They’d only been able to go at night because of her gallery commitments, but she couldn’t get enough of it and wondered what it would be like to learn to ride herself. To have the freedom to get up and take to the road whenever she damn well pleased. When she was on the back of Travis’s bike she forgot about all her woes, forgot about the fact that this thing between them had a rapidly approaching use-by date, forgot about the whole gallery-losing-a-lease issue, and simply lived in the moment.
Every moment with Travis was an exciting adventure. The rush he gave her was similar only to the one she got whenever she was lost in her art. And he’d given her the confidence to take that up again.
She waved him goodbye and went back to her work, stopping to eat lunch when he returned with a seafood pizza and a box of beignets. The way to her heart truly was with this local fried dough delicacy.
“As much as I’d love to sit and chat,” Travis said, standing and grabbing their empty pizza box, “or better still, whisk you inside for another round of dessert, I have work to do, and I think you have company.”
Frowning, Billie turned her head in the direction of the gallery entrance to see Rolley strolling in, an uncharacteristic scowl in prime position on his face. Travis chuckled, bent over and planted a kiss on the top of her head and then went into the house, Baxter following closely behind. It was the most chaste kiss he’d ever given her, but the way Rolley reacted you’d think Travis had bent her over the piano and had his wicked way.
“Did I just see what I think I saw?” Rolley’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head.
Billie smiled sweetly as he approached. “That depends on what you just saw.”
“You really going to ask me to spell it out?”
Billie sighed. “Look, Rolley, I don’t want to argue with you, okay?”
“You can’t seriously tell me you’re dating that jerk.”
Dating? Was that what they were doing? She doubted Travis would use that definition, even though they went out together in public and slept together every night. Dating sounded like a relationship that actually had a future.
“No.” She forced a laugh and shook her head. “We’re just being a little more civil now. I can’t afford to make an enemy of my landlord now, can I?”
Rolley crossed his arms over his chest and glared in the direction Travis had headed. “Well, I hope that’s all it is, because you deserve a lot better than the likes of him, Billie. You deserve the world. Do you know what those dudes are like? They treat their motorbikes better than their women. They treat their women like toys. They…”
“Sounds like you’ve been watching too many episodes of SOA,” she said with a laugh. Truth was Travis had treated her like a queen this last week and she couldn’t imagine him ever treating her badly, but then again, maybe that was because this was only an interlude for him. Either way, she didn’t want to dwell on this or talk about him with Rolley.
“Do you know he’s Lorna’s son?” Rolley asked, surprising her.
Billie frowned, not sure where he was going with this. “Yes, I found out the other day.” She lowered her voice. “I spoke to Lorna about him after she came to deliver some paintings, and things got a little heated between them.”
“Geez.” Rolley looked genuinely concerned; he was good friends with Lorna’s partner. “Is she okay? Maybe I should go talk to her.”
Before Billie could say anything more, he turned and charged back out of the gallery. She couldn’t help letting out a breath of relief. Dealing with a happy-go-lucky Rolley had always been fun. He’d been a good friend since she’d settled in the French Quarter, but she didn’t like his irate, jealous streak when he had no claim over her at all.
For the rest of the afternoon, Billie tried to focus on her art and on the enthusiastic tourists that strolled into the gallery for a look-see and more often than not ended up walking out with a special New Orleans keepsake. That’s what she loved about the gallery she’d established. Although there were some expensive works of art, she also held plenty of pieces that were affordable for the average tourist. She wanted people to be able to take home a small piece of New Orleans, something that wasn’t tacky plastic from a cheap tourist shop like one across the street.
Still, although she loved her work, she couldn’t help the happy bubble that formed inside her as she finally shut up shop for the day. It was midweek, so the gallery didn’t stay open late, which meant maybe she had time to whip up something special for dinner. She’d always enjoyed cooking, but she liked it so much more now that someone appreciated her efforts. Not only did Travis know how to compliment a woman in the kitchen, he also happily helped with the dishes and made sure he continued to show his appreciation much, much later. Her insides heated at the thought as she stepped into the house.
Baxter ran to greet her, leaping up at her legs and trying to lick her knees. She laughed and bent down to scoop him up. “Nice effort, little guy. Maybe I’d actually believe you still cared if you’d bothered to come out and sit with me for more than five minutes today.”
As she walked through to the kitchen—Travis’s makeshift office area—Baxter licked her nose as if trying to make up for ignoring her. She laughed again and put the dog down, expecting Travis to get up when he saw her, to come over and yank her against him, to kiss her till she went boneless, as was becoming his nightly habit. But Travis stayed in his seat, his eyes glued on his computer screen. There was a furrow between his eyebrows that looked like it had been there a while. She started to cross over to him, planning to offer a shoulder massage, when he banged his fist on the kitchen table. Frustration was etched all over his face.
“Bad day at the office?” she asked.
He glanced up at her as if he hadn’t until that moment heard her come in, then ran a hand through his hair and attempted a smile. “I’m just tired of getting nowhere.” He sighed and glanced back at the screen. “Maybe we need to take to the streets instead; maybe it’s not—” His words stopped abruptly and his mouth dropped open as he leaned closer to the computer screen. “Holy fuck. How did I miss this?”
“What?” She hurried across the room to stand behind him and look at the screen, which seemed to display some bank statements.
“This.” He breathed the word as he touched his index finger to the screen.
Billie followed his finger to a line that showed a significant amount of money transferred from one account to another. “Laundry?” she read the transaction description aloud. “Must have been a heck load of dirty socks.”
“Dirty laundry,” Travis breathed. “One day after Priest was murdered.”
Billie swallowed as goose bumps littered her skin, but they weren’t the kind of shivers she usually got around Travis. “You think someone was paid to kill him? A contract killing?”
“Looks that way.”
Billie peered at the name at the top of the statement. “Who is Brendan Lee Tuckett?”
“He goes by the name of Blade. You met him at Café Du Monde. I knew it. I just knew this hit had Ministry written all over it.” Travis frowned. “It looks like he paid someone to murder Priest, which I’ll admit is odd. Why the fuck didn’t he just slit his throat himself?”
“And why would he have wanted him dead?” Billie asked, trying not to focus on the visuals. Funny, she no longer felt like cooking and, with all this to digest, she guessed Travis might not be hungry yet either.