50

Monday, May 14, 2007

5:45 p.m.

Stacy packed enough of her things to make her move-in look authentic. Making frequent trips back to the Riverbend house might arouse suspicion. The Artist could be watching Yvette’s building. Hell, he could be one of her neighbors.

She, Patti and Yvette had planned it all out. Brandi would move in tonight. Stacy had instructed Yvette to make a big deal out of it. Tell everyone that she had been staying with a friend because she was so freaked out about what happened to Miss Alma and Samson.

Tell them that’s the reason for a roommate. Introduce Brandi around. Make it look normal.

Yvette hadn’t been happy, but they hadn’t given her an option. This was the new deal. Period.

“Something you want to tell me, Killian?”

Spencer.

She looked over her shoulder at him. Dual-purpose move. This would give them a little time and space. To sort it out. Decide what they wanted.

She forced a carefree smile. “Hi, hon.”

“You never call me that.”

She didn’t. Damn. “I have news.”

His gaze slid to the suitcases. “Apparently.”

“I’ve found a temporary place to live.”

“Good thing I came home when I did.”

“I wasn’t going to leave without telling you.”

“Right.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “That’s the way it looks.”

“It’s work-related. But it’ll give us some breathing room. Test a separation.”

“Test a separation,” he repeated. “I think that’s all bullshit.”

“So we agree to disagree. Lots of couples do.”

“What’s the case?”

She hesitated. “I said work-related. Not necessarily an active case.”

“More bullshit, Stacy. What are you trying to hide?”

Trying not to rub salt in the wound. “I’m not hiding anything. Brandi’s back. She’s moving in with Yvette.”

At his shocked expression, she tipped her hands palms up. “I think there’s something there, Spencer.”

Quickly, before he could argue, she filled him in. She began with the crime lab calling, learning about the key, then how she had connected the dots and gone to Patti with her offer.

“Patti’s tossing away her career and you’re going to help? I can’t believe this.”

“There’s something there,” she said again. “And while I’m there, I can watch Patti’s back.”

“I know what’s there. A liar and a cheat. And a woman whose decisions are being motivated by grief. What’s your excuse?”

“What are you most upset about? The fact I think we need a break? Or that I’m buying into Yvette’s story?”

“This is ridiculous.”

“In your opinion.”

He left the room. She watched him go, then returned to her packing, half expecting to hear the front door slam and the Camaro roar to life.

She didn’t, and let out a shaky breath. Well, that had gone well.

Not.

She wanted to stay with him. But she wanted him to need her to stay. If he had made one real plea, shown a hint of real emotion, she would have let him know that.

But he hadn’t.

Which was symptomatic of their relationship.

She finished packing, then headed to the bathroom for her transformation. Fifteen minutes later, she went in search of Spencer. He sat on the front porch, drinking a beer.

She stepped outside. “Will you help me get my bags into the car?”

He laughed, the sound short and brutal. “Sure.”

He brought the suitcases out, loaded them into her Explorer, then shut the hatch.

“See you around, Killian.”

“Spencer, I-” She touched his arm. “I handled this badly. I’m sorry, I-”

He shook off her hand. “I have an answer to that question you asked me earlier. Truth is, I’m more upset about you helping Patti than you moving out.”

She took an involuntary step back, hurt to her core. Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked quickly against them. She would not allow him to see how deeply he had cut her.

“Right. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” She went around to the driver’s side and opened the door. “I’ll make arrangements for the rest of my stuff.”

“No hurry. Whenever.”

“Great.” She climbed into the vehicle. “See you around.”

“Absolutely.”

She started the Explorer and drove off. When she reached the end of the block, she glanced in the rearview mirror. He stood in the street, watching her go, expression set. Feeling as if she had a thousand-pound weight sitting on her chest, she drove on.

Stacy made it to Patti’s without incident, her cell phone tellingly silent. She had hoped he would think about what he had said, realize he hadn’t meant it and call her back.

As it stood now, they were through.

She pulled into the drive and climbed out. Patti was waiting. She looked anxious.

“Everything all right?” Patti asked.

“Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

The woman arched her eyebrows. “Name starts with an S-for stubborn.”

“It’s over.” She held up a hand to ward off any argument from the other woman. “He was more upset about my involvement in this than with my leaving.”

“That sounds like wounded male pride to me. I’m sure he’ll-”

Stacy cut her off. “It’s time for us to move on. And it’s been coming for a while.” She shifted the conversation to Yvette. “Is she ready?”

“Ready. But not happy.”

“Tough shit.”

“She’s really young,” Patti said softly. “She hasn’t had an easy life.”

“You actually like her?”

“I understand her.”

At the sound of a door slamming, they turned. Yvette stalked into the foyer, lugging a suitcase.

She dropped it with a thud at Stacy’s feet. “I’m not doing this again. I’m returning to my apartment and that’s where I’m going to stay.”

Stacy rolled her eyes. Arrogance was unattractive enough when it was attached to true talent or brilliance. Attached to childishness, it was just plain irritating. When would Yvette realize this was as much to save her as to catch Sammy’s killer?

“Play nice,” Patti said. “I’ll see you at the Hustle tomorrow night.”

“Whatever.”

She strode to the SUV, leaving the suitcase for Stacy to bring. Stacy gritted her teeth. If the Artist showed, maybe she should let him scare the crap out of the little witch.

After telling Patti goodbye, she headed to the Explorer, then climbed into the driver’s seat.

“What about my suitcase?” Yvette said.

“Your arms aren’t broken.”

The younger woman glared at her. Stacy smiled. “It’s not my stuff, I don’t care if we leave it behind.”

With a huff, Yvette threw open the door and went to retrieve her case. After she had stowed it in back, she climbed back in, steaming.

Stacy glanced at Yvette. “You just can’t see that we’re inconveniencing ourselves for you?”

“Whatever.” She slammed her car door. “NOPD must not pay much. This is a pretty crappy ride.”

“I have other priorities.”

“Like what?”

“Saving for the future, for one.” Yvette didn’t respond and Stacy added, “You probably think that’s pretty boring.”

“Actually, I don’t.” She looked at her. “What does your boyfriend think about this?”

Stacy pulled away from the curb, heading back into the French Quarter. “My boyfriend?”

“Detective Malone. I know you live with him.”

“So?”

“So what does he think about you moving in with me?”

“He’s not happy. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Be careful or he’ll find someone who does make him happy.”

“Relationships aren’t so black and white.”

She smiled snidely. “That’s what girls like you tell themselves.”

“Really? And girls like you think a real relationship is a lap dance and a really good tip.”

“Screw you.”

They didn’t speak again until they had entered her apartment building’s courtyard. Then they made a lot of commotion, lugging Brandi’s suitcases, giggling like girlfriends on a new adventure. Along the way, Yvette introduced “Brandi” to a half-dozen neighbors, repeating the roommate story with the ease of an accomplished actress-or liar.