The Saint Read online

A few people on the outskirts of the closest blackjack table glanced back at me. Or past me, actually, smiling and poking each other in the ribs. The men, particularly, seemed interested.

  I turned and backed up, away from the gorgeous woman standing behind me on the stairs.

  She wore red, scarlet really, that clung and dipped over her belly and puddled at her feet. Her arms were bare, her long elegant neck revealed. She wore diamonds at her ears and in her short black hair.

  Zoe.

  It was Zoe.

  ZOE

  * * *

  I didn’t expect Carter to be at the door. I’d hoped I would have a chance to circulate, get my feet under me before running into him. And then I could be casual and composed, instead of feeling like a freshman crashing the senior prom.

  But no such luck. Carter was right there, stunning and big, those handsome shoulders tucked into a perfect tux.

  He looked even better than I’d imagined, because he was here, in the flesh. I could reach out and touch him, feel the heat of his skin.

  “Hi,” I said, lifting my chin.

  Head up, shoulders back, the echo of every teacher I’d ever had rang through my brain. Feel the ceiling with the top of your head. Fill the room with your power.

  It had been awhile, but I felt the old training kick back in. Being five foot three but dancing like I was seven feet tall took a special kind of person.

  I’d forgotten for a while, but I was that kind of person.

  I was also apparently the kind of person who showed up at fancy fundraisers in one of Ben’s drag queen dresses.

  That’s right. I was wearing Ben’s Marilyn Monroe gown with a few alterations.

  “Zoe,” he breathed, clearly speechless. His eyes roved over me, warm and appreciative, leaving a giddy, sparkling heat behind.

  The amazed look on his face was the best compliment I’d ever heard.

  “Christ, Zoe, you’re—”

  Pregnant Marilyn Monroe. I know.

  “I’m here for me,” I said instead, clumsy and loud. “For my academy.”

  His smile was so beautiful it nearly melted my shoulders, the steel in my spine. It wasn’t just that he seemed proud, because frankly, I didn’t need anyone for that. I was proud of myself. It was something far more personal. That he approved—this man, who was so hard on himself and so single-minded—mattered to me. Was important to me.

  “Of course,” he said with a short, sharp nod. “Would you like me to introduce you?”

  “I would,” I said, as regally as I could.

  “Perhaps a quick stop by the buffet?”

  I couldn’t help it; I smiled, tucking my hand into his offered elbow and trying to ignore the hundred little lightning strikes between my skin and his.

  “Thank you,” I said as we stepped into the room, embraced by the din of a hundred people having a good time.

  But I was only truly aware of him, the smooth fabric of his tux, the heat of the muscle beneath it.

  “Do you…ah…play cards?” I asked as we circumvented the large puddles of people surrounding the tables.

  “No,” he said, all that warmth and charm suddenly gone, as if I’d imagined it all.

  He took another step, but realized I wasn’t moving and turned back.

  “Where do you go when you do that?” I asked, ignoring the instincts that screamed at me not to care.

  “Do what?” he asked, waving away a waiter with a tray of champagne.

  “Get so cold like that? It’s like you’re here and then you’re not.”

  He looked down at me from a great distance, despite the outrageously high—and outrageously big—heels I was wearing.

  “It’s an old habit,” he said, his honesty surprising me. “I don’t do it intentionally. I apologize.”

  When he looked me right in the eyes that way, revealing these strange pieces of himself, it made me nervous, as if I were naked. Or in danger.

  “Apology accepted,” I said, not knowing what else to say and wanting to get us back to stable, easy ground. “I, however am a great card player.”

  “Really?” he asked, clearly skeptical.

  “Do you have to say it that way?”

  “Zoe Madison, you wear every brain wave on your face, to say nothing of your emotions. You are what is called an easy mark.”

  “That’s not true!” I gasped, and he turned to me, his eyes so hot they burned. I stepped back, surprised, but his hand at my elbow stopped me.

  He half turned and I found myself in a little alcove between a curtain and a giant potted orchid. It was quiet and warm and again, the whole world shrank, everyone disappeared, leaving us alone in a giant ballroom.

  “You want to be here for you,” he whispered, his warm breath smelling like champagne and mint and making all the fine hair on my body rise up as if trying to pull me closer to him. “You want to believe that what you feel for me is nothing, or will go away. But underneath all your efforts to keep yourself collected and in control, what you feel for me scares you.”

  He was right, more than right. He’d looked straight through me and read me like a newspaper.

  “I…” I stammered, my hand at my neck. My blood pounded in my cheeks and I wished I could deny it, wished I could say anything, but I was stupid with my own feelings.

  “That’s what I see on your face, Zoe.” He leaned away from me, utterly composed. Utterly closed off, as if saying these things, seeing this warring desire inside of me were no big deal. Not to him. The unreachable Carter O’Neill.

  I yanked my arm free of his fingers, ignoring the way my skin tingled.

  “Do you know how embarrassing it is that you see me so clearly and I don’t know a single thing about you? I can’t tell if this is a game to you, or are you laughing at me. I can’t—”

  “Look at me,” he whispered.

  “No!” I cried, slamming my eyes shut like a child.

  “Zoe,” he breathed. “Just look at me. Please.”

  I sighed and opened my eyes.

  Magically, he’d changed. It was as if his skin had fallen off and I saw the beating heart in his chest.

  He wanted me. In the same punched-in-the-stomach way I wanted him. And he was as surprised and baffled as I was by our attraction.

  “We’re in this together, Zoe. Whatever—” his finger touched my chest and then his, drawing a line in the air, connecting us “—this is. Despite the way it started, despite the photographers…I’m with you.”

  It was by far the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to me. And at this point in my life, the most unrealistic.

  With me? I thought. Was that a joke? He was Carter O’Neill; he could have any nonpregnant woman in this city.

  It hurt, all of it hurt. Being near this man hurt.

  “Zoe?” he asked, squeezing my hand.

  “Why?” I asked, the words tumbling out of my mouth. “I can’t be your usual…date. I’m five months pregnant.”

  “I know,” he said. His eyes, in the shadows, were serious and warm. Hot, actually. “Trust me,” he said, laughing a little, “I know. And you’re beautiful, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  He lifted his hands as if asking permission to touch me, and I didn’t stop him. I should have, but my skin was dying for his touch, a desert without rain. His hands slid over my belly, pushing the dress over my skin, so warm and firm. “This part of you is amazing to me. You’re amazing. And you’re right. You’re not at all like the women I usually date. But I’m so glad about that, because those women don’t have a tenth of your warmth. Or humor. Right now, I couldn’t be happier, Zoe.”

  The baby kicked him, right in the palm, as if summoned. As if saying “nice to meet you.”

  “Wow,” he breathed. “I can totally feel the baby.”

  I gasped at the pleasure of it all, his hands, my baby. My body. It was gorgeous. The most pleasure-saturated moments of my life.

  I wanted to wrap my arms around him, put my fingers in his ha
ir and just lay one on him, right here, in front of a hundred people, as if I didn’t have any control.

  But I did. A little. Enough to step back and let cool air swirl between us, sweeping out the heat and smoke.

  “I want to play cards,” I said, my voice too loud, my whole body vibrating at the edges.

  “Of course,” he said indulgently.

  Normally, that would make me nuts—a pampering man sounding as if he were doing a favor. But the way he said “of course,” as if the only desire he had in the world was to watch me play blackjack, made me feel tingly and warm.

  A woman. With a man.

  We emerged from the alcove and no one stared at us, though I was sure my blush was practically neon.

  Feeling as though I were filled with ginger ale and fireflies, I turned to the closest table and found a spot at the far end, all too aware of Carter right behind me.

  “Dealer wins,” the dealer said. The thin blond woman swept up the cards from the last hand and stacked up the chips, tucking them into the slot built into the table. “We have a new player?” she asked, still looking down. I didn’t know if she was talking to me or someone else until the dealer looked right up at me. “Are you playing?”

  My mouth fell open.

  The dealer was the blond woman who’d paid me a thousand dollars to get Carter out in that alley.

  10

  “What are you doing here?” I breathed.

  The woman didn’t answer—she took one look at Carter and turned white, her hand holding the edge of the table as if it were keeping her upright.

  Behind me, where Carter stood, an arctic wind blew.

  The silence was charged, electric, and I didn’t know much but I knew I wouldn’t be playing cards here.

  “I’m not playing,” I said quickly, but Carter interrupted.

  “She’ll play.”

  “I don’t have any chips,” I said as Carter nudged me into one of the chairs.

  “You can buy them here,” the dealer said, not making eye contact with either of us.

  A hundred dollar bill floated over my shoulder and landed on the table.

  “Carter—” I began to rise, but Carter pushed me back into the chair.

  “Buying chips,” the dealer said and a woman with a tray of chips came to our table, took Carter’s hundred dollar bill, and put down some blue, white and red chips.

  “For charity,” Carter said, his smile tight, and I didn’t believe it for a moment. Something terrible was going on between Carter and this woman, and I wished I had a minute to talk to him, though I doubted he’d say anything at all.

  Before I knew it, I had cards and a twenty-dollar bet on the table.

  I had a ten and a four.

  “Hit,” Carter said over my shoulder, and I turned to glare at him.

  “I can play my own game,” I said, and he nodded stiffly, his jaw so tight it looked like it could crack teeth.

  The dealer flipped down another card. “Five, that’s nineteen. The lady wins.”

  Any little surge of triumph was thwarted when Carter tossed more chips on the table over my shoulder.

  “If you want to play…” I muttered.

  “I don’t.”

  Now I had an ace and a five.

  “Hi—” I started to say, but again, Carter butted in.

  “We’re good.”

  Someone down the table won, and a little crowd of women cheered as Carter threw down more chips with almost violent force. The energy rolling off him was poisonous.

  “I’m out,” I said, standing up and stepping out of his way. Out of his gravitational pull.

  “Zoe—”

  “You stay and play or whatever it is you’re doing, but I’m not with you on this.”

  I didn’t stick around to hear what else he might have to say. I headed out of the ballroom toward the women’s bathroom but then changed my mind and headed out a side door to a small empty courtyard surrounded by a low fence and the parking lot beyond.

  I stretched my arms out, lifting my chest as if I could get more air that way, as if I could pull myself right out of this situation.

  Nothing is ever just simple for me, I thought, staring up at the star-splashed sky. What rotten luck.

  I like him. He likes me.

  But whatever was going on in there was …off.

  I wondered if the blonde was an old girlfriend. She was older, but it was hard to tell how much older.

  I heard the door pop behind me and didn’t even turn, sure of who it was and not knowing if I even cared enough to get involved.

  “Who was that woman?” I asked.

  “Well,” a voice that was definitely not Carter’s said, “I was sort of hoping you could tell me.”

  I whirled only to find Jim Blackwell, standing against the shut door and suddenly—despite the big black sky and the open night around me—I felt trapped.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said and he only laughed.

  “Leave the lying to Carter,” Jim said. “He’s much better at it than you.”

  “What do you want?” I asked, slightly threatened despite his little boy looks.

  “Well,” he said. “I wanted to help you with your photographer problems, but you never called.”

  “And I won’t. The chief of police is in there,” I said, pointing toward the hotel and the ballroom full of Baton Rouge and State officials. “I could talk to him about harassment.”

  Jim Blackwell only scoffed. “Dean Begusta wouldn’t care if I stripped you naked out here.”

  I stepped back, my heart going cold, my brain colder. Was that a threat? That was totally a threat. Wasn’t it?

  He stepped toward me so fast I backed up right into a wrought iron table. The clank of it was loud, but not as loud as the blood pounding in my ears. He stopped and held out his hands as if begging for a chance. “I just need to find out who that blond woman is to him—”

  “I think you need to switch to a different department,” I said, smack-dab in the middle of something I didn’t understand. “Sports or something. Movie reviews, maybe. Because city politics is clearly making you crazy.”

  “No,” he said, “what’s making me crazy is watching O’Neill lie—”

  The door behind us popped open and I spun, eager for some interference. It was the blond dealer poised in the bright doorway, a cigarette in her hand.

  “Sorry,” she said, about to duck out.

  “No!” Jim said, those little boy looks snapping back into place like a mask. He was good, I thought. Good and scary. “Come on out.”

  The dealer looked wary, but she stepped out anyway, the door shutting behind her, closing out the light.

  Her lighter flared in the darkness, and I could smell tobacco on the breeze.

  The heavy air felt like trouble.

  “Can I ask what your name is?” Jim asked.

  “Why would you?” the dealer asked, and I smiled.

  Jim held out his press card. “I’m a reporter.”

  “Anna,” she said.

  “No last name?”

  There was a long pause, and the tip of the cigarette burned brighter and hotter. “Nope,” she said on a long exhale. I honestly wished I was half as cool.

  “How’d you get this job?” Jim asked.

  “I’m new out at The Rouge,” she said, naming one of the casinos on the river. “Owner was looking for some staff for this thing and I signed up.”

  “It’s charity.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “You giving up your wages?”

  “I don’t think that’s any of your damn business.”

  Yeah! I thought, Take that, Jim Blackwell.

  Jim didn’t seem fazed. “You know Carter O’Neill?”

  I held my breath.

  “Carter who?” Anna asked, and Jim snorted through his nose.

  “You’re good,” he said. “But I’ll find out what’s going on.”

  He turned back to me, his ey
es like some kind of ooze traveling down my body, making me feel naked and gross. Like I needed a hundred showers. “May I say, you look stunning,” he said.

  “No,” I snapped, “you can’t say.” Finally he left, not back into the building, but over the small wrought iron fence and into the dark parking lot.

  I exhaled long and hard, my bones sagging with relief.

  “You all right?” Anna asked.

  “Me? Sure. I get interrogated and threatened by journalists all the time.”

  I took a deep breath and watched “Anna” smoke half her cigarette. “I remember you, you know. The thousand dollars.”

  Anna nodded.

  “Is your name really Anna?” I asked.

  “Vanessa,” she said with a small smile. “Something about that guy made me want to lie.”

  “How do you know Carter?” I asked, the words firing out of my mouth.

  The woman looked down at her cigarette, blew ash off the glowing cherry. “You need to ask him that question,” she said.

  “I don’t know if I want to.”

  “What do you mean?” the woman asked.

  “Carter’s like one of those pixel puzzles, you know? You stare at it and stare at it until your eyes get blurry and suddenly in all those pixels you see an ice-cream cone and then you blink and the ice-cream cone is gone. It’s nothing but pixels again.”

  Vanessa was silent and I turned to look at her.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Vanessa said.

  “He hides himself. He’s there, and then he’s not.” I sighed. “He’s a lot of work.”

  “Ah,” Vanessa said, but that was all, and I suddenly felt stupid.

  “Well, lovely chatting with you, Vanessa, but I do think it’s time for me to go home. This whole damn thing was a mistake.”

  “Zoe,” Vanessa said, and I paused, the door open. “Carter hasn’t had it easy, you know.”

  I blinked in surprise, but then forced myself not to care.

  “Who has?” I said and stepped into the hallway.

  The door shut behind me, leaving the night and the mysterious blonde outside. I glanced up and down the long hallway filled with tuxedoed men and women in gorgeous gowns and I just wanted to leave. Curl up in bed for the next four months until I had to go to the hospital.