Boys in Blue: Jordan\Liam\Zachary Read online

  WELCOME TO NEW ORLEANS…

  …where Voodoo Night brings tourists and natives alike to Chez Camille, a popular French Quarter restaurant. But this week there’s more than crawfish being served. Murder is on the menu!

  …where the descendants of famed priestess Marie Laveaux assemble at the mausoleum in the dead of night and ghostly fingers of fog rise from the murky ground…

  …where the stately mansions of the rich hide scandal and secrets in the luxurious Garden District…

  …and where three long-lost cop brothers must unite to find a killer before he sends an unlucky charm to his next victim. The same blood runs through their veins, but Jordan, Liam and Zach are as different as night and day. Still, when they put on the uniform of the NOPD, there’s nothing but justice on their minds. Justice and—when the sun goes down on the Crescent City—love….

  Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

  The holidays are upon us! We have six dazzling stories of intrigue that will make terrific stocking stuffers—not to mention a well-deserved reward for getting all your shopping done early….

  Take a breather from the party planning and unwrap Rita Herron’s latest offering, A Warrior’s Mission—the next exciting installment of COLORADO CONFIDENTIAL, featuring a hot-blooded Cheyenne secret agent! Also this month, watch for The Third Twin—the conclusion of Dani Sinclair’s HEARTSKEEP trilogy that features an identical triplet heiress marked for murder who seeks refuge in the arms of a rugged lawman.

  The joyride continues with Under Surveillance by highly acclaimed author Gayle Wilson. This second book in the PHOENIX BROTHERHOOD series has an undercover agent discovering that his simple surveillance job of a beautiful woman-in-jeopardy is filled with complications. Be there from the start when B.J. Daniels launches her brand-new miniseries, CASCADES CONCEALED, about a close-knit northwest community that’s visited by evil. Don’t miss the first unforgettable title, Mountain Sheriff.

  As a special gift-wrapped treat, three terrific stories in one volume. Look for Boys in Blue by reader favorites Rebecca York, Ann Voss Peterson and Patricia Rosemoor about three long-lost New Orleans cop brothers who unite to reel in a killer. And rounding off a month of nonstop thrills and chills, a pregnant woman and her wrongly incarcerated husband must set aside their stormy past to bring the real culprit to justice in For the Sake of Their Baby by Alice Sharpe.

  Best wishes to all of our loyal readers for a joyous holiday season!

  Enjoy,

  Denise O’Sullivan

  Senior Editor

  Harlequin Intrigue

  BOYS IN BLUE

  REBECCA YORK

  RUTH GLICK WRITING AS REBECCA YORK

  ANN VOSS PETERSON

  PATRICIA ROSEMOOR

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  Award-winning, bestselling novelist Ruth Glick, who writes as Rebecca York, is the author of close to eighty books, including her popular 43 LIGHT STREET series for Harlequin Intrigue. Ruth says she has the best job in the world. Not only does she get paid for telling stories, she’s also the author of twelve cookbooks. Ruth and her husband, Norman, travel frequently, researching locales for her novels and searching out new dishes for her cookbooks.

  Ever since she was a little girl making her own books out of construction paper, Ann Voss Peterson wanted to write. So when it came time to choose a major at the University of Wisconsin, creative writing was the only choice. Of course, writing wasn’t a practical choice—one needs to earn a living. So Ann found jobs ranging from proofreading legal transcripts to working with quarter horses to washing windows. But no matter how she earned her paycheck, she continued to write the type of stories that captured her heart and imagination—romantic suspense. Ann lives near Madison, Wisconsin, with her husband, her two young sons, her Border collie and her quarter horse mare. Ann loves to hear from readers. E-mail her at [email protected] or visit her Web site at annvosspeterson.com.

  To research her novels, Patricia Rosemoor is willing to swim with dolphins, round up mustangs or howl with wolves—“whatever it takes to write a credible tale.” She’s the author of contemporary, historical and paranormal romances, but her first love has always been romantic suspense. She won both a Romantic Times Career Achievement Award in Series Romantic Suspense and a Reviewer’s Choice Award for one of her more than thirty Intrigue novels. She’s now writing erotic thrillers for Harlequin Blaze. Ms. Rosemoor would love to know what you think of this story. Write to Patricia Rosemoor at P.O. Box 578297, Chicago, IL 60657-8297 or via e-mail at [email protected], and visit her Web site at http://PatriciaRosemoor.com.

  SUSPECT LINEUP

  Odette LaFantary—Did her dark eyes conceal a voodoo queen, a charlatan…or a killer?

  Sadie Marceau—This sweet old lady hid more than her share of secrets in her diary….

  Helen Gaylord—Did this spinster cherish her sister Sadie…or resent her?

  Marie Germain—No one knew much about Odette’s tight-lipped new assistant.

  Spiro DeLyon—His last meal was a killer….

  Miss Lulu DeLyon—Grieving widow…or conniving fortune hunter?

  Lisa Cantro—She begged Odette for a spell to bring her good luck…but did it?

  Tony Fortune—The slight man cast a big shadow….

  Gary Yancy—The fancy-dressing detective had his own brand of justice for the Crescent City….

  Contents

  JORDAN

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  LIAM

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  ZACHARY

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  JORDAN

  REBECCA YORK

  RUTH GLICK WRITING AS REBECCA YORK

  Chapter One

  Camille DuPree peered anxiously through the lace-curtained front window of her restaurant, Chez Camille. The man who had been loitering on the other side of Burgundy Street for the past twenty minutes was still there—standing in the shadows where she couldn’t see him clearly.

  Was he the mugger who had assaulted one of her patrons? Or was he from the security company she’d hired to make sure nobody else ended up getting hit over the head and robbed after enjoying her crawfish étouffée?

  Realizing her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, she made an effort to relax. There was no point letting the customers she had left see her anxiety.

  Until the mugging incident two weeks ago, Chez Camille had been on the fast track to culinary success. Her sweet-potato pie and Cajun bisque had been the New Orleans dishes of the season.

  Now people were talking about her for the wrong reasons. And she was paying for ads in the newspaper assuring her customers of their safety.

  A flurry of movement at the door made her heart accelerate. But it was only Sadie Marceau and her sister, Helen Gaylord, bustling through the front door.

  She gave the portly, older women a warm smile. “Good to see you.”

  “We wouldn’t miss Voodoo Night for the world,” Helen answered as she got out her purse and handed over the evening’s fifty-dollar admission price. “Oh, I lo
ve that black-beaded dress. It’s perfect for you. Nineteen twenties, right?”

  “Yes. I got it at Glad Rags.”

  “Janet would have loved it,” Helen murmured, referring to Janet Phillippe, a woman in her eighties who, until her death a month ago, had been a regular at the Thursday-night ceremonies.

  Camille talked for a moment with the sisters about how much they all missed the senior member of the group, then Sadie asked, “What goodies are you feeding us tonight?”

  “I’ve got a wonderful shrimp remoulade, some of those stuffed oysters you love and a pecan torte,” Camille answered.

  Sadie made a beeline for the food table, while Helen went to greet friends.

  Camille glanced at the various people seated at her tile-topped tables. Most of them were middle-aged and upper-middle class and enthralled by the idea of flirting with the dark and dangerous.

  A month ago, Camille had been thinking it might be time to cancel these Thursday-night ceremonies. Now she was thankful for the business they brought in.

  Spiro DeLyon and his much younger wife, Miss Lulu, had come early for dinner, as had their friend Tony Fortune. She didn’t much like Tony, but she kept that opinion to herself. He was sitting next to a couple of tourists from Philadelphia who had also dined at the restaurant.

  At the next table was Lisa Cantro, who’d told the others she’d lost her home in a hurricane a year ago and also recently lost her job. She was hoping that voodoo would reverse her fortunes and was listening wide-eyed to a tale about a man who had asked the priestess for a protective voodoo charm. In a subsequent rainstorm, all the houses in the neighborhood were flooded but his.

  Camille had heard that story before. And other testimonials. Privately she was thinking that if voodoo worked, the police would have already caught the mugger who was playing hell with her own fortunes, since the first ceremony after the incident had featured a plea to the loa, the voodoo pantheon of gods, to bring the perp to justice. As far as she could see, it hadn’t worked.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a tall young man. “Is, uh, this the place where, uh, they’re having the voodoo ceremony?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “Yes.”

  The willowy brunette with him giggled.

  “The cover charge is fifty dollars a person, which includes our refreshment buffet,” Camille said, gesturing toward the table at the side of the room.

  He didn’t blink at the price, and she collected a hundred dollars in cash. Turning back to the door, she tensed as she spotted the man from across the street coming toward her. When she saw he was wearing the uniform of Garland Security, she started to relax. Then she saw his face, and the breath froze in her lungs.

  It couldn’t be.

  Even as she told herself she was seeing things, she knew it was Jordan O’Reilly. He was as tall as she remembered—just over six feet. With the same dark hair and dark brows. And he was just as heart-breakingly handsome.

  He pulled the door open, and they stood facing each other for the first time in six years.

  Momentarily disoriented, she clamped her fingers over the edge of the nearest table. His familiar features were harder, more cynical. And she suspected the lines at the corners of his eyes weren’t from laughter.

  “Wh-what are you doing here?” she stammered, overcome by the emotions swirling through her. “I thought you were with the police force.”

  JORDAN WAITED a beat before answering, fighting the sudden breathless feeling that gripped his chest. He hadn’t been lurking on the other side of the street by accident. No, he’d been putting off the moment he was going to have to face Camille DuPree.

  Clearing his throat, he answered, “Yes, I’m with the New Orleans Police Department. But I’m earning some extra income. You have any objections to that?”

  He knew he sounded as if he was issuing a challenge, but he couldn’t make his voice any less strident.

  “Of course not,” she murmured.

  Up close he could see she was as slim and lovely and unreachable as he remembered. Only now she was all grown up with her blond hair in an upsweep and her high cheekbones accented with a bit of blusher. Out on her own, without her precious family fluttering around. Her father had died ten years ago, but her mom was still in charge of the family mansion. And she had a whole slew of rich snobby aunts and uncles and cousins who were always in and out of the house.

  But they weren’t here now. And she was in trouble.

  That was the reason he was here.

  The morning he’d seen the article in the newspaper about the mugging, he’d felt something inside his chest turn over. Even after everything that had happened, he’d wanted to come charging to her rescue. So when the job had appeared in the Garland Security computer, he’d asked for it.

  Was she as uptight about this meeting as he was? he wondered, then realized she was speaking again.

  “Come in. Can I offer you something to eat?” she said, her upper-class gracious-hostess personality firmly in place.

  “Not while I’m on duty,” he answered, then went still as he spotted Spiro DeLyon. Apparently the man and his pretty redheaded wife had arrived before Jordan had come on shift.

  He cursed under his breath. He’d arrested DeLyon for DWI a few months ago. Too bad the man had so much clout in the city—it was probably the reason Jordan hadn’t gotten the promotion he’d been expecting.

  Their eyes locked, and the businessman’s jaw firmed.

  Jordan looked away first. An ornate bronze dagger studded with jewels was lying on a nearby table, along with some other voodoo paraphernalia. Probably because he was nervous, Jordan picked up the knife and turned it over in his hands. He put it down abruptly as a bead curtain at the back of the room opened and a tall, light-skinned African-American woman stepped out, regal in her simple white gown and white head cloth. Odette LaFantary.

  He’d heard about her, of course. Everybody had. She owned a shop called Taboo that sold natural cosmetics and voodoo paraphernalia. A strange combination, but it seemed to be working for her.

  She was followed into the room by six assistants. The two men wore only short vests and loincloths, and carried primitive-looking drums. The four women were dressed in shifts made of bright Kente cloth and carried bells.

  After fanning out in a circle near the back wall, the men sat down on the polished wooden floor and began to play an insistent rhythm on the drums. The women stayed on their feet, dancing and shaking their bells in time to the drumbeat.

  One of the men also carried a wooden cage with a live chicken that flapped and squawked. Lord, what were they planning to do—slit its throat and drip the blood on Camille’s immaculate floor? He’d bet the health department would have something to say about that.

  Moving to a position against the wall, Jordan tried to keep his expression neutral. He’d seen a lot of interesting sights in his four years on the police force, but this was one of the most…amazing. Maybe because of the setting. Here were six voodoo worshipers and their priestess in the middle of a charming little Cajun restaurant with potted ferns hanging from the ceiling, bent-wood chairs, a vase of carnations in the center of each table, and old-time New Orleans photographs decorating the brick walls.

  Odette glided farther into the room, swaying along with her dancers to the rhythm of the drums and bells.

  “Welcome,” she intoned as she looked around the room at the faces turned toward her. “I am pleased to see so many of the faithful with us tonight.”

  The faithful. Sure.

  Some of the people ranged around the tables seemed eager or excited for the main event to begin. Others were obviously embarrassed. And at least one tourist looked as if he was thinking about bolting for the door. But his wife put a restraining hand on his arm and he settled down.

  The dancers were a swirl of color and sound around the priestess as she raised her voice and said, “Voodoo is a religion of many traditions, many spiritual paths. We come together this even
ing to alleviate pain, to cast our vision into the future, to merge our souls with the great collective consciousness.”

  The drumbeat became more frantic, and the priestess approached the people at the tables, lifting her hands toward the ceiling.

  “Up. Get up. Up! Join the celebration of life,” she urged. Reaching for the hand of one of the elderly matrons, she led her out into the open area where the woman began to sway awkwardly to the rhythm of the drums and bells. A second old gal joined her. Then the others in the room were dragged into the thick of it.

  The whole thing might have seemed funny, yet there was a kind of unsettling quality in the air, as if anything could happen.

  Jordan glanced over at Camille, who had slipped behind the refreshment table. Probably a good move if you didn’t want to get chicken blood on your clothing, he thought.

  The priestess had taken the bird out of the cage and was holding it high as the poor thing flapped its wings.

  Just then a noise from the other side of the floor caught Jordan’s attention.

  His head jerked toward the disturbance, and his hand went to his weapon. Then his eyes widened as he zeroed in on one of the civilians who had been shuffling around the floor. The man faltered, gasping for breath, his hands clawing the air.

  He was heavyset, his graying hair plastered to his head and sweat soaking his white shirt. Even from the back, Jordan knew it was Spiro DeLyon.

  The man grabbed for a chair, pulling it over, the wooden back clattering against marble tiles.

  Someone screamed as DeLyon toppled forward, following the piece of furniture downward.

  Chapter Two

  A film of cold sweat bloomed on Camille’s bare arms as she watched the scene unfolding in front of her.

  This couldn’t be happening. Not in her restaurant. It was all too horrifying and unreal.

  On a muffled groan, Spiro DeLyon slid to the floor. Miss Lulu, who had been dancing beside her husband, screamed and went down on her knees, hovering over him.