Obsession. Tori Carrington

the sound again. Josie pressed her hand against the wood of the screen door, the hinges giving a low squeak as she peeked out toward where the hotel cans were lined up against the back wall.

      Jezebel would have shown herself by now if it had been her.

      “Shoo!” she said loudly, kicking the bottom of the can closest to her.

      Nothing. No scurrying of a rodent or a hungry feline.

      She stepped completely outside, the door slapping shut behind her. Picking up a stick, she poked at the next garbage can, then made her way down to the one after that. She’d reached the fourth one when a shadow leaped out behind the last can, running in the opposite direction.

      Josie put a hand to her chest, as if to contain her rapidly beating heart. Jesus.

      Philippe appeared from the direction the man had run.

      “Damn homeless,” he muttered. He handed her the bag of food from André’s, then looked at her closer. “Are you all right?”

      Josie swallowed hard, then managed a nod. “Um, yes. He just startled me is all. I thought he was a cat.”

      “An awfully big cat. More like a rat.” He righted the empty can the man had overturned in his hurry to make haste. “You’d think he’d have figured out that we don’t have anything to pick from here.”

      Josie led the way back inside the kitchen, vaguely wondering if she’d ever again have anything left to pick from.

      Philippe washed his hands at the sink while she rearranged the food on a hotel plate.

      “Do you want me to take it out to him?” he asked with a suggestive grin.

      Josie shook her head. “No. I’ll take care of him.”

      As she placed a sprig of parsley next to the trout, she ignored the many ways she’d been fantasizing taking care of Drew Morrison.

       3

      LATELY, NIGHT WAS the worst time for Josie. It was when she most profoundly recognized the reality that there was nothing she could do to help what was going on with the hotel. When long, quiet hours stretched out before her devoid of hope.

      It was when the ghosts came out to play.

      The muted night amplified the panting sound of the ceiling fan turning lazily above her. She looked up from the papers spread before her on the front desk to gaze out onto Bourbon Street. The stream of tourists’ faces was occasionally interrupted by familiar faces from the neighborhood, some laughing, others drawn in thoughtful conversation. Some faces that were a lot more familiar up until recently, because they’d frequented the Josephine with their paying guests towed behind them.

      She heard the creak of the stairs.

      To conserve energy, she’d turned the dimmer on the lights down to low, the small banker’s lamp on the desk illuminating the papers before her.

      There was only one guest, so she didn’t have to look up to know that Drew Morrison was coming downstairs, probably to add his face to the others flowing past her door.

      Josie concentrated harder on her work.

      “Evening,” Drew said quietly, his voice closer than she was prepared for as she made a note in the margin of one of the ledgers.

      She looked up. “Evening.”

      In the low light he looked like any one of a hundred attractive men capable of attracting any one of a hundred attractive women. Women who filled the bars and restaurants and Bourbon Street itself.

      Why, then, was she wishing she were one of those potential females?

      She absently rubbed the back of her damp neck, suddenly all too aware of how alone she was at the hotel. A fact that normally didn’t bother her. After all, she had been alone in the Josephine since Granme had passed away.

      She swallowed hard and forced her gaze away from Drew and back to the ledger. Tomorrow she’d ask Philippe if he’d mind staying over for a night or two until she shook the uneasiness she’d been feeling lately.

      Footsteps. She glanced up to find Drew walking toward the open doors. Probably to go on the hunt for one of those hundred attractive women. Instead, she watched him stop in the doorway and lean against the jamb, his legs crossed at the ankles as he slid his right hand into his pants pocket. His back was to her, so she felt safe in watching him without his being any the wiser. He seemed to be considering the foot traffic on the street much as she had earlier. A part of, yet separate from, the crowd.

      “It’s quiet.” He cleared his throat and added, “At least it’s quieter than I would have expected.”

      Josie lifted her brows. “Yes.” She fiddled with the curls pressing against her forehead then slowly closed the book in front of her, placing it under the desk. “Would you like some recommendations on where to go?”

      He grinned at her over his shoulder. “No. I think I can find my way around.”

      She had little doubt that he could. A man of his caliber could probably find his way around anywhere. And have a warm and willing companion in his bed for as long as he chose.

      “That is if I was interested in going out.”

      Josie would have been surprised to find herself walking toward the door had she taken half a moment to think about it. But the truth was, she was tired of thinking for the night. Tired of thinking about the hotel and her problems. Her mind clamored for a few minutes of peace. Of quiet conversation.

      Drew moved slightly as she leaned against the opposite doorjamb and crossed her arms in front of herself. A couple strolled by, arm in arm. Newlyweds, maybe. Or perhaps in the beginning stages of love when there existed no flaws, only the need for the other’s company.

      The reflection made her overly aware of the man next to her. Of how tall he was. Of the subtle scent of starch and fresh cologne.

      “First time in New Orleans?” she asked quietly.

      She felt his gaze on her. “Yes.”

      She nodded, going silent again as a group of young men who stumbled by apparently weren’t holding their first beer. They hooted at a group of women half a block up, too young to realize the loud attention would get them nowhere. Too old to be indulging in such juvenile behavior.

      “You?”

      Josie looked at Drew. She wasn’t prepared for the intensity in his eyes.

      “Are you from here or a transplant?”

      She felt the man next to her so completely she nearly couldn’t draw a breath. “Fifth generation New Orleanian.”

      “Where was your family from before then?”

      Josie had never been asked that question before. She supposed because her answer was usually all that the other person needed.

      “Carrefour, Haiti.”

      “Ever been?”

      She shook her head, keeping to herself that she’d never really traveled outside the city and its surrounding bayous.

      She considered him for a long moment, trying to ignore the slow thud of her heart at being this close to him. “Anyone ever tell you that you ask a lot of questions?”

      His grin was slow and wide. “All the time.”

      “Part of your job?”

      There was an almost indistinguishable stiffening of his limbs although he hadn’t moved. “You could say that.”

      It seemed that the man liked to ask questions, but he didn’t like answering them.

      Josie cleared her throat and turned her attention back to the street. Most men she crossed paths with were the same. It was almost as if they wanted to adopt a different