“Let’s go, then.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll live. Freaking oysters,” she muttered. “And I don’t want to hear you even think ‘I told you so.’”
He wouldn’t say it, that was for sure. He felt too sorry for her to add to her misery. But he was thinking it.
She looked shaky as they headed back for the exhibit hall. Fearing she might fall off her platform shoes, he offered her his arm, but she shook her head.
It was after ten, and the show was officially closed now. The security guard at the door let them in only when Heath flashed his badge. But as soon as they got inside the exhibit hall, Heath realized he’d made a terrible mistake. The French Quarter Chic booth was empty. Alice was gone, and so were all of her display cases.
The booths on either side of her were also deserted. Queries to a couple of other exhibitors were useless; everyone was focused on securing their own merchandise for the evening.
He left Brenna on a padded bench by the door, whispered to the guard not to let her go anywhere, then located the show’s security chief, who was concerned and cooperative. He enlisted a handful of his men to search for Alice, but she’d disappeared like a snake slithering into a pond, not even leaving a ripple. He personally searched her space, finding nothing but her empty soft drink can.
Supremely disappointed, he headed back toward where he’d left Brenna. Grif suddenly appeared by his side. “What happened?”
“Where were you?” Heath demanded.
“I stopped to buy some earrings for my girlfriend.” He patted his shirt pocket. “You seemed to have everything under control.”
“Yeah, well, all hell broke loose.” Heath stopped himself before he could lose his temper. He was irritated with Grif, but more angry with himself. He never should have let Alice get away. But he’d allowed his concern for Brenna’s welfare interfere with his good judgment.
He filled in Grif, who let loose with some suitably colorful curses. Then he asked, “What now?”
“I’ll take Brenna back to her room. She’s really sick. I don’t think she’ll be getting into trouble tonight, so you can go catch some sleep if you want.” He handed Grif Alice’s empty soft drink can, which he’d placed in a small labeled sack. “And if you could drop this by the lab on your way home—”
“No problem. You’re sure Brenna’s not faking?”
No one could turn that shade of gray on purpose. “I’m sure.”
“I’ll come back about four, then, to relieve you.” He paused. “I’m really sorry, man.”
Heath couldn’t stay mad at Grif. “Hope your girl really likes those earrings.”
Brenna was where he’d left her. She gave him an accusing look. “You didn’t find her, did you.”
“No. Brenna, I couldn’t arrest her without stronger proof. If you could have positively identified—”
“I did!”
“But your mark—”
“Could have been filed off.”
“We’ll find her,” he promised. He had high hopes for finding prints on the can.
“I just want to go to bed,” Brenna said miserably.
“Let’s go, then.”
There was no way Brenna was up to walking the ten blocks back to her guest house. The taxi line in front of the convention center was thirty deep, too.
“Just lay me down in the gutter,” Brenna said. “I’ll be fine.”
Then Heath saw something that might be their salvation. He sat Brenna down on another bench, placed her purse in her lap and crossed her arms over it. New Orleans seethed with purse snatchers and pickpockets, and a sick young woman would be a handy target. “I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t move.”
“As if I could.”
Brenna wanted to die. Really, truly. She’d never felt so sick in her life. Then again, she’d never eaten a dozen tainted oysters, for surely that was the problem. But did food poisoning come with a fever? She was sweating and shivering at the same time, and her stomach threatened to revolt again at any moment.
She slumped down and put her head in her hands. Thank God she’d made it to the bathroom before. She’d die of embarrassment if she threw up in front of Heath. She supposed people barfing in the street was a commonplace thing in New Orleans, but it wasn’t something she intended to do.
The clip-clop of a horse’s hooves drew her attention. She looked up to see one of the French Quarter’s horse and carriages pulling up right in front of her. The horse wore a festive yellow hat with orange flowers.
Heath hopped down from the carriage. “I found us some wheels.”
“You have got to be kidding.”
“It’s this or I carry you back to your hotel.” She actually smiled at that thought. Heath held out his hand, and she surprised herself by taking it. Moments earlier she’d wanted to strangle Heath for letting that thieving jeweler get away. But now she was oddly touched by the way he was taking care of her. He could have simply abandoned her, let her find her own way back to her guest house.
She was so weak she could hardly pull herself into the high carriage. But between Heath and the driver, they hoisted her up. She didn’t miss the fact that Heath put his hand on her bottom to accomplish the feat. She didn’t miss the fact that, even in her debilitated condition, she liked it. She wondered if he’d peeked up her short skirt.
Heath climbed in beside her and the carriage took off. “You’re shivering.” He took off his suit jacket and put it around her.
“Th-think I have a fever.” Her teeth chattered. Heath put his arm around her. His body felt warm, and she snuggled into it. Oh, Lord, he smelled great.
Between the gentle rocking of the carriage and the hypnotic clip-clop of the horse’s hooves, she fell asleep. The next thing she knew, she was being carried up the outside stairs to her room. And it was Heath carrying her.
“Oh, for gosh sake, put me down,” she protested feebly. “I can walk.”
“Hush. We’re almost there now, anyway.” When he reached her door he set her down, fished around in her small purse until he found a key and opened the door.
The room was freezing. She’d left the air-conditioning on. Heath walked across to the window unit and flipped it off. Then he yanked back the covers. “Get in.”
“I need a shower.”
“Only if you want me in there with you, holding you up.”
He was right. She was about to fall down. Her stomach felt like a giant hand was squeezing it like one of those stress balls, and she was so dizzy she was swaying. She took two steps, crawled across the bed and dropped.
Heath took off her sandals, covered her with the blankets. “I have some medicine in my bag, down in my car. I’ll be right back.”
While he was gone, she managed to wiggle out of her uncomfortably damp clothes and pull the covers over herself. Oh, God, why couldn’t she just die? It would be so much easier.
Heath returned a few minutes later and held out a handful of pills. “Something for nausea, something for pain and fever, and a muscle relaxer. Should knock you right out.”
“You always travel with a pharmacy?”
“I can’t afford to be sick in the middle of a job.”
She wasn’t sure how