Quinn - Iris Johansen [112]
“So am I.” He paused. “Will it be hard? Hell, yes. I could lose control. Keep an eye on me.”
“I will.”
He chuckled. “Not if you keep staring out at that bayou.” His smile faded. “You’ve been— What’s wrong, Catherine?”
“I don’t know.” She shivered. “I just feel as if someone was watching me. Someone or something. It’s probably nothing. Who could be here? We weren’t followed?”
He shook his head. “Not unless they were damn good. They would have had to have been tailing us from the casino. It’s not likely.”
“Imagination?” She tried to smile. “It’s a setting that would spark all kinds of fantasies, isn’t it? From vampires to alligators crawling up out of the bayou to devour us. I was even remembering that movie about a vampire who lived in the swamps. Shall we go looking for him?” She looked him up and down. “You look like you belong in a vampire movie.” She had changed her clothes, but he had only taken off his jacket and tie and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. The civilized clothes made the huge bowie knife he had sheathed at his waist appear even more barbaric.
He wasn’t returning her smile. “I’ve seen how true your instincts can be. You’re fairly remarkable.” He turned and headed for the front door. “I think I’ll take a turn around the property and see if I see anything. Why don’t you go locate the kitchen and see if you can find any tea or coffee? Maybe something hot will chase away the vampires.”
The door closed behind him.
* * *
GALLO RETURNED ABOUT THIRTY minutes later. “Catherine.”
“Here. The kitchen is down the hall and to the right,” she called.
He appeared at the door a minute later. “I didn’t see anything or anyone. No vampires, no alligators.”
“But could you even see them in this fog? I believe it’s getting worse.” She handed him a mug. “No tea, no coffee. Only chicken bouillon. I managed to heat it, but the water from the tap looked rusty. I don’t know how it’s going to taste.”
He took a sip. “Not bad.”
She wrinkled her nose after she tasted the bouillon. “Liar.”
He smiled. “It’s hot. The fog was chilly.” His smile faded. “Are you ready? We’ve given Jacobs time to simmer. I think you’ll feel better if we get to it.”
“You’re being very protective.” Her lips twisted. “I’m not accustomed to that kind of treatment, Gallo. It’s not as if I’m not used to dealing with this kind of situation.”
“I can’t help it,” he said simply. “I know who and what you are. You probably think I’m insulting you. But I keep wanting to…” He searched for the word. “Shelter you. Take it however you like.”
She was taking it with a strange melting warmth that was like a river warming her, closing out the chill that had been with her since she had arrived at this house. She’d had friends, she’d had Terry, her husband, she’d had Venable, who had looked out for her as much as he could. But they had all accepted her as totally independent and able to care for herself. They had never intruded on that independence because they’d probably been afraid of how she’d respond. They had certainly never tried to shelter her.
Gallo looked at her quizzically. “You’re not saying anything. Do you want to spit in my eye?”
She took another sip of bouillon before she reluctantly put the cup down on the sink. “Not at the moment. But I do agree we’d better go up and start questioning Jacobs.”
* * *
JACOBS’S EYES WERE WIDE OPEN, and he was trying to make sounds behind the tape Gallo had placed over his mouth.
“Hello, Jacobs. You seem to want to talk.” Gallo bent over and ripped the tape off Jacobs’s mouth.
He yelled, his eyes bulging with rage. “You son of a bitch.”
The vulnerability of Jacobs on that monster of a four-poster bed was as obvious as Gallo had said, Catherine thought. His thin arms and legs were tied to each of the four posts, and his chest was rising and falling with the force of his breathing. She had expected him to be frightened, but he was angry, his expression twisted and ugly.
“You didn’t have to do this. I told you that we could make a deal. We could be partners. I need another partner now that Queen