Out of Body

Unfortunately I’m not having an affair with Marley. The car was heating up against Gray’s back. He stayed put. “I’m a big believer in respecting personal boundaries,” he said.

“I agree, unless safety is involved.”

“You’re suggesting I could be a threat to Marley?” Gray said. “Get that right out of your mind. I’m a pussycat.”

Sykes grinned. “That would be a really big cat, Gray. But I’ll trust you till you give me a reason not to.”

“You’ve got four sisters,” Gray said. The other man would assume Marley had shared family details, which she hadn’t. “How does that feel?”

“Crowded sometimes,” Sykes told him. “Very female and emotional. I like it. I like them.”

Sykes didn’t look like Marley. There wasn’t a hint of red in the man’s hair that Gray could see. But the manner reminded him of Marley. Self-assured and with a quick mouth, but someone you wanted to know better.

“Marley always knows she can call on me,” Sykes said. “We make sure we look out for one another—all of us.”

“Nice,” Gray said.

“I thought you’d like to know that.” Sykes smiled broadly. “If you see her before I do, give her my love.”

Gray nodded.

“Hey, Fisher!” Nat strode from the Caged Bird. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

With his hands in his pockets, Gray dodged a kid on a skateboard and walked to meet Nat.

“You are one meddlin’ son of a gun,” Nat said. “You knew Pipes wasn’t in there anymore. Why didn’t you say so up front?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Does obstruction ring a bell with you?” Nat said.

“It might if it was relevant. You’ve been on my case since I walked into your office yesterday. I’m one of the good guys, Nat.”

Nat passed a hand over his face. “This one is getting to me,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve got people on my case in every direction. They think things are moving fast so I should sew it all up fast. I hate dealing with politicians.”

Gray didn’t have to ask who Nat was talking about. In New Orleans there were plenty of folks looking out for their elected positions and with women dropping out of sight, or showing up as alligator bait, public pressure would be running high.

“Bucky’s bringing Bernie out,” Nat said. “He’s got a big mouth, but he doesn’t say anythin’ unless it’s to his benefit.”

“That pretty much sums up Bernie,” Gray said. He was aware of Sykes behind him, but didn’t want to introduce him to Nat.

Bucky Fist arrived with a sullen-looking Bernie in tow.

“You can’t just haul me in like this,” Bernie said. “I haven’t done anything.”

“We’re gonna make sure of a few things,” Bucky said.

“Like what?”

“If your dancing permit’s in order,” Bucky said, grinning.

Bernie shook his head heavily from side to side. “You are shitting me.”

“Would we do that?” Nat asked.

“There ain’t no dancing at the Bird,” Bernie said. “Except for invitational and I don’t need no permit for that. I don’t need no more permits at all. I got permits comin’ out my ears.”

“Invitational dancing?” Nat asked.

“The cages are open,” Bernie said with a shrug. “Anyone feels like climbing in there and strutting their stuff, they can consider themselves invited.”

“Get in.” Nat opened the back door of the cruiser and let Bucky deal with settling their guest.

“Dancing permit?” Gray said.

“Bernie thinks he’s got a right to know everything and share nothing,” Nat said. He narrowed his eyes at Gray. “Maybe he isn’t the only one.”

Nat hopped into the car beside Bucky and they drove off.

“Sorry about that,” Gray said, turning toward Sykes Millet.

There was no sign of him.

Gray looked up and down the sidewalk. A man like Sykes shouldn’t be hard to spot—if he was around. Gray hadn’t seen him move from the spot where he’d left him.

“He didn’t just disappear,” Gray muttered.

Chapter 17

By the time he saw the last of Nat and Bucky’s vehicle, Gray was pumping his legs along North Peters Street and breaking a sweat.

The sweat had as much to do with praying that he could catch up with Marley before she got into trouble as with running hard on a muggy day.

He must be losing his touch. When she had announced she had “places to go and people to see”—more or less—she might as well have admitted she was going after Sidney and Pipes—only he hadn’t immediately put the two things together. Allowing himself to be sidetracked by Nat hadn’t helped.

And how did he know if he’d really met Marley’s brother? She hadn’t mentioned him other than in passing and never said what his name was. Sykes Millet sounded like a made-up name to Gray. The man had been built like a strong, lean athlete and a little woman like Marley would be no match for him if he decided to grab her.

Hell, where was his head? Even Bernie Bois had talked about all of the Millets being redheads. Gray had met one of Marley’s sisters already and the woman’s hair had been an amazing coppery-red.

The man who called himself her brother had dark hair. He had also been in a hurry to take off the moment Gray’s back was turned—a cop was in sight. A lot of people could tell a cop when they saw one.

Marley could be irritating with her overgrown attitude, but she wouldn’t be the first small woman to pretend she could look after herself no matter the circumstances. If so-called Sykes had a mean streak and was on his way to use it on Marley, she would be no match for him.

Pedestrians crammed each sidewalk and the narrow streets were clotted with cars, trucks, bikes and motorbikes; anything wheeled that would move. People yelled, and laughed—and jaywalked. And the street bands played, confident of their right to gum up progress as long as they kept toes tapping.

Damn. Depending on how fast she could move, he might have no chance of catching up with her. He didn’t want her following Danny and the two women into Scully’s. Until he was sure Danny wasn’t involved in whatever had happened to Liza and Amber, he didn’t trust him.

He hardly knew this woman, but he cared about her. That almost stopped him in his tracks. Keep moving and quit thinking. He did care about her. There was something different about her, and not just her psychic talents—which he was less and less inclined to doubt. Marley didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about herself—that was different. She cared about other people and it showed.

Gray cut through an alley. Marley had deliberately tried to throw him off by making it look as if she had headed into the Warehouse District rather than toward Scully’s. He was betting she didn’t go far off the track before doubling back and making directly for the other club.

The traffic was slow. He ended his sprint at Canal Street.

A fresh spurt of honking turned him around. At the entrance to Chartres Street, someone in a bumblebee suit pushed a double-decker cart loaded with hats of every shape, color and size into the intersection.

At any other time, Gray would laugh. Not now. He was too strung out. He didn’t have any options left but to head straight for Scully’s.

He stopped a block short and mingled with the strolling tourists. Ahead, the neon club sign flashed, its colors anemic in the daylight. A cab stood at the curb outside the Hotel Camille, alive now that guests came and went through the revolving front doors.