Blu saw the amusement in his brother-in-law’s eyes. He knew how ridiculous it all sounded. He also knew what a slim chance he had of finding the gutsy little fille. But he was determined to try. He’d wrestled with the idea the entire night. Those damn eyes and her dainty pink mouth had kept him awake; that, and the headache she’d given him by crashing his own damn boot into his skull.
True, he was curious as to why Salvador Maland had put his face on an entire wall in his office, but that wasn’t the primary reason why he’d shown up in Ry’s office first thing this morning. Something important was driving that fille, something powerful enough to make her dress up in nun’s garb and pull a gun on him. She’d been scared to death, and still she’d stood her ground.
Blu wanted to know why.
“I want you to help me find her.” There, he’d said it. He’d asked his brother-in-law for help.
“Did I hear right? You want my help?”
The smug look on Ry’s face was followed by an open-faced grin. Blu swore crudely. “Oui, you heard me. I’ve already cleared it with Brodie. I’m taking time off work and he’s agreed to do double duty until I get back.”
Ry’s grin faded. “You’ve never taken a day off in your life. Well, not willingly anyway. Speaking of time off, Margo and I are headed for Texas for two weeks. She wants to meet my parents and brother.”
“When?”
“We leave tomorrow.”
“Your timing stinks.” Blu saw the way Ry’s brow arched. “Okay, so I was expecting more than just a little help. I know this isn’t your field of expertise, but I really need to find this girl.”
“If it’s that important, I’ll get in touch with Jackson. He can follow it up on this end.”
Jackson Ward was Ryland’s rebel partner—the loose cannon of the outfit. A man who was on suspension more than he was on duty because he didn’t go by the book on anything.
“So Jackson’s working?” Blu asked. “Last time we talked he was on suspension.”
“He was just reinstated yesterday.”
“That won’t last long.”
“It never does,” Ryland agreed. “But when he’s working, he’s the best there is.”
“I thought you were the best. That’s what the paper claims.”
“And we know that every word the paper prints is gospel, right, hero?”
Reminded of the harassment he’d endured over the past year due to freedom of the press over his “heroic deed,” Blu snorted.
“So Brodie’s willing to wrangle with Spoon Thompson on your behalf for a few days? That should be worth a front-row seat.”
Blu grimaced. “Oui. Those two are about as agreeable as two cottonmouths fighting over the same rat. No, Brodie’s not too happy about me taking time off, but he’s a good friend.”
“He proved it last year,” Ryland agreed. “Not too many men I know would have lived through the beating he took from Denoux’s men to protect you and Margo. No, Brodie Hewitt is a good man. Though I would certainly like to know where he calls home. No one seems to know his story. A man who keeps himself a mystery is a man who usually has something to hide.”
Blu remained silent. He knew Brodie’s story, but he’d sworn to keep it to himself. When Brodie was ready to deal with his past, he’d head home. But until then, Blu would value Brodie’s friendship and the big guy’s loyalty to the duFray Devils.
“Do you think this girl has something to do with your pal, Patch? You made quite a few enemies when you were working for him. Maybe she wants revenge for some old, unsettled score.”
“Then why didn’t she just shoot me? She had plenty of time if that’s what she wanted.” Blu walked away from the window and the warmth of the morning sun and sat on the chair in front of Ry’s desk. “She asked me if I knew a man named Salvador Maland. She seemed to think I should. And when I said I didn’t, she called me a liar.”
“You’re sure you don’t know him?”
“I don’t think so. Does the name mean anything to you?”
“Not offhand.”
“She had the damnedest eyes,” Blu mused, still unable to forget their warm color, or her sexy little mouth.
“This is personal, then?”
“Hell, yes, it’s personal. Damn personal when a fille you’ve never seen before points a gun at your nuts and threatens to blow them off.”
Grinning, Ry said, “Sure would have made a helluva headline for the Times-Picayune.”
Blu evil-eyed Ry. “The girl pulled a gun on me and you’re making jokes.”
“You make it sound like it was the first time you’ve ever looked down the barrel of a gun.”
“It was with a young fille backing it. Claiming to be a nun, no less.”
“Is that what’s bothering you, that it was a woman?”
“You’re not listening. She was little.” Blu held up his hand. “About this big.”
“So she’s maybe five four, not a woman, and not a nun?”
Blu swore and was halfway out of his chair when Ry pulled a notepad from his drawer and said, “Not so fast. Give me some facts.”
Blu eased back down onto the chair. “You mean, a description?”
“Yeah. What did she look like? What was the color of those damnedest eyes?”
“Brown. Soft brown.”
“Hair?”
“Didn’t see it.”
“You said she’s young?”
“Real young. Eighteen at the most, And she’s…” He held up his hand again. “Five feet, four inches sounds right.”
“Any identifying marks? A mole or birthmark?”
“Didn’t see any.”
Ry glanced up. “I thought you were going to give me a description.”
“She was covered in black from head to toe. You’ve seen a nun, haven’t you? They wear black…everywhere.”
“Everywhere?”
Blu refused to let Ry get under his skin. “I’ll let you know once I find her.”
“So what we’ve got is a pair of the damnedest brown eyes, and she’s maybe four inches over five feet. And she’s wearing black…everywhere.”
Blu wished he had something more to offer. “Ah, her mouth…”
Ry was waiting with his pen poised. “Yeah?”
“Ah, she’s got… She’s got great teeth.”
“Teeth?” Ry tossed the pen onto the desk. “Well, hell, that makes all the difference in the world. We’ll see her coming, then.”
“I’m out of here.” Blu was on his way up once more.
“Sit down,” Ry growled. “I need some coffee. You want some?”
“No.” Blu watched his brother-in-law stand and head for the coffeepot in the corner. Ry was an inch shorter than Blu’s six-three, and where Blu’s eyes were a deep chocolate, almost black, Ry’s were as blue as the morning sky. His sandy-brown hair was cropped close to his head, and the comfortable jeans and boots he refused to give up after making detective, fit the rugged Texan perfectly.
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