Exposure Page 2

  "Excuse me?" Insulted right down to her fingertips, Emma stepped without thought in front of the big law officer. It never occurred to her to let him handle the slur to her name; she was accustomed to fighting her own battles. Drawing up to her full height of five feet, nine and three-quarter inches, Emma faced the mechanic squarely.

  "How would you like to find your scraggly little rear end in a court of law defendin' against a slander suit?" she demanded in a low but combative voice. Her brown eyes, boring into his, burned with outrage. "I've been in this town less than two hours and y'all don't know me from Adam, sir, so where do you get off castin' aspersions on my virtue?" Taking a deep breath, Emma felt her shoulders brush against the sheriff's chest, and she was curiously tempted for about two seconds to lean back and let it support her weight.

  How ridiculous. She stood taller, blowing out an impatient little breath. "Legally, you're already treadin' a thin line here with my car," she informed Gertz coolly and then warned the belligerent mechanic, "I'd take heed if I were you, Mistah Bill Whoever-the-devil-you-are, because I'm tellin' you right now as clearly as I possibly can. If I hear one more obscenity uttered in front of my baby, we won't be talkin' a nickel-dime-let's-settle-out-of-court lawsuit. I'll go out and hire myself the biggest legal gun this side of the Mississippi Rivah and y'all can bank on the fact that we won't rest until this sorry little garage is mine!" She gave her surroundings a disparaging glance, then met the mechanic's eyes levelly once again. "The place is obviously in need of somebody who knows how to run it right."

  That's when she ran out of steam. Yeah, sure, Em, she thought with derision. Big Talk. As if she'd dare do anything that would draw attention to her and Gracie's whereabouts. But she neither blinked nor looked away from Bill Gertz's stare. She'd learned to bluff at a tender age and no crooked little backwater mechanic was going to jerk Emma Robescheaux Sands around. Or call her slanderous names in front of her child.

  "Maman?" Gracie tugged on her mother's hair to get her attention. When Emma looked down, her daughter asked uncertainly, "We go bye-bye now?"

  "Soon, angel pie." Emma dipped her head to kiss the child's chubby neck. Rubbing her hand gently through Gracie's curls, she raised cold and level eyes to meet the mechanic's gaze once again. "So, what's it gonna be, Mistah Gertz?"

  Believing every word she'd said, he looked around, wishing to hell he'd never started this whole sorry mess. But who the hell woulda expected a woman—especially a woman who looked like this one—to know so much about cars? Conning unattached females had always worked just fine for him in the past.

  Gauging the mood of the crowd, he could see there would be no help for him there. Most of those gathered might have little use for Elvis Donnelly socially, but they did respect him professionally. And Bill could see it had been a tactical error on his part to make crude remarks to a young woman who held a dimpled little angel in her arms. Shit. There was no help for it.

  "I'll flush your damn cylinders," he muttered ungraciously. What the hell; he'd bluff his way out of this, then the woman would probably hit the highway and he'd never have to see her again. By this time next week no one would even remember he'd tried to cheat her. Except maybe Elvis Donnelly.

  And who the hell cared about him?

  * * * * *

  Emma was wrung out by the time her car was once again in her possession and she'd driven it around the square to the small parking lot behind Ruby's boarding house. After spearing the mechanic with a contemptuous gaze one final time and garnering that unsmiling nod in exchange for the thank you she'd given the big sheriff for his assistance, she would have loved nothing better than to clear out of town. Unfortunately, she couldn't afford to do that.

  She'd cleaned out her savings account when she'd left St. Louis and it had consisted of exactly one thousand, four hundred, thirty-six dollars and seventeen cents. She'd maxed out her Visa and Mastercharge by taking cash advances of four thousand dollars each on the cards Grant had insisted on paying for her. That gave her a grand total of nine thousand, four hundred and thirty-six dollars and seventeen cents. It seemed like a lot of money to someone who hadn't had to pay her own bills in years. But when she considered it was all that stood between Gracie and the streets, and as an annual income went was right about poverty level, the cushion it provided became pretty thin. She had already used five hundred, ninety-seven dollars and change getting this far, and she sure as heck couldn't afford to throw away a week's room and board in a fit of pique.

  Like it or not, she was stuck in unfriendly little Port Flannery for the next seven days.

  Chapter 2

  The town perhaps wasn't as unfriendly as she'd first believed. That night in the cafe, Ruby herself came over to deliver Emma's and Gracie's dinners. Sliding the fruit-garnished plate of macaroni and cheese in front of Grade, she looked across the table at Emma. "I heard about your run-in with Bill this afternoon," she said, and Emma regarded her warily, unable to tell from the other woman's expression or tone what her opinion of the afternoon's debacle might be.

  "I imagine it's the talk of the town," she replied noncommittally.

  "Oh, that it is. Kind of gives you an idea of the entertainment potential in a town this size, doesn't it?" Ruby deftly slid Emma's bowl of soup and plate of salad in front of her. Then she stood back and regarded her. "There's been many a time I was positive he was cheating me, too, but what I know about cars you could print on the head of a pin in big, block letters, so I've never had the nerve to call him on it." Smoothing the pink cotton of her uniform over her sleek hips, she gave Emma an amused smile. "Honey, it did this old girl's heart a world of good to hear a woman caused him to back down." Pushing a stray tendril of hennaed hair back into her coiffure with the eraser end of her order pencil, she regarded Emma quietly for an instant. "You really know as much about cars as folks are saying you do?" she finally asked.

  "I know quite a bit," Emma admitted with a shrug. "I was probably the biggest tomboy in all of N'Awlins when I was a kid. My motto was 'Anything a boy can do, I can do better.' " She gave the other woman a wryly self-deprecatory smile and shrugged again. "For a lot of years it was just my big brother and me, and chere, from the time I was nine until I was fourteen years old I spent about every wakin' hour in his shop."

  "Would you be interested in giving my car a tune-up?"

  Emma's mouth dropped open, and she quickly snapped it shut. "Please," she said, waving a hand at the chair opposite her, "won't you sit down a moment? I'm getting a crick in my neck looking up at you."

  Ruby grinned and pulled out the chair. Sitting down, she commanded, "Eat your soup before it gets cold." When Emma obediently picked up her spoon and began eating, Ruby leaned back in her chair. "Bonnie!" she called out in the general direction of the counter. "Bring me over a cup of coffee, will ya, doll?"

  "Sure thing, Ruby." the waitress called back, and Ruby straightened, turning her attention to the little girl seated on her left in order to allow the child's mother a few moments to finish her soup. "So, your name is Gracie, right?"

  Gracie looked up. There was melted cheese ringing her mouth, but she was oblivious as she gave the red-headed woman a big, warm smile. "Wight! I'm fwee." Dropping her fork on her plate, she then bent in her little finger and held it down with her thumb, presenting the three remaining fingers in a crooked display for the woman to count.

  "Three years old," Ruby marveled. "That's a big girl."

  "Big girl," Gracie agreed. Always thrilled to entertain, and seeing this as an ideal time to show off some of her tricks, she splatted her hands in the casserole on her plate and grinned at her new friend as she chanted loudly in time to her movements, "Patty cake, patty cake, bakeoos man!"

  "Grace Melina!" Spoon clattering to the tabletop, Emma reached across the table to grasp her daughter's wrists. She pulled the little hands away from the plate and admonished her sternly, "Big girls do not play in their food, cherie; you know that." Deftly, she dipped her napkin in her water glass and
wiped the child's sticky fingers free of macaroni and cheese. "You use your fork now or you can just kiss your dessert good-bye." Looking up at Ruby, she grimaced with rueful apology. "I'm sorry about that. Sometimes her manners leave a little somethin' to be desired."

  "Don't worry about it; I've got two kids of my own. They're both in their teens now, but kids are kids.

  I know how it goes." She accepted her cup of coffee from the waitress with a smile and then sat back. After taking a sip, she put down the cup and, nodding toward Gracie, said, "She's a friendly little thing, isn't she?"

  "Too friendly at times," Emma agreed. "Gracie subscribes to the Will Rogers school of friendship, don'tcha, angel? She's never met a man—or a woman, for that matter—she doesn't like. It scares me to death sometimes, because no matter how many times I've lectured her about not talking to strangers, I'm not one hundred percent certain she won't go waltzing off with the first one to present her with a persuasive enough story."

  "Gwacie'd say no," Gracie insisted, digging tracks through her macaroni with her fork tines.

  "I know you would, angel pie," Emma retorted, but she raised a skeptical eyebrow at Ruby and changed the subject. "About your car," she said.

  "I'm not asking you to do anything fancy," Ruby interrupted. "It's due for its oil change and—you know—that other stuff that usually goes along with a tune-up." She waved her hand in vague illustration, and Emma gave her a lopsided smile.

  "Points and plugs, oil change, battery check, and a new filter?" From the way Ruby spoke Emma assumed she did not have a late model car that was electronically regulated.

  "Yeah." Ruby smiled. "That stuff. How much would you charge me to do that?"

  "I don't know. Is there a car parts store around here?"

  "Mackey's, the general store down on the quay, has a parts department"

  "In that case"—Emma quoted a price—"plus whatever the parts come to. For all I know island prices could be twice what they'd charge on the mainland," she warned. "So before you make up your mind maybe you'd better let me look into it. I'll drop by the store first thing tomorrow. Once we know more you can tell me if it sounds reasonable to you."

  "Sure," Ruby agreed and then shrugged. "But I imagine it'll be fine. Bill usually charges three times that."

  In a tone sweeter than sorghum and melodious as a soft, Southern breeze, Emma stated her opinion of Bill and his practices, and Ruby laughed. Emma then proceeded to garner all the pertinent details on the make, model, and year of Ruby's car before the older woman excused herself and pushed back from the table. As Gracie finished her dinner and ate her dessert, her mother hugged to her breast the potential she'd just been given to supplement her cache of traveler's checks. She felt like dancing by the time she let Gracie and herself into their newly rented room.

  She didn't dare apply for a regular job; the moment her social security number went onto a paycheck, one of Grant's minions or a private detective was sure to be hot on her trail. It was a threat whose validity she didn't doubt for an instant.

  And the good Lord knew the actualization of it was something she must avoid.

  But tuning up Ruby's car . . . Oh Gawd, it was so perfect. No W2 to lead Grant to her and the opportunity to replace a little bit of what she'd already spent. Emma picked up Gracie and whirled her around, hugging her close and laughing.

  The action sent Gracie a little out of control. She twirled in circles the moment Emma set her on her feet, spinning and laughing loudly. Grimacing over the tactical error she'd made in allowing her daughter to get so worked up, Emma went to collect the child's pajamas, not noticing when Gracie opened the door to their room.

  Gracie danced out into the hallway; then twirled back in, slapping her feet against the hardwood floor as hard as she could, staring down at her little sneakers with their orange and yellow hand-painted fish. The door behind her didn't quite close.

  Elvis, climbing the stairs, saw the little girl twirl like a top out into the hall, cheeks blazing and blond curls flying, and then stomp like a Charlie Chaplin wannabe back into the room. He hesitated at the top of the stairs before making his way quietly down the hallway.

  He was surprised to see them still in town. Once Emma Sands and her little moppet had collected their great car in the wake of the brouhaha at Bill's that afternoon, he hadn't expected to see them again. The last thing he'd anticipated was coming home to hear the little girl screeching like a banshee just three doors down from his own room.

  Hesitating at the side of the door, he looked into their room. Emma Sands was straightening from a crouch in front of the chest of drawers. She pressed a long-fingered hand into the small of her back and arched, stretching that long spine out. "That's enough, Gracie," she commanded quietly in the soft, accented contralto he remembered from that afternoon. "You're actin' like a monkey girl."

  Elvis eyed that body, listened to that luscious Southern drawl, and wondered where in hell the husband was. He was amazed at how curious he was to know her story. Usually he didn't give a rip.

  The hand that had been blown off by a car bomb commenced to itch like crazy, and he rubbed his forearm, where it attached to the prosthesis, gently against the seam of his Levi's. It was a conditioned reflex, an attempt to alleviate the genuine torment of a phantom limb. With an automatic eye for detail he simultaneously perused the room, taking a comprehensive inventory of the contents.

  She wasn't simply on vacation; that was his first conclusion. Not with that small television set and VCR she'd set up on the dresser. People didn't drag shit like that along with them for a week in the country. Then, his massive shoulders twitched in a shrug. So, big deal, what the hell. Maybe she was moving.

  But he had a cop's instinct that didn't think so.

  Gracie was bobbing in place, scratching herself, and making monkey noises that were growing progressively louder. Finally, Emma tossed aside the pajamas she was holding and snatched her daughter to her. She wrapped both arms around Gracie's chubby little body, pinning the child's arms to her sides.

  "That is enough, s 'il vous plait," she said sternly, but then kissed her daughter's scarlet cheek and flopped down onto the bed on her back, holding the little girl to her chest. Gracie wriggled her arms free and wrapped them around her mother's neck. Rubbing her cheek against Emma's full breasts, she brought down one hand to slide her thumb into her mouth.

  "There are other people up here," Emma continued admonishing her in a soft voice, smoothing tangled curls away from her daughter's flushed cheeks. "And, angel pie, somehow I doubt very much that they appreciate hearing you yell and scream while they're tryin' to watch TV or read their books."

  "Gwacie's Monkey Girl."

  "Oui, I know. And because I also know you're tired and because I'm the one who got you so wound up in the first place, I'm trying to make allowances. But no more noises, or Maman's gonna quit talkin' and take action. And Gracie honey, I don't think you wanna find out what that action's goin' to be."

  Gracie yawned. " 'Kay," she said around her thumb.

  "You want to take a bath tonight, sugar? There's a big ol' tub down the hall, and we've still got some of that bubble bath left that y'all like so much."

  "Wanna call Gwandpapa."

  Emma stiffened, but then immediately forced herself to relax. "Um, Grandpapa's out of town," she said with strained casualness. "I'm afraid we can't get ahold of him 'til he gets back. Want to read a book?"

  Elvis abruptly straightened. He'd been admiring the way Emma handled her daughter, but the cop in him shifted to red alert at her words. He recognized a lie when he heard one and wondered what she was hiding. Then he frowned. What the hell, she hadn't broken any laws in his town. His curiosity about this woman was a radical departure from his usual attitude, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

  He was nevertheless curious.

  Unfortunately, the uncharacteristic interest she sparked in him also made him careless. He moved too abruptly and it drew her attention.

  Emma
, having discerned motion from the corner of her eye, whipped her head around in its direction.

  Her door was open a crack and a huge shadow out in the hallway absorbed the light in the space to the side of the doorway. Heart knocking up against her rib cage, arms tightening protectively around her child, she scooted back on the bed, struggling to sit up.

  Elvis saw the alarm on her face and stepped in front of the opening, pushing it a little wider with his hand and bringing himself into the light. "Good evening, Mrs. Sands," he greeted her soberly.

  "Sheriff Donnelly," she retorted stiffly. She hesitated then demanded, "Did you open my door?"

  "No, ma'am. It was open when I came down the hall."

  He could hardly say her daughter had done it without admitting he'd been standing out here in the hallway watching them like some lowlife Peeping Tom. But his eyes dropped to study her baby's face.

  The little girl nestled her cheek into her mother's breast and solemnly returned his look for several seconds. Then her lips pursed and she sucked hard on her thumb. Her index finger curled around her button of a nose.

  Emma tucked her chin into her neck to look down also. "Gracie?" she questioned.

  Gracie slowly raised guilty eyes to meet her mother's.

  "Did you open the door?"

  Gracie took several comforting pulls on her thumb and then let her lips go slack. "Uh huh."

  "And did you leave the room?"

  Gracie opened her mouth to deny it, figuring she'd already had more than her fair share of trouble that day and sure didn't need any more. But the Big Bird-large man with the owie on his face was watching her and she knew he could read her mind like Santa Claus. "Uh huh."

  "Grace Melina Sands," Emma said with stern displeasure, "what have I told you about opening hotel-room doors or running out of them without me?"

  "Woon't no caws or twucks, Mommy." Big tears rose in her eyes, and her bottom lip started to tremble. She dug her head harder into her mother's breast.