Page 53 of Cursed
“Yeah, you’dbetterhope so,” the man growled, his eyes on Andre. For a long moment, they stood facing each other, and Morgan was afraid Carl Brevard might do something stupid. Instead, he brushed past them, climbed into his car and slammed the door.
As he roared down the drive, Morgan breathed out a little sigh and pulled her hand from her purse.
“What were you going to do—pull a gun on him?” Andre asked.
“How did you know?”
“I saw your hand go into your purse.”
“It was an option,” she murmured.
“But not a very good one.”
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I would have done it—if I needed to.”
“You don’t want to get arrested because of me.”
“You think that would have happened?”
“Chere, the least little thing that happens around here—they call the cops.”
She nodded tightly, then changed the subject. “What do you think happened to the men who brought the car yesterday?”
“You saw them drive away.”
“Yes!”
He sighed. “I don’t know what happened. But I think I’d better go look for them.”
“Let me help.”
“No,” he said quickly and firmly. “If something happened in the bayou, I want you safe in the house. Is that understood?”
“I could help you,” she insisted. “Two sets of eyes are better than one.”
“Not necessarily. I told you, I know my way around the backcountry—since I’m there every night. I know how to avoid the dangers. If you were with me, I’d only worry about you. And your going off by yourself is out of the question.”
“Rick could be waiting to jump you.”
Andre nodded tightly. She wanted to insist on going with him. She wanted to say she would be worried every moment he was gone. But she kept those words locked inside and clamped a hand on his arm. “You’re willing to help him? Even if he hates you?”
His gaze scorched hers. “Especially if he hates me.”
A noise from the landing made her glance up, and she saw Janet gazing down at her—looking upset.
“Come in,” she said to Morgan in a quiet but insistent voice.
Two against one, Morgan told herself. She still could have protested, but now she and Andre had an audience.
Lowering her voice, she said, “We have to talk—about Linette and Andre.”
“Yes.”
At least he’d conceded that much, although maybe he was just agreeing so she’d stop arguing with him.
“I have to go,” he added. “Don’t make me worry about you tonight. Promise me you’ll stay inside.”
“All right,” she whispered. Then, before she could change her mind, she climbed the steps. At the top, she turned and stared down at Andre, who was looking up at her. “Stay safe,” he growled.
