Love Can Be Murder

haze of smoke hung above the throng of bodies jammed into the space. The scent of blackened meat burned her nose. The music was loud, and voices were raised to near crescendo. The alcohol had keened her senses, but she felt numb from the stimulus overload. She turned away from the noise and walked down a hall in search of the ladies' bathroom. Her neck felt sticky from perspiration, and her mind reeled as Marie's words reverberated in her head.
    Deke had plotted to cheat her out of assets they'd built together. Throughout the divorce, she had regarded him as weak when it had come to matters of the flesh, and stubborn when it had come to going after the assets he'd wanted, but she wouldn't have dreamed he would stoop to this...to robbing her...to breaking the law. She felt so small and so...used.
    At the end of the hall she spotted the line for the bathroom and opted to wait by the pay phones until the line died down. She needed space around her and time to think, to regroup. She'd call Gloria, of course, but just the thought of several more months of wrangling with Deke was enough to sicken her. Maybe she should have let him have the rental property and given up her business in exchange for cash...moved somewhere else and started over...nearer to her mother...
    God, if she was thinking about her mother, she must be drunk.
    Penny inhaled and exhaled, realized she was still holding her drink, and took a cooling sip. She leaned against the wall and wondered briefly if anyone would miss her if she didn't return to the party...or if she left Mojo.
    On the opposite wall, a white flyer among the dozens stapled and tacked into the wood paneling caught her attention.
    MISSING: Jodi Reynolds, age 17, last seen in New Orleans, September 12.
    In the color picture, the bespectacled woman looked bookish...ordinary. Only her curtain of long blond hair set her apart. Penny looked into the woman's sad eyes and wondered if the person who had created the flyer was a concerned relative, or someone else—an abusive parent, an obsessed lover?
    Penny leaned forward and murmured, "Did someone take you, Jodi Reynolds, or did you disappear on purpose?"
    "Is this a private conversation, or can anyone join in?"
    She swung her head around, and the mystery man was standing there, holding a bottle of beer. And he was still breathtakingly sexy...all muscles and male, leather and Levi's.
    "I, uh..." Her brain was pickled.
    He looked at the flyer she'd been studying. "Do you know her?" His smooth Cajun cadence was like a down pillow for her ears.
    "No. I was just...wondering what might have happened to her."
    He took a drink from the bottle, still reading. "Looks like a good kid, I hope she's found safe."
    "Or not."
    He arched one eyebrow. "You hope she isn't found?"
    Penny shrugged. "She's seventeen. Maybe she doesn't want to be found."
    He pursed his mouth. "Is that the voice of personal experience? Do you have secrets, Penny?"
    Her mouth went dry as his gaze bored into hers. One minute in and he was already too close for comfort. "No," she croaked.
    "Ah. So it's the cynicism of someone newly divorced." He grinned and took another drink. "You left your own party?"
    "I just stepped out for a few minutes."
    "I'm ready to leave, too. So why don't we leave together?"
    She blinked, wondering if she'd misheard him, but the sexy glint in his eyes and the curve of his mouth was unmistakable—he wanted to get busy...with her. A tug on her midsection answered his call, and her breasts tingled, but her good-girl training kicked in. "I don't even know your name."
    "It's B.J.," he said. "And don't worry—I'm not a serial killer."
    She smirked. "I'll bet that's what all the serial killers say."
    He laughed, a pleasant noise that stroked her curiosity. "I promise as long as you're with me, nothing will ever happen to you...that you don't want to happen."
    She swallowed hard. Strangely, she believed him, trusted him...with her body anyway.
    He leaned forward. "You smell good."
    "Thanks...it's, um, almond oil."
    "Really? Smells like doughnuts."
    She pushed her tongue into her cheek. She had to find a new place to live.
    He grinned. "I love doughnuts."
    "I don't," she said firmly, and started to push away from the wall.
    "Hey," he said with a little laugh. "Relax. What do you like?"
    She lifted her chin. "Tofu."
    "Tofu?" He made a rueful noise. "Lady, I'd sure like to try to change your idea of fun."
    She couldn't help but laugh at his Cajun masochism. The man