ground out. “Move another inch and I’ll blow your head
off.”

Dax believed him. Humiliation flashed hot through his blood. He should be able to
take down a lone assailant and retrieve Holland’s bag. He was a damn Naval officer.
He’d had years of training, but that didn’t make him Superman. He was defenseless
against a speeding bullet.

“Dax!”

Shit. Holland. She’d followed him. She would have a gun, but might
not see that this fucker also did until it was too late. The thug could turn and shoot
her before she could even defend herself.

Never taking his eyes off Dax, the criminal stooped down and nabbed the bag, looping
it over his head and across his chest. The gun never wavered as he shouted down the
narrow alley, “Don’t make a move or I’ll blow his head off.”

“Take the bag and go. I’m not making any kind of move.” Holland halted near the street,
her hands in the air. “You don’t have to make this worse. Right now, all you’ve managed
is some petty theft. We’ll file a report and move on. You shoot him and the cops won’t
ever stop looking for you.”

The man used his free hand to lift his bike, but he didn’t turn his back to either
of them. The alley was narrow, letting out to the next street west. He could easily
lose himself in more tourists.

“Go on. I won’t stop you,” Holland promised, her voice calm and easy.

The man backed down the alley and took off.

Dax rose to his feet, eyeing the distance between himself and the assailant.

“Don’t you dare,” Holland warned, racing down the alley, her gun in hand. She carried
it with the competency of a woman who had been around firearms all her life. She got
to the end of the alley and holstered her weapon.

“We can still catch him,” Dax insisted.

She pulled her phone from her purse and started to dial. “You’re not going anywhere.
Chasing him down was a crazy thing to do.”

Dax had to stop her from making that call. “Holland, if you call the police, the press
will follow. They’ll be everywhere. It’s why I took off after him in the first place.”

She hesitated, sighed, then tucked the phone way. “I have to file a report, but you’re
right. Are you okay?”

The night had gone to shit. “I’ll clean up at home.”

“Absolutely not. We’re a block from my place. Let’s go.”

“How can you let him get away with that?”

She frowned. “You know how? Because if I chased him down and started shooting, someone
would get hurt. You’re looking at me like I should have been more of a cop. You know
what? I was being a cop, Dax. My job is to protect and I didn’t act any differently
than I would want someone else to in my situation. That computer is a thing. It can
be replaced. People can’t.”