Tami Hoag - Cry Wolf

"Instead, he's harassing a legitimate business."

"Are you taking up the Delahoussayes' cause, Laurel?" Danjermond asked mildly.

Laurel met his steady gaze once again. "I'm not practicing at the moment, but someone should take up their cause."

He shrugged slightly. "I can't act on their behalf unless they make a formal complaint. You might pass that information along. It isn't against the law to preach; trespassing is another matter."

"Yes, I already have made that suggestion to them."

He smiled slowly, as if to tell her he knew her far better than she knew herself. "So you are taking up their cause, aren't you, Laurel?"

The truth of his statement stopped her short for a second, but she shook it off. "I merely made a suggestion."

"Stephen has more important causes to take up. Don't you, Stephen, dear?" Vivian said, reaching out to pat his hand approvingly. "Why don't you tell us about the state attorney general's appointing you head of the Acadiana drug task force?"

The meal progressed at a snail's pace. Laurel picked at her food and glanced at her watch every thirty seconds. Finally, they left the table and went back to the parlor for coffee. While Vivian bossed Olive around and the Traherns settled on the gold settee, Laurel roamed to the French doors and stood with her cup in her hand, staring out wistfully at the rain-washed garden. The thundershower had passed. When she escaped, she would go back to Belle Rivière and take a book out to the courtyard and sit in a corner reading and absorbing the quiet, the scent of rain, roses, and wisteria.

"Is the company really all that unpleasant?"

She started and glanced up, surprised to find Danjermond standing so close beside her. He had abandoned his coffee and stood with his hands tucked into the pockets of his fashionable pleated trousers.

"No, not at all," Laurel said quickly.

Danjermond smiled like a cat. "You're not a terribly good liar, Laurel. Tell the truth now. You'd rather be elsewhere."

"I admit I didn't come back to Bayou Breaux to socialize."

"Then it's my good fortune you made an exception in this case. Unless I'm the reason you're staring so longingly out that window, wishing yourself away."

"Of course not."

"Good, because I was about to suggest we get together in a more intimate setting one evening soon. A candlelit dinner, perhaps."

"I hardly know you, Mr. Danjermond."

"That's the whole point of intimate dinners, isn't it? To get to know each other. I'd like to find out more about your views, your plans, yourself."

"I have no plans for the moment. And I don't care to discuss my views. I'm not trying to be rude," she said, lifting her free hand in a gesture of peace. "The fact of the matter is I was recently divorced and have been through a great deal in the past year. I'm simply not up to a date at this point."

"Or a job offer?" he queried, lifting a brow, seeming not the least affected by her rejection of him personally.

Laurel tucked her chin back and eyed him with more than a hint of suspicion. "Why would you offer me a job? We've only just met."

"Because I can always use another good prosecutor in my office. The Scott County case notwithstanding, you have an excellent record. Your work on the Valdez migrant worker case was outstanding, and you went far above and beyond the call of duty investigating the rape of that blind woman back when you were little more than a clerk for the DA's office in Fulton County."

She had been barely out of law school. It was ancient history. The fact that he had for some reason dug that deeply into her past brought a return of the uneasiness she had felt earlier. She crossed her arms in front of her, careful not to dump coffee down the front of her sweater. "You seem to have an inordinate knowledge of my career, Mr. Danjermond."

"I'm a very thorough man, Laurel." He smiled again, that even, handsome smile. "You might say attention to detail has gotten me where I am today."

To the DA's office in backwater Louisiana? It seemed an odd thing to say, considering Stephen Danjermond had Bigger Things written all over him. With his pedigree and family connections, Laurel would have expected him to be firmly entrenched in Baton Rouge or New Orleans.

"There is a method to my madness, I assure you," he said, reading her silence with amazing accuracy. "Ambitious prosecutors are a dime a dozen in New Orleans. Acadiana offers me the chance to shine on my own. And there are unique problems here, problems I feel I can help control-drug smuggling, gun running. There is a certain element in the bayou country that remains largely uncivilized. Bringing that faction to heel and making them realize the days of Jean Lafitte are long past is a worthy goal."

"And one that will attract the attention of the powers that be."

His broad shoulders rose and fell. "C'est la vie. C'est la guerre. To the victor go the spoils."

"I know how the game is played, Mr. Danjermond," Laurel said in a cool tone. "I'm not naive."

"No, you're an idealist. A much more difficult lot in life. Better to be a cynic."

"Is that what you are? A cynic?"

"I'm a pragmatist." He held her gaze and let the silence build between them until Laurel had to fight herself to keep from stepping back. "Will you consider my offer?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm flattered, but I can't think about work yet."

"But it's not just work to you, is it, Laurel? The pursuit of justice is a calling for you, an obsession," he said. "Isn't it, Laurel?"

The question was too personal. She was feeling too sensitive. He stood a little too close, watched her too intently. He looked relaxed, and yet she had the impression of leashed power beneath his calm facade. He was too… everything. Too tall, too handsome, too charming. Too still.

She glanced at the platinum Rolex strapped to his wrist, and relief flooded through her. "I'm afraid I have to be leaving now, Mr. Danjermond. I promised my aunt I'd help her with some things this afternoon. It was a pleasure meeting you."

"Until we meet again, Laurel."

When donkeys fly, she thought. She hadn't come home for challenges or entanglements or trouble. She backed away another step, some primal instinct keeping her from turning her back too quickly on Stephen Danjermond. He watched her, calm amusement lighting his green eyes, and she turned then, simply to escape looking at his too-handsome face, turned just as Savannah walked in the door.

Tension, like electricity, filled the room instantly, tightening skin, raising short hairs, freezing breath. The initial shock held everyone motionless, speechless, then Olive rushed into the room, chalk-faced, eyes brimming with tears.

"I didn't let her in, Mrs. Leighton!" she wailed. "I didn't! She shoved me!"

Vivian grabbed the maid by the arm and hustled her out into the hall. Savannah watched them go, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lush mouth. The initial responses to her appearance made it worth the trouble she had taken to get out here. She could have turned right around and left, only she wasn't satisfied. She wanted to tear through this little civilized, socially correct affair like a tornado and carry her baby sister off with her when she went. Damned if she was going to let Vivian dig her claws into Laurel or let Ross get within two feet of her.

She looked past the shocked faces of Glory and Don Trahern and Reverend Stipple, to her dear old step-daddy. Ross's expression was guarded, like that of a poker player bluffing on a busted hand. He still wanted her. She was sure of that, and she smiled at him to let him know she knew. To remind herself he had chosen her over his wife, over her mother. To reinforce the truth in her own mind-that she was a born whore and would never be anything else. And she reveled in the moment, in making him wonder, making him squirm.