Jangling the change in his pocket, Tate crossed to the other side of the room, turning all the possibilities over in his head. Somewhere in Texas, Oklahoma, Louisiana—

  Tate’s head snapped up. That was it. Her late grandmother had left her a house in the French Quarter. Belle hadn’t known the woman, but when he’d looked over the will, she’d admitted that she wished she had. It was a free roof in a new town. Somewhere she could start over. According to the documents he’d seen, the house was older and needed both repairs and updating. Belle would probably love to get her hands on the place. She could throw herself into that project. It would take her mind off the fact that her heart had been ripped out by three dumbass men who couldn’t get their act together.

  “She’s in New Orleans. Give me two minutes and I’ll tell you where exactly.” He needed his laptop. He’d scanned in the files she’d given him because he’d served as her lawyer in this matter.

  Kellan moved in behind him and stared over his shoulder as he started hunting down the file. “Why do you think that?”

  “Because her grandmother left her a house,” he explained as he located the document on his hard drive that had been prepared by a Malcolm Gates, esquire. At the time, the man had advised Belle that the will would take a while to go through the probate system.

  “How did I not hear about this?” Eric looked over his other shoulder.

  “She needed someone to look at the will and the transfer documents. By the time she received them, her grandmother had already been buried. I think she was sad that she’d never get to know the woman. Apparently, she only met her grandmother once. I guess her father and his mother had a falling out and they never repaired it. When we talked about the house, Belle didn’t know what to do. She wondered if she should donate the house to the city as a historical site because she didn’t have the money to fix it.”

  “She still doesn’t, does she?”

  “No, but if she gets a new job there or fixes it up herself…” Tate shrugged. “You know how she can be when she’s determined.”

  “Yeah.” Kellan glanced down at the address on Tate’s screen and whistled. “Shit. That’s right in the middle of the Quarter. That’s a multimillion dollar property. Fixing it up would make it worth a few months of Ramen noodles and bologna sandwiches.”

  Tate frowned. He hadn’t known that. “I never saw any documentation about the value. If they sent anything like that to Belle, she didn’t forward it to me. She just said the place needed a lot of work.”

  “She’s going to go there and sink herself into refurbishing that property, isn’t she?” Eric asked.

  The challenge would call out to her. “I’m almost certain of it.”

  “How can we be sure?” Kellan said. “I don’t want to waste time on a wild goose chase.”

  “If we rent a car and drive to New Orleans, it’s roughly eight hours,” Tate pointed out. “Even if we were able to catch the next flight, by the time we factor in check-in and wait times, it might not be much shorter.”

  “She would have to get into contact with the lawyer to make sure it’s out of probate. If it was, someone would need to let her into the house, get her keys, and have her sign some paperwork to transfer the ownership.”

  Eric groaned. “So she called him. Awesome. She bought a burner phone that we can’t trace and she’s going to use it for all her business.”

  “Not necessarily.” Kellan grinned. “Do you remember how we tried to teach Belle to put contacts into her phone and she still wouldn’t do it?”

  She kind of hated technology, Tate recalled. “Yeah. She would have to get the attorney’s number from an e-mail. She might dump her phone, but she won’t change e-mail accounts.”

  Belle wouldn’t even know how. Thank god for that.

  “Still, her e-mail is password protected,” Eric pointed out.

  Tate felt himself flush. Shit. Yeah, this might be the stuff he didn’t want to admit to.

  “You know her passwords, don’t you, you magnificently perverse asshole?” Kellan slapped him on the back.

  He pulled up her e-mails because there was just no comeback except that he was her perverse asshole. He sifted through her messages and found what he needed. He also read that, according to the lawyer, the house Belle was very likely settling into at that moment was notoriously haunted.

  Lucky for him, he didn’t believe in ghosts.

  “Let’s get packed.” He closed the laptop. They were headed to the Big Easy.

  Chapter Eight

  “I think you’re wrong about them, hon.” Kinley’s voice sounded through the speaker of her new phone.

  Buying a new phone and changing her number had been Belle’s idea because she’d suspected her former bosses would call, at least to settle any items related to their business. She couldn’t stomach the thought of talking to them in cold, business-like terms. She’d left her office passwords and the statuses of her most important tasks with the intern—whom she hoped would remember all the information. He said dude a lot and often reeked of herbs that were illegal in most states.

  She dusted off the gorgeous Queen Anne desk she’d found in what seemed to be her grandmother’s office. The heavy cherry-wood antique anchored the room now with its elaborate moldings, scroll work, and mahogany inlays. After vacuuming the dupioni silk drapes, Belle had scrubbed the stained glass windows, and now sunlight poured through. She wasn’t completely sure, but she thought that might be actual Tiffany glass. The huge chandelier in the dining room certainly was. In fact, everything in the house, while old and dusty, was classic, well made, and worth a small fortune. Her grandmother had possessed amazing taste. Who knew palm reading was so lucrative?

  Now soft afternoon light illuminated the whole room, and Belle surveyed all her hard work with pride. Thankfully, that hard work had prevented her from dwelling too much on her former bosses—at least until Kinley’s call.

  “I don’t want to talk about them,” she said to her bestie. “I just want to forget them and move on.”

  “Do you really think it’s that easy?”

  No, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try.

  “Sir is doing really well. I think he likes it here. He’s napping in the window seat.” His little puppy chest rose and fell with each breath. His paws moved as though he was running in his sleep. Puppy dreams. Belle smiled faintly.

  She didn’t want to think about what she would dream of tonight. She knew. The minute she’d closed her eyes, she’d been right back in their arms, feeling their hands stroke her body, their lips claiming hers, their fingers on her nipples and in her aching pussy.

  “Don’t change the subject. They were genuinely worried. And they put me through a serious interrogation.”

  Damn it. Belle hadn’t meant to get Kinley in trouble. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It was fun. I rarely get the chance to be so bratty anymore. Dominic tied me up, and I swear I was begging him, Law, and Riley after about ten minutes of torture. Luckily, Law is a cuddle bear.”

  “You mean he took pity on you?”

  “Yep.” She giggled. “I cried a lot, and he gave me an amazing orgasm.”

  Wow, that was a lot of personal information. “I’m glad that worked out for you.”

  Kinley cleared her throat as if realizing that she’d just spilled way too much information. “So Sir is adapting?”

  Suddenly, he raised his head and twisted, his ears perking up as he stared out the window intently with a low growl. He began barking his little heart out.

  “He was. But every once in a while, he’s just loud.” She moved, trying to see what had the dog’s attention. “It’s weird. He barks when I see absolutely nothing to bark at.”

  She could almost picture Kinley’s shrug. “Animals are more sensitive to their surroundings than humans. I’m sure he’ll settle in. Belle, I really wish you’d listen to me about your men.”

  They aren’t my men. “Sir will be fine eventually, though he isn’t exactly housebroken yet,” Belle sidestepped Kinley’s comment. “But I guess that will take time. Got any good tips?”

  Kinley huffed. “Stop trying to change the subject. They’re worried about you. Tate was practically crying. He’s weirdly hot, you know. He’s got that soulful geek thing. He’s longing, Belle. Pining. All for you.”

  She closed her eyes, trying not to imagine that look on his face. She was sure Tate would be on her doorstep if she hadn’t made herself scarce…though he was smart enough to track her down. If he wanted her, he would find her. She hoped she had the strength to turn him away.

  “It wouldn’t work with just me and Tate.” He must know that, too. And it would be cruel to tear him away from his buddies when she knew their pairing couldn’t last. “I care about him, Kin. I really do, but he needs Eric and Kellan. They understand his quirks and forgive him when he says the wrong thing. Without them, he’d just retreat into his shell. And they need him because he’s logical and honest. I can’t get in the middle of that. It would be like separating brothers.”

  “Of course you can’t do that, honey,” Kinley’s voice was soothing even from five hundred miles away. “They’re a set. Besides, you need something from each of them and you wouldn’t be happy with just one.”

  It seemed wrong. So many women out there couldn’t find one man, and Belle was insisting on three. Maybe she wasn’t the right woman for any of them. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Does lying to yourself really help?”

  Belle sighed. “I just don’t think it’s meant to be.”

  “I think you’re giving up awfully easily.” Kinley paused. “Kellan was leading the charge to find you.”

  That shocked Belle. “He must feel very guilty.”

  “Or he realizes he made a terrible choice.” Her long sigh sounded over the line. “You know, you might be expecting Shangri-la between the three of you too quickly. Riley fought his feelings for me at first. He had things to work through. We talked. We argued. He had a lot of hesitation and second thoughts, but eventually he came around. Maybe Kellan needs more time and you need more patience. Men take their time in coming to conclusions that women just instinctively know. They fight their feelings, especially when they have baggage. Kellan has a whole boatload of it from what I can tell.”

  She thought so, too. Still, what she’d overheard from the bathroom in their suite had been very clear. He didn’t want responsibility. He didn’t want permanence.

  “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

  “Nothing worthwhile is. A relationship like this isn’t easy, and if you’re expecting it to be, you’re setting yourself up for failure. It takes a lot of work and honest talk. You three aren’t communicating.”

  Maybe Kinley was right, but honestly, what else was there to say? She couldn’t make Kell want her for more than a night.

  Suddenly, Sir’s whole body went on full alert and the barking began anew. Belle frowned as she moved to the window. From here, she had a great view of the courtyard that now swayed with the wind as the weather turned a bit chilly. A pretty orange and yellow tabby cat pranced across the bricks and turned her smug feline face toward the dog, looking deeply entertained by the dog’s irritation.

  Belle pulled Sir up into her arms and dropped the shade over the window, hoping the cat would be out of sight and out of mind. It wasn’t working for her when it came to Kell, Tate, and Eric. Weariness set in. “Kinley, hon, I’ve got to go. I still have to get the bedroom ready for tonight and find some kibble for the little beast.”

  She hoped she could find a store nearby. It would get dark soon.

  “All right. I love you. Promise me you’ll think about calling them, at least to let them know you’re all right.”

  Belle bit her lip. In some ways, hearing their voices would be so tempting, but what would it accomplish? What she wanted hadn’t changed. “They’re probably on their flight home to Chicago.” Then something occurred to her. If Kellan was spearheading some effort to find her, then… “They did catch their flight, right?”

  “I don’t know. They checked out of the hotel and caught a cab. You know what I know.”

  “But if you had to guess?”

  Kinley hesitated. “I don’t think they’re folding up their tent and going home.”

  The answer filled Belle with both dread and an insidious thrill. “Thanks.”

  The phone clicked, and she was alone again. Belle had a feeling the night would be long.

  A loud bang shot through the room. She started and let loose a little shriek. Sir scurried to huddle against her breast and buried his face.

  What was that?

  Dead silence followed. The roof didn’t cave in. No murderous fiend jumped into the room. Nothing.

  About thirty seconds passed before Belle let out a breath. A nervous laugh shook her chest. She would have to get used to the sounds this old house made. Maybe the furnace had kicked in.

  “Some guard dog you are,” she teased Sir.

  When she turned back toward the desk, she noticed a piece of molding hanging from the bottom, just under the alcove where she’d tuck her knees when she sat. Belle frowned. Weird. She hadn’t noticed it when she’d been dusting or sat there earlier.

  With a puzzled frown, she knelt and tried to fit the piece back in place. Belle hoped this wasn’t a sign the desk was falling apart and would need replacing. That would be a huge shame. Her grandmother’s antique was a stunning, one-of-a-kind treasure.

  As Belle fiddled with the molding, her fingers found a hidden niche the wood had concealed. It was deep under the desk. She set Sir down and crawled under, the Persian carpet a soft cushion for her knees. Though the space under the desk was too dark to see, she could feel the open compartment with her fingers. As she reached into the little space cautiously, she immediately encountered two items tucked inside. With a wince and a ginger tug, she pulled them out and crawled back.

  Two old, pocket-size journals, one slightly more faded than the other. Belle frowned. This was her grandmother’s office and her grandmother’s desk. She flipped open the cover of one and glimpsed the handwriting. Decidedly feminine.

  “Looks like Grandma wrote her memoirs. Or hid some secrets,” she said absently to Sir as she sat on the rug.

  Sir plopped himself down on her lap and immediately went back to sleep. She opened the other volume, the smaller of the two, and rifled through it a bit.

  Belle frowned at the slightly yellow pages. Maybe her grandma had been on the crazy side because all she’d written in this journal was a list of long, random numbers that corresponded to even more random words, like “sunny,” “backdoor,” “raincoat,” and “canceled.” None of it made a lick of sense. What did 10056 00099873 have to do with “pink” and “fuzzy?”

  Even more strangely, the latter half of the book had been written by a different hand. Same sorts of odd codes, but different penmanship for sure.

  Frowning, she laid that one aside. Maybe the odd entries in this book had something to do with her grandmother’s psychic business, though Belle had no idea how. Maybe the code protected her clients’ anonymity? The second book was bigger, and Belle knew what it was the minute she skimmed the first page.

  Grandma’s diary.

  Belle’s heart skipped a beat.

  September 27th, 1955. Her father’s birthday.

  Oh, my baby boy. How I love you.

  Tears pierced her eyes as she realized she was reading her grandmother’s uncensored thoughts—those of a stranger related to her by blood about the birth of her own father. Belle thumbed through the pages, her wonder growing. She’d wanted to figure out who her grandmother had been. Well, this would probably be a good start. In fact, after skimming ahead a few pages, it seemed the whole volume was a book of letters written from mother to son.

  Her grandmother hadn’t been heartless or indifferent. She’d loved him very much, based on just the first page or two alone. So what had happened? Why the rift?

  Belle was willing to bet the answers lay in this book. She slid the one filled with gibberish back in its hiding place and jimmied with the molding until she felt a little groove slide back into a seemingly corresponding tongue. It locked in place easily, as if made for just that purpose.

  As she stood to head to the bedroom, she wondered how the strip of decorative wood had come loose like that. It seemed so secure now. And where had the loud bang come from? When she really thought about it, the noise had seemed too close to be the furnace. She’d have to solve that mystery when she wasn’t utterly exhausted.

  Sir followed her from the room with a sleepy yawn, and she shrugged away her questions. Since nothing terrible or tragic had happened, did it matter now? She had some reading to do. But not until she washed the sheets on the bed and made sure the house’s many doors and windows were all locked.

  As she looked around once more, Belle shook her head. An inch-thick layer of dust, the ancient hot water heater, the peeling wallpaper. Being the owner of a home with so much history and recent neglect was hard work…but at least it might keep her mind off her broken heart.

  * * * *

  Eric finally managed to get that fucking intern Belle had hired to pick up his phone just as they turned down the narrow, busy street that should lead them to her new home.

  Her temporary home.

  “Yeah?” Warrington Dash III had an upper-crust name and three judges in his family, which was good for him because Eric was pretty sure the kid had a lot of pot in his system. Without such familial influence, he’d probably be behind bars.

  “Sequoia, we’ve been calling you for hours. Why haven’t you been answering the damn phone?”

  The kid was all of twenty but had already decided not to go by Warrington, the family name he’d been given. Instead, he’d chosen the name Sequoia in honor of trees or some shit. He was studying to become an environmental lawyer, and that made Eric weep for the planet.