Joanna Wayne - Behind the Mask

She glanced at her watch. Damn. Twenty minutes until takeoff. She’d never make the flight. And it was the last one tonight. Okay, she’d made a mistake—but she didn’t have to admit it to Graham, not when he was in the know-it-all mood he was right now.

“As a matter of fact, stopping by here was pretty smart,” she quipped, tossing her head back and glaring at him. “I found out that Miss Ruby has a son.”

“She has two sons, to be exact,” he told her. “Garon and Jerome Oleander. Ages twenty-two and twenty-four.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s all a matter of public record, if you know which records to look at.”

“Well, I bet you didn’t find this in any public record. One of the sons has been in trouble. I don’t know exactly what, but apparently Mr. LeBlanc had to come to the rescue.”

“Garon Oleander. Busted for possession of marijuana. Two years ago. Paid his fine and got a suspended jail sentence.”

Graham’s smug manner was growing as irritating as the mosquito that was buzzing around Lindsey’s face. She slapped at the pesky insect and wished she could do the same to the good detective. His present manner was making it a lot easier to forget their past. At least the good parts.

“Well, you might be interested to know, Mr. Detective, that Gargoyle, or whatever his name is, stole a key from Miss Ruby, and I’m sure it was the key to the LeBlanc house. And somehow I doubt if that’s public record.”

“The name is Garon. And what makes you think he stole a key?”

“I’ve been standing right here listening to them arguing. And Mama Ruby doesn’t like his friends, either. They’re all scum. Her assessment, not mine.”

“Do you think Garon could be the soldier with the dagger?”

“No,” she admitted reluctantly. “In fact, his build is totally different from what I remember.”

“Okay, Lindsey. I appreciate your concern with identifying a suspect, but you’ve done your part. More than your part. I tried asking you nicely to stay out of this. Now I’m telling you. Go back to Nashville, and leave the investigation to the experts.”

Lindsey’s blood pressure shot skyward. Graham Dufour hadn’t changed one iota. But she was no longer in love with the handsome rebel from her impressionable youth. She didn’t have to play the game his way.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to follow your orders, Graham. Unless, of course, you have a warrant for my arrest.”

“I can get one, if I have to.”

“Then you might have to do just that.”

Anger smoldered in Graham’s eyes. “My car is parked over there, Lindsey,” he snapped, motioning toward the blue sedan parked a few yards down the avenue. “Get in it.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” she answered, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. “But I have my own car.”

“Look, Lindsey. I know I come on strong sometimes.” His voice softened, but didn’t lose its irritating edge. “But I only had three hours of sleep last night, I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and...” He looked at the grass under his feet and took a deep breath. “And I’m worried about you.”

Damn him. There it was again, that concern that came from out of the blue and cracked her resolve. “There’s nothing to worry about. I can take care of myself.”

“I know. But humor me.” He gestured toward his car. “Now, get in.”

“My car is parked—” He silenced her protests with a firm grip on her hand.

“Give me this, Lindsey. It won’t take long, but we have to talk, get a few things straight, especially since you’re not leaving town like I thought.”

“Okay,” she agreed. She’d hear him out, but she wasn’t making any promises. Finding the killer depended on her ability to identify him. She wasn’t ready to give up yet. “And just where do you plan to take me?” she questioned, climbing into the front seat of the blue Ford.

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