Page 102 of Whispers at Dusk
Della took her seat on the airboat. She closed her eyes and felt the air and the wind as it ripped around them. Full circle. They were headed back to New Orleans.
“Taylor, what about the first girl?” Mason asked.
“Fremont was right behind me. He had the EMTs ready to move at a moment’s notice and they did. They might not have known Dante would use his old enemy’s property out here—or even known it existed—but they do know what they are doing and where they are. You weren’t gone three minutes before Detective Fremont made it to my position.”
“Everyone’s timing was great,” Mason said.
Lapierre laughed softly. “We may have proven to be backup, but...”
“The best damned backup in the world,” Edmund Taylor supplied.
“No one is anything without backup,” Della said.
“Still, you are our heroine, too!” Fremont said. “And tonight, we will toast to you—and ourselves, of course. Onward! To New Orleans. And paperwork,” he added dryly.
Della closed her eyes again. She loved the cool touch of the wind.
She enjoyed the caress of nature, eyes closed, feeling Mason’s body heat at her side.
It was a very good day.
Paperwork took the rest of day into the evening. They’d be at it again in the morning, trying to untangle everything that had happened. Bisset worked the information line, making sure law enforcement in the countries involved knew everything that had happened.
It was ten o’clock when they were finally free for the night.
But for New Orleans, that was early. Mason truly wanted nothing more than to head straight back to a room with Della, but he knew the others were eager to celebrate. While he would have preferred a venue on Frenchman Street, Edmund Taylor had never been to Bourbon Street and Bisset and Lapierre were both intrigued by the fact it was famous across the globe, so he gave in. But first, dinner at one of his favorite places, Antoine’s, and then a walk down Bourbon.
Naturally, Della insisted they stop at Lafitte’s. She knew a lot of the history of the area and the building and she regaled Bisset, Lapierre, Taylor, and even Detective Fremont, a Louisiana native, with her attention to truth and detail.
When they left to head down to the music venues and the bars, Mason whispered to her, “How the hell do you know details about Lafitte’s?” he asked.
She grinned.
“Google! I looked it all up—because I want to talk to Gideon again. I want to find out what is and isn’t true!”
“Ah! Hmm. Remember, truth, like beauty, is often in the eye of the beholder!”
She smiled and nodded. “Ah, but in our business, there are also facts. And then again, I do love to study history. Because it gives so much.” She frowned, looking at him. “What are you hiding?” she asked him.
“What?”
“You’re hiding something.”
“Seriously? Okay, yes. A surprise.”
She laughed. “You’re not talking about bed tonight, right?”
He grinned at that. “I don’t think anything can still be a surprise, but sometimes the best presents are something you know someone wants.”
“Oooh. Presumptive!” she teased. “So—”
“Patience is a virtue.”
“What made you think I had any virtues?”
“Ah, well, you’re going to have the virtue of patience until later! I think you impressed Detective Fremont with all your knowledge about the places we went, especially Lafitte’s!”
“Trying to change the subject?”
