Alison Kent - Goes Down Easy

She’d been sitting on the wall of the central fountain, soaking wet, wearing a silky camisole and thin drawstring pants. No shoes, nothing beneath. As if she’d pulled on the clothes without thinking of anything but what she’d seen. Hell, she might as well have been naked, wearing clothing that was plastered to her skin with the temperature in the forties.

When she’d told him about it, he’d thought she was relating details of a dream. Or that she’d been stoned out of her mind and tripping.

Perry had arrived minutes later, bundled her aunt up and, in the kitchen over hot coffee for him and herbal tea for both women, had explained Della’s gift of sight. He’d taken careful notes, still doubting he was doing more than recording a bunch of BS.

But the BS has paid off. Della had seen specifics about the perps’ flight and spree that had followed. It had been enough for Book and his partner to use in their ongoing investigation. It had been enough to help them eventually nail the bastards’ theft ring.

It had been enough to make Book believe.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to have a certain reporter’s throat once he was finished here. Della’s work on the Eckhardt kidnapping wasn’t yet public because there wasn’t yet an official case. Not in New Orleans anyway. She wasn’t even positive it was Eckhardt.

She’d come to him with what she’d seen, and he’d taken the information and made the Texas connection himself. No one else in operations should have known about his inquiry. Meaning, Book had a big, fat internal leak to patch.

He knocked; through the inset glass he saw Perry wave him inside. He pushed open the door without even turning the knob, a knot forming in his stomach.

“I thought you were getting that fixed.” As independent and intelligent as they were, the Brazille women were not so good with down-to-earth priorities. He’d get someone over here later today.

“Good morning, Book. I hope you’re hungry.”

At the sound of Della’s voice, he turned, his attention shifting away from Perry and the door. Della stood grating cheese, her back to the room. Beside her, a man Book had never seen before leaned against the counter.

Perry made the introductions. “Detective Book Franklin? Jack Montgomery, private eye.”

Cripes. And the day just kept going downhill.

He shook the hand Montgomery offered—a firm grip that went on seconds too long as the other man took Book’s measure. He did the same. Neither spoke, and it was Perry who finally ended the standoff with a muttered, “Oh, good grief.”

At that, Della laughed and glanced over. “Jack is here for the same reason you are, Book.”

He cursed beneath his breath. “I was hoping you hadn’t seen the paper.”

“She hasn’t,” Perry hurried to say.

“Of course I have.” Della sealed up the block of cheese in its container and handed it to Jack. “And, no,” she added as he returned the cheese to the fridge. “Jack didn’t show it to me. It was part of what I saw this morning before I called.”

“You saw the headline. But not the actual paper.”

Della nodded at Montgomery’s rhetorical statement. Book shoved his hands to his waist, his coattails flying like bat wings behind him, instead of grabbing the other man and tossing him out on his ear. “Perry, do you mind giving me a few minutes alone with Della?”

“Sure. Jack and I will wait in the shop.” She headed for the door.

Jack didn’t move. “I’d like to stay, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah. I mind. Police business.” Cocky upstart.

“Why don’t we eat and then talk, Book?” Della asked, whisking a bowl of eggs.

Book reached over and turned off the flame beneath the omelet pan. “No, we’ll talk now. And we’ll talk alone.”

He waited for Perry and Jack to leave the room before he looked to Della again. She stood in the corner where two of the aqua-tiled kitchen’s countertops formed a right angle, and her expression told him he wouldn’t like what she was going to say.

“You should have let Jack stay. He might have information you can use.”

She was right. He didn’t like it. “Does he?” he asked, his gut tightening.

“He might.”

“But you don’t know.”

“Contrary to popular belief, Book, I don’t know everything.” She pushed away from the corner and crossed in front of him, making her way to the table.

She smelled like a field of flowers, something warm and purple and soft. He followed her, took the chair beside hers, staying close. “Tell me what you do know.”

She related to him the same things she’d said on the phone earlier. This time, as he took notes, he pressed for specific details. On the ring, especially.

He’d get a sketch done and canvas area pawnshops to start. Nothing that took a lot of time away from his legitimate cases. Nothing that would get him written up for coloring outside the lines. Again.

“What is your department saying this time?”

“Not much.” He didn’t know why she asked when she already knew.

“Book, tell me the truth.”

He closed his notebook, capped his pen and returned both to his coat’s inside pocket. “We’re not officially on this case. There hasn’t been enough evidence to warrant our involvement.”

“You’re here on your own then?”

He was here because of her visions. But he was also here because of her. “It’s no different than any other time.”

She shook her head slowly. Tendrils of hair fell to curl around her face. She hooked her bare feet on the rung beneath his chair and leaned toward him, reaching out with one hand, pulling it back before he could wrap up her fingers with his.

“I never meant to be a burden to you. To cause you trouble at work, or with your peers.” She laced her hands in her lap, looking up at him as if he were the only one with the answer to her prayers. “I hope you know that.”

He shrugged, blowing it off because he didn’t give a damn what anyone thought when it came to his dealings with Della. All that mattered was that she came to no harm. “It’s no big deal. I’m more concerned with you staying safe.”

Her laugh was as light as a breath of fresh air. “I’m not in any danger. I never have been.”

“In the past, no. But this time your name is in the paper.” He was going to skin alive one particular big-mouthed leaker—especially since the leak was nothing but gossip.

He’d never talked about the Eckhardt case or about Della’s newest visions. The leak made operations a laughingstock. “I’m sorry that happened. I can see the scum is already oozing out of the woodwork.”

She laughed again and sat back. “You’re talking about Jack, I presume. Though I’m quite sure he said he came from Texas, not out of the woodwork.”

Book’s mental gears whirred too loudly for him to process more than the facts. “He’s from Texas?” Eckhardt was from Texas.

“I believe Perry said Austin. The man’s family hired him. Apparently, they’re quite unsatisfied with the progress being made through police channels.”

Montgomery showing up here like he had gave further credence to what Della had seen. Yet it still wasn’t enough for Book to open an official case. Unofficial, he could manage. “I suppose I should talk to him.”

Again, Della leaned forward. “You had the chance, you know. Before you ran the poor man out of here.”

“I don’t like the thought of you becoming a victim. Of you being exploited.” He didn’t like the idea of a lot of things when it came to Della Brazille. The biggest one being the way he hadn’t yet harnessed his balls and told her how important she was to him. “Finding Montgomery here on top of finding that headline this morning has not made for the best start to the day.”