He raised a smug brow. “What are you doing here?”
“You said you’d call.”
He shook his hair away from his eyes. “I said I’d let you know if I learned anything.”
“I’m not disrupting your bar. I’m just watching to see if Julia or that guy comes in.”
“And then what?”
“What?”
“What’ll you do if the guy does show up? You think you can appeal to his sense of honor and he’ll just confess to whatever it is he did with your friend?”
Her stomach tightened as his soft Southern accent contrasted sharply with images of Julia fighting for her life, being tied up and throw in a trunk, injured or… dead. “Well, I’ll—I’ll call the police and tell them to bring him in for questioning.”
“And what if he says he left her alive and well the other night?”
She folded her arms, mimicking him. “Whose side are you on?”
“I’m on my own side. I don’t want another scene in my bar.”
“Fine. Then I’ll question him once he leaves your bar.”
He shook his head. “You got a death wish, cher?”
Cher? The Cajun shorthand for cherie? Darling in French. Something in her stomach fluttered and tingled. No one had ever called her darling before. Not that he meant it as an endearment. He didn’t even know her. He probably called every woman that so he wouldn’t have to remember her name the next morning.
She straightened her spine. “My name is Claire.” She offered her right hand. “Claire Brooks. And you are?”
One corner of his mouth curled up. “You gave me your card last night, Doctor, remember?”
“Oh.” She could feel her face heating again. Another dorky move. But what was new? She kept her hand extended, and… he took it.
“Rafe Moreau.”
She smiled. So silly to be happy over a handshake. “Mr. Moreau.”
“Rafe will do.” His hand enveloped hers in warmth. Her hands were always so cold, it felt wonderful, the heat, the roughness of his palm and the wave of awareness that swept over her. Skin touching skin. His very maleness so close to her, exuding some sort of sexual heat.
She snatched her hand away.
He probably wasn’t even conscious of how sexy he was.
“Listen, Claire. Why don’t you go back—”
She gasped.
“What?”
Ignoring Rafe, Claire shoved away from the bar and strode across the lounge area. She stepped in front of a punked-out bleached blonde. “Where did you get that?” Claire pointed to the necklace draped over the blonde’s black leather bustier. Hanging from a thick silver chain was a pewter pentacle about two inches in diameter.
She screwed up her face in a look of disgust and turned away. “None of your business.”
Claire grabbed her arm. She’d finally found a lead to Julia and she wasn’t about to lose it. “It most certainly is my business. I know for a fact that necklace couldn’t possibly belong to you.”
The woman yanked her arm from Claire’s grasp. “You don’t know nuthin’. Now, get out of my face before I—”
“Is there a problem here?” Rafe appeared beside Claire and stepped between them.
“Yeah, this bitch is bothering me.”
“Rafe. That necklace.” Claire pointed to the jewelry on the chain. “It belongs to Julia. She would never part with it willingly.”
Rafe glanced from Claire to the necklace, then back to Claire. “How can you be sure?”
Claire narrowed her eyes at the woman. “Maybe I should just call the police and let them look into it.”
“Man, she’s crazy. I’m outta here.” The woman spun to leave, but Rafe clutched her shoulder.
“This will just take a sec.” He stared at the woman and whatever she saw in his expression convinced her to wait. Nice talent to have.
The bleached blonde shrugged. “Whatever.”
Rafe looked back at Claire.
“I gave it to Julia for her graduation from Cosmetology School. It’s engraved on the back. My name and her name and the date, 5-27-04.”
Rafe raised his brows and turned toward the bustiered woman. “Free drinks the rest of the night if you let me see the back of your necklace.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Sure!” She wrenched the chain up and over her head and dropped it in his waiting palm.
Rafe turned it over and Claire leaned in to look.
As she’d known it would be, there on the back was the engraving that proved it was Julia’s.
“I TOLD YOU!” Dr. Claire Brooks tried to snatch the necklace from him, but Rafe was quicker, dodging her grasp.
Undeterred, the stubborn woman gave her attention to the blonde. “Where did you get this?”
The blonde sniffed. “Why should I tell you?”
“I could pay you.”
Whoa. Rafe almost warned the good doctor against offering money, but hey, he’d done enough already.
Blondie hesitated. “Yeah? How much?”
The doctor’s brow crinkled and she lifted her huge purse to her chest, dug around inside it and finally produced a couple of bills. “Would you take twenty dollars?”
“Make it fifty.”
Heh. Blondie was no fool.
“I’ll give you seventy-five,” the doctor shot back, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “For the information and the necklace.”
The blonde’s eyes glittered with greed. “I got it at the Blue Bayou Flea Market.” She held her palm out expectantly.
The naive doctor set her chin. “Which stall?”
The blonde pursed her lips and scowled. “I don’t know! Hey, are you gonna pay me or what?”
Dr. Brooks turned her back, hunched over and pulled something out from the neckline of her shirt. Turning back around, she slapped the money into Blondie’s waiting hand, who made a beeline for the bar.
Shaking his head, Rafe handed the necklace to the doctor. “You paid way too much for that, cher.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t want to cause another disturbance in your bar.”
Rafe blinked. Had she truly been worried about his business? Right. She probably just didn’t want to get thrown out again.
“Well, thank you for your help.” She extended her hand. “Offering that woman free drinks all night was extremely generous of you.”
Rafe stared at her right hand. He should shake it and get her out of his life forever. “Tell the police. Let them check it out.”
She dropped her hand. “Of course, I’ll tell them.”
Good.
“But I also intend to search the flea market myself.”
Of course she did. He shook his head.
“If it’s anything like the flea markets back home in Missouri, this place will have hundreds of stalls. I doubt the N.O.P.D. will have the manpower to question each one of the proprietors.”