Love Is Lovelier by Jean Brashear Page B

this morning?”
    The bastard had someone watching Anne Marchand. Looking over Dan’s shoulders.
    Bluster wouldn’t get past this. Only action would. “I’m stepping up the pace. I’m thinking a good fire will be the killing blow.” He’d already placed a call to Carter, who, damn him, wasn’t answering.
    “I don’t want my property damaged.”
    “Done properly, serious damage will be minimal, but the revenues the Marchand women are counting on to save them will be history.”
    “Who you got planning the logistics?”
    “A couple of guys who know their stuff.” Or he would have.
    “My guys are better. I’ll have Ricky and Hank call you.”
    Everywhere Dan looked, the walls were closing in. Damn Richard for playing fast and loose with the money they’d socked away. Once this was over, he was going solo.
    For now, though, he had to keep his head and get himself out of this problem. He’d cut his brother loose gladly, except that it was better to keep him close, so he could limit further damage. “That would be great. Thanks.”
    “Don’t thank me,” Blount said. “Get me my hotel or get me the money…and the interest just went up ten per cent.”
    Dan squeezed the bridge of his nose. “You won’t need the interest. The Hotel Marchand will be mine by Mardi Gras, and yours soon after.”
    “Unless you get extradited before then, you dumbshit. You and your brother committed the one unforgivable sin that will take down a con every time.”
    Dan clenched his jaw. “And what was that?” You sanctimonious prick .
    “Not knowing when to get out. You got greedy.”
    “No one knows where we are.” Though he was damned tired of being on the lam.
    “I do.” Blount laughed. “Easiest thing in the world to drop a dime on you.”
    “But you won’t. You need me.”
    “For now.”
    The call ended with a decisive click.

    L UC’S PHONE VIBRATED in his pocket. He ignored it as he soothed a distraught woman whose luggage had been lost by the airlines and who needed a dress for a special occasion tonight. “Monique will take superb care of you, Mrs. Davis. Her boutique caters to the cream of New Orleans.” He punched in the numbers of A Private Affair.
    “But my clothes always need alteration, and the dinner is three hours from now.” The woman’s eyes were red. “Frank told me not to pack so much that I had to check a bag, but I was just so afraid I wouldn’t have the right clothes. This promotion is so important to him.”
    “I promise you—” The smoky voice answered. “Monique? It’s Luc Carter at the Marchand.”
    His cell vibrated again, and Luc tried to tune it out, along with the sniffles from their guest as he related what he needed to Monique.
    The days were insane, and they were only going to get worse as Carnival heated up. This job was a killer, even without the additional pressures exerted by the Corbins.
    He frowned at the thought, and Mrs. Davis began to weep again. “Oh, no. I knew it.”
    “No, no. Everything is fine.” Into the phone he said, “Twenty minutes would be wonderful, Monique.”
    He hung up and focused on their guest, though his cell was vibrating again. “If you’ll return to your room, Mrs. Davis, Monique will be here in about twenty minutes with a selection of gowns from which you can choose.”
    The woman looked as if she’d just seen Santa Claus. “She will?” Then her brow wrinkled. “But what if they don’t fit?”
    “Monique is an accomplished seamstress herself, and she has another one on her staff. She promises you will be dressed to kill this evening. If your husband doesn’t get promoted, it won’t be because his wife wasn’t suitably attired.”
    The woman launched herself at him and caught him in a death grip. “Oh, Mr. Carter—” She gave him a big, smacking kiss on the cheek. “You’re just— I don’t know what I’d have done.” She was weeping again.
    Luc patted her on the back and gently removed her. He took one hand and