Chapter Nine

“Let’s get out of here.” Sullivan stood and tossed some money onto the bar.

I thanked him and glanced at my watch.

“Got an appointment?” he asked.

“I’m supposed to work tonight.”

We stepped onto the street. Dusk had arrived, giving the Quarter a sleepy air that would disappear quickly when complete darkness fell and neon lit up the sky. No one could be sleepy then.

“I wish you wouldn’t.” Sullivan stopped me with a hand on my elbow.

“I know. But I have to.”

He hesitated, and for a minute I thought he meant to argue, then he gave a quick grin. “I’ll walk you over.”

“That’s probably not a good idea.”

Sullivan tilted his head. “You got a boyfriend back home in Philadelphia?”

The question was so out of place after what we’d been discussing, all I could say was, “Huh?”

“I like you, Anne. I wouldn’t mind spending time with you. Is that so bad?”

“Uh—no.”

“I thought I’d walk with you, maybe buy us a po’ boy on the way. Ever had one?”

I stared into his open, honest brown eyes. No secrets there. The lack of them was very appealing.

“Not yet,” I answered.

A po’ boy turned out to be a sandwich—kind of a submarine, but better. A huge slab of French bread stuffed with shrimp and oysters, sausage, or roast beef. Pretty much whatever you asked for.

We stood in line at a window on Decatur. I ordered mine with ham; Sullivan opted for medium rare roast beef, undressed, which meant plain. I wanted dressing, which got me lettuce, tomato, and an unbelievable mustard that made my taste buds twinkle.

We ate as we walked, like so many others. I was amazed at how many people carried plastic cocktail glasses, or even beer bottles on the street. That combined with the amount of to-go windows at the bars made me think the laws on public alcohol consumption were virtually nonexistent.

“Must be hard to keep things under control,” I murmured as we passed another weaving, two-fisted, drinking tourist.

“The mounted police on Bourbon really help. The officers can see over the crowds, and people give way to a horse. It’s also pretty hard to outrun them.”

“Still, there have to be fights.”

“Wouldn’t be Mardi Gras season without them. But most people are here for a good time; they’re happy.

If not, we throw them in j ail and by morning they see reason.”

I had a feeling it was a bit more complicated than that, but I let it go.

By the time we neared the less touristy section of Decatur Street, we’d finished our po’ boys and washed them down with a bottle of water. I had to work, and Sullivan didn’t appear to be much of a drinker. I liked that about him. Among other things.

I stopped walking. “It’s probably not a good idea for anyone at Rising Moon to see me with a cop.”

“You’re probably right.” He swept a wisp of hair from my eyes, his fingertips trailing across my brow. “Be careful.”

“Always am.”

“Really?”

I didn’t answer. When it came to looking for Katie, I was often reckless.

Sullivan leaned in, brushing my lips with his own. The kiss was sweet, soft; he smelled really good, like sunshine and cinnamon. I was so shocked, I just stood there; I didn’t even pucker up.

“See you.” He turned and headed back in the direction of Bourbon.

I stared after him, wondering what had just happened. Had that been a date or a meeting? An end or perhaps a beginning? More importantly, what did I want it to be? I wasn’t quite sure.

Darkness had fallen and what appeared to be a full moon shone. I knew that a true full moon lasted only one night and that what I observed was slightly lopsided, though not enough to be seen by the human eye.

Which made the long, low howl that rose toward the silver orb even weirder. If there were no wolves in New Orleans, and werewolves only came out under a full moon, then what the hell was that?

I gave a little snort of derision at my thoughts. There was no such thing as werewolves, and that howl had most likely been a coyote. I was a city girl. I had no idea what a coyote, a wolf, or even a dog howl sounded like.

The wind ruffled my hair, amazingly chilly despite the fading heat of the day. I glanced around uneasily.

Where had all the people gone?

Behind me, farther down Decatur, there were plenty. Ahead of me, on the shady street that was Frenchmen, a small knot milled. But right here, no one.

“Hell,” I muttered, and hurried along the broken sidewalk in the direction of Rising Moon.

The howl came again, but this time I got the impression a pack of furry beasts serenaded the bright, shiny moon. Strange, but it sounded as if they were just down the street, back in the direction Sullivan had gone.

I spun around, eyes searching the steadily descending gloom. Where was he? I should be able to see him walking away, but I didn’t. How could I miss him? He was huge.

Uneasy, I started after him. In my peripheral vision I kept catching a hint of shadows in the alleyways.

Shadows with decidedly canine shapes. However, when I glanced directly at them, nothing was there.

I reached the busy section of Decatur. Tourists, tourists everywhere and not a cop to be had.

I forced myself to draw several calming breaths. Sullivan had used a shortcut, that was all. I was certain there were a hundred of them, and a New Orleans detective would know every one.

Now that I was no longer alone, all I heard was the beat of the music pouring from the open door of every tavern; all I saw was the neon. I was tempted to grab the nearest person and ask them if they’d seen any really big dogs or heard strange howling, but considering the intoxicated euphoria of everyone around me, I wouldn’t be able to believe them regardless of what they said.

I j ogged toward Rising Moon, passing nothing but empty, glistening alleyways, until I reached the bar.

At the end of the long, narrow gap between buildings a man stood smoking. Even before he turned his face and the nearly full moon glinted off his glasses, I knew who he was.

My heart went ba-boom. Sullivan’s sweet and gentle kiss was forgotten as memories spilled into my mind

—the taste of his mouth, the feel of his skin, the scent of his hair. The stark, white line across his wrist.

I should avoid John Rodolfo like the shadowy wolves that run in the night. Instead I took a single step toward him, and he disappeared around the corner. Before I could stop myself, I plunged into the alley, hurrying along until I burst out the other side.

The only thing left was a whiff of cigarette smoke on the wind.