Heat radiated everywhere, reminding her of their earlier embrace. Spice and sandalwood teased her senses and she remembered the piquant flavor of his kiss. The strength of his arms arching her into him. Forcing herself to ignore the cascade of sensation, she slid quickly across the cracked leather seat, yanked the seat belt across her shoulder, and primly folded hands that itched to touch in her lap.

Giving in to the appeal of Gabriel Moss was a mistake she did not intend to repeat.

He closed the door and circled the bonnet. Once inside the Jeep, he echoed her movements. The engine roared to life with a rumble of sound. Plumes of smoke spurted out behind them, and the smell of gas and carbon monoxide seeped inside.

“I don’t think I’ve really noticed your car before.” Erin looked dubiously around the battered interior. Duct tape stretched in patches across the seat. Plastic peeled from the console and, if her eyes didn’t deceive her, dental floss held the radio faceplate in place. “Does it pass emissions tests?”

“Her name is Betty and she’s as trustworthy as an old hound.” Deciding not to take offense, Gabriel deftly levered the gear into drive and headed toward the Eighth District Police Station. Betty purred, then coughed. He fed a little more gas, and the coughing subsided. The Jeep gained speed as he whipped through the thoroughfares that separated neighborhoods from the center city. “I talked to Sylvie. She’ll let us look at the homicide files.”

“Exactly how close are you?” Erin’s tone left little doubt about her thoughts on the matter.

Gabriel chuckled softly. “I’ve known her since I was a baby. She was my mother’s best friend.”

“Was?”

“Gen and I lost both our parents last year.”

“I’m sorry,” she offered awkwardly. “I didn’t know.”

“I still miss them. They were remarkable. Strong, sturdy. Mom had the business skills. Dad was a dreamer. They met at the Chronicle. Mom ran the ad department, and my father edited the arts section. Somehow, he became the managing editor.”

Companionably, he covered her hand, toying absently with her fingers. She didn’t pull away. “Like father, like son.”

Gabriel smiled, watching the road. “Not quite. Dad enjoyed the pace of New Orleans. The familiarity. Tourists flowed in like flotsam, but the real people of the city were his favorites. I preferred to roam. Had notebook, would travel.”

“Did they mind?”

“No. They clipped every article. Kept a scrapbook. One on me and one for Gen.”

“Your family sounds lovely.”

“I miss them.” Shaking off the melancholy, he stopped at a red light and asked, “What about you, Erin?” He wondered if the reticence was the result of a cold, isolated upbringing. Or maybe a tempestuous marriage ended by bitter divorce. “Where’s your family?”

It was astonishing to see the shades fall over the toffee-colored eyes, any trace of expression banished.