to the cat was becoming a habit and one that concerned her. Not only was she seeing men who’d disappeared, she was talking to a cat as if he could understand every syllable.
“How about a stroll through the French Market? I’m starving. Maybe we can find some suitable food.”
“Meow!”
“Now that’s enthusiasm. Eleanor didn’t think to leave cat food for you.”
“Grr-rrr-rr-rr.”
“Oh, so cat food is out of the question.”
“Meow.”
She was losing her mind. The cat was talking back to her—and she understood him perfectly. “I’ll take a shower and get dressed. You consider the menu.”
She rushed through her toilet and dressed. When she came back into the room wearing pale yellow capris, sandals and a cotton pullover, she found the cat on the sofa with the telephone book open. His paw was on an ad for soft-shell crabs.
“This is what you want?” She knew it was. “Okay, my fine feline detective. Soft-shells it will be. And I’ll pick up some fresh fruit and vegetables for me. If we’re going to solve this problem, we’ll both need our strength.”
Familiar scampered into the elevator with her and in a moment they were on the sidewalk. She noticed that Pascal had even hung the Closed sign on the door. He’d allowed her to violate one of his cardinal business rules—closing the gallery on a weekday was usually unthinkable, especially after an opening. At the memory of the party and her behavior, a flush touched her cheeks. She had acted as if she’d lost her mind. No matter what she’d seen, no one else had seen it. And people were always looking for a reason to think she was on the verge of a breakdown. She’d given them a fine display. At the corner she bought a newspaper and then headed toward the Café du Monde for a hot beignet and some café au lait. For Familiar she ordered a saucer of fresh cream, which she surreptitiously served under the table to the amusement of several patrons of the open-air café.
The breeze blew off the Mississippi River, which was only fifty yards away, and Liza sipped her coffee and read Anita Blevins’s review of her opening. The story was wonderful, and the reporter had failed to even mention Liza’s strange behavior. She had Pascal to thank for that, Liza knew. He was incredible at manipulating the media and controlling an artist’s image. It was something they’d had several difficult arguments about, but she couldn’t deny he was masterful at it.
She kept only the arts section of the newspaper, leaving the rest for whoever might take her table. Then she signaled to Familiar that she was ready to walk. They headed east, passing the expensive shops of Jackson Brewery with their window displays and the smells of homemade confections and spicy foods.
The French Market was the best place in New Orleans for fresh vegetables, sunglasses, silver jewelry, T-shirts and a host of other objects.
She stopped at a vegetable vendor and selected an eggplant, onions, fresh tomatoes and fresh basil, always aware that Familiar was right at her feet. He was an incredible creature, making himself at home without getting in anyone’s way.
She passed an elderly woman with a display of voodoo dolls, giving the small stick-and-moss figures only a cursory glance.
“Buy one for protection,” the old woman said.
“What?” Liza felt her stomach twist at the words. They’d come so unexpectedly and tapped into her deepest fears. She looked into the old woman’s eyes—cloudy from cataracts.
“You’re in need of protection,” the old woman said softly. “The specter of the past follows you.” She selected a doll dressed in red gingham. “Take this one. Keep it close to you.”
“I don’t need protection.” Liza spoke the words without conviction. Something about the old woman unsettled her.
“Suit yourself.” She replaced the doll. “I see darkness around you. Shadows that spring to life. I can make you a gris-gris to keep the bad spirits at bay.”
“No. No thank you.” Liza started to back away. She felt the cat at her ankles and she suddenly heard him hiss.
Liza looked back toward the vegetable vendors she’d just left. Duke Masonne was standing there, his dark gaze following every move she made.
Chapter Three
“Liza.” Mike spoke her name, but it was too soft for her to hear. He was frozen by her terrified expression. He’d followed her to the French Quarter, hoping that in the open, among the crowds, he could approach her. There was so much to talk about, so much to tell. He’d discovered his identity! And so much more. He’d learned that five years before, Liza Hawkins had been the most important thing in his life.
His first impulse had been to find her, to confide in her. To see if she held the key that would fully unlock his past. But his actions had set up a chain reaction in Liza. He had to get her to listen to him long enough to figure out why he terrified her so. He’d put her old, worn business card in the inside pocket of his shirt. If he could show it to her, make her understand that it was his only link to the past, maybe she would talk to him.
He reached inside his jacket and knew instantly that the motion had been misinterpreted. Liza’s eyes widened, her gaze riveted on the movement of his hand. To his horror, she turned and fled. Bumping into tourists, stumbling over vendors and their wares, she left a trail of destruction behind her as she darted through the French Market and toward the open area of the levee. Scampering after her was a strange black cat.
“Liza!” He found his voice and called after her, but it only seemed to spur her to run faster. She’d assumed he was reaching for a weapon! He knew it, and he realized how foolish his action had been. He didn’t have a choice. If he was going to talk with her, he’d have to run her down. He started after her at a wide-open sprint.
Her long hair fluttered behind her in a banner of flaxen gold, and Mike felt his heart contract. He could almost remember the feel of that hair in his hands, brushing across his face, teasing his skin as he slept beside this woman who was terrified of him. What had he done to her?
In the newspaper articles he dug up at the library, he’d found out more details about his disappearance. Five years before, he’d vanished from New Orleans, his business, and Liza’s life. For several months the police had continued to search for him, but he’d vanished without a trace.
The articles were filled with speculation about his “possible murder.” And the docks were thoroughly searched for his body. Which was never found.
The pieces of the past had begun to slip into place. Mike wasn’t sure what had happened to him—all he really knew was that he’d been severely beaten. His nearly dead body had been found in a boxcar at a train depot in North Dakota, and he’d been taken to the hospital as a John Doe. There, Gabe and Rachel Welch had seen him and given him the name Mike Davis.
For a man who had no memory of working cattle, he took to it like a natural. His hands toughened, and the rest of his body became strong and lean, thriving on hard work. And for five long years he’d spent many an endless night wondering who and what he’d been before he woke up in North Dakota.
He slowed his sprint once he was close enough to Liza to keep her in his sights. He’d decided
