The Boys in Blue: Jordan/Liam/Zachary: Harlequin Intrigue #745 by Rebecca York, Patricia Rosemoor, Ann Voss Peterson

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Boys In Blue

Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.

Chapter One

Was he the mugger who had assaulted one of her patrons? Or was he from the security company she'd hired to make sure nobody else ended up getting hit over the head and robbed after enjoying her crawfish etouffee?

Realizing her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, she made an effort to relax. There was no point letting the customers she had left see her anxiety.

Until the mugging incident two weeks ago, Chez Camille had been on the fast track to culinary success. Her sweet-potato pie and Cajun bisque had been the New Orleans dishes of the season.

Now people were talking about her for the wrong reasons. And she was paying for ads in the newspaper assuring her customers of their safety.

A flurry of movement at the door made her heart accelerate. But it was only Sadie Marceau and her sister, Helen Gaylord, bustling through the front door.

She gave the portly, older women a warm smile. "Good to see you."

"We wouldn't miss Voodoo Night for the world," Helen answered as she got out her purse and handed over the evening's fifty-dollar admission price. "Oh, I love that black-beaded dress. It's perfect for you. Nineteen twenties, right?"

"Yes. I got it at Glad Rags."

"Janet would have loved it," Helen murmured, referring to Janet Phillippe, a woman in her eighties who, until her death a month ago, had been a regular at the Thursday-night ceremonies.

Camille talked for a moment with the sisters about how much they all missed the senior member of the group, then Sadie asked, "What goodies are you feeding us tonight?"

"I've got a wonderful shrimp remoulade, some of those stuffed oysters you love and a pecan torte," Camille answered.

Sadie made a beeline for the food table, while Helen went to greet friends.

Camille glanced at the various people seated at her tile-topped tables. Most of them were middle-aged and upper-middle class and enthralled by the idea of flirting with the dark and dangerous.

A month ago, Camille had been thinking it might be time to cancel these Thursday-night ceremonies. Now she was thankful for the business they brought in.

Spiro DeLyon and his much younger wife, Miss Lulu, had come early for dinner, as had their friend Tony Fortune. She didn't much like Tony, but she kept that opinion to herself. He was sitting next to a couple of tourists from Philadelphia who had also dined at the restaurant.

At the next table was Lisa Cantro, who'd told the others she'd lost her home in a hurricane a year ago and also recently lost her job. She was hoping that voodoo would reverse her fortunes and was listening wideeyed to a tale about a man who had asked the priestess for a protective voodoo charm. In a subsequent rainstorm, all the houses in the neighborhood were flooded but his.

Camille had heard that story before. And other testimonials. Privately she was thinking that if voodoo worked, the police would have already caught the mugger who was playing hell with her own fortunes, since the first ceremony after the incident had featured a plea to the loa, the voodoo pantheon of gods, to bring the perp to justice. As far as she could see, it hadn't worked.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a tall young man. "Is, uh, this the place where, uh, they're having the voodoo ceremony?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes."

The willowy brunette with him giggled.

"The cover charge is fifty dollars a person, which includes our refreshment buffet," Camille said, gesturing toward the table at the side of the room.

He didn't blink at the price, and she collected a hundred dollars in cash. Turning back to the door, she tensed as she spotted the man from across the street coming toward her. When she saw he was wearing the uniform of Garland Security, she started to relax. Then she saw his face, and the breath froze in her lungs.

It couldn't be.

Even as she told herself she was seeing things, she knew it was Jordan O'Reilly. He was as tall as she remembered - just over six feet. With the same dark hair and dark brows. And he was just as heartbreakingly handsome.

He pulled the door open, and they stood facing each other for the first time in six years.

Momentarily disoriented, she clamped her fingers over the edge of the nearest table. His familiar features were harder, more cynical. And she suspected the lines at the corners of his eyes weren't from laughter.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" she stammered, overcome by the emotions swirling through her. "I thought you were with the police force."

JORDAN WAITED a beat before answering, fighting the sudden breathless feeling that gripped his chest. He hadn't been lurking on the other side of the street by accident. No, he'd been putting off the moment he was going to have to face Camille DuPree.

Clearing his throat, he answered, "Yes, I'm with the New Orleans Police Department. But I'm earning some extra income. You have any objections to that?"

He knew he sounded as if he was issuing a challenge, but he couldn't make his voice any less strident.

"Of course not," she murmured.

Up close he could see she was as slim and lovely and unreachable as he remembered. Only now she was all grown up with her blond hair in an upsweep and her high cheekbones accented with a bit of blusher. Out on her own, without her precious family fluttering around. Her father had died ten years ago, but her mom was still in charge of the family mansion. And she had a whole slew of rich snobby aunts and uncles and cousins who were always in and out of the house.

But they weren't here now. And she was in trouble.

That was the reason he was here.

The morning he'd seen the article in the newspaper about the mugging, he'd felt something inside his chest turn over. Even after everything that had happened, he'd wanted to come charging to her rescue. So when the job had appeared in the Garland Security computer, he'd asked for it.

Was she as uptight about this meeting as he was? he wondered, then realized she was speaking again.

"Come in. Can I offer you something to eat?" she said, her upper-class gracious-hostess personality firmly in place.

"Not while I'm on duty," he answered, then went still as he spotted Spiro DeLyon. Apparently the man and his pretty redheaded wife had arrived before Jordan had come on shift.

He cursed under his breath. He'd arrested DeLyon for DWI a few months ago. Too bad the man had so much clout in the city - it was probably the reason Jordan hadn't gotten the promotion he'd been expecting.

Their eyes locked, and the businessman's jaw firmed.

(Continues...)

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