Crescent Moon - By Lori Handeland Page 0,18

myself into the crowd and let them push me ; along the scarred, broken sidewalks, past the bars, the strip joints, the souvenir shops that sported T-shirts with obscene slogans, until I found a restaurant that wasn't too busy. Then, with a mighty thrust, I tore myself away from the throng and stumbled into a cobblestone courtyard filled with tables.

I chose one nearest the street While I might not enjoy walking in a crowd, I definitely liked watching them. Though loud and mostly drunk, the Bourbon Street horde was fun. Cheery people visited New Orleans, and those who lived here loved it.

Sure there was voodoo and murder and something in the swamp, but this was also the Big Easy, and it had become that for a reason. New Orleans was the land of great music, good food, never-ending booze, hot sex. During the day, the rot showed. But at night, the neon camouflaged everything.

I ordered a zombie - why not? - and a po'boy. It wasn't until I was halfway through the food and all the way through the drink that the now-familiar sensation of being stared at came over me. However, there weren't any alligators on Bourbon Street, unless you counted the stuffed ones in the shop windows.

Uneasy, I glanced around, but all the other diners were busy with their own libations. The waiters were waiter-ing; bartenders, bartending.

I slid my gaze toward the crowd, but it continued to flow by without any hesitation. I told myself I was exhausted from the combination of a drink, a full stomach, and a busy day, then paid my check and left.

The uncomfortable sensation continued. I glanced back every few seconds, but with hundreds of people on the street, I couldn't determine if any single one meant to : follow me. Ducking into my hotel, I slipped behind a pillar and peeked out.

Nothing.

As I headed upstairs, I told myself I had good reason to be spooked. Someone had put that flower in my room. Someone had taken it out again.

I unlocked my door, checked the bathroom, the closet, a shady corner. No one here but me.

My gaze was drawn to the balcony. I found myself crossing the room, opening the French doors, stepping outside. I let my gaze wander over the crowd from above, and I saw him.

The revelers flowed around the man as if he were a huge rock in the middle of a river. He never glanced at them, just continued to stare at me. He was no one I'd ever met, yet somehow I knew him.

His clothes were dirty, torn, his hair wild; he wasn't wearing any shoes. What was the deal with shoes around here?

My phone started ringing - loud, shrill - and I spun toward the room, heart thundering. When I got myself under control, realized it was just the phone, I turned back, letting it ring.

He was gone, of course. No sign of him anywhere. Not that he couldn't disappear into the crowd, a bar, hell, maybe thin air.

The damn phone kept trilling. Wasn't there voice mail in this place? I snatched it up.

"Yes?" My heart still pounded fast enough to make black dots dance in front of my eyes. I needed to breathe.

"Diana."

Frank.

"I've been calling for hours. I was worried."

"Mmm," I murmured, staring at the wide-open balcony doors. Should have shut those.

"Is something wrong with your cell?"

Mechanically I patted my pockets, pulled out the phone, remembered shutting it off after calling the police.

"I was... in the field."

"I suppose it wouldn't do for you to sneak up on the loup-garou and have your phone frighten him away."

As if I could sneak up on a werewolf - I sighed - or any wolf, for that matter.

"What have you found?" Frank continued.

"Nothing really."

"What have you been doing with your time?" His voice was sharp, accusing, annoying as hell.

"My guide's dead."

A shocked beat of silence came over the line before Frank drawled, "That didn't take long."

"What didn't take long?"

"For the loup-garou to get him."

I frowned. "Why do you think a wolf killed him?"

"Didn't it?"

I was still on the seeing-is-believing plan, and I'd seen • nothing but a tail. Could have belonged to anyone.

I meant anything.

"I rented the Ruelle Mansion for the next month," Frank continued, letting the matter drop. "You can move in whenever you like."

"Great. I'll have my things shipped from storage."

"Let me know where they are, and I'll take care of it"

Usually I paid the owner of the storage facility to do that, but if Frank wanted to