LITMIR.BIZ

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her table. She had on black knit gloves today—still fingerless, and she handled the cards like a shark.

      Was the sight familiar? Had he seen her here before and not recognized her? He couldn’t be sure.

      Watching her, he realized she wasn’t reading the cards so much as her customer. The woman was fortyish, tired-looking and obviously going against her husband’s wishes by having her cards read. She kept glancing over to where he leaned against the wrought-iron fence that enclosed the St. Louis Cathedral and the park named for Andrew Jackson, smoking a cigarette and glaring at her.

      Periodically, he turned his head and yelled, “Get back over here,” at two little boys who seemed determined to feed their popcorn to a seagull.

      Dixon was pretty sure even he could tell the woman’s fortune. She was in for another dozen years at least of taking care of her sons, being bullied by her husband and wishing she had more time to herself. But he doubted Rosemary was giving her such dire predictions.

      Sure enough, after Rosemary pointed at several cards and talked seriously for a few minutes, the woman smiled and laid her hand on Rosemary’s arm. Rosemary blushed and smiled back, and the woman took out two bills and tucked them under the ribbons, earning her a dark look from the husband.

      Dixon sat down on a bench next to a bored-looking punk with a dirty blond ponytail and drained his fast cooling coffee. He didn’t stare at Rosemary, but he kept an eye on her, not quite sure exactly what he was doing there. He only knew that it was important to him to be sure she was safe.

      For the next three hours, he watched her reading cards and making people happy, judging by their reactions and the money they gave her. Apparently fortune-telling wasn’t a bad career, especially if the teller was a beautiful and mysterious gypsy.

      Chapter Four

      Rose had long since draped her shawl across the back of her chair and exchanged her knit gloves for the black lace ones. The afternoon sun was much warmer than the forecasted seventy degrees.

      She smiled and thanked the girl who slipped a twenty beneath the dark green ribbons on her little table. It had been easy to read the girl’s cards. She wore a small diamond on her left ring finger and her fiancé stood right beside her drinking an energy drink. The cards had reflected what Rose saw in their faces. They were in love and oblivious to the practicalities of marriage.

      As the couple walked down St. Ann, looking at the artwork hanging on the fence that bordered Jackson Square, Rose unpinned the beret and let her braid hang free.

      She looked around for Diggy, but he’d apparently taken a break or given up for the afternoon. Blotting sweat from her upper lip, she thought it would be worth that twenty she’d just earned to have him bring her a cold drink.

      A shadow blocked the sun and fell across her face. She looked up. It was Dixon Lloyd. The detective—or not.

      She gathered up her cards and began shuffling them, ignoring him until he set a cold bottle of water down on her table. It was covered in condensation, chilled drops sliding down the frosty plastic to pool on the table and soak into the dark green ribbons. Rosemary licked her lips.

      “Go ahead,” he said. “I got it for you.”

      She wanted to push the proffered bottle away, but her thirst won out over her indignation and yes, even her fear.

      “Thank you,” she muttered ungratefully as she picked it up and twisted off the top. She drank nearly a third of it, stopping only when the cold threatened to give her a brain freeze.

      “You’re welcome,” he replied, sitting down on the flimsy folding chair opposite her.

      She set down the bottle and looked at him. “Are you stalking me?” she asked, proud of herself for her control after last night.

      He shrugged. “One person’s stalker is another’s protector,” he said evenly.

      Rosemary’s pulse raced at his words. “Protector?” she repeated drily, determined not to be afraid of him today. It was daylight and they were surrounded by people. Strangers … But surely if she needed help, at least one of them would come to her rescue. “I don’t think so. I think you’re trying to scare me. Well, it won’t work.”

      “Tell my fortune,” he said, smiling at her.

      She had to make a conscious effort to not let her mouth drop open. His smile stunned her. Without it, his dark blue eyes were unreadable. His face was a mask, with sardonically arched brows and a wide mouth that could curve ironically.

      But his smile turned his navy eyes into warm blue pools, and his mouth from stern to boyish. She noticed that his nose was straight and short, adding to the boyishness of his face. Along with the smile, it instantly removed at least five years from her estimate of his age.

      She frowned at him, feeling the skin stretch along her forehead and cheek. Her hand moved to brush the scar, but she stopped it. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll read your cards, but I have to warn you, I don’t guarantee happy endings.”

      His smile stretched wider. “I’ll take my chances.”

      She’d already studied and cataloged him last night, using the tools Maman had taught her. Now she thought about the kind of man she’d judged him to be, and decided that for him, happy little hints of the future wouldn’t do. Whether he would admit it or not, his challenge to her was to tell him exactly what she saw inside him. And that she would do.

      She dealt the cards, surprised when the Fool turned up in position zero. Something Maman had said not long before she died echoed in her head.

      Keep your heart open, ‘tite. When I’m gone, your safety will lie in the hands of the Fool.

      He pointed at the Fool card without touching it. “That’s significant, isn’t it?”

      Rose swallowed and rested the heels of her hands on the edge of the table. “Would you like to read your own fortune?” she asked drily.

      He shook his head and waited, but his eyes twinkled. Twinkled!

      “Every card is significant,” she said, starting her usual spiel. “Where they are is as important as what they are. The Fool in position zero indicates that—” she took a breath, wishing she could stop herself “—that you don’t have to search any longer. You already have everything you need. You’re standing on the threshold of a new life. All you have to do is make use of what you already know. But beware. If you become distracted from your primary goal, you’ll fail and lose everything.”

      She felt his dark gaze on her the whole time she talked, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the Fool card. She’d wanted to skew his fortune—tell him that he should give up his current obsession, but that wasn’t in the cards, and she wasn’t able to make herself say anything but exactly what the cards foretold.

      She started to gather them up, but he stopped her with his hand. She looked up at him, startled.

      “My primary goal—what is it?” He angled his head, indicating the cards.

      Rose looked at his large, warm hand on top of hers. Its heat sent warmth flowing through the lace into her skin, up her arm and through her entire body. Warmth and promise. One person’s stalker is another’s protector.

      No. If he was the Fool, she’d take her chances on her own. She jerked her arm away. “I can’t tell you that. If you don’t know—”

      He nodded slowly, still holding her gaze. “I know.” He took a long breath. “It’s you.”

      Rose recoiled, aghast. “Stop this. I shouldn’t have …” She picked up her cards, stacked them quickly and shoved them into her large tote. “I have to go.”

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