tightening. “How will I get out of this? What do you propose I do now?” she asked Declan. “Other than going to the police.”
“You say Raphael and Max are the only ones with access to the photography studio on a regular basis?”
“Right. Raphael occupies the whole third floor for both Voodoo offices and his living quarters.”
Declan took the chair opposite her. “Offices. Do a lot of people work for him?”
“He has a personal assistant, a design assistant, a cutter and sewer to execute the early incarnations of his designs, a saleswoman and a receptionist.”
“Lots of possible suspects.”
“I guess. He has an office at another location. That’s where the marketing and financial people are located. He also owns two other buildings in the French Quarter and a few in the Commercial District. One of those didn’t fare too well when Hurricane Katrina hit. I understand there was a problem with the insurance. As far as I know, he still doesn’t have it ready for rental.”
“Not in all this time?” Declan mused. “Sounds like Raphael might have some money troubles.”
“Well, he’s put a lot into Voodoo, which is his real love,” Grace said. “He’s been working for other people for years and finally got his own business off the ground. You don’t really believe a man suddenly shooting to the top of his profession would involve himself in blackmail, do you?”
Thinking blackmail money might be just the thing to get that commercial building up and running—not to mention Voodoo, possibly the reason Raphael gave a trust-fund baby work—Declan said, “Hard to say what anyone would do where money is involved. I’ll be checking on his other properties, see what’s going on. Who else works in your building?”
“There are a couple other businesses, but I don’t know any of those people—I can’t imagine they even know I’m around.
As to Max,” Grace went on evenly, “she has a part-time photography assistant who sets up the set. She works when needed and that’s it. Usually Max has a full-time employee who does some of everything—reception, billing, secretarial—but she let Eva go and hasn’t talked about replacing her. I don’t think it was Eva’s work. I suspect Max couldn’t afford to keep her.”
Making the photographer another suspect, Declan thought. “I’m going to need a list of everyone who works in the building so I can run security checks on them.”
“Okay, I can put that together for you.”
“Good. If you add the building employees, that offers more variables to the situation. Lots of people who have access to the studio and therefore the dressing room.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“How about we start by finding the camera—assuming it’s still in place. If we’re lucky we can track it back to its source.”
Grace shuddered. “The studio isn’t open.”
“Even better.”
“You want to break in?”
“The security guard—will it be the one who was on duty earlier?”
“Eula? I’m not sure.”
“Well, hope she is. She seemed to like you.”
“She’s always been friendly to me.”
“Then chances are you can talk our way back into the place.”
On the way back to the studio, Declan couldn’t erase the photograph in his mind. He tried—really—but his libido was stronger than his will, at least in this case. He kept seeing Grace in undergarments that begged to be removed.
So when he opened the door of the taxi he’d hailed for her and she sort of ducked so as not to touch him as she slid inside, he was a bit relieved. But when he noticed that Grace was practically huddling against the opposite door leaving two feet of space between them, Declan tried not to take offense.
“So what’s this event we’re going to later?” he asked, thinking talking would relax her.
“It’s a bipartisan fund-raiser for the local schools. Mama was on the committee that put it together.”
“It doesn’t sound like your kind of scene.”
“It isn’t. But I support my family. And the kids. The schools still don’t have everything they need. If I can do something to make it happen, you bet I will.”
The fervor in her voice got to Declan. So Grace was more than a pretty face.
The taxi stopped at the studio. While Declan paid, Grace let herself out. She went inside and raced up the steps to the second floor. Sure enough, Eula was still at the security desk.
“Miss Grace, what you doin’ back here?” she asked. “Don’t tell me Ms. Babin is makin’ you work tonight.”
“Oh, no. I’m not working. I’m going to a party tonight. That’s the problem—I can’t find my invitation. I must have left it in the dressing room.”
“You need an invitation to get in?”
“It’s sort of an invitation-receipt for the school fund-raiser. My mother is on the committee and wouldn’t be happy if I didn’t show up.”
“Your mama’s a smart lady,” Eula said to her while eyeing Declan with suspicion. “I hear she’s gonna be a judge.”
“She’s hoping. At any rate, I was showing the invitation to my cousin and I guess I never put it back in my bag. Can you let me in, Eula?”
“Sure, no problem.” The security guard stepped out from behind her desk. “Follow me.” But when Declan started off, as well, Eula gave him another piercing look. “Where do you think you’re goin'?”
Seeing that Eula’s bristles were up, Declan winked at her. “I can’t let this woman out of my sight. I’m sure you know how that is.”
But Eula didn’t relax until Declan slipped an arm around Grace’s waist. Then it was Grace who became instantly uptight. He felt the tension the moment he touched her. Still, she forced a convincing smile.
“Declan’s helping me will make the search go faster, Eula,” she choked out.
“Okay, okay,” Eula muttered, leading the way to the Gotcha! entrance.
Declan took a quick look at Grace, who wiggled out from the protection of his arm. Tension was evident in her beautiful features.
Just from his touching her?
Stopping in front of the photography studio door, Eula sorted through keys on a heavy ring until she found the right one. Seconds later, the door stood open.
“Okay, there you go now.”
Grace gave the other woman a warm smile. “Thank you,
