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Good at his job? Good at flirting? Good in bed?
Or all three. She handed back his credit card. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Mitchell Guidry.”
“Mitch.”
“I doubt we’ll ever be on a first-name basis, Mr. Guidry.”
“You underestimate me.”
She was coming to see the truth in that.
He tucked his wallet into military-style cargo pants. The movement settled his zippered windbreaker over a bulge at his side. More of a cylindrical shape, really. Her throat filled with desert sand. Mitch hadn’t pulled a gun in the house, but he could have used this on her brother later. An image of Les, blood dripping over the hand clutched to his…
With shaky fingers, she caught a strand of hair back behind her ear. Every single customer—even the kids—stared at her. Blood rushed to her face like a racer accelerating the last few feet to the finish line. She spun on her heel and paced deeper into Pere Antoine Alley. “We might need to stand a little closer to the cathedral to hear him singing.”
Her group obediently trailed behind her. As did Mitch Guidry. Usually when she got a name for someone, she could pigeonhole him. Like a human free-floating ion, Mitch eluded classification, but after she found out his motives for coming, she’d know how to handle him.
“Who are we supposed to hear?” The mellow baritone she recognized but did not love broke through the sound of muffled footsteps. “I need some guidance.”
Would he take any? He hadn’t earlier. She clutched her costume closer. “Everyone, allow yourself to become sensitive to the invisible presences all around. Let yourself sink into the zone, so to speak, and you will hear the spirits.”
She flicked a glance toward Mitch. “In this case, you’re listening for the ghost of Père Dagobert, the much-beloved priest of the church of St. Louis originally located where this cathedral now stands.”
Mitch edged around one side of the group to stand only a few feet away. Her pulse spiked. He looked about to grab her, and she retreated.
Her boot heel caught in a crack and she teetered. His hand shot out to steady her. Sparklers skyrocketed along her nerves, repeating over and over like images on a video console. Game ready. Game ready. Game so ready.
Mitch Guidry had the longest eyelashes, and those creases at the corners of his dark eyes and… No, no, no. She didn’t care about his eyelashes or any of his other physical attributes.
His hands held her arms firmly, the rub of hard calluses ridiculously seductive.
Those dark eyes. Those incredible eyelashes. The scratched record replayed in time with the bubble machine. Cath tugged her arm free and smoothed her hands down her hips. “Thank you. You’re such a gentleman.”
That sounded polite enough. Formal enough. Don’t-touch-me-again-even-if-I’m-tripping enough.
“I aim to please.” One corner of his mouth twitched.
“I’m sure you do.” If he really wanted to make her happy, he would walk away. Only problem there would be she’d never find out what he wanted.
“I thought ghosts hung around because of some unfulfilled desire.” Mitch gazed at her. Plenty of unfulfilled desire lingering there.
Too bad. Cath rubbed her sweaty palms together. He could roast in hell before she’d touch him voluntarily.
“Or do they return out of revenge?” His jaw stiffened.
He was angry now? After she’d gone against all her urges and treated him politely? “You think they’re looking for closure?”
“Why not?” Mitch lifted an eyebrow. “Everyone else usually is.”
Mitch would have already gotten closure with his bounty after putting Les back in jail. A vise closed around her throat. What was happening with her brother? Why hadn’t she gotten that one allowed phone call from him?
Her other customers listened avidly, and she made the most of Mitch’s comment. “Some ghosts do want revenge, or so the stories go. But this is only speculation. Who knows what the spirits feel? Who knows why Père Dagobert sings?”
She walked to the base of one of the cathedral towers. “After France lost the territory to Spain, local citizens threw out the Spanish governor when he arrived. In retaliation, the rebels were killed and their bodies dumped in front of the church.”
Mitch straggled behind the others now, that laser beam of his locked on her. Cath swallowed hard. Maybe if he kept looking at her like that, she’d build up immunity. She sure didn’t have any now.
“In the dead of a night just like this one, the priest brought the bodies into the church.” She leaned closer to her group to whisper. “Defying the authorities, he gave them the holy sacraments so their families could bury them. Some people say he sang beautifully. Listen and see if you hear him.”
