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slammed into Juma. “No! I won’t go back! Youcan’t make me stay there forever!” She grabbed at Rose, tears flying. “Pull over, pull over now. Let me go!”
    “For God’s sake, Jack!” The van swerved and Rose pumped the brakes, straightening the wheel with one hand while the other, warm and kind, took hold of Juma’s. “Sweetie, I won’t let you be taken back. Any way, I don’t think that’s what he meant.” When Jack said nothing, she added, “If you do the same thing over and over and it doesn’t work, it’s time to try something different.”
    Jack was silent.
    “Right?” Rose let Juma go with a gentle pat.
    “More or less,” Jack said as if the words were squeezed out. “If you don’t confront a problem head-on, it keeps coming back.”
    “But how?” Agonized longing jostled Juma’s misery aside. “My grandma never listens, and nobody believes me.”
    “We’ll make her listen,” Rose said. “We won’t give her a choice.”
    “But she’s got Stevie. And Stevie has muscles and guns and friends like Biff. We can’t fight the whole Bayou Gavotte underworld.”
    “Maybe you can’t,” Jack said, “but I can.”

Chapter Three
    “But it won’t come to that,” he added. The words were out before Jack realized he felt compelled to explain himself, to excuse himself for sounding like a posturing ass. Lucky he’d sworn off vamps, because judging by the glance Roseexchanged with Juma, he’d totally blown his chance with this one.
    Not that he wanted a chance.
    And if some part of him did, it only went to show that after all these months, he hadn’t learned a thing. So what if a minute earlier she’d understood exactly what he meant? Rose was intelligent, but so was Titania, in her twisted way.
    He sat up. “I’m bringing some infractions at the Threshold to their attention. I’ll add your experience with Stevie to the list.”
    “What are you?” Rose demanded. “Some sort of spy?”
    What? “No.” Not really. “But I’ve been checking out the clubs, and the Threshold is doing some dangerous rule bending. It would be irresponsible not to let the underworld know.”
    “They might not like that,” Rose said. “Mobsters don’t take kindly to criticism.”
    They’re not mob —
    He caught the tilt of her lips just in time, sharing, in spite of himself, the humor in her eyes in the rearview mirror. She had lovely bright eyes when she wasn’t enraged.
    He shook off the attraction and turned to Juma. “I’ll help you on one condition. You only get one chance. Do as I say, and I’ll present your case and ensure your safety. Lie, disobey me, or run away, and I’ll wash my hands of you.” He gave her a look. “Understand?”
    “One chance?” Rose’s voice was incredulous. “That’s all?”
    “Only one. Those are my rules. Juma?”
    “Sure,” Juma said, so insincerely he had to stifle a laugh. “Whatever you say.”
    Jack put the pillow over his head for the third time. Next he’d have to worm the girl’s history out of her, but for now he needed to get his throbbing arm into a comfortable position and his brain around what really mattered.
    Fact 1: Chicago. In spite of her Montana plates, Rose hadcome from Chicago. Not in a little Toyota as expected, but in a funky yellow van. Fact 2: She knew about the Bayou Gavotte clubs, notably Blood and Velvet, which was owned by Violet Dupree. Fact 3: With Mardi Gras less than a month away, Violet Dupree would need an elaborate costume, and Rose was transporting just such a gown.
    Then there was the question of last night’s hotel. A lone woman, attractive and in her midtwenties, should have been easy to pick out. Even at capacity, such a small hotel wouldn’t have many guests. And there won’t be much chance of escape when my thugs come, Violet might have added.
    Except Violet really had no reason to kill him. She was self-centered, manipulative, and temperamental—a typical vamp—but when Jack had approached her