Say You Love Me. Rita Herron

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      BRITTA STRUGGLED to maintain her composure while Detective Dubois conferred with the CSI team. He’d also called a friend who did locksmith work for the police department to change her locks and add a deadbolt.

      “Come with me while they finish up,” Detective Dubois suggested.

      “I’m all right here.”

      “It’ll do you good to get out for a while. Besides, I haven’t had dinner and there’s a quaint Cajun café near here. We can discuss the magazine.”

      “I’ve already told you everything I know,” she said defiantly. “And I’ve eaten dinner.”

      Detective Dubois touched her arm gently. “Come on. They have great desserts at this restaurant. You can have coffee and tell me more about yourself.”

      Exactly what she didn’t want to do.

      “I don’t need a babysitter, Detective. I’ll be fine alone.”

      He angled his head toward her. “What’s wrong? You aren’t afraid of me, are you, Britta?”

      She stiffened. “No, don’t be ridiculous.” Hadn’t she learned long ago not to draw attention to herself?

      His dark eyes pierced her, probing.

      Unnerved, she nodded, knowing the only way to quiet his suspicions was to appease him. He couldn’t seduce information out of her—not if she didn’t let him. “All right. But I intended to search those letters tonight to see if this guy might have written to me before.”

      “You can review the letters tomorrow.” His voice softened. “It’s been a long day already.”

      He instructed the others that he would return within an hour and pressed a hand to her waist, guiding her outside. The gesture triggered another round of nerves. He was so strong that she felt safe by his side, yet not safe at all. She couldn’t allow herself to depend on any man, much less Jean-Paul Dubois. He might stir desires and hungers that could never be sated. Might awaken a sexual beast within her….

      Not something she could allow to happen with a cop.

      The sultry evening air aroused another longing inside her, one that conjured images of a real date, of strolling hand in hand with a lover, listening to the sexy blues and jazz music wafting around them while the Mississippi lapped softly against the bank.

      “We’re here.” He stopped at a small café that had cropped up after the hurricane and gestured for her to enter. Dubois Diner. Wonderful heady odors wafted toward them. Hot, spicy Cajun sausages and gumbo, jambalaya, shrimp po’boys….

      “Do you own this?”

      “No, my father does. It’s a family business.”

      A tall, broad-shouldered, older man with wavy, gray hair and a slight limp met them at the door. One glance into his eyes and she recognized him as a Dubois.

      He clapped Jean-Paul on the shoulders. “Ahh, Jean-Paul, so good to see you tonight, son. And here, you’ve brought a beautiful woman on your arm. Finally! Welcome, chere.”

      Britta froze, aware the detective shifted uncomfortably. “Papa, this is Miss Britta Berger. She’s helping me with a case.”

      His father pinched his fingers together and slapped them to his forehead, then lapsed into a round of French Cajun dialogue. Detective Dubois’s mouth tightened but he didn’t argue.

      Finally he angled his head her way. “My papa and maman think I work too much. But my job is my life.”

      “Those who do not take time to love will never find it,” Mr. Dubois spouted. “Take heed of what the song of New Orleans says.”

      Britta smiled, remembering the strange verse. Then a pudgy woman with a bun swooped toward them.

      “Maybe this was a bad idea. Maman is great, just very old-fashioned.” Dubois shot her an apologetic look just before his mother pulled him into a bear hug.

      A sharp pang slammed into Britta’s gut as her own mother’s face materialized in her mind. It had been so long since she’d seen her that her image was foggy. Her mother had never hugged her like that. She’d been too doped up. Her eyes hollow, not laughing. Her smile strained, her face gaunt.

      And then Britta had lost her forever.