"Alec did believe in love. Before .. . before I was changed, it was as if he believed we could have a life-"

"You do have a life."

"No. A normal life. With death at the end. He told me that love was the greatest power on earth, that the only true freedom on earth was in love."

"He was romantic. A believer in fairy tales. A beautiful, poetic young man. And he is dead. There lies your legend. Take care with Aaron. He is powerful," he warned.

"Perhaps," she told Lucian. "But then, so am I. So am I."

They awoke Sat.u.r.day morning together. Maggie put the coffee on before she showered, and it was ready when Sean finally dragged himself up. It was delicious. While he sipped it, he watched Maggie digging around in his refrigerator. She was wearing nothing but one of his tailored shirts. The tails came to her midthighs. Her hair was wild, she looked great. He leaned against the refrigerator, just watching her.

She let out a sigh of pleasure, then stared at him, quite surprised.

"I just can't believe it."

"What?"

"Your refrigerator is so well supplied."

"Oh, that," he murmured, then shrugged. "Danielle sees to my refrigerator." "Danielle?" she queried.

He nodded. "A friend. She owns the restaurant downstairs. She went to school with my sister."

"Oh," Maggie murmured, studying him. He decided not to tell her that although Danielle had grown into a very beautiful woman, she had been friends with his little sister Mary for so long that he'd feel incestuous if he ever gave her more than a brotherly hug.

"Well." Maggie turned back to the refrigerator. "Mind if I cook? Kitchen-sink omelettes, grits, and English m.u.f.fins?"

"It will be a slice of heaven," he a.s.sured her. He wanted to watch her, but he finished his coffee and set down his cup. "I'm going to shower," he told her. "I'm not sure what today will bring."

"Do you have to go to the office-or the morgue?"

He shook his head. "I think I'm going to go spend the day in a bar."

"Oh?"

"I'll tell you about it while we eat."

Shaved, showered, and in jeans and a denim shirt with rolled-up sleeves, Sean told her about their latest victim while he sat across the kitchen table from her and munched on an omelette. "Anyway, I've finally got a real clue, a rendering of what this man looks like."

Maggie was staring at him, a piece of toast in her hand. "A rendering?"

"Well, I told you, the guy had dinner at Mamie's place and asked about an escort.

Mamie made the arrangements. It does appear that Bessie Girou was killed in that hotel room, and then her body was dumped out in the bayou."

"How do you think the killer managed to get out of the hotel room with a body dripping blood?" Maggie asked.

"I don't know."

"Maybe the guy in the bar wasn't her killer. Maybe she had a visitor after he left."

"Maybe. Maggie, what are you trying to do? Dash my fragile straw of hope?" he demanded. What she was saying was possible; he knew it well enough. Didn't matter. They had a suspect, and he'd be d.a.m.ned if he wouldn't comb the city, trying to find him.

Her eyes were on her food. "I guess I'm just trying to keep an eye on perspective," she said softly. "Have you got a copy of your sketch of this suspect?"

"Yes, the whole city should have a copy."

"What?"

"Hang on," he said.

He left the table and opened the apartment door. His newspaper was sitting just outside and he brought it in. The headlines read: Possible Big Break in Ripper Case: Have You Seen This Man?

He cast the paper down in front of Maggie. She stared at it. He couldn't see her eyes, but for some reason, the way she looked down at the paper disturbed him.

"Someone you know?" he demanded.

She shook her head, not looking up at him.

"No... no."

"Ah. Well, anyway, I thought maybe you'd like to spend a casual day with me." She looked up at last. There was something carefully guarded in her expression. "A casual day? I thought that-"

"Let's just take a long, leisurely stroll around the Vieux Carre. You know. Enjoy the architecture. Grab a cafe au lait, smell the flowers, sit down by the river. After noon, we can go to Mamie's and have a drink in the bar. Catch a bit of a preseason game on the bar TV, and then have a long, elegant dinner. How's that sound?"

She nodded. "I take it we're going to be watching for this man?"

"Yes."

She tapped the newspaper. "You know, once he sees this likeness of himself, he might turn tail and run to another city."

"I don't think so."

"Why?"

"I think he's the type who enjoys taunting the police. Half the thrill is knowing that we should be right on his tail, but that we're stumbling around like idiots in the dark. We can walk to the hotel as well, take a look at the room, talk to a few more employees. You game? I don't have any right to drag you along, you know. You can go back out to your plantation for the day and soak in some sun. But I would enjoy your company."

"Umm, I'm not really a sun lover. And I hate the idea of you just walking around without my company."

"Oh?"

"Well," she said lightly, "I get the impression that there are other women who wouldn't find the task too challenging ... and frankly, as I said ..."-her eyes touched his over the rim of her coffee cup-"the s.e.x is just really too good to jeopardize."

"Ah."

He reached out across the table, finding her fingers, curling his own around them.

Then suddenly he was up, drawing her to him. She was naked beneath the tailored shirt.

The b.u.t.tons gave easily. His hands were all over her flesh.

They made it to the sofa in the parlor. She tugged at the b.u.t.tons on his jeans. His erection jackknifed from the spread of his clothing. It was just great s.e.x.

G.o.d help him, it was so much more.

Later, with her curled on his chest, he stared at the ceiling and wondered again how he had survived the days without her.

Well, now he had her.

Just how the h.e.l.l did he keep her? Even in his arms, she seemed elusive. And mysterious.

"I'm hopping into the shower," she murmured against his flesh. "Just for a minute."

With grace and agility, she rose and was gone. He heard the water running. In a few minutes, she was back out, wearing her white dress, her tanned flesh glowing beautifully, her red hair loose over her shoulders.

"Ready?"

"Give me two minutes," he told her.

"Two minutes?"

"Okay, five." But he really did wash and dress that quickly. He was afraid to let her out of his sight for long.

Afraid she would disappear. Into thin air. Into mist.

CHAPTER 9.

They wandered around for an hour, down narrow streets beneath overhanging balconies.

They stopped for rich cafe au lait on Prince Street, and ambled to Jackson Square to throw breadcrumbs to the birds.

They talked mostly about New Orleans, about its rich and varied history-avoiding the topic of murder. As they kept wandering, Sean became involved in their discussion regarding Andrew Jackson, and he didn't realize that they had come to the statue of his Civil War ancestor until they were standing right beneath it.

He looked up.

Another Sean, a different time, and a far different world.

Captain Sean Canady stood in the military frockcoat of his day, plumed slouch hat low over his forehead, scabbard and sword at his side, one booted foot set atop a rock as he looked out over the city he loved with handsomely chiseled marble eyes. A plaque at the statue's base mentioned the dates of his birth and his death, and his valiant achievements.

He had died in his attempt to save the city of New Orleans; he was a hero who defended his men to his own tragic death, and he would live on forever in history as a seeker of justice.

"Quite an impressive fellow, eh?" Sean inquired.

Maggie looked at him a trifle strangely, he thought. She seemed a little pale. "You look just like him."

"Do I?" Sean stared up at the statue-carved with beard and collar-length hair. "Hard to tell. I need the frockcoat and the stance, don't you think?"

She seemed to be shivering. He slipped an arm around her. "Hey, you don't believe in ghosts, do you? Not a sophisticate such as yourself!"

She withdrew slightly from him, studying his eyes. "Don't you believe in ghosts?" she asked.

He frowned, amused. He shook his head. "No. I don't believe in ghosts. Or haunts. And hey, he was supposedly a good guy- if he came back to haunt us, he'd be a benevolent spirit, right?"

She shrugged. "He would be a benevolent spirit."

"Meaning ...?" Sean queried, bemused. She was usually just so d.a.m.ned matter-of-fact.

"Don't you ever think sometimes that ..."

"That what?"

"I..." She looked at him, then moistened her lips. "I don't know. That there's evil in the air sometimes, I suppose."

"I don't believe in ghosts at all, that's for certain."

She looked at him, shaking her head. "If you don't believe in ghosts, haunts, spirits-or the like-how do you explain the murders?"

"Explain them? People were viciously killed."

"How?"

His eyes narrowed and he frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, just exactly how? How do you explain the lack of blood, or the body of a butchered victim being moved from a hotel room without witnesses noticing a thing?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Jesus, Maggie, if only that could be my answer!

Spirits. I don't believe in evil spirits. People commit evil. There's an evil man killing people, and I'm going to find him and turn him over to the due process of the law."

She shook her head suddenly. "I don't think it's going to be that easy, Sean. I ..."

She broke off, interrupted as a bloodcurdling scream suddenly filled the air.

Sean backed away, frowning, quickly looking down the street. A young blond woman had emerged from one of the dusky, side-street jazz clubs. She wore sandals, a halter top, and a short skirt. Blood dripped from her hand as she backed away from the door, staring in horror at the burly, dark-haired and bearded fellow who followed her out. The man cast back his head and began laughing. The sound was strangely demonic, and the man seemed heedless of witnesses as he came after the young woman, wielding a broken bottle.

"h.e.l.l!" Sean muttered. "s.h.i.t! Maggie, stay here, please, wait for me."