In the two nights since her dinner with Richard and Kate, Julianna hadn't been able to sleep. Both nights she sat on her bed, knees drawn to her chest, eyes wide and mind racing. Whirling with what she had learned about Kate, Richard and their relationship.

She saw now. She understood. What Richard needed. How she could win him from Kate. It had been so obvious, once she had spent an evening with them.

Julianna worked to slow her breathing, to calm herself. Her mother had been right. Every man had a place inside him, a well that needed to be filled. She had found Richard's.

Kate didn't love him enough.

Not the way she, Julianna, loved him. Not enough to sacrifice her own needs for his, not enough to lay herself adoringly at his feet. Richard needed a woman who made him feel strong and sexually potent. A woman who leaned on him, who not only asked for his opinion, but depended on it.

Kate was too strong-willed, too independent for that. She was too focused on Emma's needs to cater to her husband's. Julianna made a sound of disgust. Kate had hardly put the infant down all night, even bouncing her on her knee during dinner. She had stroked and kissed her, had cooed to her and attended her needs. In contrast, she had simply raised her mouth for a kiss from her husband.

Kate was making it easy for her.

Destiny.

A giggle bubbled to Julianna's lips and she brought a hand to her mouth to stifle the sound, as if someone might hear. Kate's inattention to her husband's needs was only one of the weapons available to her-Luke Dallas was the other. At dinner, Julianna had brought up the author and Kate's autographed copy of his latest book.

Richard had stiffened at the mention of the other man, an angry flush staining his cheeks. Kate had become defensive; she'd lied about where she had gotten the book. A friend had gone to his signing, she had said, and had gotten them a book. He remembered Meg Martin, didn't he?

Julianna knew the truth. She had been at The Uncommon Bean that Saturday morning, had overheard Marilyn tell Blake where Kate had gone. Kate had driven to New Orleans to be with Luke Dallas. She had lied to her husband about it.

Julianna could use that against the other woman. She could use that and Richard's jealousy as a wedge to drive them apart.

And once she did, she would make her move.

What she had to do was so simple. Be there for him. Cater to him, look up to him. Make him feel like a man. Smiling to herself, she scooted down under the covers. Be ever understanding and adoring. Richard would begin to confide in her, small confidences would lead to big ones. Each would bind him to her. Each would solidify their relationship.

And when the rift between the husband and wife grew too great, she would be there, waiting with open arms.

John stood on the sidewalk outside Buster's Big Po'boys. His heart raced; a line of sweat formed on his upper lip, another trickled down his back. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, working to overcome the slight trembling in his limbs, the excitement. It had taken him eight months, but he had finally found her. His Julianna. His angel.

He double-checked the address he'd gotten from his source at the IRS, saw that it matched Buster's, then moved his gaze over the restaurant's dumpy facade. He couldn't believe Julianna worked here, couldn't believe how low she had sunk. But she did work here-her employer had filed a 1099 under her social security number.

Lucky for him.

A smile touched his mouth. Eight months of waiting was over. Six months of following each lead that surfaced, of frustration when the lead fizzled. Of wondering, worrying and longing-all were over.

John entered the shop. A waitress with a blond beehive hairdo sailed past him, snapping her gum loudly as she did. "Hey, dawlin', sit anywhere. I'll be right wit' you."

Like he would ever sit in a place like this, let alone choose to eat in one.

Well after lunchtime, the restaurant was nearly empty.

John crossed to the cash register and smiled at the girl who sat there, looking bored out of her mind. "Hi, is the owner or manager in?"

The girl looked him up and down, then nodded. "Buster!" she called, "somebody's here to see you."

A moment later a man in a filthy apron emerged from the kitchen. "I'm Buster Boudreaux. What can I do for you?"

"I'm an attorney with Reed, Reed and White." John handed him a business card. "I represent the estate of the late Jonathan Starr and am looking for his daughter, Julianna. Does she work here?"

The man studied the card a moment, then looked up at John, his expression openly curious. He was wondering, John had no doubt, if this situation might yield anything for him.

John smiled. "Ms. Starr has inherited a great deal of money, Mr. Boudreaux, and we're trying to locate her. There's a hefty finder's fee for anyone who provides information that leads to her location."

With a look of disgust, Buster pocketed the card. "She did work here," he said. "Up until four or five months ago. She up and quit without so much as a moment's notice."

"Do you know where she went?" John asked, excited. He was so close, he could all but smell her now.

"Sorry. She didn't leave a forwarding address. Hold on, let me ask one of my girls if they know. Lorena," he called, looking past John, "come here a minute, would you?"

John turned to the waitress who had sauntered over, the bleached blonde who had greeted him when he walked in.

"This guy's lookin' for Julianna. Says she's inherited a whole bunch of money. You have any idea where she went?"

"I don't know and don't care." The woman curled her brightly painted lips with derision. "Little princess thought she was better than everybody else. And there she was, no better than a whore, pregnant and with no man at all."

Anger was swift and white-hot. John narrowed his eyes, holding on to it, though it burned brightly in the pit of his gut. He couldn't allow this piece of human refuse to talk about his Julianna this way. He wouldn't allow it.

"I could give you the address she used when she worked here."

"Thank you. That would be helpful."

The man went in back and returned a moment later with a business card. He'd written Julianna's address on the back. "You did say there'd be a finder's fee in it if I helped you locate her?"

"Absolutely." John plucked the card from the man's fingers, then shifted his gaze to the blonde. "I'll see to it that you get a little something, too, sweetheart. Trust me."

The hour grew late; the French Quarter street gradually emptied. John stood in the shadows across from the hole-in-the-wall bar, watching the lights go off inside, one-byone.

Finally, his patience was rewarded. Two figures emerged from the bar, a man and the blonde from the po'boy shop, the one with the big mouth. The two said their goodbyes then parted, heading in different directions.

John stepped out of the darkness and started after the woman. He kept his distance, his footfalls silent.

She looked back only once, when he was almost upon her. She started to run then, but it was too late. He caught her on the back of the head and she flew forward, sprawling face first on the damp, filthy street. Where she belonged, he thought, circling her, disgusted.

While she lay there, sobbing into the muck, begging for her life, he kicked her, placing the blow dead to her ribs. The impact lifted her slightly off the ground. He delivered another blow, this one slightly lower.

He hadn't killed her. She would only wish he had.

"Next time," he said softly, "I suggest you show a little respect for your betters."