34

Saturday, May 5, 2007

9:00 p.m.

When Yvette came to, she lay on the floor, a half dozen people staring down at her. She blinked, confused. She’d been talking to that cute guy…Rich…She’d seen the woman…the one who-

“Yvette? Are you all right?”

That came from Detective Malone. She looked at him, focusing. Vision clearing. Detective Killian knelt beside him.

She didn’t answer, moving her gaze over the cluster of faces. Rich’s wasn’t among them. Neither was the woman’s.

“You fainted,” the detective said.

“I saw her,” she said. “She was here.”

“Who?”

“The woman who broke into my apartment.”

The two detectives exchanged glances, then turned toward a kind-looking woman hovering nearby. “June, let’s give her some air.”

The woman nodded, then shooed everyone off.

“She was here,” Yvette said again, struggling to get up. “You’re letting her-”

Then she remembered the woman hugging them both. “You know her!”

“Calm down-”

“You hugged her!” She struggled to her feet, feeling light-headed. “What is this, some weird cop game?”

Her voice rose. She realized her shirt and pants were wet. When she’d fainted, she had spilled the remainder of her wine on herself.

Detective Killian took a step forward, hand out. “Take it easy, Yvette. You’ve had a shock.”

“You’re damn right I’ve had a shock!” She backed up. “Get away from me, liars.”

She knew she sounded like a crazy person but didn’t care.

The woman named June laid a hand on the detective’s arm. “You’re upsetting her more,” she said softly. “Let me take care of this.”

They backed off, and she stepped forward. “My name’s June Benson. This is my brother, Riley.” She indicated a tall, curly-haired man. “We own this gallery. Can I do something to help you?”

Yvette became aware of the number of people still in the gallery, of them looking at her. Of the artist’s horrified expression. Heat stung her cheeks. “Keep them away from me. Please.”

“Done.” She smiled reassuringly. “How about a glass of water or a Coke?”

“Thank you. A Coke.”

June Benson led her into a back room of the gallery that looked to serve as an employee lounge.

“Sit down. Please.”

Yvette did, grateful.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded.

“Have you fainted before?”

“No, I…no.”

“Do you have any idea why you did tonight?”

Yvette frowned. “I’d probably had too much wine, but…this has never-”

“Have you eaten?”

“Enough. Cheese and crackers on the Art Walk. A bowl of cereal before I left home.”

“What were you doing before you fainted?”

“Talking to Rich Ruston. He brought me a glass of wine.”

“Really?” She frowned. “Could he have slipped something in it?”

“He could have, but why would-”

Stupid. She knew why. A date-rape drug. She was an easy mark. Woman alone. Already tipsy.

Why had she thought an art opening would be any safer than a bar?

Riley Benson appeared in the doorway. He looked concerned. “You okay?”

“Yes, thanks. Sorry for making such a scene.”

“Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t your fault.” He shifted his gaze to June. “Nell Nolan from the Times-Picayune is asking for you. Wants a quote.”

“Nell Nolan? The social-scene writer?”

“The very one. With a photographer.”

“Can’t you-”

“You’re much better at those sound bites than I am.” When she hesitated a moment more, he waved her on. “I’ll stay.”

She agreed, though she didn’t look thrilled. “I’ll be back. Drink that Coke. The sugar will help.”

“She’s sweet,” Yvette said.

“As pie,” he responded, though something in his tone led her to believe he didn’t agree. No doubt Big Sister didn’t hesitate to break Little Brother’s balls whenever she thought he needed it.

“I should go,” she said. “I feel fine now.”

“Finish your drink first. Let the crowd thin a bit more.”

So they didn’t stare at her when she left.

Tears stung her eyes at his kindness. Silly to be affected that way, she supposed. But the truth was, people usually weren’t all that kind to her.

“Did you like the show?”

“What I saw of it, yes.”

“Shauna’s a friend. I’ve known her since we were kids. She’s really talented.”

Not knowing how to respond, she sipped her soft drink.

“What do you do?”

“I’m a dancer.”

“Cool.” He smiled at her and she decided he had one of the nicest smiles she’d ever seen. Really warm. Cute. He even had a dimple in his right cheek.

“They say all the creative arts are intertwined. Writing, music, dance, visual arts.”

“I used to love to draw.”

“There you go.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him her “creative art” involved taking off her clothes; no sense spoiling his perfectly good theory.

“It’s gotten quiet,” she murmured.

“I’ll take a peek.”

He stood, crossed to the door and looked out. He grinned back at her. “A few stragglers. Nell’s looking the other way.”

She returned his smile and stood. “Thanks.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

“I cabbed.”

“Then I’ll drive you home.”

“I’ve already taken too much of your time.”

“It’s no trouble. After all, you nearly died in my gallery.”

She laughed at that. “If you insist, but it’s really not-”

“I do insist.”

They exited the gallery back room. June stood talking with Shauna and a tall thin man who sported a goatee and a spiral-bound notebook.

Shauna saw them, excused herself and crossed to them. She smiled at Yvette. “Are you okay?”

Her face heated. “I’m fine. I’m so sorry for disrupting your show. I don’t know what happened.”

The artist’s smile looked a little stiff. “It’s not your fault. Really.”

“I like your work, by the way. It’s great.”

“Thanks. I’m-”

“Shauna?” June joined them. “Why don’t you see Robert to the door. He may have another question or two.”

“Art critic for the T-P,” June said as Shauna walked away. She turned her gaze on Yvette. “You’re feeling better?”

“She is,” Riley said, answering for her. “She doesn’t have a car, so I’m going to drive her home.”

The woman frowned slightly. Yvette jumped in. “I don’t want to cause any more troub-”

“It’s no trouble,” he said. “Trouble would be waiting an hour for a cab. After all, this is post-Katrina New Orleans.”

June didn’t respond, though Yvette could tell she wasn’t happy about the turn of events. Yvette thanked her again and left with Riley.

He led her across the street to a small, private parking lot. Using a remote, he opened the electronic gate, then led her to his vehicle, a sleek, black Infiniti sedan.

He helped her in, then went around to the driver’s side. “Where to?” he asked.

“Not far. Dauphine and Governor Nicholls. In the French Quarter.”

He looked disappointed and she drew her eyebrows together. “What?”

“I was hoping you lived clear across town.”

Yvette steeled herself against the warmth that stole over her at his flirting and changed the subject. “Your sister didn’t want you to do this. I could tell.”

“She’s a bit overprotective.”

“She thinks you need to be protected from me?”

He laughed. “You’re right. Let me amend that. She’s a bit controlling.”

“But nice.” She leaned back in her seat. The leather was pure luxury.

“We’re fifteen years apart. And since both our parents were dead by my sixteenth birthday, she was stuck raising me. I guess she’s earned the right to be controlling.”

“I guess she has.”

“You want to get something to eat?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Okay.”

“Camellia Grill’s open late.”

She said that sounded great and ten minutes later they were seated across from each other in a booth, hungrily considering menu choices.