The Callahan Brothers Trilogy by JoAnn Ross

Author:JoAnn Ross
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Books

18

Undeterred by the anger radiating from him in waves, Julia put her arm through his as they walked toward the parked SUV. A green trolley headed toward the Garden District rumbled past, bell clanging. “It’s getting late,” she said with studied casualness. “What would you say to having dinner before we go back to Blue Bayou?”

Finn assured himself that the only reason he was willing to go along with this obvious stalling tactic was that he was hungry. Also, as good as the inn’s fare was, he was getting sick and tired of room service every night. “I suppose you’ve already made reservations?”

“Of course not. And I’m disappointed you’d even think me capable of such subterfuge, when we both know you’re the one in charge.”

“Yeah, right.” As he watched her curvy butt climb into the Suburban, Finn knew he was getting closer and closer to a line he’d sworn not to cross. A line which, once he was on the other side, he would never be able to go back across.

The damn thing about it, he thought as he twisted the key in the ignition, was that he was having a harder and harder time remembering why that would be such a bad thing.

“I do have a suggestion where we might eat,” she said.

“Now there’s a surprise,” he said dryly.

As her perfume bloomed around them on the warm, sultry air, Finn ignored the little voice in his mind asking if he really thought he was in charge of anything in his life these days. He didn’t want to know the answer.

He’d expected her to choose some fancy place with snowy tablecloths, formally dressed condescending waiters, tasseled menus written in French, and ridiculously inflated prices. Instead, they ended up at a crowded, noisy place above a strip joint. The lack of any outdoor sign suggested it catered to locals, and while he didn’t do a head count, one glance told him that the place was undoubtedly violating fire department occupancy limits.

The tables crowded together were covered in white butcher paper, the spices in the best gumbo he’d tasted since his mother’s were hot, the jazz cool. If he wasn’t still so pissed off about the gigolo thing Finn would have been enjoying himself.

“Are you intending to speak to me anytime soon?” Julia asked as the waiter—an African-American who appeared to be at least in his nineties, who’d greeted her with open affection which suggested this was not her first time here—took away their bowls and delivered their entrees: shrimp rémoulade for her, a huge platter of étouffée for him.

“I’m not sure you want me to.”

“Don’t you ever give in to impulse?”

He put his fork down, leaned back in his chair, and looked straight at her mouth. “More often than I’d like lately.”

Before she could question that, a female tourist dressed in shorts, a T-shirt in Mardi Gras colors of purple, green and gold that read LET THE GOOD TIMES ROLL and sporting a bright yellow perm that made it look as if she’d put a wet finger in a light socket, pushed her way through the crowd to their table.

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