A Secret Life

He trailed his fingers through her silky down, finding his way to her center. His fingers teased her, making her arch toward him.

She groaned his name, fueling his fire, while her fingers fumbled with the waistband of his boxers. Then her hot mouth came down on his flat nipple, and his arousal jacked up to critical.

“Joan,” he moaned, grabbing at his boxers.

There was a sharp clatter in the hall.

Anthony swore. He barely had time to flip one end of the quilt over Joan’s naked body, when the door burst open, whacking against the far wall.

“Anthony?” Heather cried.

Anthony turned and stared at her, expecting a quick apology, followed by an even quicker retreat.

But Heather just stood there. “Anthony,” she repeated, dragging air in and out of her lungs.

Joan sat up, clutching the quilt to her chest. “What’s wrong?”

Heather gripped the doorjamb, her knuckles going white under the pressure. “Samuel’s been shot.”

THE FIRST PERSON Anthony saw in the hallway of the Indigo clinic was Alain Boudreaux.

He headed straight for the police chief, looking for information. “Is he going to be okay?”

Alain nodded. “Doc says he’ll be fine.”

Anthony raked a hand through his hair and breathed a sigh of relief. Joan gave Heather a tight hug.

“Do we know what happened?” asked Anthony.

“Burglary,” said Alain. “Somebody ransacked the house, and Samuel walked in on it.”

“Does this happen often?” asked Anthony. Somebody had broken into Samuel’s two days ago. He claimed they took nothing. So was this someone new, or were they back?

“We don’t know what’s going on,” said Alain. “But we’re starting an investigation.”

“Good.”

Joan moved forward, pale as a ghost. “Is it connected to me?”

“We don’t know that, ma’am,” said Alain.

“But it probably is. Why else-”

Anthony took her hand. “They don’t know anything yet.”

She closed her mouth and nodded.

Anthony turned back to Alain. “Do we know anything about the shooter?”

“Samuel could only say it was a male Caucasian with graying hair. And Heather didn’t get a look at him.”

Heather shook her head to confirm Alain’s statement. She looked small in the clinic foyer, still dressed in her shorts and a thin tank top. “I was in the truck. All I saw was a flash, and then Anthony fell. The ambulance came, but I lost the phone…” Her voice broke on the last words, and Joan rubbed her shoulder.

Heather sniffed back a tear, rubbing her arms as she started to shiver. “Can I see Samuel yet?”

“Soon, I think,” said Alain. “He’s in surgery.”

Anthony glanced around and scooped a blanket from a housekeeping rack, draping it over Heather’s shoulders.

“You’re not going to take him to St. Martinville?” Joan asked.

The Indigo facility was just a clinic. The surgical capabilities had to be rudimentary.

“The bullet’s lodged in his shoulder,” Alain answered. “They considered it safer to take it out here than risk the trip.”

“He can’t die,” Heather all but wailed, and Anthony realized how traumatic it must have been for her to witness a shooting.

Looking at Joan’s stricken face, Anthony pulled both women against his chest, cradling each in one of his arms. He took in Alain’s grim expression and wondered just how far this insanity was going to go.

A doctor appeared through a swinging door at the end of the hall, wearing a blue gown, a paper cap and shoe covers.

Heather tore herself from Anthony’s arms and rushed forward. “Is he okay?”

The doctor nodded his head. “He’s fine. As gunshots go, it was a minor wound. He’ll be groggy for a while, but you can go see him.”

Heather nodded, her shoulders sagging in relief as she headed for the swinging doors.

Anthony’s arm tightened on Joan. “This is getting out of hand.”

She nodded as Alain and the doctor bowed their heads in conversation.

Anthony pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in Luc’s number. He kept his arm around Joan, having no intention of letting her out of his sight. This situation had officially stopped making sense two hours ago. Fan or random burglar, Anthony wasn’t taking a chance that the shooter might come after Joan.

Luc picked up.

“Samuel’s going to be fine,” said Anthony without preamble.

“This is bloody strange,” said Luc.

“You got that right,” said Anthony. “I’m going to bring the girls home. You got any weapons in the house?”

“There’s a rifle and an old twelve-gauge.”

“That’ll do.”

“You need some help with this?”

“Appreciate it.”

“You got it.”

“Thanks.” Anthony snapped the phone shut.

“You’re joking,” said Joan, blinking up at him.

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

She swallowed. “So you do think this is my fault?”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But you do think it’s connected to my book.”

“I don’t know anything yet.”

Joan pulled back, squaring her shoulders. “Samuel got shot because of something I wrote.”

“We don’t know that.”

She trembled slightly. “It’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Her voice went shrill. “Then whose fault is it?”

Anthony stared hard into her eyes. “The guy with the gun.”

Heather reappeared through the swinging doors.

Joan went to her sister, and Alain approached Anthony, handing him a business card.

“My cell number’s on the back. If Heather remembers any more details, call me right away.”

Anthony pocketed the card. “Heather’s leaving for Paris in the morning.”

“No, she’s not,” said Heather, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

“Be better if she stayed,” said Alain.

“Be safer if she left,” said Anthony.

“I don’t think she’s in any danger. My men are at Samuel’s house, and I don’t think the guy came looking to shoot him. It was a case of wrong place, wrong time.”

“It is his house.”

“That’s true. And Clem says it’s been trashed pretty thoroughly. I’m betting whatever they came for, they found.”

“Well, I’m getting the women out of town anyway,” said Anthony.

“I’m not leaving town,” said Joan.

“You’re going to Paris.”

She shook her head. “Not until we figure out who shot Samuel.”

“How is your staying going to help?” A small part of Anthony couldn’t believe he was arguing for Paris. But a bigger part of him was frightened for Joan.

“It’s my book. Maybe there’s something-”