Be My Baby (7 page)

She ate half before she finally set it aside and pushed her chair back from the small table. Beau, who had just swallowed his last bite, looked over at her. “Somethin’ the matter?”

“Huh-uh. I’m just full.”

“You eat like a bird.” He reached across the table and scooped the remaining sandwich up, grinning unrepentantly at her haughtily raised eyebrows. “Hate to see good food go to waste.” He took a huge bite.

As soon as the last bite went into his mouth, they hit the streets again. Beau dragged her in and out of establishment after establishment, and each one seemed more tawdry than the last.

Juliet hadn’t known so many sordid places even existed, and knew she should be appalled by them. Grandmother would be, God knew, and Father…well, Father most likely wouldn’t be, but then he was a male and hadn’t been smothered with rules and regulations his entire life. He’d certainly expect
her
to be aghast by the sleaziness to which Beau kept exposing her.

But she feared she was developing a taste for the illicit.

The sun had lowered by the time Beau escorted her into a bar whose sidewalk board read:
FIFTY BEAUTIFUL WOMEN AND ONE
—

“—‘Whose Sex is Still in Question’?” Juliet read aloud just before they passed from the lamplit street into subterranean gloom. “What on earth does that
mean
?” Music blared out of overhead speakers, so she didn’t actually expect an answer.

Sundown didn’t mean a lessening of the killing
heat, apparently, and air-conditioning in the bar amounted to two overhead fans. She could feel her hair swelling against its confines as she stumbled along behind Beau on his trek for the bar.

“Hey, Beau-re-gard,” a sultry voice sang out from behind the counter. “Your timing is uncanny, sugar—you’re just the man I need to see.”

“Hey, Shell-Ellen, how’s it goin’? You’re lookin’ good.”

“So are you. Mighty good.” The bartender’s smile was inviting, and she sucked in a deep breath, pulling her shoulders back and thrusting her impressive freckled chest forward. “Beau, honey, I need a teensy-weensy favor. See, I got this speedin’ ticket the otha day—”

“Now, Shell, I told you the last time I fixed a ticket for you that it
was
the last time. You’re simply gonna have to drive more slowly, girl.”

“Oh, please,” Juliet murmured. “If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”

Beau dug an elbow into her side, and the woman behind the bar turned her attention on her. “Who’s your little friend, Beau?”

Juliet braced herself to hear the Cousin Juliet routine again, but Beau evidently didn’t believe in repeating himself, for he raised his black eyebrows and said, “You’re joshin’ me, right? Don’t tell me you don’t recognize her—why, this here is the famous Rosebud LaTush and her Amazing Fans. She’s come to see a man about a job.”

“Yeah?” Shell-Ellen looked Juliet over skeptically. “You must have an astounding act, sister, because while I’ll give you long enough legs—which
may or may not be reasonably hot—you sure as hell got no tits.”

“I
beg
your—”

“She doesn’t need ’em,” Beau assured the bartender and then turned to Juliet, the devil dancing in his eyes. “Show her your fans, Rosebud.”

Juliet rolled her eyes. “This is Beauregard’s idea of a little joke,” she informed the bartender. The woman looked confused, and Juliet shrugged. “Small minds, small ideas—what can I say? One can’t always pick one’s babysitter.”

“Actually, one could, Rosebud, if one would only get off her shapely little butt and do it. It’s the babysitter whose options are limited.”

Juliet had grown so accustomed to stripper music in the background of every place Beau dragged her to that she didn’t consciously attend to it anymore, except for a visceral awareness of its mysterious ability to wend its way through her system and loosen her bones. But it was difficult to ignore the sudden drumroll that preceded the next act, or the man’s voice that announced excitedly over a loudspeaker, “And now, ladies and gents, the moment you’ve all been waiting for—Ms.
Lola Benoit
!”

The woman who strode out in rhythm to the BOOM-bumpa-BOOM-bumpa-BOOM bass thumping out of the speakers was breathtaking; there was no other word to describe her. Easily over six feet tall, auburn-haired and white-skinned, with a voluptuous body sprayed into an electric blue evening gown, she circled the stage with a stride that appeared to be hinged on ball-bearing hips. Her presence immediately captured every eye in the
house and Juliet drifted over to the raised dais to more closely view the act.

It wasn’t until the stripper, with hips steadily pistoning, paused at the edge of the stage right in front of Juliet that she realized Beau had followed her. It soon became apparent, however, that Lola was playing directly to him.

Her thighs appeared through slits in the sides of her gown as her hips oscillated in a sensuous bump and grind. She slowly sank onto her heels while working a long white glove down her shapely, extended arm. Once off, she held it aloft between her outstretched hands, and her arms described sinuous figure eights while her hips circled, pulling her up to her full height, sinking her back down to a squat, and then raising her again. Undulating down one last time until she rested on her heels, her firm white thighs spread wide, she dangled the opera glove from her fingertips and reached forward with a teasing smile to drape it over Beau’s shoulder. Then she surged effortlessly to her full height once again and bumped her way over to another man, whom she favored with her remaining glove. Back at center stage, she wrapped first one arm around herself and then the other. She gave herself a hug and then snapped her arms wide, and her dress came away in two pieces. She was left in a pair of satin tap-pants and four-inch heels. Tossing the costume aside, she shimmied her shoulders. The movement failed to jiggle her magnificent breasts, but the audience roared its approval anyway. An original chassis was clearly not the primary consideration here.

Juliet watched in utter fascination, her own hips occasionally twitching in unconscious rhythm as she admired Lola’s artistry. She held her breath as the woman teased the audience with the potential of removing her last garment, only to execute a complicated bump and grind instead and leave the garment intact.

But the music was building to a crescendo, and finally, with a flourish beneath the hot blue spotlight, Lola ripped the tap pants away.

“Oh, my God,” Juliet said faintly.

For the woman was left wearing only a tiny G-string, and beneath it curled the unmistakable bulge of male genitalia. Juliet gaped at it in stunned disbelief until the woman—man? What
was
she?—left the stage.

“Come on, angel face,” Beau drawled in her ear. “I’ll take you backstage and introduce you.”

She looked at him in confusion, as if she didn’t know quite who he was, and Beau didn’t feel nearly as satisfied about springing this particular surprise on her as he’d imagined he would. He nevertheless took advantage of her quiescence and pulled her along to Lola’s dressing room. The sooner Miz Juliet demanded his replacement, the better off everyone would be.

After he knocked for admittance, however, he turned back to find the confusion already gone as Juliet regarded him with aloof eyes and growing speculation. He watched her paste a social smile on her lips when a light alto voice bade them enter.

Lola sat at a dressing table, long legs crossed and a satin kimono loosely tied around his waist. His
auburn wig now graced a wire stand on the cluttered tabletop, and his own hair was flattened beneath a black nylon stocking that had been tied off and trimmed. He paused in creaming off his heavy stage makeup, eyes lighting as their gaze settled on Beau. “Well, hello, there.”

“Hey,” Beau replied and pulled Juliet forward. “This is Juliet Astor Lowell. She wanted to meet you.”

“Ummm,” Lola responded without noticeable interest.

“Your act was magnificent,” Juliet said softly. She hesitated a second and then added, “Until I saw it, I didn’t realize a striptease could be so poetic.”

Lola pulled his gaze away from Beau and swiveled around. “Why, thank you, girlfriend. That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” He looked at her more closely. “Ooh, honey, have you got possibilities.”

Beau shifted restlessly. “Juliet isn’t interested in her possibilities.”

But Juliet studied Lola’s garish makeup with every evidence of interest. “From the audience, your makeup is perfect. Exquisite, actually. You must know quite a bit about cosmetics to get the balance just right between washed out and overdone.”

“It’s my one claim to fame.” With a rueful glance at his covered lap, Lola amended, “Well, my second claim. Anyhow, I simply adore makeup.” He studied Juliet. “You should always wear lipstick, girlfriend. Women pay beaucoup bucks for that
bee-stung look; you gotta accentuate it. And if I had that hair, I’d never hide its light under a bushel the way you’re doing.” He turned away to sift through the clutter of cosmetics on the tabletop and Beau looked at Juliet’s hair. It was softer, thicker, less tightly confined than it had been earlier, and a definite wave was developing, giving its honey-brown fullness an added sheen.

He was having a tough enough time already ignoring her possibilities; he didn’t need some she-male to point them out to him. It didn’t make a lick of sense that he’d be attracted to little Juliet Rose at all, but good sense seemed to be conspicuously absent today.

Lola turned back from his search and extended a tube of lipstick to Juliet. “Try this. It’s your color.”

“No!” Beau felt almost panicky. The fact that Rosebud was too prim to call attention to the very possibilities that kept grabbing him by the balls had been the only saving grace in an increasingly uncomfortable afternoon.

Luckily, Juliet took a slight step back in perfect synchronicity to his protest. “Oh, I couldn’t.”

Lola’s eyes cooled and he dropped the lipstick back on the table. “Of course not. Because one never knows where my mouth might have been, right?”

“No,” Juliet disagreed with quiet dignity, “because Grandmother drummed it into my head that one does not share one’s personal grooming items, and it’s difficult to kick established habits.”

Lola perked right back up again. “Ooh, girl
friend, I
love
that—it’s so chi-chi. Where did you
find
her?” he demanded of Beau. “Wait, wait!” He scrambled through the dressing table drawer. Finding what he was searching for, he held out a lipstick brush to Juliet. “How about this? It’s brand-new, and look, I’ll wipe off the lipstick.” He suited action to words by picking up the duel-textured silver tube again, swiveling up a cylinder of tawny rose color, and ruthlessly removing a deep layer from the top. He held it up to Juliet.

She hesitated a moment, but then leaned forward and accepted the cosmetic brush, daubing it against the top of the lipstick. Rounding her lips, she leaned farther in to the mirror and carefully stroked the color onto her mouth. She daubed up more color and applied that, too. Then, handing the brush to Lola, she rubbed her lips together and pulled her head back a fraction to survey her reflection in the mirror. She smiled, her teeth gleaming white between newly rosy lips. “I like it.”

So did Beau, and it made him want to howl.

Juliet flipped the tube over and read the label on the bottom. “Ah, Clinique.” She raised her gaze to Lola. “You’ve probably guessed I’m from out of town. Where would I go to find a counter?”

“Dillards, girlfriend. Well, Saks, too, I suppose, but they don’t know me there. Go to Dillards,” he said decisively. “Tell ’em Lola Benoit sent you.”

“I’ll do that, Lola; thank you.” Juliet exchanged chitchat for a few moments longer and then graciously eased them out the door. Her smile was warm as she took leave of Lola, and Beau watched her moodily, feeling edgy and out of sorts.

It was a considerably cooler smile she turned on him when the door closed at their backs.

“Don’t mistake me for a fool,” she said flatly, and he narrowed his eyes, mesmerized by that sulky, rose-colored mouth. “You think I’m completely lacking in intelligence? Well, think again, Beauregard, because it hasn’t escaped me that you haven’t asked after Clyde Lydet in the last several places you’ve taken me, and I have to believe—
Will you pay attention?
What are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” he said sullenly and licked his lower lip. He dragged his gaze up to her eyes, but then her hair drew his attention. Jesus, had it grown even thicker? Wavier?

“As I was saying, that leads me to believe that our sole purpose for going to these bars was to show me the seamier side of your city. Do you harbor some illusion that the air I breathe is too rarefied to tolerate the dives you favor?”

“There’s no ‘harbor’ about it, sweet cheeks.”

“Oh, and you know me so well,” she said with cool sarcasm. “After one day.”

Heat beat through his veins and he stepped in close, giving her nowhere to go. “I know that you’re screwing up my life, and I want it to stop.” He thrust his face at her. “Go to Pfeffer, Miz Lowell. Demand a replacement. Or, I’m warning you, it’s no more Mr. Nice Guy.”

She gave him an incredulous look. But she didn’t say what was obviously on her mind as she inspected him as if he were something that had crawled up out of a sewer at her feet.

“Tell you what, Sergeant Dupree,” she finally
said. “Why don’t you hold your breath while I think about that?” And, shoving him aside, she walked away, her skirt kicking up with every long-legged, irate stride she took.

L
uke was more than ready to go home by the time he left the station house. He was tense, a condition that wasn’t improved appreciably when he walked into the parking lot and recognized Josie Lee’s shapely butt thrusting itself skyward as she bent over the fender of a car. Her upper body was invisible beneath the hood, and eyeing the long expanse of her legs beneath her skirt’s short beige hem only served to wind his tension a few degrees tighter.

He considered just walking by. She was preoccupied; he could easily slip past and be in his car and off the lot before she ever straightened. He sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to play mechanic.

The only problem with that scenario was that she was hardly a mechanic herself. He could hear her tinkering and swearing, and speculated the problem probably wasn’t something that would be covered by the basics Beau had taught her. Fingers shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched, he
strolled up to the car. “Need a hand?”

Josie Lee yelped in surprise and jumped, nearly bumping her head against the interior of the propped open hood. “God, Luke! You scared me half to death.” She extricated herself from under the hood and turned to face him. “Are you heading home?”

“Yep.”

“Good, give me a ride. Anabel loaned me her car for my first day of work—which was supposed to have been a favor, except now the damn thing won’t start.”

Hell
. He took a reluctant step forward. “I suppose I could take a look at it.”

“Oh, that’s sweet, but Beau should be home in a couple of hours. I’ll have him bring me back to fix it then.” She swiped her forearm across her brow, then reached to unbutton the top two buttons on her sleeveless blouse. She slowly flapped the uppermost placket to promote air flow between the fabric and her damp skin. “Right now I’m hot and cranky, and I just wanna go home.”

Luke found himself tracking the progress of a drop of perspiration that rolled down her throat. It zigged off at an angle as it crossed her collarbone, starting a diagonal journey across the exposed V of her chest, and he abruptly turned on his heel and stalked over to his car. Wrenching open the passenger door, he cast her an impatient look over his shoulder. “Well, come on, then, get in,” he said curtly. “I’d like to get home sometime tonight, myself. I’m hungry.”

She slammed the hood to Anabel’s car, collected
her purse, and trotted over to his car, sliding beneath his arm and onto the seat. Smiling up at him, she tucked in her legs and tugged down her skirt hem, which had ridden up close to the indecent zone. “Thanks, Luke; I appreciate this.”

Moments later he pulled out of the lot and she leaned forward into the flow of cool air beginning to emerge from the vents. “Ah, bliss, air-conditioning,” she sighed, holding her lapels wider to allow the air farther beneath her blouse. “It feels so good. I wish Beau would get rid of that old heap of his and get something nice like this.”

“The Goat’s got AC.”

“Yeah,” Josie Lee agreed dryly. “Except it quit working four years ago and he’s never gotten around to fixing it.”

Luke shot her a hard look. “Maybe that’s because all his cash was tied up in your college tuition.”

Her lashes went into a flurry of blinking at his harsh tone, but she merely replied stiffly, “I earned a full scholarship, Lucas.”

“Which sure as hell didn’t pay for all your incidentals. Leave the Goat alone, Baby Girl; it’s about the only indulgence Beau allows himself.”

She swiveled in her seat to face him head-on. “You have some notion I don’t know and appreciate what he’s done for us?” she demanded hotly. “I’m no longer an adolescent who only recognizes her own wants and desires, Gardner, and I sure as hell don’t need you to tell me what Beau’s sacrificed for Camilla and Anabel ’n me. You think it’s somehow escaped us that we’re the reason he’s always broke? Or that it doesn’t break our hearts that
we’ve cramped his love life to the point where he’ll do almost anything to avoid a relationship that might tie him down?”

Luke shot her an incredulous look. “No way in hell he holds y’all responsible for his diminished love life.”

“Of course he doesn’t, because he loves us,” Josie Lee agreed. “But has he ever had a regular girlfriend? You’ve seen the women he dates when he does go out. If bra sizes were brains, those bimbos would rule the world, but you know damn well he only asks out the airheads who aren’t likely to be seeking marriage or—God forbid—children, ’cause he missed out on what should have been the footloose years of his life.”

“Well, well. Mighty concerned words from a girl—”

“Woman.”

“Whatever.” He dismissed the distinction with a shrug. “Someone, at any rate, who can hardly wait to move out from under his roof.”

“Have I done something to offend you, Luke?”

You look like that, dress like that, and eight hours ago you were just a kid
. “No, of course not.”

“Then what’s your problem? Why do the two have to be mutually exclusive?” Her skirt rode up as she shifted nearer in her intensity. “Beau’s been both brother and father to me. I detest the thought that caring for me has somehow robbed him of something that he can’t get back. But I am not a child anymore”—she poked her finger into the side of his thigh to underscore her point—“which nobody seems willing to concede. Well, guess what?
I’m not willing to be confined to my room like some troublesome schoolgirl because I had the bad fortune to put myself in the path of a pervert.”

“Could you rein in the melodrama? Beau doesn’t want to restrict you to your room.”

“Could you rein in the patronizing bullshit? That’s exactly what he’d like to do, and you know it. I love Beau, and I owe him. But he doesn’t always know what’s best for me, and I’m no longer the docile baby sister who will blindly follow his every instruction.”

A harsh, incredulous laugh escaped Luke’s throat. “Docile? When the hell was that ever a part of your personality? And if he’s overprotective, it’s because he blames himself for involving you in this case.”

“I’m sorry about that, because it wasn’t his fault. But am I supposed to put the rest of my life on hold to make him feel better?” Her hand returned to touch his leg again, only this time the brush of her fingertips was conciliatory. “Listen, I’m not trying to be unreasonable. I’m not going to pack my bags and go storming out of the house…well, not until after the Panty Snatcher case is solved, at any rate. But I’m giving everyone fair notice. I’m sorry as can be if my growing up has caught y’all flat-footed. But get used to the idea, ’cause it’s a fact. I’m no longer a child, and I won’t tolerate being treated like one.”

Part of him understood and applauded what she was saying. But the prudent part, the wary, trust-only-a-few cop part, said that this was Beau’s baby sister. That to Beau, she’d always
be
a baby sister,
and the smart thing for Luke to do would be to throw up the tallest damn wall he could construct against the thoughts he’d been thinking all day.

At least if he wanted to keep drawing breath. Beau’s tolerance level tended to be real limited when it came to his sisters.

Luke kept his attention on the road the rest of the way to Beau’s little Bywater house.

If Josie Lee noticed his silence, she didn’t let on. She chatted easily during the drive, entertaining him with humorous anecdotes on the doings in her sisters’ lives and those of mutual acquaintances. Rummaging through her purse, she retrieved her keys just as they pulled up in front of the house. She turned in her seat and flashed him her killer smile.

“Thanks, Luke, you’re the best.” She leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the mouth, then smiled as she settled back in her seat and reached out to whisk a dab of lipstick from his lower lip with her thumb. “You wanna come in? I’m going to throw together some dinner and there’s plenty if you’d care to join me. I’d love to give you a proper thank-you for the ride.”

His lip burned where she’d kissed him, and into his mind flashed a vision of the empty house and several ways in which she could thank him, none of which were particularly proper. He jerked back in his seat. “No…uh, thanks anyway, but that’s not necessary. I was glad to help.” Christ Almighty. This was
Josie Lee
he was thinking about—what the hell was the matter with him? If she knew the thoughts he entertained, even if only for a mo
ment, she’d run screaming for her brother so fast it’d make his head spin.

“Y’sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, then. I’ll see you around.” She opened the door and climbed out, turning to lean back inside to give him a final smile. A black curl tumbled over one eye and she flipped it back with a long, narrow finger. “Thanks again, Luke.”

He watched until she disappeared inside the door, then heaved a sigh of relief and peeled away from the curb.

Inside the house, Josie Lee dropped her purse, turned on the overhead fans, and headed for her bedroom. She smiled to herself as she kicked off her shoes and changed out of her work clothes.

That went pretty well
, she thought. Better than she’d expected, actually. As a reward, she’d pour herself a drink of something nice and cool to ease her parched throat, and then she’d better call a cab.

She had to replace the rotor in Anabel’s car and get it back to her sister before Beau got home.

Juliet stalked through Lola’s club in front of Beau, but she was painfully aware that he never allowed her to get too far ahead of him, and a temper she hadn’t even known she possessed burned a little bit hotter. He seemed happy enough to trail in her wake until they hit the street, but then he was suddenly right behind her, his lean, hard fingers reaching around to clamp authoritatively around her forearm.

Feeling a combativeness that was worlds re
moved from her normal behavior, she tried to yank free. He not only held firm, he shifted so she was practically glued to his side, tucked under his arm. “Settle down,” he growled. She turned a cool stare up at him and he jerked his shadowed chin at the foot traffic congesting the narrow sidewalks. “Take a good look around, Rosebud. This ain’t the debutante ball—you don’t wanna go flouncing off on your own.”

“I beg your pardon,” she replied coolly. “Astor Lowells do not flounce.” She nevertheless looked around, as he’d suggested, and subsided, for the first time feeling out of place in the Quarter.

It had a different, more dangerous tone at night. The streets were inundated by noise—from the ever-present music, to the street performers playing for change on every corner, to the constantly shifting sounds that blasted out from one doorway to the next as she and Beau navigated the sidewalks. Men’s voices hawked the pleasures to be found inside various establishments, and all around them Go-cups sloshed and raucous laughter rose and fell, bouncing off the brick walls in much the same manner as the drunks that staggered from bar to club.

The French Quarter seemed to provide for adults what Spring Break in Florida provided for college students—a wide-open party atmosphere that allowed them to temporarily discard everyday decency. She watched two separate groups of men get importunate with the unescorted women who passed them by, catcalling and exhibiting lewd hand gestures and body language.

Glancing up at Beau’s profile, seeing the hard set of his bristly jaw and his don’t-mess-with-me cop’s eyes that absorbed everything around them and made steely contact with anyone who got too close, she was suddenly grateful to have him at her side. She’d bite her tongue in two before she’d admit it, but she knew it was his presence that caused the two rowdy groups to split around them as they passed, giving her and Beau a respectable berth. It was his presence that ensured not a peep was said to her. She let her breath out. “I want to go home now.”

“That’s where I’m taking you, angel face. And not a minute too soon to suit me.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re simply dying to get back to—”

“
Holy shit
!”

His interruption came just in time, since Juliet had been on the verge of saying something about all his women that would only have embarrassed her. That she’d think it was any of her business, let alone care, made her face flame, but luckily he wasn’t even looking at her; he was staring after a car that had cruised past. His grip suddenly tightened on her arm and without warning he took off at a run down the block to where the car was parked. Caught by surprise, she stumbled, and he gave her arm an impatient tug, barely slowing his tempo.

“
Move
, dammit. I just saw Clyde Lydet.”

“Where?” She didn’t really expect an answer, and she didn’t get one. He hauled her ruthlessly along behind him and she concentrated on not run
ning out of her strappy little sandals. They weren’t made for such activity, but she feared if she didn’t keep up, he’d jerk her right off her feet.

Then they were at the car, and he swore and craned his neck to see down the street as he fumbled with the lock on the passenger door. The instant the tumblers clicked into place, he yanked it open. “Get in.”

She dove in, reaching across to unlock his door. He slid in, rammed the key in the ignition, and cranked it over. The GTO’s engine roared to life. “Buckle up,” he ordered, his gaze on his sideview mirror. She was fitting the buckle’s tongue into the slot as he peeled away from the curb in a smoking patch of rubber.

He was only able to race about fifty feet up the street before Quarter traffic conditions held him up. The avenues were narrow to begin with, and Beau swore steadily under his breath as he first dodged a tipsy reveler and then one of the tourist-trade horse and carriages. He stood on the brakes when a delivery truck that should have left the area long ago suddenly pulled out of an alleyway in front of him, and Juliet shot forward in her seat. She was throwing her hands forward to ward off collision with the dashboard when the safety harness suddenly caught and slammed her back.

Beau reached for his own belt and snapped it around him. The truck had cut too wide, and it ground its gears and reversed back into the alley. “C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered as it inched backward. The instant there was minimal clearance, he hit his horn and wheeled the car around the still-
reversing vehicle. Hunched over the steering wheel, he kept one eye on the traffic and the other on the streets in front of them, searching. “All right, you son of a bitch, where did you go?”