Behind the Mask. Joanna Wayne

       He hadn’t wanted to kill. He’d loved Roxy. But she’d double-crossed him, left him no choice. Still, there wouldn’t have been any problems if he’d only noticed that she had pushed back the heavy drapes and opened the window, leaving nothing but the sheer curtains to hide them from view.

       Damn. The pounding in his head was growing stronger. He picked up the glass and gulped down the rest of the whiskey before letting out a string of curses. He was feeling the liquor now. It wouldn’t be long until he got some blessed relief.

      Chapter Four

      Graham paced the floor of the narrow office. This was just what he needed, the return of Lindsey Latham, so damn close there was no escaping her. She had been planted in that same chair for over an hour, futilely poring over photographs of every hood who plagued the streets of New Orleans.

      He shoved his fists deeper into his pockets. She was cool and collected, sitting there in designer jeans that fit in all the right places and a crisp tailored blouse that opened at the neck, revealing tempting glimpses of soft flesh.

      Damn, he should have known enough to run like hell when he first saw her name on the police files. She had been out of his league ten years ago, and becoming a cop sure hadn’t improved his social standing.

      “Your plane leaves in little more than an hour, Lindsey. You need to get out of here if you’re going to be on it.”

      She looked up, but made no move to go. “Just a few more minutes.” She bent back over the mug book, her brows wrinkled into serious furrows.

      Graham dropped to his chair and lifted his loafer-clad feet to the top of his cluttered desk. He’d warned her that the chances were next to nil that she’d find a suspect this way. For the most part she was skimming through shots of common street hoods. The guy she was looking for was probably a different breed altogether.

      He’d already checked out the LeBlancs. High society, filthy rich. The kind of people Lindsey had grown up with. The kind that had always made it clear Graham Dufour was a few rungs below them, not fit to date their daughters.

      He picked up an almost empty mug of coffee from his desk and downed the last drops, trying to swallow with it the bitter memories that gnawed at his gut.

      He’d spent years trying to forget Lindsey Latham, determined to block every thought of her from his mind. Most of the time he’d been successful. But not always. In weak moments, the traitorous memories had crept back in.

      How many nights had he lain awake, wondering what it would be like to see her again? Wondering if the relentless heartache would still wring the life from him, the way it had in the first painful weeks and months after she packed up and headed off for a new life that didn’t include him.

      Well, now he knew. It wasn’t a damn bit easier today than it had been then. If anything, it was worse. And even now he didn’t have the good sense to stay away from her.

      He walked over and stood behind her. She still smelled of honeysuckle and summer mornings. So many things about her were the same. The soft, wispy hair that fell in dark cascades about her slender shoulders. The same dancing eyes beneath lush lashes.

      But there were changes, too. Some were almost imperceptible, like the deepening of her voice, which was sexier, more self-assured than ever. Some differences were strikingly visible, like the full breasts, the sensuous curves of a woman’s hips.

      At eighteen, she’d been cute and vivacious, a girl with lots of promise. At twenty-eight, the promises had all been fulfilled. He stepped away from her. The promises were for somebody else. And somebody else was welcome to them, he reminded himself.

      Finally Lindsey reached the last page and closed the book. “I hate to leave like this, with nothing settled, not even a suspect for you to look for.”

      “You told us everything you could.”

      “I know, but it doesn’t make sense. I can see the girl as clear as day, every detail, down to the way her blond hair was swept up on top of her head, loose curls tumbling down around her cheeks.”

      “It happens that way sometimes. The trauma of seeing a murder leaves you too shaken to focus on the perp.”

      “But that’s not it. I do remember him. I watched him take her in his arms and kiss her. I remember the way his uniform fit his broad shoulders. I remember thinking how dashing and handsome he looked.” Her shoulders fell dejectedly. “But his face...it’s as if it didn’t exist. There were so many faces that night.”

      “Maybe his back was to you.”

      “No. I saw his profile. They were framed in the window. Two beautiful lovers.” She stood up and walked over to the coatrack. “I don’t understand why I can’t picture the facial features. I’ve always been so good with details. I make my living making observations.”

      Funny, he knew Lindsey was a researcher, but somehow he’d never actually pictured her going to a real job. One thing was for sure. It wasn’t working so you could eat and put a roof over your head, like it was for him and his colleagues. Her father could buy and sell most people with his pocket change.

      No one knew that better than Graham. Good old Frederick Latham had even tried to buy him. He hadn’t been for sale. Of course, as it turned out, he might as well have been. He walked across the room and waited for Lindsey by the office door.

      “Police work is a little different, Lins. So why don’t you leave this one to us? We’ll find the killer. It may take a while, but sooner or later, he’ll slip up. When he does, we’ll nab him.”

      “I hope so. But I can’t get it out of my mind. She was so pretty, so alive—”

      Her voice broke on the painful words, and Graham clenched his hands into fists. What was it with him? One minute he wanted to wring Lindsey’s pretty neck for bringing old memories home to roost. The next, he was struggling with his hands just to keep them from pulling her into his arms.

      Keep cool, he reminded himself. Keep everything in perspective. She is here strictly to identify a murderer. The woman has no more need of you now than she did ten years ago.

      She reached for her coat, and he moved closer, helping her with it as he would any other woman who happened to be in his office. Strands of satiny hair brushed across his skin, and his hand tightened on her shoulder.

      Lindsey didn’t pull away, and he couldn’t. Instead, he eased her around to face him. Her eyes stared into his, dark and moist, and her full lips curved into a half smile.

      “Thanks, Graham, for believing me when no one else did.”

      “No problem.” She was doing it again, making him purr, when it would be much safer to stick to his usual growl. He slid his hands down her arms and took both her hands in his. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you to the airport?”

      “No, I still have Grace Ann’s car. She said to leave it in the parking garage. She’ll send someone for it.” Lindsey turned and studied the wall clock. “If I’m going to make my flight, I’ll have to leave now.”

      “I know.” Reluctantly he let go of her hands and walked to the door. “Remember what I said, Lins. Don’t talk about what you saw. And if anything unusual happens, anything at all, I want you to call me at once.”

      “I remember, Detective.” She gave a tiny salute. “Now you get busy and find the killer.”

      “I’ll do that.”

      I could do it a lot more easily if I just knew where to begin, he thought as he forced himself to turn away from the door. He had to turn away. Letting Lindsey walk out of his life again was more painful than a strong right to the gut. Watching her do it would be much worse.

      * * *

      LINDSEY SKIPPED hurriedly down the steps of the crumbling