KILLING ME SOFTLY by Jenna Mills Page A

foolishly gallant gesture that unsettled Renee in ways she didn't want to analyze too closely.
    Then he turned and walked away.
    Renee watched him slip inside a black Mercedes convertible—the car he'd always talked about purchasing—and merge with traffic. She could feel the woman's sadness from across the boulevard, and though part of her wanted to cross the street and find answers to the questions twisting through her, she pulled into the stream of traffic.
    Four cars ahead, at the next intersection, she saw the Mercedes turn right, and gunned her engine in pursuit.
    The fabled Fair Grounds came into view twenty minutes later. In the springtime, the sprawling park hosted the world-renowned New Orleans Jazz and Heritage festival, a raucous outdoor party featuring the best of both music and food. She and Cain had attended just weeks before their world came crashing down. Vividly she remembered how it had felt to stand in the curve of his arm as they listened to a New Orleans favorite sing the blues.
    Now, she followed him into the half-full parking lot and maneuvered her car into a spot two rows from his.
    During the winter months the Fair Grounds hosted a party of a different kind—horse racing. People from all over south Louisiana congregated on a daily basis to wager on the horses, eat, drink and escape. She doubted Cain had any of those pleasures in mind.
    Sliding from the car, she sank deeper into her jacket and hurried against the wind, merging with a group of what looked to be college kids as she made her way toward the entrance.
    Inside, the throng of racing fans swallowed her. She'd never understood how a man of Cain's height could blend in with a crowd, but it was a skill he'd honed through years of undercover work. She squeezed through the crowd and made her way toward the betting windows, but it was as though the man had simply vanished.
    "Me, I'm thinking you look lost, little lady," came a heavily accented Cajun voice from behind her. Turning, she found an elderly man in a worn, rust-colored suit and tie smiling at her. "Can I help you?"
    She smiled, gave him a quick nod. "Thanks, but I don't think so. I'm looking for someone."
    "My loss," he said, then gestured toward a closed door. "If you smile purty enough, you might be able to get Rusty to make an announcement over the big system."
    "I'll keep that in mind," she said, feigning interest in the door. "Thanks—" Out of the corner of her eye a movement caught her attention, and her heart thrummed hard in recognition. "I think I see him now," she said, then pivoted and worked her way toward the side of the concession stand.
    Cain stood with his back to her, his tall, dark form looming like a specter against a dirty white wall. He had an arm lifted to his face, and as she approached, she saw the phone clenched in his hand. The drone of the crowd prevented her from making out words, but the tension in his body told her all she needed to know.
    The red pinhole made her blink. It was just a small spot, a little red dot against his left shoulder blade.
    But her heart flat out stopped.
    She spun around but immediately realized the crowd was too thick. Then she found the stairwell and looked up.
    Through a blur of movement she saw first the high-powered rifle, then the man. Recognition horrified.
    She didn't stop to think. She didn't stop to plan. She simply reacted. On a violent rush of adrenaline she lunged forward and shouted Cain's name.
    He turned as she neared him.
    Vaguely she was aware of his arms reaching for her, but she kept right on going, launching herself at him and knocking him backward. Together, they slammed against the concrete wall, his big body absorbing the shock of impact.
    "What the hell—" he started, but at the same moment she looked up. And their eyes met.
    Everything around them blurred. She was aware of the people swarming around them and cutting off the shooter's line of shot, but she could put no faces to the curious throng of men and