Wrong Place, Right Time

by Elle Casey

  “You don’t want them to have to struggle with that whole height-challenged thing you have going on.” I can’t see his face, but I can hear the smile in his voice.

  “Exactly.” Phew. I’m relieved he doesn’t sound stressed. Hopefully that means I haven’t totally offended him.

  “What are their names?” he asks me.

  “My oldest daughter is Sophie; she’s ten. My middle daughter is Melody, and she’s seven. And my son Sammy is not quite four. He’s got a birthday coming up next month. The older two are pretty easy, but he’s a real handful.”

  Dev turns around after finishing up his cleaning and comes back over to the table, turning his chair around backward and straddling it. He folds his arms over the top of the seat, giving me his full attention. “I think it’s a boy thing. My son is always going a hundred miles an hour. I hate to say this, but I actually look forward to coming to work sometimes.”

  I have to laugh at that. “I know exactly what you mean.” I look at my watch and then hold it up. “I keep checking to see how much time I have left on my weekend.”

  “Oh. They’re gone? I thought they were with a sitter.”

  “No, they are at my ex’s house until Sunday afternoon.” I pause for a moment. “Why did you think they were with a sitter?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess you were in such a hurry to get out of here, I thought it had something to do with your kids.”

  “I don’t get it,” I say, my voice probably more sharp than it should be.

  “You don’t get what?”

  “Are you guys completely and totally desensitized to the real world?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  I gesture toward the door we entered to get into this room. “A half hour ago, you and I were locked in a panic room together because somebody was trying to break in to your warehouse in the middle of the afternoon.” I hold up a finger to stop him, knowing he’s about to correct me on the time of day. “Afternoon, evening, whatever. It’s still light outside. People don’t break in to other people’s places of business when it’s still light outside.”

  “I agree.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. He’s supposed to be arguing with me.

  He takes over the conversation. “It’s not something you see every day, for sure. We’re not even certain at this point that it was a break-in attempt. And I’m sorry about the whole panic room mess. It’s just that . . . you’re not one of the team and I know you’re not trained for that kind of thing, so I went a little overboard in trying to keep you safe.”

  Now I feel bad about being rude to him. And for thinking he’s as dumb as a post. Maybe he’s just . . . protective. Like a wolf. The wolf shows on Animal Planet are some of my favorites.

  My voice comes out strained. “I appreciate you wanting to take care of me and doing what you thought was best at the time.”

  I feel like crying. I’ve always wanted to have a man in my life who I could count on, who would protect me and my children when the poo hits the fan. It just didn’t work out that way for me, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it has to be that way for everyone. Maybe Dev is the whole package. Maybe he’s a good dad and a good man, too. He’s going to make a great husband someday if that’s the case.

  I realize as I have this thought that I’m really happy for my sister. Even though she has to work with these nutballs, she has a man by her side who I know would take a bullet for her. And he’s great with his dog, Sahara, and May’s dog, Felix, so maybe he’ll be a good dad, too. I could almost imagine that whatever bullet hit him wouldn’t penetrate. He looks like a superhero. And now, when I look at Dev, I see those same qualities in him.

  He nods, accepting my unspoken apology.

  “You have to understand—this kind of stuff is just not normal for me. And it’s not normal for my sister, either. I honestly don’t understand why she’s working here.” It feels really good to say that out loud.

  Dev just kind of stares at me, and I’m having a hard time reading his expression and his body language. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I’m just wondering if you’re telling me the truth, or if you’re telling me what you want the truth to be.”

  “I’m telling you the truth, of course.” How rude. What’s he even saying? I’m back to being miffed at him again. It’s like riding a roller coaster just sitting across from him and chatting about what should be nothing.

  He goes into silent mode once more.

  My good humor levels are quickly draining down to zero. “Do you want to explain yourself?” I resist the urge to start tapping my toe.

  He shrugs. “The question is, do you want me to explain myself?”

  I cross my arms over my chest and sit back deeper into my chair. “Yes, I do, Dev. I would love for you to explain to me what you think it is I’m thinking or saying.” Shuh, right. He doesn’t know me.

  “You’re the big sister, right?” He doesn’t seem intimidated at all by my challenge.

  “Yes.” I don’t know why I’m feeling defensive about the fact that I fall first in the birth order, but it seems like a demerit in this evaluation or whatever it is he’s conducting.

  He tilts his head. “My guess is that when you guys were growing up, you were the protector. Am I right?”

  I look around the room a little bit before answering. It’s really pissing me off that he’s already guessing correctly about my life. He’s only known me for an hour, and I never got the impression from May that she and Dev have ever sat down and had any meaningful conversations before. I hate to think I’m such an open book. Open books are boring; being mysterious is way sexier.

  I almost laugh out loud. Me. Sexy? Ha! Maybe ten years ago, but not now, and not in my near future, either.

  Dev is waiting for my answer. I hate to admit he’s right, but what’s true is true. “I might have been her protector. From time to time.”

  “No, I’d say it was probably more often than that.”

  I roll my eyes. Busted. “Whatever.”

  “There was something going on in your family that was really difficult for both of you. Maybe you had a parent who was hard to live with?”

  I unfold my arms and rest my hands on the edges of the chair, pushing myself upright. I think I’m experiencing that sensation that’s described as being on the hot seat. And these dining room lights feel just a little bit too bright. Dark memories involving my father’s drinking and the aggression that always followed are pounding on that locked door in my brain. Bail out! Bail out! You’re going down!

  “That’s a pretty personal question, don’t you think?”

  “You asked me what I thought, and I’m telling you. When you look at your sister, I’m guessing you see a flighty, irresponsible yet intelligent girl who still needs your protection . . . from time to time.” He winks at me to take the sting out of his mockery.

  I really, really want to argue with this man, but he’s making it very difficult. He just described my sister and our relationship to a T. Am I really that easy to read? Damn. I’m never going to Vegas. I’ll lose everything I have.

  “So?” I shrug, like it’s no big deal that he just got into my head and almost woke up some ghosts from my past after knowing me for only an hour. “What if I do see her this way? It’s no insult to her. She knows she can occasionally be flighty and irresponsible. And she knows I love her no matter what.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with you having this vision of your sister, except for the fact that I would say it’s inaccurate.”

  I lift a brow at him. “Oh, right. So, you know my sister better than I do. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Not exactly. But I’ll tell you this: unlike you, I have no preconceived notions of your sister based on things that she might have gone through earlier in her life. I knew nothing about her background before she started here. So, when I saw her for the first time and then interacted with her afterward, I formed an opinion of her base
d on who she is as a grown woman, today.”

  He leans in closer to me, but I’m not backing away, even though it’s giving me a mini-stroke to have him this close. “And what I see, first of all, is a really big heart. I also see that she’s highly intelligent and good at thinking on her feet. She’s very trainable and very coachable because she has an eager, open mind, which is a huge asset in this business. She’s incredibly artistic and talented behind the camera. And she has a sense of adventure that I don’t think she even realized was there until she walked through our doors.”

  I have to admit, I’m a little blown away. It makes my heart go mushy to hear this man describe my sister in such a complimentary way. Who wouldn’t want to be all those things? I don’t know that I agree with the entirety of his assessment—that she’s this big adventurous person—because all of our lives I’ve pretty much seen the opposite, but that doesn’t lessen the impact of what he’s said.

  “Well. Those are all very nice things for sure.”

  “And it’s all the truth. No embellishment.” He smiles.

  I’m about to tell him the one problem with what he’s said, that how, like me, my sister has refused to take risks all her life—up until just recently, anyway—when the door opens and three people enter the kitchen area, stopping our conversation cold.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  May is the first person through the door. Behind her is Thibault, and the last person in is Ozzie. May is trying to appear cheerful, but she has that crazy look in her eye, so I know she’s covering up her real emotions. The other two look like they’re going to a funeral.

  I stand. “What’s going on?”

  Dev speaks before anyone can answer. “Did you guys figure everything out?”

  Thibault responds. “Not really.”

  “Why don’t we all have a seat at the table here so we can discuss it?” Ozzie suggests.

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to argue and tell them that I’m leaving and I really don’t care what’s going on, but the look on my sister’s face stops me. She’s giving me those puppy-dog eyes. Dammit. Foiled again.

  “Fine.” I sit down in my seat with a long-suffering sigh. May is so going to pay for getting me into this mess and forcing me to stay in it. Very soon, too. Forget that revenge-is-a-dish-best-served-cold nonsense. I like my revenge served up hot and fresh, baby. Piping hot, so it burns like a mofo.

  Once everyone is seated, Ozzie leans forward and puts his forearms on the table, folding his hands together. His eyes sweep the space, looking at each person around the table individually for a moment before he speaks. It’s very effective at getting total silence.

  “We’ve filed a report and had a conversation with a detective from the New Orleans Police Department. There’s a couple hundred dollars’ worth of damage to the front door, but that’s not really an issue. The door still functions.” He turns to look at me. “However, your car is parked outside.”

  I wait for him to say something else, but he seems to be waiting for me to respond. I shrug. “Yes, it is.” Then it hits me, and anger rushes in. “Did they do something to my car too?” My insurance deductible is huge. This is going to suck.

  He shakes his head. “No. Your car is fine.”

  Relief floods through me.

  “However, I have a concern that whoever’s responsible for the damage to our door has taken note of the fact that your car was parked outside.”

  My mouth kind of falls open, because I feel like I should say something, but I have no idea what the appropriate response is. I just don’t get what the big deal is. It’s a frigging parking lot. Where else would I put my car? I look around at the others for signs that they get me. He’s not making sense, right? Or is it just me?

  When my sister starts speaking, her voice comes out very soft and slow. This is how she talks to my children when she’s trying to convince them to go to bed on time and she anticipates that they’re going to argue and whine. My hackles go right up and stay there.

  “Jenny, we’re not exactly sure who is responsible for causing that damage. Now, of course we hope that it’s just some random thing, that some drunk guy went a little crazy doing doughnuts out in the parking lot or something, and accidentally hit the door. But we can’t ignore the fact that there are bad people out there who would like to get in our way.”

  I look at her like she’s nuts. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

  Thibault gives me a tight smile. “We’re in the security business. We also work with local law enforcement to help build cases or find probable cause evidence to obtain warrants and the arrests of certain criminals who are at large. Most of our work is done confidentially and behind the scenes, but every once in a while, someone is made aware of our involvement, and occasionally we have to deal with threats.”

  “Threats?” I hate how weak my voice sounds.

  May speaks before anyone else has a chance. “It’s probably nothing. We’re just being overcautious, like Dev was today when he locked you in the panic room.” She flashes him a sideways glare.

  Dev rolls his eyes. “I already apologized to her. She understands.” He looks over at me. “Right, Jenny? You understand it wasn’t intentional.”

  I’m still stuck on the whole threat part. “Yeah, whatever.” I shift my attention over to Ozzie. “So, you’re telling me that because I had my car parked outside and some dickcheese—pardon my French—decided to come over here and . . . I don’t know what . . . storm the castle? That now I’m somehow involved in your problems?” I shake my head. “No. I do not accept that.” I stand, tired of the games, tired of these conspiracy nuts, and tired of being checked in against my will to the Hotel California.

  Dev looks up at me. “Where’re you going?”

  My voice comes out so loud, it bounces off the walls. “I’m going home!” I look at my sister, pausing a moment to bring my volume down a few notches. “I’m sorry, May, but this is ridiculous. This may be the life that you’ve chosen for yourself—and God help me, I have no idea why—but this is not anything that I want to be involved in.” I look at Ozzie. “Thanks for the offer of the freelance work, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.” My gaze moves to the other people at the table. “It was nice meeting all of you. And no offense, but I hope I never see any of you again.”

  I lift my purse from the floor next to my chair and walk to the exit. Grabbing the handle, I try to push it down and pull the door open, but nothing happens. I don’t turn around when I speak because if I look at any of their faces, I’m going to start yelling again. They knew I was going to be locked in, and yet they just let me walk on over here alone to make a fool of myself. Bastards.

  “If somebody doesn’t come over here right now and put the secret code into this keypad thingy, I am seriously going to break something.”

  I hear chairs moving and then footsteps. A familiar voice comes from behind me. “Let me get that for you.” A giant hand appears over my shoulder and presses a four-digit code into the keypad. There’s a click telling me that the tumblers inside the lock have moved and I’m now free to go.

  I grab the door and yank it open, stepping through to a room full of swords and other ridiculous-looking weapons. Who needs nunchucks with spiked balls attached? A light goes on automatically, illuminating the space that I mostly ignored on our way in. There’s another door at the far end with another keypad. “Jesus Christ. This place is like a prison.” I’m not even going to comment on all the kooky weapons around me.

  “Don’t worry, I’m right behind you.” It’s Dev again. I’m really angry at myself, because I want to be pissed at him, and I want to blame him for everything that’s happening right now, but he’s being so nice it’s impossible for me to follow through on that emotion. I decide Ozzie’s a better target. He’s the one who took my sister into this place and somehow convinced her to stay. He’s the one saying I should be worried about where I parked.

  We get to the next door, and I wait very impa
tiently for Dev to open it. He steps up next to me and puts his hand on the keypad, but he doesn’t do anything. I don’t look at him, because seeing those eyes and that dimple will weaken my resolve.

  “Just put in the code and let me go.”

  He clears his throat. “Can I call you sometime?”

  My heart pretty much stops beating altogether at this point. It’s actually quite painful in my chest cavity right now. He’s making a joke when I’m this vulnerable. Ugh, he’s worse than the lion and the seahorse. He’s the anglerfish, who latches on to his mate and eventually absorbs himself into her skin until he’s just a disgusting lump on her back.

  I put my hand over my heart and turn to look up at him. “Is this some kind of joke? Is this funny to you?”

  He shakes his head. “No. Maybe bad timing, but . . .”

  I laugh angrily. “Yeah. Pretty much the worst timing you could possibly come up with.” I gesture at the keypad with my chin. “I need to get home. Please, Dev.” I feel like crying. I think maybe he was asking me out, but he couldn’t have been. Why would he? I’m a mom who looks like an ice-cream addict, and I was really rude to the people he calls family. And even if he was serious, I couldn’t do it. This isn’t my world. He’s gorgeous and sweet and a dad and all that, but he’s also a Bourbon Street Bonehead.

  He touches the code into the keypad without saying anything else, and I don’t hesitate a moment before grabbing the handle and opening it so that I can go out to the staircase below. I want to scream and tear my hair out when I see another keypad at the big, main door, but then I notice Lucky is there and he’s waving up at me.

  “Could you get the door for Jenny?” Dev yells out to his coworker below.

  Lucky looks a little confused. “She’s leaving?”

  I don’t wait for Dev to confirm. “Yes! I’m leaving.” I bang down the stairs, hanging on to the railing tightly, because if I trip now I’ll end up in the hospital, and I don’t have time for that nonsense. I need to get home. Bath. Sleep. Kids.