Relenting, Gabriel walked up to him and clapped him on the back. “We can use the alcove.” Kenneth’s shriek of pain careened through the building. Gabriel quickly drew his hand away. “What’s wrong?”

Kenneth had fallen to his knees. There, he bent over, whimpering.

Patrice circled her desk and rushed to his aid. She tried to help him stand, bracing him.

He recoiled at the contact. “Don’t touch me!” Kenneth reared up, shoving Patrice away. She slipped and fell against the desk.

The act of violence was all Gabriel needed. With a single swing, he smashed his fist into Kenneth’s jaw. Down he went for a second time. Gabriel stood over him, waiting for another shot. Kenneth surged to his feet and rammed his head into Gabriel’s gut. Both men went down. Fists flew, each man landing hard punches. Gabriel stayed down, letting Kenneth pummel him.

To keep him going, Gabriel taunted, “You get off on hurting women, Kenny?” He kneed him in the gut. “Like pushing them around, do you? Makes you feel like a real man?”

Enraged, Kenneth elbowed Gabriel, glancing a blow off his chin. “Shut up!”

Gabriel flipped the smaller man into the alcove wall. The sickening thud had onlookers wincing. He got to his feet and dragged Kenneth up. “You don’t have the balls to pick on someone your own size!”

“You son of a bitch!” Kenneth yelled as he charged at Gabriel, and both of them crashed through the plate glass window beside the alcove.

Having arrived just in time to see them fly through the window, Sylvie and her partner pulled the brawling men apart. She wrestled Gabriel to his feet and thumped at his arm. “For pity’s sake, Gabriel. Now I’ve got to take you in, too.”

ERIN BAILED HIM out a few hours later. Gennie, Kelly, and Peter tagged along, all wanting to see their hero and his mug shot. They were disappointed they’d missed the booking, so Sylvie had provided each one with an autographed copy. In the late afternoon, the air was damp with the promise of rain. Tourists packed every square inch of the Quarter, spilling out onto the streets beyond. Music and voices filled the air and dueled with the weather. For now, the weather was losing.

Genevieve broke away from the trio and fell in step beside Erin, who had faded to the rear of the group. Leaning down, Gennie whispered conspiratorially, “The Moss family has a genetic disorder.”

Erin didn’t look over. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s called foot-in-the-mouth-itis. At least, I think that’s the Latin name for it.”

Refusing to chuckle, Erin kept walking. “Is there a cure?”

With a dramatic sigh, Gen admitted, “Copious amounts of groveling with a smidge of forgiveness.”

Erin gave in then and laughed. “You’re forgiven.”