Joel’s dark eyes widened. “Why the hell would that involve you? Wait, are you a cop?”
“No.” If she’d been part of the New Orleans PD, she would have mentioned that fact to him when all of the other cops swarmed the scene. She was strictly freelance. “It involves me because I have to catch the bastard. Now, have a good day.”
He was gaping when she left him.
And she almost looked back at him. Almost, but at the last moment, she realized it was better to just walk away.
***
Cedric slammed his car’s passenger side door shut. He stared through the glass at Chloe’s profile. As usual, no expression showed on her face. She was always so good at hiding what she felt. If she felt.
He hurried around the car. Opened the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel. He knew he shouldn’t ask but… “Are you playing some game with that guy?”
She turned to him, and her smile made his heart ice. “You know better than that, detective. I don’t play games.”
Hell. “What are you planning?”
“Why don’t you just wait and see? Surprises can be fun.”
“Not when those surprises involve you.” He cranked the car. “Your surprises are pure hell.”
Chapter Three
The pounding at his door woke Joel in the middle of the night. The pounding ripped him from sleep—yet another nightmare that wouldn’t stop plaguing him—and he shot up in bed. His heart raced in his chest, and sweat slickened his body.
The pounding came again.
Joel shoved the covers aside and leapt to his feet. He rushed to the door of his small apartment, wearing just boxer shorts and not stopping to grab other clothes. A fast and furious glance at his clock told him it was nearing one a.m. Who the hell would be at his door at one a.m.?
The pounding rattled his door once more.
He yanked it open.
Chloe Hastings stood there, clad in jeans and a flowing, red top. High heels adorned her feet, and her hand was curled and ready to pound again.
Joel had to shake his head. “You aren’t real.”
“Of course, I’m real.” Her head cocked as she did that click, click type of look where she surveyed him and blinked. “Do you often have hallucinations?”
Did he often…
Joel started to swing the door shut on what he sure as hell hoped was a hallucination.
“Wait!” Her hand flew out and curled around the door. “I need your help!”
“It’s one a.m.”
“Yes.” She nodded.
“And you’re at my door, pounding,” he grated, aware that his voice was rising. “You’re at my door, pounding, and you expect me to—”
The door across the hall flew open. His neighbor—a guy in his late seventies with a shock of white hair and wearing a darkly stained and tattered t-shirt—snarled, “Shut the hell up! People are trying to sleep!” Carl Jones backed away, then slammed his door.
Chloe’s nose wrinkled. “He drinks too much beer.”
What?
“Drinking away his pain won’t help. It never does.”
“Lady, what is your deal?” But, because he didn’t want his neighbor calling the cops, Joel grabbed Chloe’s wrist and hauled her inside his place.
He shut the door. Locked it. Then flipped on the lights.
“Oh.” She winced. Spun around. Stared at the thread-bare furniture. The dusty clock on what passed for a kitchen table. The pile of books in the corner. The empty walls. Walls that showed the old, peeling paint and layers of dirt. Then she looked at him again. Click, click. “You can afford more. You can afford just about anything. But you choose to live like this. That’s interesting.”
He didn’t want to interest her. “How do you know what I can afford?”
“Because I reviewed your bank records.”
He stood there, wearing only boxers and his temples throbbing as sweat still slickened his body. “Why would anyone give you access to my bank records?” Was he having a nightmare? One that seemed horribly real? Only instead of his normal torturer, he had…her.
She smiled at him. Appeared oddly angelic. Too freaking beautiful. “Well, in case you forgot, I did foil a bank robbery today.”
“We,” Joel heard himself mumble. “We foiled a bank robbery.”
A pleased nod. “So we’re a team? You’re in agreement?”
“What? No!” He surged toward her. “Don’t look at my bank records! Don’t come to my home in the middle of the night—”
Dismissively, she fluttered her hand in the air. “This isn’t a home. It’s more like a hotel room. You have to put things inside to make a place a home. Things that matter.” Her shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. “At least