Chapter One

      By the time Cody’s brain registered what he’d heard, it was too late. He threw himself sideways with every ounce of strength he commanded, but it wasn’t enough. His head hit first, and slid as his shoulder slammed into the hardwood floor. For a few seconds, the quiet, ominous click echoed in his ears, seeming louder than the explosion which followed.

      He lay, tense and still, listening for any sound that would tell him his attacker was still there. Nothing. The building was quiet, now that the echo of the gunshot had faded. Down the hall, he heard a door slam. His mouth turned up. Thanks, neighbor. Good thing he wasn’t hurt. Cautiously, he reached for his gun, and his left shoulder screamed with pain.

      Too slow. Dev and the other guys would give him hell for being too slow to dodge a bullet. Dana would be terrified.

      He winced at that unguarded thought. No she wouldn’t. She wasn’t part of his life anymore. He sat up slowly and took stock of his condition. Nasty bump on his forehead, painful scrape on his cheek. Bullet wound in his shoulder. From the way it felt, he guessed the bullet had gone clean through the meaty part of his bicep. He turned his head and saw the mark on the wall. Yep.

      He stood, and swayed with unexpected dizziness. His left arm didn’t want to work, and he could feel blood, hot and sticky, wetting his sweatshirt. He glanced down. Damn. His leather jacket was ruined.

      Cody pulled out his cell phone and nudged it open with his chin. He pressed a fast-dial button and leaned against the wall, praying that his partner hadn’t let his cell phone battery go down.

      “Dev? Hey, man. I need some…help.” Cody blinked against the blackness that was seeping in from the edge of his vision and looked at the kitchen chair, which had been positioned directly in front of the door.

      “Help? How’d you manage to get in trouble in the past fifteen minutes? What’s up?” Detective Devereaux Gautier’s voice was tinged with amusement.

      “Well, I’ve got a situation. At my apartment. Can you get over here right away and call it in?”

      “Situation? You okay?” His partner’s voice immediately became professionally crisp.

      “Yeah, I’m okay,” he said wryly. “Just a flesh wound. Fontenot booby-trapped my door. Listen, man, I’m afraid he may have done something to Dana’s place.” His gaze roamed over the revolver and the nylon cord securing it.

      “Fontenot? So your crazy notions about that bastard ain’t so crazy, eh? Stay there, Cody. I’ll be right over.”

      “Nope. Can’t. Dana’s out of town. Her answering machine says she’ll be back tomorrow. I’ve got to check her house tonight. Dev? Can I count on you?”

      “You know it, my man.”

      “Thanks.” He flipped off the cell phone and walked over to look more closely at the .38 special. The cord had been run through the trigger guard and around the back of the chair, then fashioned to an intricate pulley mechanism attached to the doorknob.

      He looked at the barrel of the gun, then at the door, then back at the gun.

      Cody cursed as he took in the full implications of what he saw. “If you wanted me dead, I’d be dead, wouldn’t I? You’re playing with me.”

      Anger, harsh and swift, cut through him, then his knees went weak. “Dana,” he whispered, refusing even to allow his brain to imagine what Fontenot might have done at her place. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the tiny gold disk he’d found this morning on his car seat. He closed his fist around his ex-wife’s earring.

      “I swear to God, Fontenot,” he whispered to the empty room. “If you hurt one hair on her head, I will hunt you down like the monster you are.”

      He glanced around his apartment, now a crime scene. Dev would take care of things here. Cody had to get to Dana’s.

      DANA MAXWELL SANK gratefully into the scented water. It was so hot her skin tingled. As she leaned her head back against the headrest molded into the fiberglass tub in her ultramodern apartment in Metairie, the stiffness began to seep out of her neck muscles. She rolled her head and groaned, flexing the aching tendons.

      Why had she thought working in corporate law would be less stressful than the courtroom? Maybe it was less exciting, but spending an entire week in meetings with stodgy, old-guard businessmen who were stuck in the fifties, maybe even the forties, was not conducive to a good mood.

      If she’d had to hear “honey” or “little lady” one more time, she thought she might have contemplated murder. Then, this afternoon, the senior partner had the gall to ask her to step outside while the “menfolks have us a confab that might not fall too sweetly on your pretty little ears.”

      Dana sank a little lower into the water. She’d stepped outside all right. She’d stepped out of the room and into her car and driven back to New Orleans, calling her office on the way and telling them she was sick, and wouldn’t be in the next day, Friday.

      She cringed. She’d walked out on an important meeting. She’d lied to her boss about being sick. Was there anything else she could think of to do to jeopardize her job?

      Bennett was the biggest client her boss had ever assigned to her. Today was Thursday and she was supposed to have that new contract signed by Friday. What would Mr. Fraser do?

      Over the weekend, she’d have to come up with a plausible excuse for walking out on Irwin, Borne and Howe’s third-biggest corporate clients.

      Are We Boring and How was the name Cody had given the law firm. She smiled involuntarily at the thought. He hadn’t tried to stop her from quitting the public defender’s office and moving to corporate law, but he’d looked at her in that way he had and said that being bored to death was a horrible way to go.

      Dana frowned at the direction her thoughts were taking. Why was she thinking about that? She didn’t want to go back there.

      Ugh. She gave a mock shudder. No way. She’d had enough of long hours and hopeless cases to last her a lifetime.

      And talk about tired. On countless nights, she had dragged in after nine or ten, dead on her feet, only to have to turn around and go back to work early the next morning.

      Dana stretched her stiff neck muscles, thinking longingly of the big old claw-foot tub in Cody’s French Quarter apartment. Now, that tub was made for relaxing. She would fill it up, sink down until the water lapped at her nape like fingers teasing, massaging. The smile kept tugging at her lips. How many times had Cody run her a bath and crouched behind the tub to massage her neck? She closed her eyes, almost able to feel his fingers kneading, rubbing, coaxing out the stiffness as he whispered risqué suggestions in her ear.

      Then his touch would lighten as her muscles relaxed, and he’d pick up the soap and run it over her shoulders, across her collarbone and down, until her breasts and belly were slick with suds and his teasing fingers were doing things with the soap that Procter & Gamble never dreamed of.

      “Damn it, Cody, get out of my head,” Dana muttered, splashing water as she sat up. It was all his fault. If he hadn’t called earlier in the week, his voice sounding oddly serious on her answering machine, she wouldn’t be fighting off these memories that should