Be My Baby

1

Juliet Rose Astor Lowell paused in the shade of the marble columns outside the Eighth District Police Station and discreetly blotted her forehead with the back of her wrist. Drawing in a deep breath, she softly expelled it. Lord, it was hot. And so humid. Just the short walk from the air-conditioned limo left her feeling limp. She peeled a clinging yard of voile away from her thighs and gave her dress a delicate shake to promote air circulation. She’d been in New Orleans less than an hour, and already things were entirely different than she’d envisioned when she left Boston.

But that was mostly due to this unscheduled stop. She had thought to have the tiniest bit more freedom down here; it seemed a small enough thing to wish for. After all, she was away from Grandmother’s rigid constraints, in a city whose name was synonymous with enjoyment, and whose inhabitants certainly had no preconceived expectations of her as an Astor Lowell. And it wasn’t as if she’d planned a wild spree of dancing naked across tabletops, for heaven’s sake—she’d simply wanted to loosen the ever-present restraints a bit. Just enough to take a really deep breath.

But even that was to be denied her. Once again Father had arranged matters without bothering to consult her, dropping this little bombshell as a fait accompli over the limo phone. Crown Hotels had received a letter protesting the opening of the New Orleans Garden Crown. He’d read it to her over the phone, and if it had struck her as more an ardent treatise against the bastardization of a historic landmark than a threat, that simply didn’t signify. Father wanted police protection for her, so here she was, all choice removed from her control. She pulled open the door and entered the building.

Her ears were still attuned to the crisp accents of New England, so the slow, soft drawls of the officers manning the counter sounded almost foreign. As she turned away from the desk and followed their directions to the captain’s office, she inconspicuously—but avidly—observed everything around her. She’d never been in a police station before, and it felt both exotic and full of energy.

The man who rose from behind his desk when she tapped on his door was neither. He had the prosperous, well-fed look of a politician—Father’s kind of person; exactly the sort she was accustomed to dealing with. The man’s brown hair was expensively barbered, his ruddy cheeks shone from a close shave, and his suit was cleverly cut to minimize the appearance of a middle that had begun to spread. Police work must pay better than she’d thought.

Captain Pfeffer? I’m—

Ms. Juliet Lowell, he overrode her enthusiastically. His voice, at least, was exotic, dripping elongated, honeyed vowels. He rounded the desk and extended a smooth, manicured hand.

Astor Lowell. She swallowed the impulse to correct him, though the desire to do so was automatic after years of conditioning at Grandmother’s knee. Smiling politely, she shook his hand.

Please, he said, patting her hand avuncularly as he led her into the office. Do c’mon in and have a seat. Your fawtha and I had a long talk, and I’ve been expectin’ you.

Yes, I know. Juliet sat. Though it was most likely futile, she insisted quietly, Father was a bit precipitous, I fear. There’s truly no need for me to monopolize the services of an officer whose time could be better employed elsewhere.

Nonsense. Sergeant Dupree is happy to be of assistance. Don’t you worry your pretty little…well. He cleared his throat, undoubtedly seeing something in her expression that warned him he was heading down an unpopular avenue. The New Awleens Police Department is always happy to assist a pretty lady, he substituted heartily, which was not a great improvement in Juliet’s opinion. We believe in assigning the best to the best. I was personally handpicked by the commissionah himself to be acting captain when Captain Taylor left on an extended vacation. And I in turn have handpicked the detective best suited to be your escort.

Juliet’s polite smile froze, and her brows drew together. Detective? Oh, but…I thought you said he was a sergeant. This just kept getting worse and worse. Bad enough to usurp the services of an officer; now she had visions of taking a detective away from a murder investigation.

There is no official rank of detective in the NOPD. Most of ’em hold the rank of Police Officer III or Sergeant. He waved the distinction aside. I must say we’re all verra excited that Crown Hotels has decided to grace our fair city with one of their fine establishments. Why, society has hardly talked of anythin’ else.

Somehow she doubted that, but she was proud of the Garden Crown. She’d waited years to be in charge of one from conception to start-up, and the New Orleans hotel was her baby. Yes, we’re also quite excited, she agreed.

As well you should be. And you needn’t be concerned for your safety while you go about your business, because we’re heah to see to it that you aren’t left alone and unprotected for a single moment.

That’s exactly what Juliet was afraid of.

I understand y’all have quite a roster of excitin’ pre-opening events planned, the captain continued.

Yes, we do. Juliet briefly summarized the upcoming social schedule. When she finished, Pfeffer looked at her so expectantly that she said with automatic courtesy, You and your wife must join us for one.

Why thank you, Ms. Lowell, I know she’d like that. She’s a Collier, you know. From the Savannah Colliers.

Is she. Juliet had no idea who the Savannah Colliers were, but she supposed it explained his apparent wealth. Long-standing instincts decreed it unlikely he was the descendant of old Southern wealth, for he had the too-eager-to-impress unctuousness she associated with Father’s sycophants. Manners instilled from the cradle, however, dictated the only acceptable reply. Most likely you’re already on the list, then, but I’ll be sure to have my assistant send you an invitation. She stole a glance at her watch.

Pfeffer caught her at it, which would have appalled Grandmother, but at least it had the benefit of hustling him along. I realize you’re busy—let me just summon Dupree.

He reached for the phone on his desk, but Juliet rose to her feet. We needn’t pull him away from his duties. Father might have a feudal belief that the welfare of the Lowells had priority over anyone else’s, but Grandmother maintained that an Astor Lowell did not inconvenience others for the sake of her own comfort. And Grandmother’s rules took precedence in Juliet’s social training, since she had raised her from the time of Juliet’s mother’s death and had therefore had time to drum them into her from birth—whereas Father had merely dropped into her life from time to time to lay down a new law before departing to reimmerse himself in his precious corporation. Please, she insisted now. We can just as easily go to him.

Pfeffer continued to punch out numbers. Trust me, little lady, you need to begin as you mean to go on with Sergeant Dupree. While I can assure you he’s one of New Awleens’ finest, he does tend to rise above himself if you give him the least little opportunity. It’s bettah to make him come to us.

Juliet didn’t want to be here in the first place, and having her wishes ignored with such head-patting condescension by a man she was rapidly coming to suspect was a petty little tyrant was the push that crossed the line. Gaze level and voice icy, she said, But I insist.

Fleeting irritation registered on Pfeffer’s face, but he set down the receiver and stood. Yes, of course, he said smoothly. Whatevah you wish. He came around the desk and then stood aside with an obsequious smile to allow her to precede him from the office. Right this way. We’ll take the elevatah.

Josie Lee’s on the warpath, Beau Dupree informed his partner gloomily. She says I’m overprotective and smothering, and she’s moving out. He looked at Luke Gardner. You think I’m overprotective?

Yes.

Beau scowled. "Bullshit. Hell, if it weren’t for this case, I’d pack her bags myself—I dream of the time I’m no longer responsible for everyone. As things stand, though, she’ll move out over my dead body. He shook his head in disgust. Overprotective, my ass."

Beau, for Christ’s sake, listen to yourself. When are you gonna let yourself off the hook for that, man? It wasn’t your fault.

The hell it wasn’t. Beau’s scowl deepened. He’d allowed his baby sister to come to a strip joint late at night. It didn’t matter that she’d tracked him down via his cell phone, or how insistent she’d been that she had to have the car, refusing to let him get back to work until he’d agreed out of pure frustration to let a friend bring her by the club to get the keys. He should have insisted that he needed it himself, even though he’d ridden with Luke. Sure, he’d extracted her promise that the friend would then drop her off where he’d left the car parked, back near the station, and wait until she was safely inside. But big fuckin’ deal.

He and Luke had been staking out the joint because of the Panty Snatcher, a man who broke into women’s homes and forced them at gunpoint to strip and hand over their lingerie, terrorizing them with the unspoken possibilities of what else he might force them to do before he melted back into the night with his booty. Beau had known damn well the club was the only common denominator of the pervert’s last two victims. He’d had no business letting Josie Lee anywhere near the place.

It’s not like I couldn’t use the peace, Gardner. I’d love to have the house all to myself. And I live for the day that I get my old sex life back. Now, there was an understatement. He’d been fantasizing about the day for ten solid years.

Luke grinned. Balls developin’ a bluish tinge?

Beau gave him a look. Hey, you try raising three opinionated sisters and see what it does to your nuts. It hasn’t exactly been the wild bachelor lifestyle it was before my folks died. Then he, too, grinned. The minute Josie Lee’s out the door, though, I’m picking it up right where I left off. First thing I’m gonna do is find me a little blonde with big tits.

Uh, Beau?

Or maybe two blondes—or a blonde and a redhead; I’m not fussy. Then I’m climbing into bed with her or them, and I’m not comin’ up for air for a week. The thought carved a smile on his face, which disintegrated when his friend kicked his foot off the lower desk drawer where it had been propped. Beau straightened in irritation. What the hell’s the matter with you?

Sergeant Dupree, Acting Captain Peter Pfeffer said with rigid disapproval from behind him. You will kindly watch your language, sir. There’s a lady present.

Beau turned in his seat. Oh, great—his favorite bureaucrat. And if that wasn’t enough to make his day, Pissant Pfeffer was accompanied by a long-legged woman who regarded him with huge gray eyes, as if he were some unique species in the zoo. He gave her a slow once-over in return.

I’d like to introduce you to Ms. Juliet Lowell, Pfeffer said with that snake-oil-salesman’s smile that always set Beau’s teeth on edge. Your new assignment, he added with vicious triumph. Ms. Lowell, meet Sergeant Beauregard Dupree.

Juliet felt the sudden tension of every person in the squad room, and realized she had made a mistake when she hadn’t allowed Captain Pfeffer to send for his detective. This smelled suspiciously of a power play, and due to her insistence it was being played out in a public forum.

When the man whose conversation they’d interrupted had turned lazily in his seat and appraised her with black eyes so heavily lashed they drooped at the outside corners, Juliet had prayed it was the handsome bald guy with the engaging grin just beyond him who would be her new bodyguard.

No such luck, of course. Her heart began to bang against the wall of her chest as the black-haired detective climbed to his feet and gave her a comprehensive once-over. He wasn’t particularly handsome. Which was just as well, since gorgeous looks would have been overkill. The man was extremely…male. He was more male than any Y-chromosome individual she’d ever come across. A snatch of his conversation whispered through her mind. Week-long sex with multiple partners? Dear God, did people truly do that sort of thing? She stared at him, repelled and yet fascinated at the same time.

He returned her gaze, one thick dark eyebrow lifted, and a corner of his mouth quirked as if he were privy to something that secretly amused him. Then he turned to face Captain Pfeffer and his black brows lowered. Every eye in the room was on him and everyone seemed to be holding their breath, as if awaiting an explosion. But he merely exchanged a glance with the other detective and said with a mildness that Juliet instinctively knew was fraudulent, I already have an assignment, Pete.

That’s Captain Pfeffer! The ranking officer puffed up with indignation as he spat the correction. "And your assignment is what I say it is, Dupree. I say it’s Ms. Lowell."

The detective was only average height, maybe five-ten or -eleven. His shoulders were wide, however, his hips were narrow, and he had the lean muscle mass of a swimmer. Black hair feathered his forearms and was visible behind the unbuttoned placket of his polo shirt. His jaw, too, was dark with five o’clock shadow, though it was only eleven in the morning. He looked tough and competent as he stared at the captain, and his cool control made his superior appear soft and nearly hysterical in contrast. It was therefore a surprise when the detective suddenly rolled his shoulders and turned to her in compliance with Pfeffer’s order.

Miz Lowell, he said silkily, thrusting a hand out at her. He, too, had a slow, lazy drawl, but Juliet saw the energetic fury in the depths of his black eyes. This is my partner—

You don’t have a partner, Dupree, Pfeffer interrupted.

Bite me, Beau invited, but explained to Juliet, Luke here was my partner before the NOPD decentralized in ’96, and I’m not about to start callin’ him my ex-partner at this late date. He indicated the man with the smooth-shaven skull. In any case, meet Sergeant Gardner.

Ma’am, the detective said. But although Juliet acknowledged his greeting with a polite dip of her head, she couldn’t seem to pull her gaze away from Sergeant Dupree.

He was a little sweaty; she could see it in the sheen along his throat and where his black knit shirt stuck in spots to his chest and stomach muscles. But the hand he wrapped around hers to shake was dry and brown-skinned, long-fingered and hard. And it was warm, very warm.

Juliet dropped it as soon as was decently possible, feeling flustered and edgy. Curling her fingers, which retained the sensation of his touch within the shielding folds in her skirt, she felt heat climb up her cheeks. The men in her world had hands that were smooth and pale and somehow cool. A frisson of uneasiness crept down her spine.

Beauregard will be at your service as long as you’re in New Awleans, Captain Pfeffer said pompously and gave the detective a glare. Right, Dupree?

Keeping his eyes on her, Beau took a step that brought him much too close and cocked his head quizzically. Is there a particular reason you need babysittin’, dawlin’?

Unaccustomed to physical contact, she stepped back. Though she was too mannerly to protest the endearment, her chin came up and she’d opened her mouth to offer a cool reply when Pfeffer jumped into the breech.

Ms. Lowell is down heah to open the Garden Crown, a fine new jewel in the glitterin’ tiara that comprises the Crown Hotels, he said expansively.

And she’s—what?—had the heap burgled already and needs a cop? Beau’s eyes were insolent as he looked down at her. In that case, sugar, you’ve come to the best.

Watch your tongue, Dupree. Ms. Lowell has received a threatening letter and I’m assigning you to keep her safe.

Breaths were sucked in throughout the room and everyone drew back as if Beau were a ticking bomb primed to go off. Juliet wished she understood what the hell was going on. Clearly there were underlying subtexts here she didn’t understand. Sergeant Dupree’s black eyes glittered with pure fury as his gaze wrenched from her face to the captain’s.

Guard dog duty? he said through clenched teeth.

"Her fawtha was quite insistent, and he is Thomas Lowell, after all. Here’s a copy of the letter. Pfeffer thrust it into Beau’s hands. I’m sure you’ll want to study it. And of course you’ll be gratified to know you’ll also be Ms. Lowell’s escort for all the hotel’s pre-opening functions," he added with gusto.

Oh, shit, someone murmured.

Beau scanned the letter. When his dark-eyed gaze raised, it locked on her face. Daddy must have some connections, he said with soft-voiced contempt. ’Cause this—the white paper in one hand smacked against the long, brown fingers of his other—is pure bullshit, but it looks as if he just bought his baby girl a brand-new boy anyway.

If his initial charm had made her heart pound, having all that fury transferred to her added an almost frantic throb to its erratic rhythm. Somehow this man managed to wreak havoc with her usually unshakable composure, leaving her feeling entirely unstrung.

Always remember who you are. Her grandmother’s arrogant exhortation offered unexpected comfort, and she needed every ounce of ammunition at her disposal.

She gave him a cool smile.

He narrowed his eyes at her and said insolently, You don’t talk much, do you, angel-face? I like that in a woman.

Gardner rolled his eyes and Captain Pfeffer snapped, That’s quite enough, Sergeant. You will mind your mannahs and address her as Ms. Lowell.

Beau’s hard gaze left her face and zeroed in on the captain’s. His voice lost its honeyed drawl as he lashed out, "Or you’ll do what, Acting Captain Pfeffer? Remove me from her case and put me on somethin’ a little less…important—like the Panty Snatcher case?"

"Forget that piddly-ass case! Captain Pfeffer’s polished facade cracked as he thrust his jaw pugnaciously near Beau’s. I’ve given you your assignment, and you’ll do what you’re damn well told, or I’ll strip you of your gold shield." It was an idea he clearly relished.

Oh, please— Juliet protested in distress, but Beau cut her off.

"Come on, Miz Lowell." His hand wrapped around her wrist and he headed for the door, pulling her in his wake.

Dupree! Pfeffer’s voice behind them was a peremptory warning to halt, but Beau never slackened his pace.

Stumbling along behind him, Juliet cast a brief look over her shoulder at the captain and Sergeant Gardner and gave them a helpless shrug. Then they were lost to sight as the warm hand that held her captive yanked her out the door.

2

Goddam, sonofabitchin’ bureaucrat! Beau punched the accelerator to the floor as his car sped toward the Garden District. This never would have happened if Captain Taylor were around. But then Taylor was a real cop, not a half-baked, arrogant, self-important politician like the Pissant. The thought made Beau snort. Forget that piddly ass case, my butt.

Okay, so he, like everyone else at the station, had considered the Panty Snatcher a bit of a joke at first. Cops dealt with some pretty grisly crimes and at least this pervert hadn’t physically hurt anyone. That didn’t make him harmless, of course, since his actions had terrorized more than half a dozen women who didn’t know they weren’t going to be hurt, until the Mardi Gras-masked burglar slipped away as soundlessly as he’d arrived. But so far he hadn’t injured any of his victims, so with the irreverence common in squad rooms, they’d tagged him with a number of rude handles, the least offensive of which was Panty Snatcher.

Beau’s insouciant attitude had dissolved like mist under the relentless noonday sun when the guy victimized Josie Lee. That turned it personal. Now Beau was determined to put him behind bars where he belonged.

And that was going to be a lot more difficult to accomplish with this bogus new assignment hanging around his neck. Playing guard dog to Ms. Lowell was going to eat up most of his time, and it was all due to his arresting the commissioner’s teenage granddaughter.

This was his payback.

The maddening thing was he hadn’t even been on duty that night, a little over a month ago—and he sure as hell wasn’t a traffic cop. But as he’d roared down the Huey P. Long, he hadn’t been able to ignore the way the car in front of him was weaving all over the bridge. It had come down to either pulling the vehicle over or living with himself if the obviously loaded driver ended up killing someone, when he could have prevented it. Throw in the fact that a damn drunk driver had been responsible for his parents’ deaths, and he’d had no choice.

He’d pulled her over, taken her in, and landed at the top of the commissioner’s shit list.

The union protected him from outright reprisal, and Beau knew his fellow detectives had just been waiting for him to invoke its name today. Playing escort to some uptight Northern socialite sure as hell wasn’t a division detective’s job. Ordinarily that would fall to someone way down the food chain.

But the commissioner had connections that reached deep, and this wasn’t a grievance a detective could point to as severe abuse of power. He could just hear the response now. You say you have to escort a good-lookin’ woman wherever she wants to go? And the city or her hotel will pick up the tab? Oh, yeah, Dupree, we can see where you’re being misused.

There was no way around it; Beau was stuck with Ms. Lowell.

He snuck a look at his passenger as he roared down St. Charles Avenue. God, she was a priss, with those cool rainwater eyes and that honey-brown hair all slicked back in a repressed little French twist. Not to mention the oh-so-restrained gauzy dress she wore, which exposed the delicate wings of her collarbones and her slender arms and ankles and not much else. Every time he looked at her he had this crazy impulse to muss her up….

No. Hell, no, what was he thinking? He yanked his attention back onto the road where it belonged. She wasn’t the type of woman a guy mussed up—and that was the only kind he’d ever been drawn to.

His gaze drifted her way again and got stuck on her mouth. Even innocent of lipstick, it was surprisingly lush, like something you’d expect to see on a porn queen. The unlikely analogy tugged one side of Beau’s lips into a derisive curl.

Talk about a case of false advertising—especially where he was concerned. It was hard to envision her cutting loose with any man, but he’d watched her take one look at him in particular and had seen those eyes go frosty and that aristocratic little nose go up in the air as if she’d caught a whiff of something past its prime.

Beau’s shoulder hitched impatiently. Well, you won some, you lost some. It was clear, though, that she viewed him as a redneck peckerwood Louisiana cracker. And an oversexed one at that, since she’d caught the tail end of his conversation with Luke.

For just an instant everything within him stilled. Oh, shit, that was it. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

There was no way in hell the Pissant was going to let him off the hook with this assignment. It was to be Beau’s personal punishment not only for the C’s granddaughter, but for hacking off Pfeffer in the past as well.

Pfeffer was a confirmed ass-kisser, however, and if the prim Ms. Lowell were to petition for his transfer, he’d have no choice but to comply with her wishes.

Beau turned his head and gave her a big, feral grin. What’s the address, sugar?

She blinked those gray eyes at him. Excuse me?

The Garden Crown, Jules. What’s the address?

Oh. She colored, which he’d noticed she seemed to do easily, and supplied the information.

He cornered Fourth Street and then Coliseum Street with screaming wheels and raced up the final block, roaring through the filigreed gates and coming to a screeching halt beneath the porte cochere of the former mansion that was now the Garden Crown Hotel.

Oh, God, this was brilliant. He grinned again.

It hadn’t escaped his notice that little Miss Juliet didn’t seem to like him invading her personal space. He licked his lips, contemplating all the possibilities such a repressed personality provided. He’d just get a little up-close-and-personal with the woman. Hell, he could kill two li’l ole birds with one stone by dragging her to some of the Big Easy’s more tawdry establishments while he pursued his own case. Introduce her to a few select folk outside her rarefied social strata, and it shouldn’t take any time at all before she was demanding his replacement.

He hopped out of the car and rounded the hood to open her door. Here you are, angel face: all signed, sealed, and delivered, safe and sound as ordered. He felt almost tender toward her as he watched her unbuckle her seatbelt. Reaching out a hand, he offered his assistance out of the low car. Why don’t we go on in and take a look at your schedule.

She ignored the extended hand and sat there as if his muscle car were a throne: erect spine not quite touching the back of the leather seat, ankles together, hands folded in her lap. Those charcoalrimmed, rainwater eyes leveled on him. My name is Juliet, she informed him coolly. I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Juliet, or Juliet Rose if you must, or Ms. Astor Lowell. But kindly don’t shorten my name. Nicknames are vulgar.

He hadn’t thought she could possibly poker up any more than she already had, but damned if she didn’t actually manage it. He swallowed a smile. Whatever you say, Rosebud. Reaching down, he wrapped a hand around her wrist and hauled her out.

Ah, man. This was gonna be like taking candy from a baby.

Juliet’s assistant, Roxanne Davies, slapped closed the appointment book that she, Juliet, and Beau had just finished perusing at the hotel’s front desk, and watched the detective saunter out the front entrance and disappear into a blinding wash of light. "Ho-ly catfish,