Bayou Jeopardy

All he could think about was the fact that he might finally find out who’d ruined his reputation and sent him to jail on trumped-up charges.

He stopped across the street from the place, the sounds of Bourbon Street echoing with partiers.

He people watched for a while, listening to the rhythmic blues and zydeco music, then finally the dinner party spilled onto the veranda overlooking the city.

Mayor Barrow. His wife, Genita. Three other men he didn’t recognize.

Then Melvin Landry strode outside, a glass of champagne in his hand, a woman on his arm.

Mack squinted through the rain to see who was with him, but shadows hid the woman’s face. Still, she had blond hair piled on top of her head, blond hair that reminded him so much of Lily that his throat closed.

She said something to Landry, walked to the edge of the veranda and looked out over the Quarter, a sliver of streetlight catching her face.

Mack staggered backward.

Dear God. It was Lily.

Chapter Two

Shock and disbelief slammed into Mack. He couldn’t believe Lily was alive.

His hand trembled as he wiped sweat from his brow. Why had her father told him she was dead?

Bile rose to his throat.

First Landry had him thrown in jail on false charges, then he must have been furious when Mack survived the flooding prison.

And when he’d come looking for Lily—hell. He’d probably figured telling him Lily was dead would be the end of him.

And it nearly had been. He’d sulked away to grieve just as Landry had predicted.

God. What about the baby? Had he survived?

Did he have a son?

He balled his hands into fists. Did Lily know he’d made it out of that jail?

Was she aware her father might be stealing money from the funds they’d raised to help the city?

Too agitated to stand still, he began to pace. Rainwater squished between his shoes, the sounds of Bourbon Street fading as his anger took root.

Dammit. He wanted to nail Landry.

But first, he’d watch Lily. If she’d known he was alive, why hadn’t she tried to find him?

LILY SENSED SOMEONE watching her from the veranda and scanned the street below. A figure moved to the right and ducked into a bar, and she chided herself for being paranoid.

Ever since she’d moved back to New Orleans, she’d seen Mack in the shadows, Mack in the streets, Mack waiting on her at their favorite coffee shop with a latte.

But Mack was gone.

The jail where he was had flooded. Some of the prisoners had escaped, and although Mack’s body hadn’t been recovered, the fact that he hadn’t come looking for her made her certain he’d died in the floods.

She turned to her father. “I’m tired, Dad. I’m going to take a cab home. I’ll pick up Winston in the morning.”

Her father frowned. “I thought you might spend the night tonight.”

How could she explain to him that she needed to be alone? “Maybe next time.” She went to say good-night to the mayor. Piano music played softly in the background, champagne floated freely through the room.

Mayor Barrow squeezed her hand. “Thank you for all you’re doing for our city. The fundraisers you’ve organized have raised hundreds of thousands of dollars already.”

“I just want everyone who lost their homes to have one again.”

He nodded, and she said good-night to the investors. Then she retrieved her wrap and headed down the stairs. The maître d’ called her a cab, and within minutes, she was slipping inside her house on Saint Charles Street.

Darkness bathed the inside, and she reached for the lamp, but suddenly someone grabbed her from behind.

She tried to scream, but he shoved a hand over her mouth and pushed her toward the den.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmured in her ear.

His voice sounded vaguely familiar, yet fear seized her. If he wasn’t going to hurt her, why had he broken in?

Prepared to offer him her purse and whatever else he wanted in the house, she nodded against his hand.

He eased her toward the sofa, then flipped on the lamp, and she spun around, ready to tangle.

But her heart stalled in her chest. Her attacker was Mack Rivet.

Her former lover and husband. And the father of her son.

MACK’S HEART POUNDED so hard that he had to take a deep breath to calm himself. He thought he’d lost Lily years ago, and now here she was alive, in the flesh.

And looking like a knockout in that skintight black sheath. Just touching her stirred a deep ache in his soul.

And in his groin.

Her long blond hair was captured in a chignon with jewel combs holding the silky strands in place.

A reminder that her father had money and that she was too good for him.

Still, it hadn’t stopped him from wanting her—and having her—eight years ago.

It wouldn’t stop him now.

“Oh, my God,” Lily said in a choked whisper. “I thought…you died in the flood.”

“No.” Mack narrowed his eyes at her. “But I thought you were dead.”