Standing outside the door, Bedroom Eyes lifts two coffees.
Choking back the mortification, I scowl, as if he’s the intruder, and open the door for him. Passing off one of the coffees to me, he slides into the seat, taking a moment to look around, his gaze seeming to catch on where a small glob of what looks to be dried tuna clings precariously to the glove box in front of him. From when I dropped my sandwich last night, no doubt.
Even I crinkle my nose at the sight of it.
The heat of the drink leaches into my hands, while a thick, uncomfortable silence hangs between us.
“Why are you stalking me, Miss James?”
Hearing him say my name aloud, even if it’s not my real name, is as fantastically unnerving as watching an ASMR video. “I’m not stalking you.”
“You weren’t taking pictures of me?”
With a snort, I shake my head, but before I can grab my camera, he snatches it off my lap. “Hey! Give that back!” When I reach for it, he swats my hand away and, to my horror, figures out how to scroll through the images. “You’re a money launderer.”
Tipping his head, he studies one of the shots I took of him crossing the street. My favorite one, but irrelevant. “And you’re obscenely good with the camera.”
“Is it drug money?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Do your staff know you do this? That you put them at risk?”
“Tell me, what do you suppose you’ll buy with the extra hundred bucks I negotiated for you this afternoon?”
“I was thinking a pair of pretty lace panties to wear when I have you kiss my ass. What do you plan on doing with a crossbow, anyway?”
He shrugs. “Give it away to someone. What were you doing with it to begin with?”
“Hunting snakes. Had I known there was a big one still roaming about, I’d have hung onto it a little longer.”
“Ah, well, good thing I took that one off your hands for you, as well. All these dangerous weapons, someone could get hurt.”
“If you think you’re doing the world any favors, I think you need to reevaluate your life. What are these different places, a front?”
“Where are you staying on the island?”
“Nice way to deflect the question. You’re giving me back my knife, by the way. Just so we’re clear. We have a meeting tomorrow, remember? Eight sharp.”
“Eight sharp.”
“And I have every intention of being there. With bells on.”
“And lace panties, I presume”
“Black to match your soul.”
“Bien. I look forward to seeing you. And them.” He casually sips his coffee, like every move the man makes is precisely calculated to the decimal.
“How did you know I was following you?”
“Let’s just say, if your hunting skills are anything like your stalking, I’d be surprised you shot anything with that bow.”
Eyes narrowed, I bite the inside of my lip. “I’ve killed many things. Remember that the next time you decide to take something from me.”
“Ah, but it’s not taking anything, chère. Not when you give it up.” The way he licks his lips underscores the double entendre of his words.
“I can assure you, I won’t be giving anything up to you.”
Lips curved into a half-cocked smile, he exits the vehicle. “Then, perhaps you shouldn’t come tomorrow.” The smirk on his face widens to a wily grin, as he stuffs his hand into his pocket and hands off a card to me. “At the very least, I’ll expect you to give up this silly notion that I stole from you.”
Francescas is printed on the card.
“What is this? Another shell company for dirty money?”
“It’s a clothing shop, smartass. Consider this lagniappe for the bow. Get yourself some nicer shoes.”
“Lagniappe?”
“A bonus.”
“And, what’s wrong with my boots?”
A dry expression claims his face, with a quick downward glance. “Put it on my tab. Bergeron. Whatever you need.”
“You do this for all the women who actually give it up to you? Because I think we already established I’m not one of them.”
“Then, what’s the problem with buying a few nice things for yourself, moiselle?” A quick wink, and he slams the door shut.
“Now what the hell does moiselle mean?” I mutter to myself, watching him stride off.
Frustrated for having wasted half my afternoon, I stroll up to the entrance of the Chevalier Library, my original errand for the day before I got distracted by a walking nuisance. The woman who greets me behind the counter is slightly aged, with shoulder-length gray hair and kind eyes. A pale blue, striped, button-down shirt beneath