“But he never came home!”

  Ophelia looked up from the whip, that tight smile back, her voice tense and clear. “What do you bet he found someone new?”

  “Ophelia!” Violet said. “Don’t be catty!”

  A muscle quivered at the corner of Ophelia’s mouth. “Her current escort doesn’t look too thrilled.”

  “Hard to believe the poor bastard could find anyone to equal you, baby,” Tony said unexpectedly. “It’s been entertaining, but I’ve gotta go.” He slid his feet into his loafers and left.

  Violet gathered the clamps and chains from the photography session and stowed them in the silver shopping bag from the Chamber. To Marissa, she said, “Girl, it’s obvious you did a rotten job of holding on to him, but look on the bright side: He’s crazy. He got on everyone’s nerves. He must have been impossible to live with.” She turned away. “Constantine, please walk Artemisia to her car. You’ve made your arrangements with Ophelia, haven’t you, Art?”

  Art dragged her eyes from Dufray. “Um, yeah.” She glared at Gideon, daring him to object.

  Violet smirked. “Don’t worry about your sister, Mr. O’Toole. Constantine can be a perfect gentleman when he chooses.”

  Gideon was doing his damnedest to keep a blank expression, but the struggle must have shown. Or not. Nobody in his right mind would cheerfully watch his sister waltz away with Dufray.

  “Hey!” Marissa howled. “You can’t brush me off. My husband has disappeared, and I don’t know if he’s alive or dead, and—” She gaped. “My God, that’s Constantine Dufray!”

  “I’m sure he’d be happy to give you an autograph,” Violet said.

  “An autograph!” Marissa screeched. “From a murderer?”

  “Tsk.” Violet shook her head, and Constantine grinned.

  Marissa’s face was suffused with rage. “I’ve looked for Johnny all over, and I haven’t been able to find hide nor hair of him, and now I know why. He got on your nerves and you had a nice convenient murderer right here in town. You had Constantine Dufray kill him!”

  An astonished silence fell. The coils of the whip slithered out of Ophelia’s hands. Gideon stared at her, Darby hissed with chagrin, and Violet wound herself up to speak. Constantine started to laugh. Plato against the wall pitched in, a high hysterical sound, and Ophelia gathered the whip and stalked toward him.

  “Shut up!”

  He clamped his hand over his mouth and rolled onto his back like a dog. One leg wagged out of control.

  Still laughing, Constantine laid a hand on Art’s shoulder. She jumped, her eyes flying to his. “Don’t worry, babe.” He pushed her gently toward the door. “You couldn’t have a safer escort. I’ll kill anyone who gets in the way.” He tapped her on the rear and they went out.

  “I’ll go to the cops,” Marissa spat. “He won’t get away with this. None of you will.”

  “Cops?” said Ophelia coolly. “There’s one right here in the room.”

  Oh, no she didn’t. “I’m off duty,” Gideon said. “Go to the station in the morning and file a missing-persons report.”

  “Bullshit. That’s all I hear in this town.” Marissa sneered. “Did your girlfriend like her vibrator? Obviously that matters more than whether my husband’s alive or dead.”

  “When I’m off duty and it’s not my case? Of course it matters more.”

  “They say the cops in Bayou Gavotte are in bed with the clubs, and you’re the proof. You’ll all be sorry!” Her heels clacked across the floor as she stormed away. “Come on, Darby.”

  Gideon’s friend blew out a breath. “Later, man,” he said. “I’m really sorry, Violet.”

  Violet folded her arms and tapped an irritated foot.

  “Come on.” Marissa stomped out the door. Darby threw up his hands and followed.

  Ophelia stood over Plato, fingering her whip, and for a brief appalling moment Gideon envisioned himself in Plato’s position as a love slave. Then he returned to sanity.

  “You’ll have to do without your smile this time, Plato,” Ophelia said, her voice tight but not unkind. “Now get out.” The man whimpered and shambled backward toward the door, eyes still fixed on her every move. Ophelia threw down the whip and scowled at Gideon, as if to order him the same, but her lip trembled treacherously.

  “Gideon, I expect you to see that Ophelia gets home safely,” Violet said. “Turn off the lights when you leave. Plato, move.” She pushed the man out and softly closed the doors behind them.

  Ophelia ran across the room, parted the curtains, and lunged onto the balcony. Gideon didn’t want to talk to her, hurt and angry as she was, but Violet had left him little choice. At the very least, he should…what? Apologize for being such an insensitive brute? If he’d known about Johnny…No, the magnitude of the problem hadn’t sunk in. Factor in the Platos of the world, and no wonder she was running scared. Sure, he’d been a jerk, but this evening’s crap wasn’t his fault. No apologies, then. And he couldn’t promise never to touch her again, either…

  He turned off the spotlights, leaving only the small lamp burning on the table by the door. Slipping between the drapes, he pushed out onto the balcony. It extended the length of the room. A row of window boxes massed with petunias adorned the wrought-iron railing, flanked by a row of potted ficus trees. Some sort of fern dangled overhead. Music from the club dance floor drifted up through the heavy darkness. For a cold second he couldn’t find Ophelia, but then he heard small, distressed sounds from the far right. She slumped between a ficus and the railing, head and half her torso over the edge, retching.

  “Oh, hell,” Gideon whispered, but this he could handle. He went for tissues and a bottle of water. Returning, he hovered while she heaved, spat, and shuddered. Then he laid one hand on hers that clutched the railing and said, “Here, take these.”

  She accepted the tissues and wiped her face, took the water he held out, spat some more, and finally sagged back, shivering all over. Gideon removed his shirt and laid it over her shoulders. Tentatively, he put an arm around her. She didn’t lean into him but didn’t pull away either, just shivered and then shivered less, and finally took a long, deep breath.

  “Better?” Gideon asked.

  Ophelia shrugged under his shirt. “I’m all right, thanks. You can go now.” But she didn’t sound all right, and she made no effort to escape.

  I can’t just back off, honey, he thought. That won’t solve anything. Not for me, not for you, either. He gazed across the roof of Violet’s house and the rooftops beyond, into the deep purple sky of Bayou Gavotte, and prayed for inspiration.

  From three stories below came a mournful howl. “Poor Gretchen,” Gideon said. “She’s wondering why she’s stuck down there with your statue while I’m up here with the real thing.”

  “I suppose Constantine took you to see it,” Ophelia said bitterly. “How dare Vi order you to take me home!”

  “She’s concerned for your safety,” Gideon said. “So am I.”

  Ophelia shifted out of the circle of his arm. “She’s trying to force me into bed with you. It’s not going to work.”

  “Of course not,” Gideon said. “I can woo you without any help from Violet or Constantine.”

  “Oh God,” Ophelia replied, “Please don’t be one of those.” She pushed shakily from the railing, and the shirt slipped off her shoulders.

  He caught it and put out a hand to steady her. “One of what?”

  “A romantic. Wooing me. Everything smelling of roses.”

  “Right now you smell of vomit, honey. No worries.”

  Ophelia gave a small sound, almost like a laugh, and tripped slowly toward the doors. Gretchen bayed miserably below. “Go get that poor dog. You don’t have to take me home. I must have eaten something bad, but I feel fine now.”

  “Gretchen can wait,” Gideon said.

  “Do I have to spell everything out? I don’t want you to take me home.” With obvious effort she added, “You’ve been very kind. Now, please go away.”

  Gideon followed her inside, shutting the balcony doors and pulling the curtains. “Screw kind. We need to talk.”

  “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “No,” Gideon agreed.

  With a dazzlingly abrupt shift of gears, Ophelia perched on the edge of the chaise lounge, unsnapped her garters, and rolled her stockings deliberately down her tanned, shapely legs and off her toes. She picked them up between thumb and forefinger and carried them to a silver trash basket by the screen. “Help yourself, if you’re into souvenirs. I don’t see any barf on them.” She let the stockings fall.

  Gideon felt blood crawl up his face. “No, thanks.”

  Ophelia disappeared behind the screen, which Gideon now saw was decorated with Oriental erotica. No surprise. A few seconds later, her black teddy flew over the top. “If you don’t want the teddy, I suppose I could give it to Plato. He’ll get off on it for weeks.”

  He would not let her get to him. Gideon struggled between something akin to fury and the urge to grab the flimsy black fabric and bury his face in it, risking the smell of vomit for one whiff of Ophelia. When he knew he could control his voice, he said, “What’s your arrangement with Art?”

  He watched her feet at the bottom of the screen: Underwear on. Shorts. A few seconds later, she came out carrying her socks and sneakers, sat on the chaise again. “If I don’t tell you, I suppose you’ll go harass her.”

  “Reluctantly, yes, I will do exactly that. I’d rather not jeopardize my already-shaky relationship with my sister by giving her the third degree, but you leave me no choice.”

  “Oh, so you’re not looking for a relationship with me, then,” Ophelia said. “You’re just harassing me for a quickie. What a relief. Nothing to jeopardize. Of course, you won’t get the quickie, either, but at least your emotions aren’t involved.” She jerked her sock straight and shoved one foot into a shoe. “I hope the lucky girl who gets the vibrator also gets a better deal.”

  “Ophelia,” Gideon said gently, and she threw him a hot glare and looked away again, tugging on the second sock. He said, “I can pussyfoot around with my sister and try not to hurt her feelings. I can’t and won’t do that with you. The vibrator is yours and you know it. Now, please tell me what’s going on.”

  Ophelia tied her second shoe and let out an exaggerated sigh. “First thing in the morning, she’s going to take pictures of some gardens I did, complete with signage, to finish the roll and show the blackmailer where I’m vulnerable. I’m going to stop by her school to pick up the film and drop it off at the print and photo shop.” She stood up. “Will that do?”

  “It’s a mite obvious, but worth a try. How does he contact his victims?”

  “By mail. Art said it was a computer-generated fill-in-the-blanks form letter. She’s supposed to put the money in the kind of envelope you put film in and leave it in the night drop.”

  “He’s not worried about being caught.” Gideon’s eyes strayed toward her teddy. “You’re not really going to give it to Plato, are you?”

  Ophelia scooped the garment up. “Of course not. It belongs to Vi. Now, go.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Half a mile from home, Ophelia realized the car behind her was Gideon’s. He really wouldn’t give up so easily. He wouldn’t give up at all. A surge of longing and despair took such hold that she could no longer control the tears she’d battled the whole drive home. She had the best of reasons to suck this cop into her web, to attach him so firmly that…No. She couldn’t. She liked him far too much. She had to keep pushing him away.

  Flicking away the tears, she turned into her driveway. Psyche bounded before the headlights to hover under the porch. Ophelia turned off her truck and in one quick movement got out, gripping her shotgun tightly so she wouldn’t shake.

  Gideon left the headlights on and the engine running, got out, and held the door open for his dog. “Put the gun away, Ophelia.” He walked calmly toward her. “It’s only me.”

  “I know who it is.” Ophelia’s voice broke, and a tear spilled treacherously down her cheek. “Go away!”

  “Sweetheart—”

  “Don’t call me that! I am not sweet.”

  She watched Gideon control himself and start again. “I will leave in a minute. I brought Gretchen to stay with you. She’s good company, and she’ll warn you if there’s any danger.”

  “There is no danger I can’t handle myself.” How had he come up with such a blessed idea? “Take your dog and go home.” Ophelia bit down hard, piercing her lip, ignoring the blood, fighting tears, wanting the dog like crazy. She felt so alone.

  Anguish in his voice, Gideon said, “Ophelia, don’t cry. Honey, you can’t think I’d harass you after what you’ve been through tonight.”

  “You are harassing me,” she choked out. “I am not honey. I am poison. Get the hell away.” She sniffled hard, clutching her shotgun, and Gretchen trotted up and stuck a cool nose under her other hand. Ophelia’s fingers moved by instinct toward the dog’s curls, but she yanked her hand away, clenching and unclenching her fist, needing and wanting the animal so much it hurt. “Gretchen doesn’t want to stay with me. She’s yours. Take her and go away.”

  “I discussed it with her on the ride over, and she agreed to stay with you.”

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.” Ophelia cocked the shotgun hammer, but it didn’t have the intended effect—Gideon just stood there. She added, “Get off my property and don’t come back.”

  Gideon swore under his breath. “Stupid or not, Gretchen is staying with you.” As if on cue, the dog planted her butt on the drive.

  “Damn it, Gideon!” Ophelia let out a scream of rage and fired, kicking up gravel far too close to Gideon’s feet. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t move a goddamn hair. “Don’t you get it?” she yelled. “I’m trying to protect you from yourself. I am not safe!”

  “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard in my life,” Gideon echoed in bitter mockery. “You could at least come up with an intelligent lie.”

  Ophelia opened her mouth but shut it again. Pissing him off was what she wanted.

  Still, the disgust in his voice tore into her. “Don’t worry. I’m out of here, and I won’t come back unless you need me. Stay, Gretchen. Stay with Ophelia.” Gideon got in his car and backed into the turnaround, flinging his last words through the window. “What makes you think I give a damn about being safe?”

  The dream came as it always did, hard and fast and exploding with fangs and the intoxicating, horrifying smell of human blood. But this time a dog’s shrill whine cut through the dream and Ophelia jolted awake, fangs out, hands curled into claws, as Psyche hissed from a corner and Gretchen whimpered and shoved at her, then skittered away. Ophelia sucked in a deep, sobbing breath and found herself bathed, as always, not in blood, but in sweat and tears.

  She sat up, her head throbbing. The light was on. She had cried herself to sleep on the carpet with Gretchen huddled next to her—a frightening sign, since never in the last few years had she shed more than a tear or two, except in her dreams, or slept anywhere except showered and clean in her bed. She had been in control. And now she wasn’t.

  She began to rebuild control, first with a shower, then with tea and cheese toast shared with the cat and dog. She climbed into bed and buried her feet under Gretchen’s flank. If Gideon kept sticking his nose into her business, she’d keep distracting him, with sex as a last resort. If Gideon were her lover, Leopard and Constantine wouldn’t harm him no matter what. He’d be safe. Except from her.

  Every which way, things looked bad. But while she didn’t have a hope in hell of controlling random events and people, she could at least try to control herself. And who knew? She might, as Violet suggested, get some excellent sex before everything blew up in her face. On that dubiously cheerful thought, she snuggled gratefully next to Gretchen and forced herself back to sleep.

  “You’ll never guess what happened last night,” Artemisia said the following morning. She stood outside the high-school art room, glowing in the sunshine. Softer and sexier. Transformed.

  “What?” Ophelia knew what was coming.

  “Gideon called me.”

  Okay, so she didn’t know. “He wasn’t supposed to harass you!”

  “He apologized to me, Ophelia. He said he’d been a poor excuse for a brother and that we should spend more time together.” She bit her lip. “You must have said something to him.”

  “A little,” Ophelia admitted.

  “It almost killed me not to tell him you’re a vamp. Guess what?” Art said.

  Here it came. “What? Where’s the film? I have to get going.”

  Art fished the film out of the pocket of her smock. “I really like Constantine. How can people believe he’s a murderer?”

  Ophelia said nothing, because there was no acceptable answer that was also the truth.

  Fortunately, Art was perfectly ready to do the talking. “He was so sweet to me last night, even though I blabbed my whole life story to him. He says my ex was a frigid prig and that I’m a lovely, sensual woman. He says if I want Dar, I should go sweep him off his feet.”

  “Dar?”

  “The black guy who was with that horrible woman last night. He’s a friend of Gideon’s. I had a huge crush on him in high school, but I was already going out with Steve then, and in any case Dad would never have let me date a black guy. But now I can do exactly as I please, except that it wouldn’t be right to steal him from another woman. Except that she’s married to someone else, unless he’s dead, but either way, it’s not right to poach. And she’s gorgeous and sexy, and I’m only his friend’s little sister…” She trailed off, flushing. “Guess what?”

  Finally.

  Art leaned closer. “Constantine gave me an orgasm!” She blushed fiercely red. “It’s not like it sounds. I didn’t sleep with him. He just touched me, and boom!”