“Just have a seat any ol’ place,” the bartender yelled at them. He was an enormous man with a huge belly who could easily have been Big Daddy. “Cherie’ll be around to get your order.”
Brenna led the way to a cozy booth in a corner, where they had a view of the street as darkness fell. A blues trio played in the back, the smoky strains of bass and guitar wafting through the bar, just loud enough that they could still converse easily.
A beautiful woman with toffee-colored skin and a dress short enough to get her arrested sauntered up to their table. Her hair was done up in an elaborate style that resembled a pineapple. “What’ll it be?”
“I’ll have the oyster variety platter and a cold Beck’s, if you have one,” Brenna said decisively.
The waitress looked at Heath. She licked her lips unconsciously. “How about you, Mr. Cop?”
Heath looked startled, but Brenna just laughed. “Told ya.”
“I’ll have the étouffée and a Pepsi.”
Brenna snorted. “Pepsi?”
“Can’t drink on the job, huh?” the waitress said. “You must not be a New Orleans cop, then.” She sauntered away, hips swaying.
“You really know how to have fun,” Brenna grumbled.
HER COMMENT shouldn’t have stung, but it did. Heath used to know how to have fun. He used to have a reputation as laid-back, always ready with a smart comment. He’d shared a great relationship with his fellow agents back in Baltimore. They’d played together in a summer softball league, invited each other over for backyard barbecues.
He’d never been a renegade, exactly, but he hadn’t been as worried about the rules as he was now. He’d been the guy people could count on, the one everyone wanted guarding their backs. He’d had a solid reputation for being cool under pressure and closing cases others had given up on.
That was BCA. Before Christine’s Arrest.
Now it felt like he was constantly walking on a fragile spiderweb. One false move, and he would break through and plunge into the abyss, or wherever it was that ex-FBI agents went. That, or he would become hopelessly entangled.
He’d made up his mind as soon as he’d learned that his transfer to Dallas was going through—he wasn’t going to make that false move. His image at the Bureau was in tatters, and there was only one way to rebuild it, and that was one brick at a time. One arrest, then another. One case solved, then another, and no controversy.
Brenna Thompson was walking controversy. Her irreverence appealed to the old Heath, but that was someone he could no longer afford to be.
He should arrest her and be done with it, he thought for the zillionth time since he’d met her. But that would be too easy. He needed Brenna, Marvin and the Picasso.
He had no illusions about what would happen tonight. Brenna wasn’t about to knowingly lead him to her accomplice. But she might be planning to make contact, to get a message to Marvin somehow. Heath would be there when she did.
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.