CATCH ME IF YOU CAN Read online

  His mama smiled, her fears apparently allayed. "Don't misunderstand me. Katherine's a delightful girl. But her background hardly prepares her for the position of importance your wife must assume. You see that, don't you?"

  "Naturally, I understand there are many factors to consider when I make my choice."

  "Good. Well, I'm glad we understand each other. Meanwhile, I'd be pleased to have her as my guest at the garden club if she is still here next week. She really is quite adorable. Hmm, I wonder if I could get Hunter Chenier to come. I hear he's back from his trip," she murmured on her way out the door.

  Hunter Chenier! Beau closed his eyes and counted to ten. Dieu, now his mother was starting her matchmaking on Kit. He supposed he should be grateful his mother thought highly enough of her to bother. But Hunter! The parish gentleman bootlegger and Beau's perpetual rival, Hunter was from an old family that had fallen on hard times—for the past century and a half. No way would Beau stand by and suffer Hunter to be foisted on Kit, and under his very nose.

  The scoundrel was just charming and handsome enough that he might succeed. No, sir. Kit Colfax was Beau's woman, and he was of no mind to share.

  * * *

  Kit's suitcase was empty—Delia's doing, no doubt. She checked around the room and found her few items of clothing hanging neatly in a walk-in closet the size of New Hampshire.

  Talk about out of her league. Kit wouldn't know what to do with so much space. Books, maybe? Of course, the kind of woman Beau would marry would be able to fill a closet like this with the appropriate items without even trying.

  She had to stop thinking like this. What was wrong with her? Jolene's fantasy talk must have addled her brain. She had absolutely no interest in who Beau would or wouldn't marry.

  After changing out of her leggings and putting on a pair of jeans she'd found neatly folded on the bed along with one of Jolene's frilly blouses, she grabbed her cell phone to call Ricky for an update. She figured she should also call the office and let them know what was going on.

  It had a dead battery. Great. Kit gave it a shake and glanced around her bedroom. No phone. Outstanding. She contemplated the door to Beau's room.

  She knocked, and when there was no answer, she entered. On the nightstand next to the bed sat an old-fashioned black monstrosity with an actual round dial. Yikes. She didn't know if she even remembered how to use one of those. Maybe she should go to his office as he'd asked her to. At least she wouldn't break all her fingernails dialing.

  She went to a door on the wall opposite and cautiously opened it. Beau sat facing the window at a huge polished wood desk piled high with papers and computer equipment. He looked so absorbed in his work, she decided it was worth a few broken nails not to risk interrupting him. She remembered that look of intense concentration on her dad's face when he was doing books, and heaven help the mere mortal who disturbed him—unless it was her mom with a much-needed cup of coffee, of course.

  Gingerly, she closed the door and went to the black phone, dialing Ricky's number in New Orleans with all fingernails intact.

  "Hi, Ricky. Come up with anything yet?" Kit asked quietly. Ricky had flown home yesterday after she'd taken off for San Diego.

  She eyed Beau's huge antique four-poster and glanced furtively at the office door before seating herself on the edge of the mattress.

  "Nope. I'd do a lot better in the office on the big computer," Ricky said. "Is it okay for me to go in yet?"

  "I guess you better. I'm calling Potter next, so he'll be expecting you. Besides, I may need you to arrange some transportation for me soon."

  "What's up?"

  "Beau wants me to let him find Remi, but I keep thinking about that big clock ticking down to the end of the month. I can't just sit here and do nothing while our jobs drift off into the sunset."

  "I hear that," Ricky said. "Will you be all right?"

  Now there was a loaded question. "I'll be all right when that necklace is in my hands and Remi is behind bars." And I'm out of temptation's way. "Call me when you get something."

  Kit gave him the number to Terrebeau and hung up, then dialed Mr. Potter's office.

  "You what?" he yelled after she'd confessed to losing the necklace. She could practically hear the sweat popping out on his forehead. "I don't believe this."

  "I'll get it back. Don't worry. I'm working with the cousin. He's the chief of police here in Verdigris."

  "Can you trust him?"

  "He promised to find Remi."

  "Good. Then you stay right where you are. Ricky can handle things at this end."

  "But—"

  "No arguments, Kit. If Remi's headed back home, no one's in a better position to hear about it than his own family. Stick to that cousin like glue."

  With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Kit replaced the heavy phone receiver in its cradle. Letting herself fall back onto the bed, she let out a moan of frustration. Yet another complication she didn't need.

  Being tied to Beau's apron strings would severely limit her mobility. She couldn't afford to be idle if he dragged his feet. Visualizing the calendar, she counted up how many days she had left. Nine. Nine days to catch her thief.

  Nine days until her world fell apart.

  She pushed out a breath. Lord, grant her patience. Deep down, she knew that it would be much easier for Beau to find Remi—if he chose to. If she started digging around by herself she might only succeed in scaring Remi off.

  But what about her? Would she survive even one more day—or night—this close to the man who had already broken through her defenses? She was the one who should be scared and running for her life.

  In a weird way, since the shooting, she guessed she had been running for her life. With Beau protecting her every step of the way.

  "Trying it out for size, or are you just lost?"

  Beau! Kit shot up on the bed. "Sorry. I was making a phone call and I … forgot where I was." She scrambled backwards toward the far edge.

  "Don't get up on my account."

  Beau leaned against the office door frame, arms folded across his chest, looking absurdly handsome. She had to will herself to keep moving and not to stop to enjoy the view.

  "I better … uh, I'll just be going—"

  "No." He took a few steps into the room, then changed direction, heading for his dresser. "No, don't go. I was on my way to get you. There's someone I want you to meet."

  He picked up a small bag from the top of the dresser—the one from the little flower shop in San Diego.

  She let out a sigh of relief. "Your grandmother?"

  He nodded. "She's awake now. We should see her while she isn't too tired."

  Kit slid off the bed and glanced at what she was wearing.

  "Don't worry, you're fine," he said.

  "Are you sure?"

  His mouth curved up. "Mais, yeah."

  She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Beau. I don't think your grandmother will be looking at my butt."

  "Exactly my point. Come on."

  She followed him down the stairs to a corner room in one of the first-floor wings.

  "Grandmère?"

  "Is it you, petit-fils? Viens! Come in!"

  Kit smiled at the thought of anyone calling Beau a little boy, even if the term did mean grandson. Allowing him to pull her along, she found herself in a sunny, lavender-scented room filled with flowers and knickknacks. His grandmother lay on the bed, a small figure propped against a giant pile of pillows.

  "I brought someone to meet you." He walked over and gave his grandmother an affectionate buss on the cheek, along with the present. "How are you feeling?"

  "Thank you, my dear. Ça va, ça va. And you must be Kit." Madame Beaulieux motioned weakly with her free hand.

  "Katherine," Beau corrected.

  "Piffle," the older woman countered. "No reason to pretend with me."

  He looked a little taken aback at that, so Kit said, "Nice to meet you, Madame Beaulieux. Beau's told me so much about you."

/>   "Come, sit. Have some coffee. Delia just brought in a fresh pot. Oh, iris bulbs!" she exclaimed when she tore the paper from the package Beau had handed her. "You must plant them where I can see them from the window, mon fils."

  Beau led Kit to a couple of Victorian chairs positioned by the bedside and gestured for her to sit. Setting aside the gift, Madame Beaulieux smiled, her gaze flitting between Beau and Kit.

  "You plant them yourself when you're feeling better," Beau said matter-of-factly. "Should you be drinking coffee, m'mère?"

  She tutted. "I am much too old to change my habits now. So, tell me all about your young lady. How did you meet?"

  As he poured the coffee, Beau told the Official Story. His version of their relationship sounded strictly professional, but Kit couldn't help wondering how much Madame Beaulieux was able to read between the lines.

  He certainly didn't kiss her, or touch her, or even speak to her less than professionally. But when he looked at her… Oh, when he looked at her! His eyes were soft and inviting, twin pools of warm buttered bourbon, intoxicating her with a desire to jump in and float away in their caring and sensitive depths. It was all she could do to keep from melting into her tufted velvet cushion.

  Conversation between grandmother and grandson was lively and animated, and their love for each other shone through every word. Beau's attentiveness touched Kit's heart. There weren't many men his age who would spend an hour talking to a sick relative—even a favorite one—when he had other responsibilities breathing down his neck, as she knew he did, in spades.

  Finally, they could see Madame Beaulieux growing tired.

  "We'll let you rest now," Beau said. "Are you sure there's nothing else you need?"

  "I need some great-grandbabies before I die."

  Beau gave her a look of mock reproof. "You are not dying."

  "And you are not trying hard enough."

  Embarrassed, Kit gathered the cups and saucers onto the coffee tray and pretended she hadn't heard the exchange. She had never really thought about having children, mainly because her master plan didn't call for the kind of life that included a husband and a picket fence. But for some inexplicable reason, it pained her to think of Beau someday having children—and that she would play no part in creating them.

  "Hush now," Beau interrupted his grandmother's flight into an old woman's fancy. "There is plenty of time for all that when you get better."

  "Humph." Madame Beaulieux settled back onto the bed. "Well, at least I'd like to see the family all together again. Have you heard anything from Remi?"

  A cup slipped from Kit's hand and clattered to the tray with a crash. "Oh! How clumsy of me. I'm so sorry," she exclaimed, horrified at her reflex reaction to the mention of Remi's name on top of the previous topic. Luckily, the cup was not broken. She straightened the porcelain and backed away from the tray, afraid she'd drop something else in her nervousness.

  Beau sent her a calming look. "I understand he's been out west lately. If he turns up here, I'll be sure to convey your wishes." He pulled the light coverlet up around his grandmother and gave her a kiss. "I'll come read to you after dinner."

  "Mais, non! You have better things to do tonight than entertain me."

  "Now don't argue. I'm coming."

  "Well then, for heaven's sake, bring a bottle of bourbon and Kit, too."

  He smiled. "D'accord, m'mère. We'll see you later."

  Kit took Madame Beaulieux's proffered hands.

  "Beau will keep you safe here at Terrebeau, my dear. Make yourself right at home." The older woman stifled a yawn. "Until this evening, then."

  * * *

  "So, what do you think of our booming metropolis?" Beau asked Kit as he swung his vintage '62 Cadillac Eldorado convertible into the spot marked Chief, in front of the Verdigris police department. She might prefer cities, but he was proud of the little town he lived in and wouldn't trade it for the world.

  She glanced around before answering. "Looks … quiet."

  He grinned. "Hey, it's our after-lunch naptime. Just wait till Saturday night. Things really liven up then."

  "That a fact?"

  "Guar-ohn-teed," he quipped, and pointed at the road out of town. "LeRoy's Roadhouse 'round the bend serves up the best crawdad pie and the wildest fights this side of Baton Rouge."

  "LeRoy's, eh? Sounds colorful."

  He grabbed his briefcase and shotgun from under the seat and went around to open her door. "Maybe I'll take you sometime."

  "Better make it quick," she said, eyeing the gun and giving it a wide berth.

  There she went again. All morning she'd been dropping reminders of how short she intended her stay to be. She'd also been pressuring him hard about searching for Remi. She obviously had a difficult time believing he was just as impatient to find his cousin as she was.

  He had no choice. Grandmère did not seem to be getting worse, bless her, but he could plainly see there was little chance of her getting better, either. He must retrieve the family jewels before she started thinking about things like wills and bequests. Lord have mercy. It was bad enough she was thinking about great-grandbabies.

  Well, one thing was certain, Kit had no intention of having anything to do with making those great-grandbabies. She was bound and determined to find Remi and get back to New Orleans and her old life as soon as she possibly could. Babies were the last thing on her mind.

  Funny how suddenly they were all over his.

  He unlocked the tiny white clapboard house that served as the town's police station and meeting hall and ushered her inside.

  "You're sure in an all-fired hurry to leave, aren't you?" he said.

  "Better that way."

  "Why?"

  "So neither of us can do anything both of us will regret."

  "Such as?"

  She shot him a wry look. "Pretty much anything that involves being in the same room."

  He chuckled, somewhat heartened. "That's a powerful statement, Miz Colfax."

  "We have a powerful attraction, Mr. Beaulieux. But it won't do either of us any good to give in to it."

  "Well now, that is a matter of opinion."

  Leaning against his desk, he studied her. She was moving about the room, checking out the pictures on the wall, running her fingers over the gun cases and file cabinets. Her expression was one of simple interest, with no undertones of inner conflict, but he knew better.

  She masked her feelings well. But he didn't miss the way she avoided eye contact, or how she kept thrusting her hands under her arms when there was nothing to touch. Almost as if she was afraid she might touch him.

  He smiled inwardly. At least she admitted to their attraction. That was a start. Undoubtedly she ascribed to the theory that admitting to a problem was halfway to solving it. As far as he was concerned, she was right. Where their theories diverged at the moment, though, was that he envisioned a vastly different solution from the one she seemed to have in mind.

  Lucky for him, she'd mentioned that her boss had ordered her to stay put at Terrebeau, so Beau would have time to implement his own strategy.

  "I thought you were going to check for word on Remi."

  Push, push, push.

  "And I am." He sauntered over to his desk and clicked on the computer, letting it boot up while he sifted through a couple stacks of regular correspondence. Nothing urgent. He quickly separated the piles by order of importance, then checked his e-mail.

  She leaned over his shoulder. "Sixty-seven messages? You're a popular man, Chief."

  "Hell, that's less than ten a day. Slow week." Doing his best to ignore her close proximity, he scrolled down the list. Nothing jumped out at him. "This can wait, too."

  "Anything on Remi?"

  "No. Doug just sent out the inquiries this morning, so it's still too early to hear. We may be in the Information Age, but we're still down South where things move at their own pace."

  She gave a frustrated sigh. "Tell me about it."

  "Meanwhile, want to
see the jail?" He grinned up at Kit, who narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

  "Only if I get to hold the key."

  He switched off the computer and plucked a key ring from his top drawer, dangling it from one finger. "What's the matter, don't trust me?"

  Just then, Doug walked in the front door. Beau curled his fist around the keys, grinding his teeth.

  Doug looked at them in surprise. "Hey, boss. Giving Miz Colfax the nickel tour? How do you like our little station?"

  She smiled. "It's very cute. I don't think I've ever seen a police station in a cottage before."

  "Not likely to, either," Doug said, casually closing a file on his desk. "Beau bought it and fixed it up after he was appointed chief of police by the mayor. In the old days it was owned by the town's lady of ill—"

  Beau cleared his throat before the man could go off on a long-winded lecture on the sordid history of Verdigris and environs. "Deputy Chief Wardlaw, you locate my cousin yet?"

  Doug backed up a step. "Uh, not yet. I've let it be known you want to see him, and I dropped by a few of the places he used to frequent, like you said. Still have a couple to check out."

  "I have the utmost confidence in you, Doug." Beau swept a hand over the desk of paperwork. "I'll deal with this tomorrow. Miss Colfax and I are driving out to a couple of the tenant farms. I have to put together the harvest projections this week, anyway. I can ask about Remi and kill two birds with one stone."

  "You want me to come with you?"

  "No, why don't you take a ride out to bayou country and nose around? We need to get hold of him as soon as possible."

  "Okay, boss."

  "You see?" he said to Kit. "The deputy chief and I are leaving no stone unturned. We'll find him."

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  « ^ »

  Beau decided to check out Robbie Thelan's indigo farm first, since Robbie had been pretty tight with Remi at one time.

  "So Terrebeau owns these tenant farms?" Kit asked as they drove up to the small spread.

  "Yeah. We own five of them. But I run the whole thing as a co-op, and the original families still work them. A couple of the tenant families go as far back as the Depression." He parked and they got out to join Robbie, who was walking the fields.