Trouble in Mudbug (Ghost-in-Law, #1)(56)
Especially not his family. Women like his mother and grandmother did not suffer weakness or fools.
Maryse, with her fierce and sometimes frustrating independence, was a breath of fresh air. And the fact that she didn’t fall at his feet and overload him with compliments only made him more interested rather than less. He glanced down at the shopping bags he carried and shook his head. Her wardrobe definitely needed work, but for whatever reason, the faded jeans and rubber boots she’d worn into the bayou had never been a turnoff. In fact, it was exactly the opposite, which was uncharted territory for him.
He’d been with women who’d worn their stiletto heels to bed, and he had to admit, it was a huge turn-on. But on the occasion when his guard slipped and he allowed himself the luxury of that one-second vision of Maryse in his bed, damned if she wasn’t completely nude except for those rubber boots. He felt his pulse quicken every time that picture flashed through his mind and knew that he would have to be very careful with Maryse Robicheaux.
Women who caused high blood pressure by wearing rubber boots were not to be taken lightly. If he made a genuine move in that direction, he knew there would be no going back. Maryse Robicheaux was no good-time girl or one-night stand. Maryse Robicheaux was the kind of woman who inspired men to make long-term plans.
They climbed into Luc’s Jeep, packages in tow, and Luc pulled out of the parking space. As he exited the parking lot, Maryse pulled out her cell phone and punched in a number. Luc felt his pulse quicken for a moment, wondering who she was calling, but relaxed when she asked to speak to the attorney, Wheeler.
Clutching the steering wheel, he stared down the highway. What the hell was wrong with him? He was acting like a jealous husband, worried that his wife might be talking to another man. He needed to get a grip and get a grip fast. He wasn’t going to be any help to Maryse if he spent all his time mentally undressing her rather than protecting her.
As Maryse finished her conversation and snapped the phone shut, he erased the rubber boot scene from his mind and looked over at her. “Wheeler meeting you this afternoon?” he asked.
Maryse nodded. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m losing my mind with the questions I asked, but I didn’t want to get into everything over the phone.”
“Probably best to spring a house exploding on him in person,” Luc agreed.
“He’s meeting me at the café at two, hopefully with answers to all the questions that I asked.” She sighed. “You know, somehow having this discussion over a cup of coffee and blueberry pancakes just seems wrong.”
“Probably more of a shot of rot-gut whiskey sort of moment.”
“Or battery acid,” she said, and frowned.
Luc studied her for a moment, the questions she’d asked Wheeler rolling through his mind. “Are you really thinking about signing the land over to Hank?”
Maryse shook her head. “No. But if everyone thought that I could, and had, that would take the pressure off of me if the whole point of this mess was someone thinking Hank was going to inherit in the first place.”
Luc studied Maryse for a moment, then frowned. She’d processed things quicker than he thought she would, so the thoughts rolling through her mind must be overwhelming. “You realize what you’re saying?” he asked, just to be sure they were on the same page. “You think someone wanted that land so bad that they killed Helena Henry thinking Hank would inherit and make a deal. And when you inherited instead, they shifted to killing you.”
He paused for a moment, carefully deciding on his next words. “It would take someone very desperate to attempt that in the first place. And it would take someone who knew enough about the land, and you and Helena, to know the score.”
“I know what I’m saying,” Maryse said, and stared out the car window. “Someone I know, possibly someone I consider a friend, is trying to kill me.”
Maryse’s two o’clock meeting with Wheeler started off a bit rocky. First off, both Luc and Sabine insisted on attending. Apparently they had decided that if Maryse couldn’t come up with a better idea for protecting herself, they were going to wring one out of the attorney. Wheeler entered the café, took one look at Maryse, and gasped.
“Oh, my word,” he said as he slid onto the chair across from her. “What happened to you?”
“A couple of things you should be aware of,” Maryse said, and told him about the truck wreck and the explosion at her cabin.
Wheeler looked at Maryse, then over at Sabine and Luc, apparently hoping this was all a joke and they were the hidden-camera crew. When no one said a word, Wheeler looked back at Maryse, cleared his throat, and finally said, “Are you implying that someone is trying to remove you from the inheritance line?”
“Jesus, Wheeler,” Maryse said, her exasperation with the situation overcoming any subtlety she might have otherwise had. “Where did you learn to talk that way?” She supposed his highbrow, cultured existence didn’t allow him to say or think of such sordid things as murder, but damn it, they had no time to *foot around reality. “I’m saying someone is trying to kill me. Are you with me now?”
Wheeler paled and used his table napkin to wipe his brow. “You’re sure?” he asked, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he shook his head and looked contrite. “I’m sorry. Of course you’re sure or you wouldn’t be here talking to me. I guess it’s just so startling because I can’t imagine anyone running the risk of an arrest for something that may be worth considerable money someday but isn’t really worth all that much right now.”