Obsession

14

DREW KNEW ONE THING and one thing only: he had to come clean with Josie. Tell her exactly who he was and what he had come there to do…and what he now wanted to do. Or, rather, wanted to help her to do. And that was to save her hotel.

At around nine-thirty the next morning, after having made calls to check the liquidity of his cash resources, he headed to the hotel, only to find a note on the door meant for Josie’s employees. He read it, then returned it to where it had been.

Where was she? While he would be the last to profess to know Josie better than anyone else, he sensed that she wasn’t the type of person just to up and leave her hotel with the Closed sign hanging in the window if there wasn’t a good reason.

Was she inside?

He rang the bell then stepped back to look up at the doors to her rooms. In fact, the doors to all the rooms were closed. It was the first time he’d seen that.

He knew a moment of concern. Then another thought quickly followed: had she given up and was even now arranging to sell the hotel to Dick Rove?

He dialed his client, his back teeth clenched tightly together at the thought of Rove taking the hotel from her.

Rove’s secretary told him he was unavailable but offered to take a message. Drew didn’t leave one. Instead he slapped his cell phone closed and looked around the street. He wouldn’t know where to begin looking for her. He just hoped she wasn’t with the other “closer” Rove had hired to work Josie.

A person Drew suspected might be setting him up to take a fall, as well.

Damn.

A bar across the street had just opened its doors and a young man wearing an apron was spraying down the sidewalk and curb.

Drew held out a twenty-dollar bill. “Have any coffee in there?”

The kid smiled. “No, but I will.”

Drew took a seat right near the door with a clear view of the front of the hotel. He had no choice but to wait.

“WHERE IN THE HELL have you been? I’ve been waiting here for over an hour.”

Josie considered Philippe where he’d appeared next to her. It was just after two in the afternoon and it had been a long day for her so far.

She unlocked the front door and took the note and the Closed sign off before leading the way into the lobby.

“Seeing to a few things,” she said noncommittally.

“I’ve been worried sick. What do you mean by closing the place like that? You could have waited until I came in to do whatever business you needed to do.”

She wanted to reassure him, but she was so physically and mentally weary that she merely spared him a look as she put her purse away under the desk.

“What was so urgent that you needed to see to it so early, anyway?”

“Business matters.”

“What business matters?”

Josie stared at him for a moment. Philippe had never taken that much interest in the business aside from wanting to know when he’d get paid.

He ran a hand through his already tousled hair. “Sorry. I guess I’m just all worked up.”

She shuffled through some papers.

“I was worried about you.”

She smiled at him.

He smiled back. “Why don’t I go fix us a bite to eat and we’ll have a chat.”

Josie tucked the papers under her arm. “Can’t. I have some things to do.” She started toward the stairs. “And you don’t have the time, either. Open up the balcony doors to air out the rooms and see to the front desk until I come back down.”

“Josie?”

It wasn’t Philippe who’d said her name. Rather, someone who’d just entered the lobby had. And he wasn’t alone.

Claude Lafitte and FBI agent Akela Brooks.

It wasn’t all that long ago that Claude had been a regular at the Josephine. Then he’d been accused of the murder of Claire Laraway and had then taken Akela hostage at gunpoint.

That had been almost three weeks ago and all had turned out well so far as Josie could tell. The newspaper had been filled with the news that a romance had developed between the former captor and captive. A definite case of opposites attract, given Claude’s deep bayou roots and Akela’s high-society family background.

“We heard about the second murder,” Akela said, not bothering with niceties. Something for which Josie was thankful because she wasn’t in a nice mood.

Claude cursed. “More like we were paid a visit by Chevalier to check up on my whereabouts on the night in question.”

She eyed Claude for a long moment. The first murder had never been solved, and since Claude had been with the victim the night before she’d been killed, he’d been the police’s first-and apparently only-suspect.

She still wasn’t straight on all the details, but Claude had been cleared.

The telephone on the front desk rang and Philippe picked it up.

“Josie, it’s for you.”

She was about to take it when Akela asked, “Do you have a few minutes?” Her demeanor was calm and cool, but her eyes held shadows of worry.

Josie regarded her, then looked toward the front desk. “Take a message, Philippe. And can you fix some coffee for the three of us?”

DREW STOPPED PACING the length of his hotel room and slowly closed his cell phone. At least he’d finally gotten an answer.

This morning, he’d sat at that bar for over three hours waiting for Josie to return. He’d finally given up and had returned to the Marriott where he’d called the Josephine every ten minutes or so. He eyed the papers strewn across the king-size bed. But why wouldn’t she take the call? Since Philippe had asked for a message-that Drew hadn’t left-he assumed the guy hadn’t known who Drew was, so he had no reason to believe she just didn’t want to talk to him.

He hated that he hadn’t been able to speak with her but he did feel better knowing she was back at the hotel.

Gathering up the documents, he put them in order then dropped them into his briefcase before snapping it closed.

Since he knew she was at the hotel, then he could go see her.

JOSIE SAT BY HERSELF in the courtyard long after Claude and Akela had left with promises to check back later and see how Josie was doing.

Claude had been released from custody and all charges against him dropped. Physical evidence had been found that didn’t belong to him or the victim, namely a hair inside the neck wound itself, as if purposely placed there.

Why hadn’t she been told about this evidence?

She pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying to recall seeing anyone else on that fateful morning.

Then there was the fact that the police suspected Frederique’s murder had been a copycat killing. It had been determined that she had been brutally raped before being killed, a detail not in line with the first murder.

Philippe took the empty chair opposite Josie.

“You ready to tell me what’s going on?”

She blinked at him, taking a moment to attach his words to their meaning.

Seeing him made her recall what she had been about to do before her visitors had arrived. She got to her feet, gathering up the papers on the table in front of her.

“Nothing’s going on, Philippe,” she said quietly, her mind already on the tasks she needed to see to. “At least nothing I can share right now.”

He got up, as well. “Then that means there is something going on.”

She started toward the lobby, heading for the stairs beyond, and was startled when Philippe grasped her arm.

She stared at him.

“Come on, Josie, don’t you think I deserve to know what’s going on? I mean, my job’s on the line here.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll let you know the minute I think it’s something you should know.”

She couldn’t really explain why, but he was beginning to irritate her. She looked down at where he still held her arm.

“Everything all right, Miss Villefranche?”

Josie glanced at Detective Chevalier standing in the garden doorway wearing his requisite wrinkled overcoat and holding his hat. While he’d spoken to her, his gaze was very obviously on Philippe.

Philippe released her abruptly, looking abashed. “I’m sorry. I’m just really worked up about everything going on here lately,” he said quietly.

Josie smiled at him softly. “I know. I am, too.” She glanced at the detective. “Everything’s fine.”

Philippe disappeared into the kitchen and she turned to face Chevalier, crossing her arms over her chest. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

He fiddled with the brim of his hat, turning it in a circle. “Could you have Mr. Morrison come down, please?”

Josie straightened the papers she still held in her hands. “Mr. Morrison isn’t here.”

“Do you know where I might find him?”

“At the convention is my guess.” She brushed past him on her way toward the front desk.

“Ah, that’s right. He’s in town on business, isn’t he?”

There was a touch of unmistakable irony to his voice that caught Josie’s attention. “Has there been any progress on solving either of the murders that occurred in my establishment, Detective?”

He squinted at her. “I don’t know. It all depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“On what Mr. Morrison has to say.”

She leaned against the front desk. “I’ve already told you, he was with me the night of the murder.”

“Yes, but you also told me he was in town for a convention.”

“You just said yourself he was here for business.”

“Yes, but apparently an auto-parts convention doesn’t factor into that business. It’s my guess that Mr. Morrison wouldn’t know a gasket from an air filter.”

Josie didn’t like where this was heading. Her skin felt suddenly cold. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”

She carefully placed her papers on the desk. Getting anything from Chevalier was like pulling teeth and up until now she hadn’t made the effort. Although, given the information Claude and Akela had shared, maybe she should have.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, Detective?” she asked, crossing her arms again so tightly that she cut off circulation. “Or are we going to play more word games?”

He stepped to the other side of the desk and put his hat down. “How well do you know Mr. Morrison?”

Josie felt her cheeks flush. She’d already answered that question and didn’t care to have to repeat herself.

“Oh, wait.” He took his notepad out of his overcoat pocket and thumbed through its battered item. “You and he are engaged in a sexual relationship. Temporary.”

She glanced toward the courtyard, unable to meet his gaze. She’d been the one to add the word temporary. Because at the time, that’s what she’d believed it to be. The problem was she was coming to see that there wasn’t anything temporary about her growing feelings for Drew.

“That’s right.”

“So is it over?”

She recalled Drew standing outside on the street late last night and her chest gave a none-too-subtle squeeze. “Seeing as Mr. Morrison has checked out, I’d chance a yes.”

Chevalier smiled as he put his notepad back into his pocket.

“Oh, I have it on good authority that he’ll be back,” he said, placing his hat on his head.

Her heart gave a hopeful lilt even as dread spread in her stomach. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because he hasn’t done what he came here to accomplish yet.”

She didn’t say anything as he walked toward the door.

He turned before stepping outside. “He hasn’t gotten you to sell the hotel.”