by Susan Sands
Ben nodded.
“They were underage. Richard is a predator of young girls.”
Ben wasn’t surprised. He’d seen it so much in his line of work. So often, sex workers were young women who’d gotten manipulated into the business as young, desperate girls, or worse, forced into it. “I would like to say that I’m shocked. But I’m not, Sabine.”
“I just didn’t give it much thought. Maybe I didn’t want to think of it beyond his cheating on me. The whole idea that he would buy into that world when he is supposed to be making and supporting legislation to protect women and children. It’s so disgusting.”
“I get the feeling there’s more to this.”
“There’s a video to support our claims. My dad sent it to me as insurance in case I ever needed it. I’ve had it in my possession but haven’t ever watched it. That’s how we found out the girls were—young. Also, Rachel admitted that Richard accosted her when she was in high school.”
There were tears in Sabine’s eyes now.
“You couldn’t have known or prevented that, Sabine. You understand that, don’t you?”
“She’s my little sister and she never breathed a word. I should have known what sort of man my own husband was.”
“That’s the thing about predators. They are insidious. They play upon emotions and weaknesses. So often a predator can fly under the radar for years without anyone being the wiser. They seem to understand how to buy and manipulate silence from others. Getting what they desire is their only game. In your line of work, you see the victims and deal with the consequences of the predators’ actions. I see the predators firsthand and, sometimes, I’m asked to defend them. I don’t take those cases. But I’ve seen them and, in the past, I’ve prosecuted them. They are scary, conscienceless people.”
“What should we do about Richard, now that we know?”
“Well, other than get your divorce, we should bring him down.”
“How can we do that without bringing me down too? I mean, when high profile wives stay with men who do these things, they get blamed for turning a blind eye and nobody believes they didn’t know.’”
“We might need help with this. Would you be willing to allow me to add a few members to the team?” Of course, he already had, and the guilt was killing him.
“No. Not now. We can do this without bringing anyone else into it. We already have the proof we need to start the process once we get home. I just want to get him to sign off on divorce papers, and I know going there and doing what he’s asked will be the only way he’ll agree to it.”
“Okay. Hopefully, we’ll get in and out, and all will go as planned. At least no one knows where we’re staying. The car will be waiting at the B&B.”
“Where are we staying?”
“A little bed and breakfast uptown on Napoleon owned by a sweet couple named Mr. and Mrs. Bergeron.”
“Is that the one right down the street from Pascal’s Manale?” Sabine had lived her entire life in New Orleans, so it made perfect sense she would know the city like the back of her hand.
“Yes. I’ve heard of the restaurant. Famous for its barbecued shrimp, right?” Ben had been told many times by friends and colleagues that he should check out Pascal’s Manale next time he was in New Orleans. “Maybe we can slip over there for dinner this evening. I’ll wear my uniform in case someone sees us. They’ll think you’re sharing dinner with your driver.”
“An unusual situation to be sure. But not completely unbelievable if one is alone in town. Especially if one’s driver is as handsome as you.”
“The bed and breakfast was recommended to me by an attorney friend who lives in North Louisiana.”
“Oh, and who might that be? It could be we are acquainted. Not likely, but possible.”
“Tanner Carmichael. He’s from Cypress Bayou, I believe, or somewhere thereabout. We met at a legal conference a few years ago and have kept in touch. He’s a good guy. Says the Bergerons are the souls of discretion and personal friends of his family.”
“Hmm. I don’t recognize that name, but unless we’ve crossed paths in New Orleans, it’s likely I wouldn’t. Weirdly, Louisiana is somewhat like a big small town in some ways. Lots of connections. Everybody seems to know somebody that somebody else does.”
Ministry was close to a six-hour drive to New Orleans, so it was a fairly easy weekend destination for those Alabamans wanting a change of scenery. So, over the years, it was logical that business and personal connections had been made.
Ben thought they’d been pretty lucky that neither Sabine nor her mother had been recognized by anyone yet. He’d looked up photos from the trial and from Google and noticed that she’d changed her appearance substantially just by growing out her hair. Before, she’d kept it in a short, pixie style that was flattering to her face, but Ben loved her long, thick hair. He especially loved running his fingers through it when they were both naked in his bed. He sneaked a glance over at her.
“Are you having sexy thoughts about me?” Sabine asked.
“Maybe. It’s been several days, you know. And we’ll be in a bed and breakfast together. I’ve gotten two rooms in case we get busted by Richard, but that doesn’t mean I can’t check on you at bedtime, does it?”
Sabine’s sexy grin made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. “I might allow a room check.”
“You’re killing me, sexy woman. We’ve got four more hours to go. Might as well talk turkey on the wires and listening devices Howard gave us.” He spent the next hour sharing his newfound expertise on spy gear with Sabine.
Sabine opened her eyes as they were pulling in to a driveway. “Oh. Did I fall asleep?”
“Only three hours ago,” Ben said.
“What? No way.” She looked at the clock on the dash. It read 4:15. They’d left just after ten this morning. Ben had stopped three hours into the trip to gas up and they’d grabbed a cup of coffee and a snack. Now, her bladder was protesting. Time to find the nearest bathroom.
As they parked and climbed out of the truck, Sabine noticed an elderly couple approaching them. The woman was dressed in a colorful muumuu with leggings and a wide headband. She was a head under five feet for certain and had crackling blue eyes. “Well, Mr. B, here they are. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Ben and Sabine looked at one another, wondering if maybe she was mistaken.
“You are Ben Laroux and Sabine O’Connor, are you not?” the woman asked.
“Yes. That’s us.”
“Well. Welcome. You come with the blessing of our dear friend, Tanner Carmichael. That means you might as well be family, isn’t that right, Mr. B?”
“Eh?” The old man perked up.
“I said, ‘Any friend of Tanner’s is just like family to us, am I right?’” She nearly yelled at the poor guy, who clearly either was hard of hearing or was selectively so.
“Just call me Miz B, short for Bergeron, you know. We open our bed and breakfast for select guests now. Not everyone and not all the time. We’ve had our regulars for over fifty years.”
“It’s very kind of you to take our reservation. Your home is lovely,” Sabine said.
And it was. It was a large, well-maintained uptown mansion. The uptown section of New Orleans on Napoleon Avenue was graced with great, old painted historic homes that had seen a hundred years of humidity and hurricanes.
The lovely old homes were shaded by even older oak trees. The Bergeron’s home had extensive porches that stretched across the front and sides on all three levels. Ceiling fans turned lazily with the breeze. Lush ferns hung from iron hooks at intervals, adding to the welcoming and cozy atmosphere. Sabine breathed a sigh of relief. This house so reminded her of the house where she grew up several blocks over in the Garden District.
Sabine looked around, her beloved city unchanged in the two years she’d been away. It had been her home since birth and, even now, the familiarity seeped into her soul. The sidewalks, uneven from the tree roots growing through them and the sh
ifting soil. New Orleans was below sea level and, over the decades, the ground accommodated the floods and moist earth. The humidity hung around them, even though it wasn’t especially hot. The mighty Mississippi River powered its way through the city, only a couple blocks from where they stood.
While Sabine recognized this as her home, she already missed the life she’d built in Alabama. How could it be that a lifetime here had been supplanted so easily? Even as she’d tried to minimize her place in Ministry, Sabine realized now that it had become her home. Falling in love with the town and its people hadn’t been part of her plan. It had begun as a temporary place to hide and work while her life quieted down.
Now that she was back here, it gave her perspective and understanding. And it raised the stakes for returning to Alabama permanently. She couldn’t let anyone screw it up for her or her mother. There wasn’t a doubt that Mom intended to stay with Norman, and Norman was a permanent resident of Ministry. The worst possible thing to happen would be bringing their dirty laundry and past embarrassment to town.
Sabine wasn’t sure what Rachel intended but, hopefully, she would also consider making her home with them. They all assumed Dad would return to New Orleans and pick up the pieces of his life. He knew plenty of people and was a very socially active man. Women clearly loved him, so he should land on his feet in no time.
Who was she kidding? Dad would be a problem for them. He would want to intrude on their quiet lives in Ministry and be in the mix. How that worked for Mom, Sabine had no idea. She figured it was a wait and see deal. People divorced after lifetimes together all the time and worked these things out. They would find a way to co-exist somehow. And Dad would have to get used to the idea that Mom had found Norman, and that Norman wasn’t going away.
“Dear, can we have your luggage brought to your room?” Mrs. Bergeron’s melodic voice broke into her thoughts.
“Oh. Sure.” Sabine turned toward Ben, who was already taking the bags from the truck.
“Why don’t we let Clive do that? It’s what we pay him for, after all,” the woman said. Sabine looked beyond her and noticed a graying black man who was at least six feet tall, but probably nearing ninety.
Clive stepped up to take the bags from Ben, who appeared horrified to give the job to such an elderly gentleman. “No, sir. I can get them,” Ben said in a kind voice.
But Clive wasn’t to be dissuaded. “Sir, I’ve been a bellman for going on sixty-five years. I might look a feeble old man, but I’ve got the strength of an ox.” He laughed then, like rocks rolling around in a tin can, his grin revealing a perfect set of dentures.
Ben stepped back, sizing up the older man and, clearly not wanting to disrespect his position, handed over the two small bags. “Yes, sir. Thanks for your assistance.”
They all entered the bed and breakfast together. Mrs. B gestured for them to meet her at the small counter. “I’ve prepared the honeymoon suite, since it’s our largest room, dears.”
“Oh, we requested two rooms,” Ben said.
Mrs. Bergeron wrinkled her brow. “Well, I’m sure I don’t see that here on my book.” But her eyes twinkled when she looked up. “It doesn’t appear that I have anything else available, at the moment.”
Sabine wasn’t sure how to handle this woman. Clearly she was matchmaking and interfering, but why? She didn’t even know them.
Sabine and Ben shared a glance. “We’ll gladly take the honeymoon suite. But if it’s all the same to you, we’d appreciate you not letting anyone know we’re here if they come asking.”
Mrs. Bergeron blinked, her large, round eyes resembling an owl. “Of course not, honey. What goes on upstairs isn’t anyone’s business but ours. And yours, of course.”
“We appreciate your understanding. There are some, uh, delicate matters we’re attending to while we’re in town,” Ben said.
“Ooooh. Well, believe you me, we are the souls of discretion. This isn’t our first top secret rodeo, is it Mr. B?”
“Eh?” The old man tuned his hearing aid and everyone cringed at the high-pitched squeal.
Mrs. B rolled her eyes. “I’ll show you to your room.” As the stairs creaked under the woman’s weight, and her bones creaked at the significant effort, she turned and said, “Oh, and you can pull your car around to the back of the house if you don’t want anyone to see where you’ve gone.” She winked. “That’s very unusual here, you know. Most folks have to park on the street.”
“I grew up here, so I can appreciate you having parking off the street. We’re going to have another car to drive in town, so that will be very helpful,” Sabine said.
“Our friend, Tanner, communicated that you might have some special circumstances you might need accommodation for,” Mrs. B said.
“I shared with him that I was coming here and was looking for a place to stay just like yours. It seems he knew exactly what I was looking for.”
Sabine shot Ben a sideways look. “Did you tell your buddy, Tanner, everything?”
“No. Just that we were in a sensitive situation and required a small, discreet, and out-of-the-way housing situation. He’s had some real interesting cases and personal family situations, so I figured he would be our best bet for local information.”
They’d made it up to the top floor and were waiting for Mrs. B to unlock the door. No keypads or beeping cards. Real keys and locks here. When the heavy door opened, the woman stood aside for them to enter. Sabine sighed appreciatively. It was lovely—gorgeous even. The honeymoon suite was a suite that extended the entire top floor of the home. The ceilings were high, and ceiling fans hung from long poles. The dark wood floors shone and smelled of beeswax. The furniture was comfortable, with several pieces covered in muted florals, stripes, and solids, if a bit oversized. There was a powder room and a sitting area, along with a tiny kitchenette.
“It’s lovely,” Sabine said.
“The bedroom and master bath is through here.” The bed seemed gigantic, with its four posts. She’d have to take a running leap just to be able to get up there; it was so high off the floor.
The bathroom was small, but well-appointed. It still maintained the architecture of the old home, but allowed for more modern plumbing features.
“This is perfect. Thanks for allowing us to use the suite,” Ben said.
“I know you’ll make the best use of your time here.” Mrs. Bergeron grinned. “Well, it looks like Clive has brought your things up, so I’ll clear out of here and let you freshen up before dinner. Have you made plans this evening?”
“We discussed taking a walk down the street to Pascal’s Manale for barbecue shrimp,” Sabine said.
“I highly recommend it. They’ve been in business as long as we have on this street.” The woman nodded her approval. “How about I give them a call and let them know you’ll be along, say, around six thirty, seven?”
“That would be fantastic. Thanks so much,” Ben said, and looked at Sabine, who nodded her agreement.
They’d walked to the exterior door of the suite. “Toodles, dears.”
Ben shut the door behind the woman. “Toodles?”
Sabine giggled. “Remind me to send your buddy, Tanner, a fruit basket. Possibly with a snake inside. Just kidding. What a colorful couple. This place is fantastic. I can’t decide if it’s going to be a terrific place to stay or a nightmare. It feels a bit like a surreal horror movie on the one hand—like we’ve just been lured in and it’s too good to be true. Very strange.”
Ben laughed at her. “Watching too many weird movies lately?”
“No. Just having a hard time relaxing.”
“I saw something in the room next door that might help.” He took her hand and led her through to the bedroom with the Fred Flintstone bed.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bed quite this big.”
“I like having a lot of surface space to work with.” He picked her up before she had the chance to react, and she squealed.
Then, he dumped her on top of
the very large and very soft surface space, where he joined her with his big, hard body that made her forget all the things she’d been worrying and obsessing about since they’d left Ministry.
“So, we’ve got a couple hours before dinner, huh?” he asked, while finding a very sensitive spot on her neck with his lips.
A tingle shot through Sabine. “Ah. Seems so. Any ideas on what to do? Should we nap?”
“Mmm. Nap? I’m not especially sleepy.” He kicked off his shoes and they thudded onto the floor. “But I do like the idea of staying horizontal for awhile.”
She tried to catch her breath as his magical fingers found the clasp of her bra. “I like that idea too.” Sabine grinned at him. “But what shall we do for two whole hours?”
“Let me show you.”
The giant bed was littered with their clothing and their bodies within seconds. Thankfully, the windows had shades, and those shades were currently in the down position.
And, even more thankfully, the bed was sturdy and didn’t squeak, because Ben Laroux wasn’t a small man, and he wasn’t a quiet or still man. In fact, Sabine would describe his lovemaking as rather athletic in nature, which suited her fine in this particular instance. A little jungle sex between two consenting adults fit the bill today. The old house likely had thick walls. So, it was all good.
Very good. Twice.
“Shower. I need a shower,” Sabine said, finally.
She was a puddle. A completely sated and sweaty puddle.
Ben was lying under the covers, grinning, as she stood. There was nothing to reach for to cover with, as they’d not even bothered to open suitcases yet.
“Don’t mind me,” he said, clearly fine with her crossing the room stark naked.
“You’re an animal.”
“But you liked it.” She tossed a pillow at his self-satisfied smirk just before streaking into the adjoining bath. “Looking good.” Sabine heard him say just before she closed the bathroom door.
She couldn’t help smiling. He made her happy. Yes, happy. No matter how terrible Richard was on this trip, Ben would be right here with her, and it would be okay.
