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He was so serious, so caring

"I feel so sorry for her"

"It’s over now No one can hurt her again She’s gone and in God’s hands"

"Do you believe that? Really believe that?"

"Do I believe in God? Yes And that after death, we can’t be hurt anymore? Yes" She couldn’t see his face clearly, but the rich tone of his voice was reassuring He sighed softly, s back her hair "Patricia, you should think of Andy now as being in heaven, looking after us"

He pulled her close then, spooning hied to break free

"It’s going to take all of us tiet over it," he murmured Then he yawned "Especially Nikki She still doesn’t look… "

"Good?" Patricia suggested

He was quiet for a ainst his body "We’ve all gotta keep an eye on her"

"Uh-huh," Patricia e around you, tell me, huh?"

Patricia inched away a bit "What do you e"

"Well, of course, I--"

"Shh… "

His hand crept froer rested against her lips "No ot to move on now"

"I can’t help but think--"

"I’ll stop you thinking," he murmured

He rolled her around so that she faced hiht against her throat He allowed his tongue a slow easy slide down to her rib cage

"Nathan, I… "

"We’re alive," he said, his voiceto keep on living"

"Nathan… "

No slow teasing Nathan slid his length down against her, lips going straight between her thighs, startling, forceful, sensuous

She sed, felt instant arousal shooting through her Her fingers tore into his hair; his hands lifted her higher still

"Nathan… just do… "

"Just do what?"

"Me"

Another day

Owen Massey lay in bed, staring at the dust motes that played in the air He’d left the drapes an inch open; the ht showed the shabbiness of his little house out on I--10

He ht work the Quarter, but he couldn’t afford to live in it

"Yeah, another day," he muttered

After a moment, he rolled over, crawled out of bed He could hear the wheeze and whine of his old air-conditioning system It could wheeze and whine asas it didn’t break down The su on Killer heat That hat they called it

People snapped when it was too hot But when someone just snapped, there were usually witnesses

No cover-up

Another day

He walked into the kitchen, glad he’d invested in a good coffeemaker Every day, at six forty-five, it auto his coffee Every day, when he came out at seven o’clock, it was ready for hiarettes--a no-no in the department, even in New Orleans, these days But this was his house Shabby it arette "So there," he said to no one and everyone

Another day Another stinking hot day

No matter how someone had wanted it to appear, the death of Andrea Ciello had not been an accident His gut agreed with Blackhawk The man had made him feel like an idiot Two people dead, the sah

Another day

Massey rubbed his eyes Another day of staring at what they had Of trying desperately to find another angle Not that the FBI were doing any better with the death of one of their own Souy, suddenly dead of an overdose No fingerprints found but his own A girl--albeit a onetime junkie--dead the saanized

Everyone going in circles

Except for the ghost guy

The one person who’d seen clearly froo that the two criarette and rose, standing in front of the wheezing air conditioner and letting the cooling draft wash over hiuy see?