Going All Out

1

LIFE MIGHT NOT HAVE dealt Bree Addison a royal flush in wealth or circumstance, but it had dealt her enough high cards to play toward a winning hand. Intelligence. Decent looks. Ambition. Lately she’d been playing every one.

And while walking home tonight after her shift at Toujacques—New Orleans’s premier casino—Bree could feel she was on the verge of pulling an ace from the deck.

Life had also dealt her stellar instincts. She had an internal alarm that could sense trouble from across Lake Pontchartrain.

The trick was paying attention.

So when she realized a car was following her, Bree took the alarm shrieking inside her head very seriously.

As if emphasizing her sudden awareness of danger, the moon slipped behind a cloud, throwing the street into shadow along the lengthy stretch between street lamps. She caught a heel on the uneven sidewalk and stumbled.

Grabbing the hem of her cocktail dress, she managed to catch herself and regain her balance before going down, but the effort left her pulse spiking hard.

The car drove along barely in her periphery, and she wondered how she could have missed it. How long had she been waltzing down these streets, so filled with good fortune at being named one of the two women under consideration for the promotion to Toujacques’ head VIP hostess job that she hadn’t noticed what was happening around her?

Bree didn’t know, and she didn’t like not knowing. It meant she’d been ignoring her instincts, never a smart thing in the best of circumstances.

Three in the morning in New Orleans’s French Quarter didn’t qualify as the best of circumstances.

Glancing around at the familiar surroundings that seemed strangely unfamiliar in the dark, she gauged the distance to the entrance of the court where she lived, relieved to see the brick wall that separated Court du Chaud from the rest of the French Quarter. If she could just make it around the corner and down the block to the alley…

Did she want that driver to see where she lived?

Taking a calculated risk, she stopped suddenly and leaned over as if to adjust the slingback strap on her sandal. Beneath the fall of her long hair, she peered at the car—a generic sedan, probably a rental. It kept moving toward her, achingly slow, but her instincts told her the driver worked hard not to tip his hand by noticeably decelerating.

Tires ground over a street clammy with late-night dew, a spongy sound that grew steadily louder. Chrome glinted as the sedan inched beneath a streetlight, and Bree recognized her opportunity. She straightened while lifting her gaze across the windshield….

And staggered as if she’d been punched.

For one startling second her heart seemed to stall in midbeat. Bree stood suddenly paralyzed, her face shielded by the fall of her hair, purse dangling from her shoulder. The February chill that had invigorated her earlier now prickled through her coat in icy needles.

Jude.

He’d always been a striking man, and the ruthless beauty of his face still held the power to make her stare stupidly, as if she couldn’t quite believe he was real. No man who looked like this could possibly be real.

His long black hair was pulled back, a look that emphasized the flawlessly carved lines of his face, his unusual eyes. Up close those gray eyes would glint crystalline from beneath thickly fringed lashes. His eyes could play award-winning performances to any crowd.

Bree knew that firsthand because she’d been an audience he’d played to. Once upon a time, he’d played her big.

With every instinct shrieking to run and hide, she sucked in a breath that went down so hard she choked. By a sheer effort of will, she forced herself to step into the wash of light from a street lamp, becoming a bull’s-eye in her gold-spangled cocktail dress, a vulnerable target in heels that looked so sweet but made running impossible.

What was he doing here?

She wasn’t waiting around to find out.

Forcing herself into motion again, she strolled along as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She fought the urge to turn to see what he was up to. Taking her eyes off this man was never smart. But she couldn’t let him know he’d been made.

She wouldn’t tip her hand. Not to him.

Not ever again.

Every second underneath a streetlight scorched like the Louisiana summer sun, and Bree hadn’t realized she’d stopped breathing until moving into the shadows again, where she sucked in a hard breath that needled along her skin.

Think. Think.

He obviously knew where she worked or he wouldn’t be following her. He probably knew where she lived, too, but she didn’t have to lead him straight to her front door.

Lose him.

That was the only thing to do. But she couldn’t outrun his car wearing these overpriced sandals….

With her pulse hammering loudly in her ears, Bree eased her way toward a live oak that spread its branches over the street. She hiked her hem high to conceal the flashy gold dress beneath her coat and edged along the dew-slick brick wall.

Jude was almost past her before his taillights sparked red. He braked, and for a split second she could see him leaning over the steering wheel, scanning the street, looking for her.

His car inched forward, and she dared to breathe, hoping, praying he’d just keep on going. But Bree knew firsthand Jude Robicheaux was nothing if not determined.

The brake lights flashed again. He was turning around.

She stood frozen, knowing his headlights would soon expose her. If he saw her crouched in the shadows, he’d guess she’d made him. This little game of cat and mouse would end, and what he’d do then was anyone’s guess. Once, Bree had thought she’d known what this man was capable of.

She’d been wrong.

Why he was back in town was a mystery. Revenge maybe? The last she’d heard, there was an outstanding warrant for his arrest, and as she’d been a material witness when the cops had been building a case against him…

But after all this time? Jude had been the one caught scamming. He had to have known she would cooperate with the police. Wasn’t as though she had much of a choice since they’d been trying to implicate her. Then again, Jude had expected her to leave town with him and outrun the law, to leave her family and stick by him no matter what he’d been involved in.

She shivered. Didn’t it figure he would show up when she finally had the world by the tail, on the very night she’d learned all her hard work was paying off and she might actually realize her ambitions. He’d always had impeccable timing. He’d made his move on her when she’d been too young and stupid to see through him.

But Jude Robicheaux had already wasted as much of her time as Bree would let him waste. He wouldn’t get another second.

One fast glance around the street convinced her there was nowhere to run. Even without the lights flashing all over her cocktail dress, her formal-length hem and heels made her easy prey. He could be out of his car and on her before she screamed long enough to get anyone’s attention.

So Bree did the only thing she could do.

She lunged for the lowest branch. Catching the limb, she winced as the spiny bark bit into her palms but forced herself to hang on and swing her legs high to build momentum.

She tried to catch the branch with her foot, but her narrow dress left no room to maneuver. Luckily the seam gave at the last possible instant, and she managed to hook a knee over the limb and scramble on.

Argh, she groaned as prickly twigs and rough bark scratched nasty trails along her skin.

She could repair the seam of her fancy dress, but this was the end of a brand-new pair of seventeen-dollar panty hose.

Damn that Jude Robicheaux anyway.

With irritation fueling her efforts, she reached for an overhead branch and pulled herself upright.

She clung to the branches for balance, the heels of her shoes providing surprising leverage. The slope of the insteps caught the limb snugly, and she was able to gain enough footing to reach the top of the wall. Maybe they’d been worth the obscene amount she’d paid for them after all.

The sedan’s tires ground over the asphalt, engine belts whining in protest as Jude maneuvered a tight turn. The headlights swung around, aiming for her. Gritting her teeth, Bree hoisted herself onto the wall, glancing around desperately for something to hang on to as she lowered herself into the courtyard below.

Light shone through the French doors of the town house, casting the landscape into blackness despite the solar lights along the hedges. She didn’t recognize the town house she was invading, had no idea which of her neighbors might be awake so late.

Whoever he or she was, this neighbor obviously kept the landscaping tidy and the branches neatly trimmed. Not good for her. When the headlights sliced directly below her, there was no place for Bree to hide, nothing for her to do but tackle that twelve-foot drop.

With the wild thought that she should have known better than to walk home tonight, she let go of the branch and fell with a nauseating plunge until…

Something cushioned her fall at the very last second before she landed in the shrubbery with a noisy crash.

Damn!

Though she didn’t come down as hard as expected, every bone in her body rattled. She felt an icy wave pour through her and fought to free her arms from the tangle of twisted coat. Another seam split, and branches took out what was left of her hose.

A second passed before she caught her breath, another as she shook off her daze, but Bree didn’t dare move until assessing the damage. All things considered, she’d have expected that drop to be a lot worse. She had no idea what had broken her fall—had her coat caught on a branch and slowed her descent?

She didn’t get a chance to find out.

By the time she’d determined she’d live, despite some stinging scratches and a bruised hip that would wind up the color of a bayou sunrise, a shadow sliced across the light illuminating the courtyard.

Great. Someone was coming.

She had no clue which of her neighbors would find her but seriously hoped that he or she hadn’t called the police yet. If the police came, there’d be sirens and commotions and, worse still, explanations.

Any explanation involving Jude Robicheaux was likely to land Bree in the backseat of a police cruiser, and if she landed in lockup, she’d have no choice but to call her twin sister to spring her, which would mean more explanations.

Even worse, if work got wind of her unfortunate past, Bree wouldn’t stand a chance in hell of beating out Lana for that promotion….

Think. Think!

The light pouring through the French doors should work to her benefit rather than the neighbor’s, so if there was any way to slither unseen from the bushes and make a break for the gate…Rational thought stopped the instant her neighbor appeared in full view of the French doors and Bree realized whose courtyard this was.

Josie Russell’s.

Under normal circumstances, she would have just asked Josie to harbor her until Jude had moved on. Unfortunately tonight was decidedly abnormal.

Last weekend Bree had been one of the Court du Chaud crew to attend Josie’s wedding, and now the new Mrs. Max LeClerc honeymooned with her new hubby somewhere in the South Pacific.

The current occupant of Josie’s town house could be none other than the new bride’s brother, who’d traveled in from California for the wedding.

He wouldn’t have a clue who Bree was.

Josie had mentioned him, of course, but Bree couldn’t even remember his name. She’d noticed him at the wedding, though. Not only had he stood as the groom’s best man, but she didn’t think any woman alive could help noticing such an attractive man.

But while Josie’s brother might be really easy on the eyes, he was also one of those rich and powerful men like those she worked for as a VIP hostess at Toujacques, which meant he probably wouldn’t have a lot of sympathy for her trying to give her bad-news ex the slip.

If he even believed her.

He’d probably take one look at her torn dress and shredded hose and figure she’d run afoul of a particularly nasty john.

Boy, did she know this guy’s type.

Well, in all fairness, Bree didn’t know if Josie’s brother even liked to gamble, but Mr. Rich and Powerful had worn his custom tux that cost more than the down payment on her town house like a second skin. Even without the expensive suit, his attitude had flashed like neon.

I’m way beyond bored with my high-powered lifestyle, expensive toys and all those rich-bitch women throwing themselves at my feet.

Now he’d obviously heard the noise from her fall, and with the same arrogant self-assurance that had impressed her across a banquet hall, he strode to those French doors to find out what was happening in his sister’s backyard….

Bree blinked. Again.

Mr. Rich and Powerful wasn’t wearing an expensive tux tonight. He must have been taking a shower, because he wore nothing but a towel to cover some seriously toned, tanned and dripping wet skin.

Adrenaline had already been working a number on her. Now her heart started throbbing again. Her pulse rushed too fast, and Bree could only stare as he reached the doors and raised an arm to the lintel—to flip a lock, presumably—gifting her with the sight of shifting neck muscles, gathering biceps and rippling tummy. The towel slipped enough to reveal a lean hip and smooth skin angling down toward the telltale bulge of the goodies he kept hidden beneath the plush cotton.

Honestly, the man was entitled to parade around in the wee hours dressed in anything he chose. Bree couldn’t blame him because she found herself in his bushes.

She could, however, blame him for flipping off the light. Not only had he ended the show that was diverting her from her aches and pains, but he’d left her with a problem. She’d been staring into the light and was now nearly blind.

Had he already called the police?

When the door creaked open, Bree decided to play it safe.

Mr. Josie’s Brother from California, she called out. I surrender. I’m not here to rob the place. I just sort of…dropped by for an unexpected visit.

Her voice echoed eerily through the darkness. Blinking furiously to adjust her sight, she crouched in the shrubs like a sitting duck, unable to hear a thing above the sound of the wind rustling through the branches of an overhead tree and her own aching pulse.

And just when she could finally differentiate the outline of the hedge behind the strings of solar lights, Bree found herself blinded yet again by a wickedly bright flashlight.

Suddenly the man himself appeared, and she hadn’t even heard him coming.

You’re one of the twins who live in Number One.

Guilty.

He lowered the beam from her face, and she could almost make him out—lots of bare skin and chiseled features. Even half-blinded, she could see the man was even more striking up close than he’d been from far away.

So what did I do to deserve a visit from such an illustrious person at this time of night? he asked.

Illustrious? What did I do?

Found the captain’s treasure.

And here Bree thought she’d made an honest impression. Actually, my sister found the treasure.

Still part of an illustrious family.

Bree inclined her head. No lie there. Bree Addison, descendent of Gabriel Dampier, captain of the privateer ship Crescent.

He shifted the light over the gold spangles littering the ground and grabbed her hand with a strong grip. Lucas Russell. Number Sixteen. You weren’t kidding when you said ‘dropped by.’

Unfortunately.

He chuckled, and the deep, throaty sound rippled silkily through her.

Surprise, surprise. Adrenaline must be doing all sorts of screwy things, because under normal circumstances, Bree wouldn’t have given this guy a reaction no matter how attractive he was. Not a man who was a carbon copy of those she catered to at work.

With Lucas Russell’s solid grip providing leverage, she cautiously extricated herself from the shrubs. She swallowed back a groan when every muscle in her body throbbed in protest and spangles showered the ground at her feet.

She tried not to think about how she must look with foliage in her hair, in her clothes, in her shoes.

All things considered…Bree had fared remarkably well. No broken bones. One very handsome savior, whether she was interested or not.

Things were looking up.

Lucas helped extricate her from the tangle of her coat and steadied her against him, bringing her up close and personal to a whole bunch of naked man. She found herself distracted from her aches and pains long enough to notice shoulders so broad she couldn’t see around them.

He towered above her, and she wasn’t exactly short. But even more striking was the strength she felt in the hand he kept locked around hers, the warmth of his skin. After all the shocks she’d gotten tonight—both good and bad—Bree shouldn’t have had any energy left to react to this man.

But she was reacting, big.

Especially when he raked his gaze over her. The darkness hid the color of his eyes, but he was clearly inspecting her for damage. She must have looked as bad as she felt, because his eyebrows knitted in a frown.

Lucas, however, looked as good as he felt. At this close vantage, his face was all cut lines and chiseled angles. He was handsome in a very aggressive, male way.

She should have been immune. Damn adrenaline.

You’re bleeding. The flashlight beam traveled down her leg.

One glance at the carnage of tattered hose stained with blood and she did groan. So I am. Guess I’ll say thanks and be on my way. It was a pleasure.

She moved to extricate herself from him, but Lucas didn’t let go. Come inside. Let’s take a look at your leg.

I appreciate the offer, but there’s no need. Just a few scratches. I’ll live.

I’m trained in emergency first aid.

Really? Josie said you were the king of a software empire. Do your subjects get hurt working with the keyboard and mouse?

I write law-enforcement software, he said drily. I spend a lot of time consulting with various national agencies and participating in training so I can target their needs.

Great. Jude Robicheaux was back in town and she’d run for cover to a man with law-enforcement connections.

Why had she thought she’d been dealt a decent hand tonight again?

Raking her gaze down all that yummy skin, she tried to assess the threat. Any man who rescued a lady from treacherous shrubbery wearing only a skimpy towel couldn’t be all bad, could he?

Can you walk or shall I carry you? he asked.

Yummy or not, Lucas was determined to get his way. It was in his almost amused tone, in the grip that assured her he had no intention of letting go.

No surprises here. "Really, this isn’t