long had she been in uniform? She’d have started out as a beat cop. But if she was already doing undercover work, then someone had noticed her potential and put her on the department fast track.
Which was too damn bad. She’d burn out as fast as he had if they kept pushing her into the “choice” assignments. And one thing he knew from the way she clasped her hands together in front of her; she was nervous. Which proved she was too green to be playing the tricky undercover part of a prostitute.
He studied her for half a minute. Lord, that red hair looked like it could set the place on fire. Or burn a man’s fingers. And the skimpy outfit displayed the nicely curved figure he remembered very well.
Under the makeup that she’d applied with a trowel, he could see that her features were still striking.
He kept his gaze on her, willing her to look in his direction. He knew the exact moment when she spotted him standing rigidly behind the bar. Her jaw didn’t exactly drop open. But she froze, standing near the doorway for a couple of electric seconds, then tilted her chin up and looked deliberately away.
It was all he could do to keep from charging around the bar and demanding to know if she’d lost her mind.
But he stayed where he was, his eyes narrowing as he watched her survey the room, then head for a table where two guys were sitting. Both were wearing short-sleeved, button-down shirts. Both looked like they’d had about three drinks too many. The French Quarter had that effect on civilians, Alex mused. There were too many bars, too many strip joints, too many places to score a cheap drink or your drug of choice. Hell, you could even buy liquor in a plastic cup from bars right on the street and walk around with the booze in your fist.
With a saucy smile Gillian started up a conversation with the woozy duo. It didn’t take long before she’d struck up a deal with one of them. As Alex watched in horror, she strolled out of the bar with the guy.
He cursed under his breath. He’d already taken one unauthorized break that evening. He should stay at his post until closing time. But he was damned if he was just going to stand here worrying about Gillian.
Daring Jack to stop him now, he walked to the back again, then hurried around to the street, thinking that he’d like to throttle Gillian Seymour.
Chapter Two
Outside, noise and heat and the smell of the nighttime crowd enveloped Gillian. But it wasn’t the crowd that worried her. The look in Alexander McMullin’s eye had curdled her stomach. And he wasn’t her most pressing problem.
That would be the inebriate with his hand on her arm, a hand that was inching toward her breast.
“Come on, sweetheart, let’s go back to my hotel room and have some fun.” The invitation was issued in a drunken slur.
“I’m sorry I gave you the wrong impression,” Gillian answered, politeness taking over from her former party-girl persona. “But I have to go home to my sick mother.”
The man’s hammy hand tightened on her arm and he leaned forward, his bourbon breath almost choking her. “You said you’d put out.”
In her peripheral vision, she could see several spectators taking in the little drama. But nobody sprang to the aid of a working girl.
When the bad actor dug his fingers painfully into her flesh, she came down on the toe of his shoe with one of her stiletto high heels and he yelped, letting go of her arm.
“You whore! What the hell do you think you’re doing? We had a deal.”
“I’m an independent contractor and I can choose what jobs to accept. If you can’t behave yourself on the street, what are you going to do in a hotel room?” she asked.
He blinked at her, apparently sobering up quickly. But before he could answer, she dashed away, hoping nobody in the crowd was planning to follow her.
Her first night as a prostitute, and she’d blown it. Well, not exactly, she corrected, cringing at her choice of words.
She sent an invisible dagger in the direction of Lieutenant LeBarron, who was probably home in bed at this very moment.
From the second she’d come under his command, he’d taken an interest in her career, which meant he’d urged her to grab this “choice” assignment.
It wasn’t easy being a female cop in a big-city police department. The guys forced you to prove yourself—over and over. You had to shoot better than they did. Hold your own in hand-to-hand combat and stand up to their locker room comments. This assignment was a chance to show what she could do. And to shut off the supply of a dangerous new drug threatening the health and welfare of her city. Category Five was what they were calling the highly addictive drug that they suspected was being riddled by prostitutes to increase their business.
Truthfully, she’d been nervous about playing her assigned role, which was why she was out here tonight—practicing.
She’d known that a supersecret government agency called the New Orleans Confidential was teaming up with the N.O.P.D. for this operation. She hadn’t known that Alexander McMullin was working for that agency. But there was no other explanation for his presence behind the bar in Bourbon Street Libations. She knew the man pretty well. He was a straight arrow and he certainly wasn’t working as a bartender because he liked mixing drinks.
Once, when she’d been in a squishy, sentimental mood, she’d looked up his name in a baby book. Alexander meant “Great Protector.” It fit. Except where she was concerned. He’d sworn to protect humanity. With a capital H. The big picture. He just wasn’t too good when it came to relationships with women.
As she headed for the darkened side street where she’d parked her car, she found there was no way to avoid thinking about him.
“Damn you!” she muttered, then pressed her hand against her mouth. Mom hated cursing, and she rarely indulged in bad words, even mild ones.
But apparently Alexander McMullin brought out the worst in her.
As he’d stood with the solid barrier of the bar between them, she’d felt those blue eyes of his pierce all the way to her soul. And she hadn’t liked the sensation. Because it made her feel as though she was back where she’d been two years ago.
For long stretches of time, she’d been able to forget about him. Then he’d come leaping back into her mind. Something as simple as a whiff of spaghetti sauce could do it. He hadn’t been much of a cook, but that had been his specialty.
He’d said one of his stepmothers had taught him to make it. When she’d asked how he’d had more than one—he’d clammed up. Which wasn’t unusual, because he never talked much about his family. Except another time when he’d said he’d arrested one of his half brothers. For car-jacking. From what she gathered, he hadn’t gotten his values from his parents or siblings. And, as far as she knew, he tended to avoid them. And long-term commitments, as well.
She grimaced. Two years ago he’d broken her heart. And she damn well should have known better.
They’d had a relationship that had been as fast and furious as it had been passionate. And then he’d told her it wasn’t working for him.
Before they’d dated, she’d heard a lot about
