Relief washed through her when she realized Declan didn’t have to touch her again, after all. As she followed his instructions, Grace knew that she needed to get hold of herself, stop imagining the unthinkable. Get her mind back to the problem at hand.
“I need some basic information,” Declan said. “About your place of business and the people you work with.”
Though she couldn’t imagine the stalker was that close to her, Grace said, “Raphael Duhon is the owner-designer of Voodoo. And Max Babin is the photographer he uses. I really don’t work with anyone else on a regular basis.”
“You’re on good terms with both of them?”
“I am. Raphael actually owns the building where both Voodoo and Gotcha!, the photography studio, are located. It’s at Decatur and Iberville.”
“All your shoots are inside, then?”
“No, not all. I’m also the spokeswoman for Voodoo, so I do a lot of society and charity events. I’m constantly being photographed at them.”
“That complicates things. Some man you met at one of these functions could have targeted you. When’s the next event?”
“As a matter of fact, I have one tomorrow night.”
“Do you have an escort?”
“No—”
“You do now. I can scope out the people around you with a fresh eye. If anyone has taken an unnatural interest in you, I’ll spot him.”
They made plans to talk later—they would pick a place to meet then. Grace left Vieux Carré Investigations and headed for home with a lighter heart than she’d had when she entered.
Even so, as she walked down the street, she couldn’t help but look over her shoulder. If some dangerous man lurked behind her, she couldn’t spot him. Declan McKenna would have a better eye for these things than she did, the reason she’d hired him.
Even so, she walked faster.
She’d never been afraid before—not like this, not on so many levels.
For once in her life, she had something she could call her own—an actual career that she loved. She’d done a lot of searching, had gotten off to a lot of bad starts, but finally—finally!—she knew what she was meant to do.
Being photographed wasn’t important to her, though she did enjoy it. Being able to draw on the contacts she’d made all her life to help break out a talented designer and to raise donations for various charities through her appearances meant a great deal to her. It gave her a purpose in life she’d never before had. She could follow family tradition, but in her own unique way. In the past, she’d endured society functions. She hadn’t fit in. Now she saw them as a way to use her celebrity to do good for folks who needed help. It was a win-win situation for everyone involved.
For the first time, she was really happy with her life.
Now someone was trying to ruin that, to take the joy she’d finally discovered from her work. Grace wasn’t about to let that happen, no matter what she had to do.
Or see, she thought, remembering the vision she’d had when touching Declan.
No, no. It wouldn’t happen again, she assured herself, remembering the traumatic incident the last time she’d used her ability.
Never again.
She was so focused on her distraught thoughts that she didn’t realize she’d automatically taken a shortcut down a narrow side street—one that wasn’t well lit. The area seemed deserted … but the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention.
Was she being followed?
This time when she turned around, she spotted a dark figure slip into a doorway.
Heart hammering, trying not to panic, she sped up.
Footsteps slap-slapped behind her, quickly drawing closer. Nearly choking on her breath, she pushed herself, now running blindly in her panic. The threatening footfalls echoed through her head and she feared her pursuer was nearly upon her….
A door opened and she ran into a tall, broadly built man exiting and lost her balance.
He caught her before she fell. “Easy, chér.” His expression concerned, he looked behind her. “Is there a problem?”
Grace looked, too, but whoever had been following her had melted into the night.
“Sorry, I got turned around and didn’t know where I was,” she lied. “The hour is so late.” Nearly midnight. “The street’s empty … I just got scared.”
The young man grinned. “Would you like us to walk you home?” He indicated a woman who’d followed him out of the building.
Relief washed through her. “I would be so appreciative. I’m in the Marigny, just the other side of Esplanade.”
“No problem. Anything for a lady.”
Feeling infinitely better, Grace gave the empty street behind her one last searching look.
SO NOW WHAT WAS Grace Broussard up to, going to a private investigator? Did she really think she was going to get out of this? Of course she did.
Privileged people never thought bad things could happen to them. They assumed that while they wreaked havoc on other people, they could go through life unscathed. That they could do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, and that they would never have to pay.
Grace Broussard was about to learn different.
The stakes just went up.
“Minny, what are you doing here?” Grace asked when she arrived early for her shoot the next morning and found her cousin wandering around Gotcha!
The photography studio wasn’t open this early. There was no one currently on hand to stop anyone from coming through. The last receptionist had been let go the week before—Max said Eva just wasn’t working out, but Grace had overheard an argument between Max and a supplier about cost, making Grace wonder if finances were the real reason.
Minny had made herself at home.
“I was looking for you, of course, Grace. So what do you think?”
Minny was posed in front of the scrim, lit with a pale lavender—the only soft thing about the scene. Minny’s hair glowed red. Not auburn, not mahogany, but a stoplight red that made her freckles pop. Her floaty blouse was a pattern of red and gold, and she wore gold capris.
Nothing subtle about Cousin Minny.
Wondering where Max had gotten to—since the lights were on, the photographer was obviously in the middle of setting up for the shoot—Grace echoed, “What do I think? It all depends on what
