Page 20 of The Cajun Doctor

She shrugged. “He showed up last Friday. I came home from work to find him here, inside the house.”

That got Luc’s attention. He sat up straighter. “Trespass.”

She shrugged again. “I’m not sure it could be classified that way. He was supposed to turn in his house keys before the divorce, but he claimed he just found the duplicate.”

“Which you made him turn over, right?”

“Right. And I had a locksmith here to change all the locks the next day.”

“What did he want?”

“He apologized for his behavior in the hallway after the hearing. He said he wanted to try for a reconciliation.”

Luc made a snorting sound of disbelief, which Samantha found rather insulting. “More like another shot at the money tree. No reflection on you, darlin’, but Nick is a world-class leech. I hope you told him to get lost.”

“I told him I wasn’t interested, but he didn’t believe me. In fact, he tried to . . .”

“Please tell me, he didn’t . . . you didn’t?”

She was rather insulted, again, this time that he thought she could be so gullible. “Of course not.” But then, she had to admit, “My grandfather showed up. I’d invited him for dinner. Nick is so clueless, he actually tried to stay for dinner.”

Luc shook his head with disgust.

“Every day since then, he’s been sending flowers or showing up at my house or my office. Nothing threatening exactly, just persistent.”

“I suspect his lawyer has told him that he’s going to lose his bid for more alimony. In fact, he might be cut off completely.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears!” Their new hearing date wasn’t until next month, but maybe Luc had heard something.

He shook his head in answer to her silent question. “Nothing from the court, but rumors are flying about Nick’s building project. Apparently, he lost a malpractice suit last year, and his rates are now through the roof. Then he hired that hotshot architect from Boston who drives around town in a hot damn silver Rolls Royce that cost more than most folks’ homes. That on top of a shitty economy and new, restrictive bank loan regulations . . . well, he’s getting desperate.”

Samantha knew exactly who Luc referred to. Nick had read about Frank Fenton-Lewis in Architectural Digest (Where else!) a long time ago and swore he would use his services someday.

It’s not that Samantha couldn’t afford the alimony. She just hated that so much of her cash was going to the bum. And, frankly, if she’d still been with Nick, she wouldn’t have blinked at giving him the capital for his little Taj Mahal which was pretentious in design, to say the least. Skylights? And Italian marble floors? Really?

“Desperation . . . that’s exactly what I’m sensing about him,” Samantha said. “Barely controlled anger under a façade of pseudo charm. Okay, I admit it, he scares me a little.”

“Do you want me to file for a restraining order?”

“Do I have grounds?”

“Probably not. Yet. But we could file anyhow. He wouldn’t like the publicity, even if we didn’t get a court order. It might deter him.”

“Or it might provoke him into doing more.”

He nodded, acknowledging her point. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. What kind of security system do you have here?”

“Just a keyed entry and motion detectors.”

“I’m going to send a security expert over tomorrow to check out your whole property. It’s a good idea for a single woman to do that anyhow.”

“No gun?” she asked with a laugh.

“Do you have a gun permit? Do you know how to use a weapon?”

“No and no.” And she didn’t want to, either. Not even to wipe out her evil ex-husband.

“How about a dog?”