cat. Did you see him?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t see a cat.” His smile was wry. “I’m not much good to you today, Liza. I didn’t recognize Duke and I didn’t see your kitty. You might have to trade me for a model with better eyesight.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “But I did see you, and when I saw how frightened you were, I wanted to hurt that man, whoever he was.”
Liza felt the brush of his fingertips on her skin. His touch was amazingly gentle, as it had always been for a man who lived such a rough-and-tumble life. In the two months she’d spent time with Trent Maxwell, he’d been an absolute gentleman. If she could have willed her heart to respond to him more fully, she would have.
“I can’t undo the evening, but I can treat you to a wonderful dinner with some nice wine. You look so tired. It just makes me want to take care of you.”
Liza swallowed. She wanted to say no. All she really wanted was to return to the levee and try to find a trace of Duke. She wanted physical evidence that he’d been there. That she’d seen him. That he was real.
And he was. Flesh and blood, not some apparition. He’d spoken to her. And he’d frightened her beyond rational thought. Why? What was it that she was so afraid of where Duke was concerned?
“Liza, what about dinner?”
“That would be lovely,” she said, forcing a smile. Trent was trying hard to become important in her life. He was a patient man who would defend her with his life. She knew she could do a lot worse.
“Maybe I should go back and look for the cat,” she said, turning toward the river. She almost hoped that Duke would climb up the side of the levee and approach her now, where it was light and where there were other people who could see him clearly.
“There wasn’t a cat in sight. He’ll show up when he’s ready. You know how independent cats are.”
“Eleanor Curry left him with me. What if he’s lost?”
“You aren’t going to find that cat unless he wants to be found. I’ll help you hunt tomorrow.”
Liza felt a flush of anger. Trent was trying to be helpful, but… “Maybe I should just go home,” she said softly.
“You shouldn’t be alone right now. You’ve had a bad scare. What about Renaldo’s? You like Italian.”
“Fine,” she agreed because it was the easiest thing to do. And because she didn’t really want to go back to her home and spend the night alone.
WELL, OUR APPARITION HAS physical form. He’s the spitting image of all of those drawings hidden away in Liza’s secret studio. Duke Masonne. The missing link in Liza’s past. Well, well. He’s a living, breathing humanoid with one helluva breaststroke in the mighty Mississip. I hate to abandon Miss Renoir, but I think my case will be better served if I follow this character.
I’ve deduced that he knows Liza, which indicates to me that he has a lot of explaining to do. Five years is a long time to be gone for a pack of cigarettes, as the old saying goes. But in the fading light of dusk, I could detect a few changes in the physical exterior of our missing hero.
He’s lost twenty pounds and toughened up. Where he used to be a desk jockey, he now makes a living in the elements. He’s lost that polished, citified look.
And from the expression on his face when he looked at Liza, he doesn’t mean her any harm. The plot thickens.
So where has he been and what’s he doing back in New Orleans? Those are questions that will be answered only when I track him down. Which is exactly what I’m going to do.
I suppose those soft-shell crabs will have to wait. Just breathing this river air makes me want to wrestle a catfish to the deep fryer.
I hear him swimming. He’s strong. Good endurance. Pretty soon, though, he should be climbing up the levee. Yep, here he comes. Not exactly the happiest humanoid I’ve ever encountered.
I’ll just bet he’s wondering who took two shots at him. A question I’d also like answered. He was obviously some friend of Liza’s. Her current romantic interest, I’d guess. A man who carries a gun and uses it, so that makes him a law officer in all likelihood. He wasn’t in a hurry to leave the scene of the shooting, so he must have reason to believe that if he’s questioned, he has the right credentials.
Well, here comes the long-departed Duke Masonne. The river has left him chilled and dripping. So I’ll follow him home and see what clues I can dredge up from his hideout.
If he’s up to no good, then I’ll have a chance to set up a few traps for him before he can do any more damage to Miss Renoir. I’d say she’s been hurt enough.
I hate to leave her without a hint of where I’m going, but perhaps I’ll be able to deliver the goods on this guy. In the meantime, I have to say he’s interesting. He’s walking around dripping wet and acting as if it were an everyday occurrence. He’s so good at it that he isn’t even drawing attention. Hmmm. I’ll have to study his technique. He just blends right in. And we’re headed down Toulouse toward the heart of the French Quarter. The sun has gone down, the moon is out, and it’s party time in “The City that Care Forgot.”
Wow! I don’t think Eleanor would like it if she knew I was traveling down Bourbon Street. Jazz, strippers, tap-dancing juveniles, and tourists all drinking that strange red drink in those tall glasses. I believe they’re called Hurricanes, a New Orleans specialty. Man, humanoids partying en masse.
At last, though, we’re turning down a quiet street. Pretty ritzy. So old Duke has some dough. Audubon Place. Very chic. I think maybe I’ll have to take a look in his refrigerator before too much more time passes.
Chapter Four
Mike stepped out of the shower, his body warmed by the stinging spray but his heart still chilled by the events on the levee. Someone had shot at him. In the world of North Dakota where he’d spent the past five years, a weapon wasn’t drawn except in self-defense or for protection.
Was he a threat to Liza Hawkins?
The only answer he had was in the newspaper clippings he’d read at the library. Nowhere had he caught even a hint of something that might explain what had just occurred. Or what had happened to him five years ago when he’d been so badly beaten.
He toweled himself dry and slipped into clean clothes. As he stepped out of the bathroom, he saw a black cat sitting in the doorway. It didn’t seem possible, but it appeared to be the same cat that had been with Liza.
“Meow.”
He stared at the animal.
“Meow.” The cat walked toward him and brushed against his leg.
“Where the hell did you come from?” he asked, wondering if he’d somehow slipped over the edge of sanity.
The cat didn’t answer but walked toward the kitchen, one black paw batting at the refrigerator door.
“You’re hungry?”
“Meow.”
He
