Downtown Debutante

“I’ll take Brenna back to her room. She’s really sick. I don’t think she’ll be getting into trouble tonight, so you can go catch some sleep if you want.” He handed Grif Alice’s empty soft drink can, which he’d placed in a small labeled sack. “And if you could drop this by the lab on your way home—”

“No problem. You’re sure Brenna’s not faking?”

No one could turn that shade of gray on purpose. “I’m sure.”

“I’ll come back about four, then, to relieve you.” He paused. “I’m really sorry, man.”

Heath couldn’t stay mad at Grif. “Hope your girl really likes those earrings.”

Brenna was where he’d left her. She gave him an accusing look. “You didn’t find her, did you.”

“No. Brenna, I couldn’t arrest her without stronger proof. If you could have positively identified—”

“I did!”

“But your mark—”

“Could have been filed off.”

“We’ll find her,” he promised. He had high hopes for finding prints on the can.

“I just want to go to bed,” Brenna said miserably.

“Let’s go, then.”

There was no way Brenna was up to walking the ten blocks back to her guest house. The taxi line in front of the convention center was thirty deep, too.

“Just lay me down in the gutter,” Brenna said. “I’ll be fine.”

Then Heath saw something that might be their salvation. He sat Brenna down on another bench, placed her purse in her lap and crossed her arms over it. New Orleans seethed with purse snatchers and pickpockets, and a sick young woman would be a handy target. “I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t move.”

“As if I could.”

Brenna wanted to die. Really, truly. She’d never felt so sick in her life. Then again, she’d never eaten a dozen tainted oysters, for surely that was the problem. But did food poisoning come with a fever? She was sweating and shivering at the same time, and her stomach threatened to revolt again at any moment.

She slumped down and put her head in her hands. Thank God she’d made it to the bathroom before. She’d die of embarrassment if she threw up in front of Heath. She supposed people barfing in the street was a commonplace thing in New Orleans, but it wasn’t something she intended to do.

The clip-clop of a horse’s hooves drew her attention. She looked up to see one of the French Quarter’s horse and carriages pulling up right in front of her. The horse wore a festive yellow hat with orange flowers.

Heath hopped down from the carriage. “I found us some wheels.”

“You have got to be kidding.”

“It’s this or I carry you back to your hotel.” She actually smiled at that thought. Heath held out his hand, and she surprised herself by taking it. Moments earlier she’d wanted to strangle Heath for letting that thieving jeweler get away. But now she was oddly touched by the way he was taking care of her. He could have simply abandoned her, let her find her own way back to her guest house.

She was so weak she could hardly pull herself into the high carriage. But between Heath and the driver, they hoisted her up. She didn’t miss the fact that Heath put his hand on her bottom to accomplish the feat. She didn’t miss the fact that, even in her debilitated condition, she liked it. She wondered if he’d peeked up her short skirt.

Heath climbed in beside her and the carriage took off. “You’re shivering.” He took off his suit jacket and put it around her.

“Th-think I have a fever.” Her teeth chattered. Heath put his arm around her. His body felt warm, and she snuggled into it. Oh, Lord, he smelled great.

Between the gentle rocking of the carriage and the hypnotic clip-clop of the horse’s hooves, she fell asleep. The next thing she knew, she was being carried up the outside stairs to her room. And it was Heath carrying her.

“Oh, for gosh sake, put me down,” she protested feebly. “I can walk.”

“Hush. We’re almost there now, anyway.” When he reached her door he set her down, fished around in her small purse until he found a key and opened the door.

The room was freezing. She’d left the air-conditioning on. Heath walked across to the window unit and flipped it off. Then he yanked back the covers. “Get in.”

“I need a shower.”

“Only if you want me in there with you, holding you up.”

He was right. She was about to fall down. Her stomach felt like a giant hand was squeezing it like one of those stress balls, and she was so dizzy she was swaying. She took two steps, crawled across the bed and dropped.

Heath took off her sandals, covered her with the blankets. “I have some medicine in my bag, down in my car. I’ll be right back.”

While he was gone, she managed to wiggle out of her uncomfortably damp clothes and pull the covers over herself. Oh, God, why couldn’t she just die? It would be so much easier.

Heath returned a few minutes later and held out a handful of pills. “Something for nausea, something for pain and fever, and a muscle relaxer. Should knock you right out.”

“You always travel with a pharmacy?”

“I can’t afford to be sick in the middle of a job.”

She wasn’t sure how well the pills would sit on her beleaguered stomach, but she swallowed them with the water Heath brought her, then snuggled down deeper under the thin covers. “I’ll be okay,” she said. “You can go.”

“I don’t think so. I’m on the razor’s edge of taking you to the hospital.”

“No.” But she realized she was in no condition to fight him, if that’s what he wanted to do. “Stay, then. But if this is just a clever ploy to get a free bed for the night, forget it. You’re gonna have to pay for half…the room.” Already, a pleasant lethargy was taking over her. Whether the muscle relaxer was working or simple exhaustion was taking over, she thought maybe she’d drop off again. Even if Heath Packer was watching her and she might drool in her sleep.

Her last conscious thought was that, no, he didn’t sleep in his tie. And he wore surprisingly sexy underwear for such a straitlaced guy.

BRENNA WAS SICK almost all night, off and on. She managed to doze off between bouts of violent retching.

By morning, however, the worst seemed to be over. She was awakened by the sound of her hotel room door opening. She cracked open one eye and saw Heath Packer entering, one tall paper cup in each hand.

She groaned and hid her head under the covers. Heath Packer had spent the night in her hotel room, but had she managed to make the best of the situation? No, of course not. He’d seen her sick and sweating and half-delirious and, yes, probably drooling.

He managed to close the door quietly with his foot, then set the two cups on the nightstand. That’s when he spotted her peering at him with one eye, most of the rest of her under the covers.

“Hey.” He smiled, not unkindly. “What’s the story? Are you going to live?”

“I’m not sure. Did you spend the night in here?”

He pointed to the other bed, tellingly rumpled. “Part of the night.”

“Do you wear skimpy black bikini underwear, or did I dream that part? I’d have guessed you were a tightywhitey guy all the way.”