Damn it, he should never have left her alone earlier.

But their session in the kitchen had been so intense, so raw, that he’d needed to get out to think a bit. To convince himself he was imagining the connection that he feared was forming between them.

And when that didn’t work, to consider where they went from there.

“What do you mean, altar? Have you called the police?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Why the hell not?” He pulled the phone closer to him on the desk and picked up the receiver.

She punched down the disconnect button. “Don’t.”

“Why not? Obviously someone who wasn’t supposed to be in here was and did something they shouldn’t. If that doesn’t demand a police report, I don’t know what does.”

“I don’t need the publicity.”

“Publicity, my ass, Josie.” He removed her hand and dialed 911.

Moments later he hung up. “They’ll be here in half an hour to an hour.”

She smiled faintly then sat in the chair behind the desk. “You don’t understand. This wasn’t so much a crime as it was a warning.”

“Show me.”

Five minutes later, Drew stood staring at the myriad black candles in the middle of the bed in 2D. Small satchels were lain in front of them and black wax had trickled over to pool on the white coverlet. He tried the switch for the overhead lights, but it didn’t work.

“Isn’t this where the girl was killed?” he asked.

She blinked at him.

“Your maid likes to gossip,” he told her, although he knew about the killing because he knew a lot more than a regular guest would.

She nodded and crossed her arms over her chest.

As they stood staring at each other, it was hard to believe that only a few short hours earlier they’d been joined together in ecstasy. That he’d spread her out on top of the cutting board in the kitchen and made love to her in a way he’d never made love to a woman before.

He stepped closer to her, brushing back a dark curl from her cheek.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

He hadn’t thought of asking her before, if only because some sort of primal need to protect her had kicked in. But now that the danger had passed and the police were on their way, he focused on the woman in front of him.

She laughed quietly and as far as he could tell there was no fear in the sound, no anxiety. Merely a soft edge. “I’m fine.”

She turned from him and went to open the double doors to the connecting balcony.

“What do you mean this was meant as a warning?” he asked.

“Just what I said. This-” she gestured toward the bed “-is a curse of sorts.”

“Voodoo?”

“Black magic.”

She led the way from the room and back down to the front desk. Drew followed.

“Explain the difference.”

“Voodoo can be either black or white magic. It can be used for bad or good.”

“And in this case it was used for bad.”

She nodded.

“Do you have any idea who’d want to do this?”

She didn’t answer right away as she fooled around with things on the desk.

“Josie?”

She shrugged her slender shoulders. “I’ll take care of it.”

Drew opened his mouth to object, then realized there was no objection for him to make. He’d had sex with her. Nothing more, nothing less. He was a temporary guest in her hotel in the middle of one of the most decadent cities in the world. And, as she’d told him during their walk earlier, it was all temporary. Tomorrow didn’t exist. At least not where they were concerned.

And that, suddenly, was unacceptable to him.

“HOLY MOTHER OF GOD,” Josie heard Monique say as the maid rushed down the stairs into the lobby the following morning, crossing herself countless times before looking at Josie with eyes the size of large, glossy marbles. “You got the voodoo.”

Josie stretched her neck. She’d forgotten to tell Monique not to bother with Room 2D, that she’d see to cleaning up the mess in there herself, but hadn’t had a chance after Philippe had called in sick, leaving her alone to man the desk. Something he must have eaten, he’d said, saying he’d try to make it in later if he felt better.

Now she stood staring at a clearly terrified Monique.

Josie had been raised around voodoo. It was as much a part of her heritage as her dark, Caribbean skin. While her granme had never practiced it or let her anywhere near it growing up, she remembered her mother trying out love spells in an attempt to get the latest true love to fall for her and take her away from this life.

Josie had never placed much stock in the hokey rituals. Oh, she knew enough about them. Even counted priests and priestesses among her friends, including her best friend, Anne-Marie Paré, and the Rooster Man, the old black man who lived up the block and whose counsel many sought to lift curses and perform white magic spells. It was said that back in the day, the Rooster Man had placed his share of curses. But it was also said that for every bad spell that was cast, bad luck to the power of ten would return to the caster. When his wife and young son were killed in a freak automobile accident thirty years ago, he’d done a one-eighty and only performed good voodoo. Some said he performed white magic as penance for past wrongs and to guarantee his family entrance into heaven.

Josie thought it was more likely the only way he knew how to make a living and that he had long since stopped believing in any higher spiritual power.

“Monique, Monique, get yourself together, girl.” She rounded the desk and pried the broom from the young woman’s hands before she broke the stick and hurt herself. “I’ll take care of 2D.” She touched Monique’s arm to find her cold. “In fact, why don’t you go ahead and take the day off altogether? I’ll take care of the duties.”

Monique nodded several times. “Yes, yes. I need to make sure that nothing sticks to me.”

Josie knew what she meant. She wanted to make certain that the curse meant for Josie hadn’t transferred to her.

She watched Monique hightail it out of the hotel without another backward glance. What remained was who would want to place a curse on her in the first place. She remembered Drew asking the question last night. Who would want to do this? She hadn’t told him. Mostly because she didn’t want to speak ill of anyone unless she was entirely sure they were behind it. But also partly because she had been too tempted to melt into Drew’s ready arms and let him take care of her.

The temptation itself had frightened her more than the voodoo ritual. She’d never allowed anyone to take care of her. Mostly because there had never been anyone who had offered to take the job. Even her granme had warned her from a young age, “You’ve got to learn how to step up and take care of yourself, Josephine.” Usually these words came after she’d been frightened by something and had turned to her grandmother for comfort. She would give it to her, but in small doses. “Ain’t nobody going to take care of you as well as you can take care of yourself. And I’m not going to be here forever.”

Josie looked toward an undefined spot above herself, wondering at the prophetic content of her grandmother’s words.

The police had come and gone last night, barely making note of the event except for its connection to the murder of the girl. Fact was, voodoo rituals were more the norm than the exception in New Orleans, and if the police followed up on every reported voodoo spell, the city’s crime rate would raise exponentially because they wouldn’t have time to do anything else. Voodoo shops selling do-it-yourself ritual kits were everywhere in the Quarter. On occasion, Josie herself had even browsed through a shop or two, curious. And, of course, Anne-Marie owned one where she also consulted tarot cards and gave spiritual readings. Before her grandmother had passed away, when Josie had had the time and cash for outings, she’d often met Anne-Marie there and they’d gone out for lunch. And now and then Anne-Marie had even set up shop here in the hotel’s courtyard.