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“I like being with you,” I said. “I like you in general. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive. I was merely speaking truth, and as previously discussed, I can show you how not disappointed I will be later. If we get through this without any incidents.”
When the elevator doors closed behind us, I gave into my urge, turned to face him, and traced one finger along his jaw line.
His expression was stoic. “If you want to avoid an incident, you should probably not touch me.”
“But that’s the kind of incident I could get into.”
“Hallie.” He grabbed my fingers and lowered our joined hands.
“Saved by the elevator,” I said as the doors opened.
The lobby was hopping. A few businessmen, a couple of families, and a trio of transvestites all gathered around the piano in the corner. The man behind it played “When the Saints Go Marching In” at a roaring clip. I shook my head in disgust.
“People feed off stereotypes in the Quarter, and we grow them like algae. When I see things like that, I wonder if it’s the irony of the locals or the idiocy of the infiltrators. Plus, it’s a little hard to cause a distraction when there’s a sing-along happening.”
“You could get on top of the piano,” he said, without missing a beat.
I laughed, a real one. Dune could pull them out of me like magic. “We can wait until it’s a little calmer.”
“Nope.” He unbuttoned his suit jacket. I glanced at his pants pocket to see if I could make out the Taser, but realized too late that it totally looked like I was checking out his assets.
“I was making sure you had your weapon,” I blurted out when he raised his eyebrows.
He grinned.
“I was looking for the Taser in your pants.” When he snort laughed, I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Oh hell, can we just get out of here?”
“I said no. I have an idea. Do you have the replacement crystal in your purse?”
I nodded.
“Go stand by the case and get ready to make a move.”
“Excuse me?” I put my hands on my hips. “Did you just try to boss me on a job I brought you on?”
“I see a way to solve the problem right now. Trust me.”
He turned and walked away, did a check of the lobby, and then stared at the largest vase of flowers.
It took me a minute to figure out what he was doing, and another ten seconds to figure out it was going to work. I took off for the display case.
Every vase in the lobby started to wobble back and forth—the ones at the entrance, on the piano, on the check-in desk, and on every table. The next wave of movement touched the vases in the niches on the walls, and on each table in the restaurant. Finally, the giant water dispenser with fresh-cut lemons and limes started to slosh its contents furiously back and forth.
And then they all crashed to the ground at once.
I switched the crystals in fifteen seconds easy, and turned back to the lobby.
The people around the piano were jumping around, trying to keep their feet out of the puddles. “Was that an earthquake? Does New Orleans have earthquakes?”
“My suitcase is soaking wet!” A woman at the check-in desk looked like she expected the trusty Olga to suck the excess water up with her mouth, while Olga ran for an armful of cloth napkins.
Dune stood smiling, as chaos reigned. Then he met my eyes.
He crossed the lobby and took my hand.
I followed him up a staircase to a couch on a landing, nerves swirling. The sounds from the lobby echoed up to us, but otherwise the quiet was heavy.
“What’s going on?” he asked, sitting down.
