I’m fine.” Her face felt on fire and she couldn’t look at him as she brushed off her corduroys.
“I thought I told you not to come back here.”
The back of her neck tingled as she felt his stare on her. She knew what he saw. A frumpy, frizzy-haired, nerd-head. And he was impossibly handsome with his perfectly unshaven jaw and his tousled dark hair and his intense gray eyes.
What did it matter? She was here to find Julia.
“Come with me.” He grasped her arm and tugged her along behind him to the bar, confident that she would obey. She almost yanked out of his hold, but he might have information for her.
“Drink this.” He grabbed a shot glass and filled it with brown liquid from a bottle that read, “Wild Turkey.”
“I don’t need whiskey.”
“It’s bourbon. And you definitely look like you need it.”
Claire took the glass and brought it cautiously to her lips. Then she glanced at the bartender.
He folded his arms over his chest. “If I wanted you gone, I wouldn’t need to drug you. I could just throw you out like I did last night.”
True. But she still didn’t trust him. She took a careful sip. Fire. Burning the back of her throat, all the way down to her stomach. She gasped, grabbed her throat and glared at him.
“It gets better. Take another sip.”
She was feeling less tense, so she sipped again. “Mmm.” She nodded her agreement.
He raised a smug brow. “What are you doing here?”
“You said you’d call.”
He shook his hair away from his eyes. “I said I’d let you know if I learned anything.”
“I’m not disrupting your bar. I’m just watching to see if Julia or that guy comes in.”
“And then what?”
“What?”
“What’ll you do if the guy does show up? You think you can appeal to his sense of honor and he’ll just confess to whatever it is he did with your friend?”
Her stomach tightened as his soft Southern accent contrasted sharply with images of Julia fighting for her life, being tied up and throw in a trunk, injured or… dead. “Well, I’ll—I’ll call the police and tell them to bring him in for questioning.”
“And what if he says he left her alive and well the other night?”
She folded her arms, mimicking him. “Whose side are you on?”
“I’m on my own side. I don’t want another scene in my bar.”
“Fine. Then I’ll question him once he leaves your bar.”
He shook his head. “You got a death wish, cher?”
Cher? The Cajun shorthand for cherie? Darling in French. Something in her stomach fluttered and tingled. No one had ever called her darling before. Not that he meant it as an endearment. He didn’t even know her. He probably called every woman that so he wouldn’t have to remember her name the next morning.
She straightened her spine. “My name is Claire.” She offered her right hand. “Claire Brooks. And you are?”
One corner of his mouth curled up. “You gave me your card last night, Doctor, remember?”
“Oh.” She could feel her face heating again. Another dorky move. But what was new? She kept her hand extended, and… he took it.
“Rafe Moreau.”
She smiled. So silly to be happy over a handshake. “Mr. Moreau.”
“Rafe will do.” His hand enveloped hers in warmth. Her hands were always so cold, it felt wonderful, the heat, the roughness of his palm and the wave of awareness that swept over her. Skin touching skin. His very maleness so close to her, exuding some sort of sexual heat.
She snatched her hand away.
He probably wasn’t even conscious of how sexy he was.
“Listen, Claire. Why don’t you go back—”
She gasped.
“What?”
Ignoring Rafe, Claire shoved away from the bar and strode across the lounge area. She stepped in front of a punked-out bleached blonde. “Where did you get that?” Claire pointed to the necklace draped over the blonde’s black leather bustier. Hanging from a thick silver chain was a pewter pentacle about two inches in diameter.
She screwed up her face in a look of disgust and turned away. “None of your business.”
Claire grabbed her arm. She’d finally found a lead to Julia and she wasn’t about to lose it. “It most certainly is my business. I know for a fact that necklace couldn’t possibly belong to you.”
The woman yanked her arm from Claire’s grasp. “You don’t know nuthin’. Now, get out of my face before I—”
“Is there a problem here?” Rafe appeared beside Claire and stepped between them.
“Yeah, this bitch is bothering me.”
“Rafe. That necklace.” Claire pointed to the jewelry on the chain. “It belongs to Julia. She would never part with it willingly.”
Rafe glanced from Claire to the necklace, then back to Claire. “How can you be sure?”
Claire narrowed her eyes at the woman. “Maybe I should just call the police and let them look into it.”
“Man, she’s crazy. I’m outta here.” The woman spun to leave, but Rafe clutched her shoulder.
“This will just take a sec.” He stared at the woman and whatever she saw in his expression convinced her to wait. Nice talent to have.
The bleached blonde shrugged. “Whatever.”
Rafe looked back at Claire.
“I gave it to Julia for her graduation from Cosmetology School. It’s engraved on the back. My name and her name and the date, 5-27-04.”
Rafe raised his brows and turned toward the bustiered woman. “Free drinks the rest of the night if you let me see the back of your necklace.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Sure!” She wrenched the chain up and over her head and dropped it in his waiting palm.
Rafe turned it over and Claire leaned in to look.
As she’d known it would be, there on the back was the engraving that proved it was Julia’s.
“I
