Thigh High

  “They didn’t crumple. Nathan Manly stole the money, all of the money in that business, and it was a huge business, and left us destitute. Left the whole town and everybody in it on the breadline, not to mention a whole bunch of stockholders. So don’t feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for poor little Prince Jeremiah.”

  “Because his father abandoned him.” She’d been so eaten up with anger, she hadn’t thought that MacNaught might have issues about people who steal, then walk away and never pay the price.

  “No.” Ryan couldn’t have made his contempt more clear. “Because everybody in that town hated his father, and his father was gone.”

  “So everybody in that town took it out on him.” The scars on MacNaught’s face and chest took on new meaning. Assault and battery with intent to commit murder. “What did you do to him?”

  “I didn’t do it,” Ryan denied swiftly. Then he grinned. “But I helped my father get a hold of him. It was so easy. All the time, even after his father left, he was nice to me because he thought I had it rougher than him. That piece of shit felt sorry for me. So that day…it was in December, freezing rain falling—man, it was miserable! That day I ran up to him—he was with his mother doing Christmas shopping—and told him I needed help. And he told his mama to stay where she was, and came like a lamb to the slaughter.”

  “How old was he?”

  “Thirteen. Big for his age.”

  “How many guys did your dad have with him?”

  “Seven.”

  “So seven adult men beat up on a thirteen-year-old?” She slathered on the sarcasm. “Wow. Your dad was a hero!”

  “He was! It was what everybody in town wanted to do. He would have gotten away with it, too, but the little prince’s mother followed him, and when she saw what was happening, she ran and got the cops.” Ryan showed his scummy brown teeth. “They arrested my dad, and because of Jeremiah and his goddamn mother, my dad got killed in prison.”

  Ryan’s dad abused him when he was a kid, beat up on a thirteen-year-old, and Ryan was angry about his father’s death. Blamed MacNaught for it. She didn’t understand. She never would.

  Picking her words carefully, she said, “If you’re looking for revenge, this seems a precarious plan. MacNaught’s going to leave this to the professionals.”

  “No, he’s not.”

  “He’s not a hostage negotiator.”

  “He’s in love with you.”

  “Really, he’s not. No guy in love would treat me the way he has.”

  “You’re as dumb as any woman. He’ll treat you however he needs to treat you to get you.” Ryan’s expression showed grim conviction. “I’ve watched you guys. I’ve watched him look at you. He adores you, and he’s the kind of jerk who would do anything to protect his woman.”

  “Really.” Really? “You think he adores me?”

  “Why do you think I made another attempt at screwing you? Because if he thought he was losing you, he’d go crazy.” Ryan wiped the sheen of sweat off his forehead. “He’s going to come for you.”

  “But it still doesn’t make sense.” She twirled in a circle. Pushed herself back and forth. “What are you going to do if MacNaught does show up? Have him clean out the vault, order up a helicopter, and lift us off the roof? This is not James Bond.”

  “My dad always said I couldn’t do anything right. Called me a faggot. Told me I was stupid. But I’ll show him. I’m going to do what my dad couldn’t do.” Ryan held the pistol in one hand and used the other to pet the barrel. “I’m going to kill Jeremiah MacNaught.”

  Forty-one

  Inside, the clock ticked on the wall.

  Outside, Nessa heard sirens and shouting.

  She stared at Ryan. “You’re going to murder him? Isn’t that the same as killing the goose that laid the golden egg? How are you going to get away?”

  “I’m not. I can’t live in the swamp. I can’t get out of town. I’m not going back to prison. And my leg…I got shot last week. It’s oozing and it smells. They’re going to cut it off, I know they are.” Ryan’s face set in sullen lines. “So he’s going to die. I’m going to die. And you—”

  Nessa caught a glimpse of movement from inside the vault.

  MacNaught had come to save her.

  Ripping the last of the paper off the roll of quarters, she flung the coins on the marble floor.

  They hit. They smacked. They rolled in all directions. The sound echoed in the empty bank.

  Startled, frantic, Ryan leaped to his feet, pointing his firearm up and down, around and behind.

  As hard as she could, Nessa shoved with her feet, propelling the chair toward the service center. She dove for cover—and from the corners of her eyes, saw MacNaught. He knelt in the door of the vault. He aimed the cold black eye of a police service revolver right at Ryan. The pistol jumped in MacNaught’s hands.

  As she slid across the floor and behind the heavy marble slab, she heard the bark of a single gunshot, Ryan’s scream, and a heavy thud.

  Ryan’s scream. He was the one who’d screamed…wasn’t he? If MacNaught was shot, she couldn’t bear it.

  Firm footsteps echoed through the bank.

  She peered out from behind the counter, and there he was. Mac MacNaught.

  Green eyes. Dark hair, mussed and falling over his forehead. Big bruiser of a body. Scars on his forehead. Scars that told a story Nessa could comprehend.

  On the floor, Ryan lay unconscious, bleeding from a wound by his collarbone.

  MacNaught leaned over him, retrieved Ryan’s semiautomatic pistol, and stood.

  Nessa scrambled to her feet.

  MacNaught looked at her, and his relief and joy shone from him.

  Ryan was right. MacNaught did love her.

  “Ionessa?” His voice shook.

  She’d never heard a sound as sweet.

  She walked into MacNaught’s arms.

  He held her as if he would never let her go. “I thought I’d lost you. And I walked out of the bank without telling you—”

  “I let you walk out and was such a—”

  “Is it over?” a high, breathless voice said from the corner.

  MacNaught jumped, freed himself, aimed the pistols. “Who’s there?”

  “Don’t shoot me. Don’t shoot me!” Arms up, Stephanie stepped out of the corridor and into the light.

  “What the hell?” MacNaught stared incredulously.

  “She was hiding in her office,” Nessa said.

  “She let you face him alone?” MacNaught’s voice rose.

  Stephanie’s voice rose right back. “It wouldn’t do me any good to get killed, too!”

  Snarling like an angry bull mastiff, MacNaught gathered himself to spring.

  Nessa pulled him back into her arms. “Stephanie’s right. If I’d been in her office and she’d been out here, you would have wanted me to stay in there.”

  “But you wouldn’t have.”

  “No. But you would have wanted it.” Nessa could see Georgia standing outside the bank, gesturing. “The police want to come in.”

  “Stephanie, open the door,” MacNaught ordered.

  “My keys.” In a panic, Stephanie slapped at her sides. “I don’t know where they are.”

  “Here. Take mine.” Nessa tossed them to her.

  Stephanie’s shaking hands missed by a mile.

  In a low rumble, MacNaught said, “That woman is worthless. And he—” He glanced at Ryan.

  “Do you recognize him?” Nessa asked.

  “No. Should I?”

  “His name is Ryan Wright, and he grew up in the same town you did.”

  “Ryan Wright. I don’t know anybody named Ryan Wright.” MacNaught walked over to the prone body and turned Ryan’s face to the light.

  “He went to your school. His father worked at your father’s firm, and when your father—”

  That did it. “It’s Russell Whimper. With a beard!”

  “Russell Whimper?”

  Stephanie walked past, k
eys in hand, but they rattled in her grasp.

  “Russell Whipple, but he was always bruised or had a cast on his arm, so we called him Russell Whimper.” MacNaught spoke with the confidence of a man who had left those days and that place behind. “His dad used to get drunk and beat the crap out of him, and Whimper would snivel and slink around school because he was so embarrassed. Poor kid. I haven’t thought about him in years.”

  “He’s thought about you—obsessively,” Nessa said. “He blamed you for everything. When you were thirteen and they beat you up—”

  Suddenly watchful, MacNaught looked up, into her eyes. “He told you about that, did he?”

  “He bragged about it. It was his dad and his friends who did it. And Russell is the one who sprang the trap.”

  Reflexively, Mac’s hand flew to his forehead. He stared hard at Russell, then shook his head. “He may have. I don’t remember that day worth a damn. I only remember one thing for sure.”

  “Hold on!” Stephanie called to Georgia as she struggled to insert the key in the lock. “I’m getting it!”

  “What do you remember?” Nessa asked.

  “I remember my mother running away.”

  Startled, Nessa stared at MacNaught. “Running away? She didn’t run away. She—”

  “Look out!” MacNaught leaped. Grabbed her so fast he jerked her out of her shoes.

  Shots splintered the air.

  The glass front door exploded.

  Stephanie screamed bloody murder and kept screaming.

  MacNaught and Nessa rolled, and came to rest under the counter.

  More glass shattered. They could hear shouts. “Police!”

  Mac shoved at Nessa, pushing her out of sight behind the service counter.

  She pulled at him, dragging him with her.

  “It’s okay!” Georgia’s voice sounded like a bullhorn. “I got him.”

  “Got him? Wh-what happened?” Nessa stammered.

  “I was stupid, that’s what happened.” Mac reclined on his back on the cool marble. “I thought Whimper was unconscious, and I didn’t check him for weapons. When you looked back at me, he pulled a pistol out of his belt and aimed right at you.”

  “He said he wasn’t going back to jail.” Now that the danger was over, her teeth were chattering.

  MacNaught clutched her, hanging on as if to warm her—or hold her in place. “Listen, Nessa, you’ve got to let me explain why I came to New Orleans.”

  He’d just saved her life. Twice. She didn’t want to think about how he’d lied to her. “Don’t you think we should talk to the police first?”

  “No.” He held her tighter. “I need to tell you now.”

  She recalled what her aunts said. Listen to him. But now didn’t seem the time. “If this is about how you hate thieves because your father stole all that money and abandoned you, I get it. I don’t even blame you. I’d be mad, too. Not psychotically mad, not I’m going to sneak around and sleep with someone and lie to her about who I am mad, but mad.”

  “There’s more to it than that.” His voice sounded fainter.

  “Look.” Nessa put her elbow in his ribs and shoved her way free. “Georgia’s yelling, Stephanie’s still hysterical, my friends need me. You’re the bank owner—you probably should talk to the cops and the press—”

  “No, I only want to talk to you.”

  Cool air struck a damp spot on her stomach. “Someone must have dropped something, because—” She looked down at herself.

  Red stained her shirt.

  She looked down at him.

  He was paper white, holding his left side while blood oozed from between his fingers.

  The cops were all still shouting.

  She screamed loud enough to drown them all out.

  Within seconds, Georgia was there. “Hang in there, man!” She tried to pull Nessa away to let the paramedics get close.

  MacNaught wouldn’t let go of Nessa’s hand.

  “Not good. Not good!” One of the paramedics pulled open MacNaught’s shirt. “What’s your blood type, sir? Do you know your blood type?”

  “O neg.” MacNaught tugged Nessa close again. “Listen, I might not get another chance.”

  “I believe you. Whatever your reason was for being a big fat jerk, it was good enough.” Not now, Nessa! “I’m sorry I said it like that. You’re hurt.” Maybe dying.

  He gasped a laugh. “But still a jerk.”

  She wanted to say no, he wasn’t a jerk.

  She couldn’t. Not even if he was dying. “Is he going to be okay?” she demanded of the EMTs.

  The EMT leaned over the gunshot wound with a flashlight. “He’s going to be—”

  MacNaught grabbed the guy by the wrist.

  The EMT looked into MacNaught’s eyes.

  Some kind of manly communication occurred.

  The EMT said, “He’ll live. I’m almost sure of it.”

  Oh, God. It was worse than she thought. “MacNaught. Listen. You saved me and I’m grateful.”

  “To hell with your gratitude. I don’t want your gratitude.” As the EMTs started wiping at his side and wrapping him up, MacNaught panted from the pain.

  Nessa took advantage of his silence. “Too bad. You’ve got it. You saved me, and I’m grateful. But that’s not all I am. I’m mad and I’m hurt and…” Now she closed her eyes, trying to get the words out.

  When she opened them, she found both EMTs, Georgia, and MacNaught staring at her.

  “Guys, would you give us a minute?” MacNaught asked.

  “Don’t leave me with him. You need to get him to the hospital!” she called frantically.

  They ignored her and obeyed MacNaught.

  He took her hand. “Your aunts said I should tell you how I got this face.”

  “They said I should ask you.”

  “I was born a—”

  She stopped him with her palm across his mouth.

  Gently, he took her hand away. “I was illegitimate. Grandson of a dockworker. I hear it’s not a big deal for most people if someone has a child out of wedlock, but it was in my mother’s family.” He winced and shifted. “Among the people they knew. Grandparents were ashamed. Hated knowing I was alive. Did as little as possible for my mother. All the time I was little, we were pretty much on our own. But Mom hung in there. Until…” He closed his eyes, and a tear slipped down his cheek. “I’ll never forget seeing her running away.”

  She couldn’t stand to see him like this—wounded and in anguish. “Now, listen, MacNaught.”

  His eyes popped open again. “First, you listen. I’m the son of two monsters, both of them willing to leave their child to God knows what fate. You’re the child of an old family with a lot of pride and background and love. I know I shouldn’t be shining your shoes, but I’m not like either one of my parents. I work hard, I don’t run away when things get rough, and whether I should or not, I love you.”

  He’d said it before, but she hadn’t thought he knew what it meant. Now…now she knew he did.

  Plus he’d given a pretty long speech for a guy who might be dying, so she knew he wasn’t, and understood that guy moment with the EMT was MacNaught telling him to keep her on tenterhooks.

  She leaned close and spoke into his ear. “You’ll do anything to win, won’t you?”

  “Yes,” he said faintly—maybe because he really felt faint, maybe because she asked an uncomfortable question. Pulling a familiar ring box out of his pocket, he handed it to her. “Here. You can trade it in for one you like, but for right now…”

  When she didn’t immediately take it, he coughed weakly.

  If he could scheme that well, he was going to live. But he really was shot, certainly in shock, and in need of medical attention. So she waved the EMTs over and kept it brief. “Russell told me. Your mother didn’t run away. The only reason they didn’t kill you was because your mom brought the police. MacNaught—your mother saved your life.”

  Forty-two

  Nessa watched the
staff from New Orleans Home Health Care settle MacNaught and his IVs and his monitors in the hospital bed in the study of the Dahl House.

  Daniel stood with her, dressed in his performance costume and humming the theme from The Godfather. “Isn’t it refreshing what a billion dollars can buy?” he murmured in her ear.

  “It really is.” Nessa rolled the gigantic diamond around her finger.

  From out on the porch, they could hear Calista and Hestia calling to the ambulance team, “Thank you, boys. It was so sweet of you to bring him by. Are you sure you won’t take more cookies? You have to help us eat them up! Remember, tomorrow is the start of Lent!”

  The owner of Home Health Care, Morgaine Roux, was a tall, thin, gorgeous nurse with sculpted arms that clearly exhibited her experience in manhandling patients. She also had cold hands, a strong jaw, and a take-charge attitude that made Nessa think MacNaught got what he deserved by demanding his early release from the hospital. Morgaine checked all the monitors, leaned over the bed, and in a loud, slow voice, said, “There you are, Mr. MacNaught. And now you should rest.”

  MacNaught gradually opened his eyes. “I…was.”

  “Come, now.” She straightened the sheets over his chest. “You couldn’t have slept through the move.”

  Nessa grinned at Daniel and they tiptoed out.

  “How long do you give her?” Daniel asked.

  “About ten minutes.” Nessa sat down on the stairs.

  It was less than five when Morgaine came stomping out, muttering under her breath. Catching sight of Nessa sitting on the stairs, she said, “I pity you. He’s going to run your life!”

  As Morgaine walked out the door, Daniel grinned and said to Nessa, “Not so much, huh, chère?”

  “I can handle him.” Nessa stood and dusted off her rear.

  “I think you can, too.” Daniel scrutinized her jeans and chocolate brown T-shirt. “Love the shoes, darling.”

  “They are nice, aren’t they?” Nessa smiled down at her new red flats. “I bought them last night.”

  “Did you have anything in particular in mind? Perhaps a little torment of your lover?”

  Nessa widened her eyes and fluttered her lashes. “Why, Mr. Friendly, what do you mean?”