“It wasn’t anything crazy,” he said, hoping to downplay any danger. “An informant said a shipment of meth was coming in on a boat, but by the time we got there, the guy had already moved the stuff. It was all a big waste of time.”
That seemed to mollify her somewhat, but she was still regarding him seriously. “You might be doing more of these kinds of things while you’re here in New Orleans…going out on real calls?”
“It’s my job.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “I just thought you’d be doing training this week. I mean, I didn’t even think you’d have jurisdiction here in New Orleans.”
“My boss took care of all that before we came,” Remy said. “He didn’t want us put in a position where we needed to do something and not have the authority to do it. There was a lot of paperwork, but we’re completely legit in the city for this week. But I promise you, my guys from Dallas are the best SWAT officers in the country, and we always take care of each other.”
Triana thought about that for a while. “This is probably going to sound stupid, but you’re always careful, right?”
He nodded. “Yes. And like I said, our number-one rule is to always watch out for each other.”
She relaxed a little at that, but her heart was still beating a little faster than normal and he could feel the tension in her body. He regretted bringing up the drug raid, but there was no way to take it back.
They continued for another block in comfortable silence before Triana surprised him by asking for more details about what the raid had entailed. Remy took his time and laid out not just what he’d done today, but also what a typical search warrant operation was like. He stayed away from details she didn’t need to know, like the fact that they’d been trying to take down Aaron Lee. Triana listened carefully but also asked a lot of pointed and intelligent questions.
Remy was showing her how he and his guys communicated during operations using nothing but hand signals when they passed a club with bright, shiny lights and a gaudy sign advertising open mic karaoke every night. Apparently, the sign wasn’t lying, since Remy could already hear the most god-awful voice butchering “Beast of Burden” by the Rolling Stones. It was one of the rare times in all his years as a werewolf that Remy was sorry he had such good hearing. The noise coming out of the open door was actually painful to listen to.
But it wasn’t the crap sound from the place that made him stop and take a second look. He was sure he recognized the club, though he wasn’t sure why it was familiar. Then it struck him. It wasn’t the appearance of the building—it was the address. He looked up and down the street a couple times to be sure, because it had been eight years since he’d seen the place last.
“Hey. Isn’t this where your dad’s place, the Jazz Joint, used to be?” Remy asked, sure he had to be wrong.
He remembered going to her dad’s club for dinner when he was in high school and had always thought the place had a cool, laid-back vibe. Nothing like this garish mess they were standing in front of now. The reputation of the club had been so good that well-known jazz musicians would show up all the time just for a chance to play there. But with the bellowing coming out the door combined with the cheap signage, he couldn’t imagine any respectable musician even wanting to walk on the same side of the street as this place.
Triana nodded sadly, not looking at the karaoke club as they walked past. She even tugged his hand a little so he’d quicken his pace as they moved down the street, clearly unwilling to spend any more time than necessary near the place that occupied where her dad’s old club had been.
Remy could understand that.
“After Dad’s death, Mom tried to keep it going,” Triana said, and Remy could almost taste her grief on the air. “Sort of in his memory…you know? She tried to get a partner, but no one was willing. Some people didn’t like the idea of working in a place where such a horrible murder had happened. Others simply pointed out that it simply wasn’t going to work. Dad didn’t just run the Jazz Joint; he was its heart and soul. Without his charisma and energy, the old building seemed like an empty shell. The people who used to play there wouldn’t come back. Mom said it was because the magic was gone.”
Triana fell silent as they crossed a street. Her father’s murder had been two years ago, but it was obvious the pain was as raw and upsetting as if it had happened yesterday. Remy squeezed her hand, trying to let her know without words that she didn’t need to talk about it but that he was there for her if she wanted to.
Rufus Bellamy had always been such a larger-than-life character—big, strong, loud, loving. Remy remembered him as this huge guy with muscles he’d gotten working on the docks of New Orleans as a young man, humping cargo and loading ships. He’d had a wild head of shaggy blond hair and a mustache to match. Everyone knew Rufus had lived part of his life on the wrong side of the law, but in a city like this, that wasn’t necessarily the stigma it might have been in other parts of the country.
The man had been out of that life for a while by the time Remy had met him. As far as Remy was concerned, Triana’s dad had been a faithful husband and loving father. But at the same time, Remy understood where Rufus Bellamy had come from. He loved to laugh and have fun like anyone else, but he was also a man no one wanted to mess with unless they wanted to know what it felt like to be beaten to a bloody pulp.
It was hard to believe that a man as powerful and full of life as Triana’s father was gone. He’d been a rare kind of person.
“Mom finally ended up selling the club,” Triana said after a few blocks. “While neither of us wanted to keep the place after my dad’s murder, it still sucks seeing the jazz club he poured his heart and soul into become a karaoke bar. It’s almost like blasphemy.”
“After hearing whoever was singing as we walked by the place, I agree,” Remy said. “But I’m pretty sure your dad wouldn’t be that upset. As I recall, he used to get up and sing with some of the musicians who came in…and he was pretty awful. That never kept him from doing it, though. I think he’d be fine with people singing in his old club as long as they’re having a good time.”
Triana stared at him for a moment, then a big smile spread across her face. “You know something, I think you’re exactly right. Don’t tell Mom I said this, but if Dad ever came back as a ghost, I could imagine him standing up at that karaoke mic, butchering songs with the best of them.”
They laughed at that image, and before long, they were telling each other all the stories they remembered about Rufus Bellamy—and there were a lot of them. By the time they reached Muriel’s over on Saint Ann, Triana’s mood had lightened considerably and they were back to the playful, sexy banter that had started off their date.
With its red brick and white wood trim, the two-story building on the edge of Jackson Square known as Muriel’s Bistro was a beautiful structure. The building on the corner of Saint Ann and Chartres had been in existence in one form or another practically since the founding of the city, and the owners of the restaurant had invested a lot money into lovingly restoring the place to its mid-1800s grandeur.
The best thing about Muriel’s—beyond the amazing food, of course—was the ambience. There was something about the blend of mid-nineteenth-century French charm, the New Orleans mystique, and the Southern hospitality that really worked for this place. How many other restaurants maintained a reserved table for a ghost? It was true. The place kept a table set with wine and bread for the ghost of Pierre Jourdan, one of the restaurant’s previous owners.
Remy didn’t miss the way men’s heads turned to follow Triana as the hostess led them across the main red-and-yellow-decorated dining room and seated them at a table for two in the back corner. While he was surprised at the spike of jealousy that rushed through him, not to mention the animalistic urge to turn and snarl at the gawkers, he couldn’t blame the men whose gazes were drawn to Triana’s hypnotic beauty. He certainly was as well.
The hostess took their wine orders, then mentioned the name of their server and left them alone. Even though the dining room was crowded, the alcove where they were seated offered them a little privacy. Not that it mattered. Triana was so alluring it was like there was no one else around.
“So, what are the other guys from Dallas up to while you’re out wooing me tonight?” she asked with a sparkle in her eyes.
He chuckled. “Wooing? Is that what I’m doing? I thought I was taking you out for dinner.”
