And a simple black shirt, not silk as he would expect of someone with her kind of money, but a cotton knit. It, too, had looked old, and more than a little big on her.
She’d looked barely put together, as though she’d picked up the outfit at a garage sale in a deliberate attempt to blend into somewhere she categorically did not belong.
But that’s not what had gotten him as he’d rolled the warm glass of whiskey between his hands. Her eyes. They’d…haunted him, reminded him of an animal tossed alongside the highway by its owner. Something fierce and raw had glowed in depths he later discovered to be the color of moss, and it had seared through all the indifference and the isolation, blistering him despite the fact he’d long since been beyond the point of feeling. Anything. Except hatred. And loathing. Contempt.
It had not been contempt that he felt. Not even when he’d seen her again on Lambert’s arm. That had been excitement, the unholy anticipation of a game he’d neither expected nor wanted, but suddenly looked forward to playing. And winning.
Now…Christ, now she had a name. Saura. And a brother who both trusted and respected him. And she was neither the cat, nor the mouse.
On a low growl he picked up a news magazine and flipped open the front cover, then threw it across the room. Collette never took this long. She was quick and efficient, and she didn’t ask questions. Or file police reports. Which made the lady doctor who split her time between the clinic and Ochsner’s popular with those on both sides of the law.
The door shoved open, but it was not Dr. Guidry who strode into the small room, where she stashed those she didn’t want anyone else to see. Frowning, Cain closed the door behind him.
John stilled. “What’s going on—”
“Collette made me leave the room, said I wasn’t doing Saura’s blood pressure any good.” Frowning, Cain shook his head. “Saura decides to play Nancy Drew and throw herself at a scumbag like Nathan Lambert, and Collette’s worried about her freaking blood pressure?”
“How high is it?”
Cain blinked. “What?”
“Her blood pressure? How high is it? She inhaled a lot of—”
“She’s fine.” Her brother bit the words out. “Her lungs are fine. The cut on her forehead is fine.” His eyes met John’s. “It’s her goddamned death wish I’m worried about.”
Death wish. It was not a term John liked. “You get anything else out of her? She tell you what she was doing with Lambert?”
Cain grabbed his cell phone and flipped it open, pushed a few buttons then jammed it back in his jeans. “All she’ll say is she wants the same thing we do. She and Alec were close. She knows I suspect Lambert, says I should trust her, that she knows what she’s doing.”
Knows what she’s doing. Cozying up to Lambert. Letting the man touch her. Walking into his bedroom. John’s gut tightened as the memory of Lambert’s big bed flashed into his mind, of Saura alone with that man. In that bed.
He curled his hand into a fist and regrouped, knew he couldn’t let emotion twist through his voice. And Holy God in Heaven, he said a grim prayer of thanks he was not a kiss-and-tell kind of man. “Does she have any idea how dangerous Lambert is?”
“You don’t know my sister,” Cain snapped, and the sudden blast of heat almost made John break out in a sweat. Yanking off his jacket, he tossed it onto a chair and found a sudden interest in the magazines.
He most definitely knew Cain’s sister.
“Things like danger and inappropriateness have never stopped her,” her brother said. “She used to get off on doing what everyone told her she couldn’t, just to prove she could.”
John shot Cain a look. “Used to?”
“Up until about two years ago.”
“What happened then?” The second he spoke, he made the connection. Two years before Cain Robichaud had been railroaded off the force and out of town. The lynch mob called the media had come
She’d looked barely put together, as though she’d picked up the outfit at a garage sale in a deliberate attempt to blend into somewhere she categorically did not belong.
But that’s not what had gotten him as he’d rolled the warm glass of whiskey between his hands. Her eyes. They’d…haunted him, reminded him of an animal tossed alongside the highway by its owner. Something fierce and raw had glowed in depths he later discovered to be the color of moss, and it had seared through all the indifference and the isolation, blistering him despite the fact he’d long since been beyond the point of feeling. Anything. Except hatred. And loathing. Contempt.
It had not been contempt that he felt. Not even when he’d seen her again on Lambert’s arm. That had been excitement, the unholy anticipation of a game he’d neither expected nor wanted, but suddenly looked forward to playing. And winning.
Now…Christ, now she had a name. Saura. And a brother who both trusted and respected him. And she was neither the cat, nor the mouse.
On a low growl he picked up a news magazine and flipped open the front cover, then threw it across the room. Collette never took this long. She was quick and efficient, and she didn’t ask questions. Or file police reports. Which made the lady doctor who split her time between the clinic and Ochsner’s popular with those on both sides of the law.
The door shoved open, but it was not Dr. Guidry who strode into the small room, where she stashed those she didn’t want anyone else to see. Frowning, Cain closed the door behind him.
John stilled. “What’s going on—”
“Collette made me leave the room, said I wasn’t doing Saura’s blood pressure any good.” Frowning, Cain shook his head. “Saura decides to play Nancy Drew and throw herself at a scumbag like Nathan Lambert, and Collette’s worried about her freaking blood pressure?”
“How high is it?”
Cain blinked. “What?”
“Her blood pressure? How high is it? She inhaled a lot of—”
“She’s fine.” Her brother bit the words out. “Her lungs are fine. The cut on her forehead is fine.” His eyes met John’s. “It’s her goddamned death wish I’m worried about.”
Death wish. It was not a term John liked. “You get anything else out of her? She tell you what she was doing with Lambert?”
Cain grabbed his cell phone and flipped it open, pushed a few buttons then jammed it back in his jeans. “All she’ll say is she wants the same thing we do. She and Alec were close. She knows I suspect Lambert, says I should trust her, that she knows what she’s doing.”
Knows what she’s doing. Cozying up to Lambert. Letting the man touch her. Walking into his bedroom. John’s gut tightened as the memory of Lambert’s big bed flashed into his mind, of Saura alone with that man. In that bed.
He curled his hand into a fist and regrouped, knew he couldn’t let emotion twist through his voice. And Holy God in Heaven, he said a grim prayer of thanks he was not a kiss-and-tell kind of man. “Does she have any idea how dangerous Lambert is?”
“You don’t know my sister,” Cain snapped, and the sudden blast of heat almost made John break out in a sweat. Yanking off his jacket, he tossed it onto a chair and found a sudden interest in the magazines.
He most definitely knew Cain’s sister.
“Things like danger and inappropriateness have never stopped her,” her brother said. “She used to get off on doing what everyone told her she couldn’t, just to prove she could.”
John shot Cain a look. “Used to?”
“Up until about two years ago.”
“What happened then?” The second he spoke, he made the connection. Two years before Cain Robichaud had been railroaded off the force and out of town. The lynch mob called the media had come
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