Confessions: Bailey (Confessions Series Book 6)

by Ella Frank

Dick yanked rAz away and passed him off to one of the uniforms. “You okay?” he asked Henri. “You didn’t get hit or shot at or anything like that, did you?”

  Henri knew Dick was just asking to be professional, but for a second he let himself believe that he and Bailey’s brother could be cordial, if given the chance. Now, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get that.

  “I’m fine, detective. No extra paperwork for you tonight.”

  Henri wasn’t sure, but he thought he almost caught the beginnings of a grin on Dick’s mouth.

  “How about no paperwork between you and me from now on?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, I can’t exactly have my brother’s boyfriend as my CI now, can I?”

  Not about to point out that he might not be Bailey’s anything anymore when he was about to get his freedom, Henri said, “I guess not. I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, but—”

  “It’d be a fucking lie?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  Dick made his way to the door and said, “You made me look good here tonight, Boudreaux. That’s not an easy fucking task. Go home and celebrate.”

  Henri walked out the door and into the now-bustling hall, and as he thought about the empty home he was now heading back to, he thought, Celebrate? Celebrate what? He had nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  CONFESSION

  I’m tired of being the good guy.

  Tired of always being “Saint Bailey.”

  “SO…HOW WAS your sex vacation? I want all the dirty details. And start from the top, since we both know that’s where you like it best.”

  Xander shrugged out of his grey fleck peacoat and hung it on Bailey’s coatrack, then stepped into the living room, ready for all the salacious details from Bailey’s impromptu getaway.

  God, this was the last thing Bailey wanted to do tonight, Saturday night dinner with the family. But he’d known that if he canceled twice in a row there would be questions, people at his front door to make sure he was okay, and he figured he could avoid that by plastering on a smile for a couple of hours and then sending them on their way.

  It might even do him good to be around other people. Maybe that way he’d stop obsessing over the person he’d sent away. Not that he’d been very good at that in the past, and whenever he’d tried, his obsession had only gotten worse.

  “Earth to Bay…”

  “Huh?”

  Xander chuckled as he walked into the living room. “Where did you just go? I asked how your trip was. But before you answer, how about we get a fire going in here or something? It’s freezing.”

  Was it? Bailey hadn’t even noticed. Then again, he’d been spending a lot of time curled up in his bed watching TV or just…existing.

  Xander grabbed a couple of the logs from the pile Bailey kept by the hearth and crouched down to place them on the grate. “Are you okay? You seem a little out of it.”

  Okay, Bay, time to pull yourself together, or he’s going to start asking more questions. “I’m fine,” Bailey lied, and then looked out the window to the night sky. “I guess I didn’t realize how chilly it got when the sun went down.”

  Xander eyed him until Bailey started to get a little fidgety.

  “Let me grab the matches and we can get this going.” Bailey headed to the side table and pulled out the box of long matches. Once they got the fire underway, Xander brushed his hands off and slipped them into the pockets of his designer jeans.

  “So, you never said. How was your trip?”

  Bailey grabbed the poker and jabbed the wood a few times as he tried to think about the sunshine, sand, and crystal-blue water. The beautiful bungalow, and the way he’d felt when Henri said he loved him.

  But those memories were quickly replaced by Henri’s nightmare, the pain etched across his face as he relived it all for Bailey, and the sadness in his eyes when Bailey said he needed time and walked away.

  “It was good.”

  Xander frowned and opened his mouth as though he were about to ask something, but before anything came out, the front door swung open and Sean sauntered inside.

  “All right, where is he?” Sean’s voice bounced off the walls as he stopped in the entryway with a six-pack of Heineken under one arm and a bag full of groceries under the other.

  He had a smile on his face that was kind of…scary in its joy, and when he spotted Bailey standing with Xander by the fireplace, the smile widened.

  “There you are.”

  Bailey frowned, unable to remember the last time his brother had been so jubilant, and was ashamed to admit his first question was whether Sean had been drinking.

  “Here I am,” Bailey said as he put the poker back in its holder. “You seem unusually…cheerful this evening.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes, you do,” Xander said as he walked over to Sean. “What happened? Did you run over someone’s puppy on the way here?”

  “No, I reserve that activity for Sundays, but I’m happy because of what happened last night.”

  “Oh?” Xander said as he reached for the brown paper bag. “And what exciting adventure did you get up to last night, detective? Maybe we could compare notes.”

  Sean opened his mouth to reply, but when nothing came out, Xander smirked and looked at the bag. “You going to let go of that?”

  “Huh?”

  “The grocery bag.”

  Sean looked down to the brown sack and nodded. “Oh, yeah. Take it.”

  “Now that’s something I don’t mind hearing on my Friday nights.” Xander hefted the bag into his arms and laughed at Sean’s bewildered expression. “Oh, forget it. How do you have a gay brother?”

  Bailey finally felt the beginnings of a grin creep across his lips as Xander turned toward him and winked.

  “At least I finally got you smiling.”

  “What’s the matter with you? Why aren’t you smiling?” Sean said. But Bailey wasn’t in the mood to share. Not with Xander and definitely not with Sean.

  “Don’t bother,” Xander said. “I already tried. He’s deflecting.”

  Bailey sighed. He knew he hadn’t fooled Xander. “I’m just not in a great mood. Is that a crime?”

  “For you? Yes,” Xander said.

  “He’s right, Bay,” Sean said. “I’m usually the grumpy fucker. And the one night I’m finally in a good mood, you’re being all broody and won’t tell us why.”

  Bailey rubbed a hand over his head. “Why don’t we talk about your good mood, then? That sounds like a better plan to me. I can’t actually remember the last time I saw you in one.”

  Xander chuckled as he headed toward the kitchen, and Sean and Bailey followed.

  “Turns out it actually involves your guy, Boudreaux.”

  Bailey’s feet came to a grinding halt. No one noticed, though, because Xander was in front of him, and Sean had already launched into the rest of his story.

  “We finally got him, Bay. You know, that motherfucker who’s been killing off his girls? Your guy walked in there last night as though he didn’t have a worry in the world—ballsy as fuck, he was—and got one of the nastiest pieces of work to tell him exactly what we wanted to hear. I told you Boudreaux was a charming asshole.”

  Bailey wanted to congratulate Sean, knowing how much this meant to his brother, but he was busy trying to hide his reaction to the fact that Henri had been in real danger last night.

  At Bailey’s non-response, Sean’s exuberance vanished. “Okay, what’s going on with you?”

  Knowing Sean would put this together quicker than he could think up a good lie, Bailey decided that avoidance was the best course of action. He turned on his heel, ignored Sean’s question altogether, and headed through to the kitchen.

  Xander had the fridge open and was busy putting the steaks and veggies in there for later. Sean put the six-pack on the kitchen island and said, “This bad mood of yours. It got something to do with Boudreaux?”

  Yes. It had everythin
g to do with Henri. But there was no way Bailey was admitting that.

  “Because the last time we spoke, you were busy telling me to back off because this was serious.”

  Xander straightened and shut the fridge, then pulled a bottle of Heineken from the pack and twisted the top off. “You’re such an asshole.”

  “Hey.” Sean pointed at Xander. “I backed off, okay?”

  “What made you think you had a say in the first place? Bailey can date whoever he wants.”

  Sean looked to Bailey. “Is that it, Bay? Did you and Henri have a fight?”

  Bailey chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to decide how best to put this. “Uh, no. We just decided to take some time apart, you know. Things were going a little fast.”

  Sean grabbed a beer and twisted the top off. “No shit. I told you to take it slow with him. What happened? He show his true colors or something?”

  Bailey stiffened and automatically went on the defensive. “True colors?”

  “Yeah,” Sean said. “You know what I mean. Once a crook, always a crook. He did good last night, but in the long run, can you really trust someone like that?”

  Like a switch had been flipped, Bailey’s temper was instant. How dare Sean pass judgment on someone he knew nothing about? Especially someone who had just helped him close the biggest case of his career.

  With his fists clenched, Bailey took a step toward his brother, ready to give him a piece of his mind. But Xander got in between them.

  “Why don’t you give it a rest, Sean?”

  Sean’s eyes shifted to Xander. “And if I don’t, you gonna make me? That didn’t work out so well that one time you tried in high school.”

  Xander’s spine stiffened at the reminder of his fistfight with Sean back in the day. But then he tilted his head up in his I’m so much classier and sophisticated than you will ever be look that he’d perfected over the years. “Unlike you, I use my hands for much more pleasurable things than fighting. And the way I argue requires you have a brain. So how about you just back the fuck off, detective?”

  Sean’s jaw twitched as he held an epic stare-down with Xander. But when it became clear Xander wasn’t about to back down, Sean let out a breath and looked to Bailey. “Just be careful. That’s all I’m saying.”

  With his anger now having fizzled out, Bailey shook his head. “That’s not all you’re saying, and honestly, I really don’t want to hear anything you do have to say.”

  Bailey stepped around Xander and looked between them both. “I wasn’t in the mood to do this before you both got here but thought, why not, it might make me feel better. It didn’t, sorry. I think I’m going to call a rain check. If one of you could text Kieran and let him know not to bother—if he was even going to—I think I’d rather be alone.”

  Xander reached for Bailey’s hand. “Are you sure? I can—”

  “I’m sure,” Bailey said, and squeezed his friend’s hand. “I just want to be alone.”

  “Okay.”

  Xander glared at Sean, who said, “What? It’s not just my fault. He’s kickin’ you out, too.”

  Xander mumbled, “Ignorant idiot,” as he walked out of the kitchen, and Sean followed.

  As the front door opened and closed, Bailey let out the breath that he didn’t even realize he’d been holding.

  Silence… He had never appreciated it more, but as he looked around the kitchen and to the breakfast nook, he was reminded of the last time he’d been in it with Henri.

  The last look, the last touch, the promise he’d made to climb the walls and to burn the bridges down. But now that he had, could he live with what he’d found in amongst all the ashes?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  CONFESSION

  Hitting people has never really been my style,

  but this morning I was tempted…

  IT WAS FREEZING in his garage as Bailey opened the door and stepped into it. It was Monday morning and exactly ten days since he’d seen or heard from Henri, and while he’d been the one who asked for some time and space, the more that Henri gave to him, the more Bailey was beginning to hate asking for it.

  Still on leave from work, he’d had nothing but time and an empty house that was good for thinking but even better for overthinking. In fact, Bailey was positive he’d done nothing but think since the moment Henri had finished talking that night back in Jamaica. He was going stir crazy, but the problem was that he had no one he could talk to about this problem.

  What Henri had told him was a secret Bailey was still trying to wrap his mind around. It was life changing, he knew that, and depending on what he decided to do with the information would determine whose life it would change.

  Bailey flicked the light switch in his garage and stared at the punching bag in front of him. This was where he’d been spending a lot of his time over the last week, beating up this old thing as opposed to himself, because he couldn’t decide what the hell he was going to do.

  On one hand, he could—and should—go down to the police station and report the crime that had been confessed to him on the best and worst night of his life.

  Bailey picked up the gloves, slipped them on, and stared at the bag.

  Or he could understand that Henri had lived in fear and terror his entire life, and know that what had happened that night had been to survive. It had happened because Henri thought Priest had been killed, and that he would be next.

  Bailey’s glove smashed into the bag, as he thought about the documentary he’d watched yesterday on Jimmy Donovan, the infamous crime boss of New Orleans.

  The things that asshole had done over the years, the people he and Henri’s father had tortured and murdered, were the stuff nightmares were made of, and the last one—Paul Stevens—had been done with Priest right there.

  God. Thinking about what those two boys had gone through made Bailey sick. What Henri must’ve had to deal with as a boy, a teenager, an adult who was sucked into a world he was too frightened to leave.

  Bailey took another swing at the bag and cursed as he made impact. His next few jabs were harder, faster, angrier. His outrage over the injustice those kids had faced rose inside of him with an outrage that left him sweaty and sore, until his arms gave way and he was holding on to the bag.

  Bailey squeezed his eyes shut as they began to blur, his frustration over the situation escaping him the only way it could. Tears down his cheeks, shouting out his lungs, and wanting to collapse in his bed—the same bed that now felt too big and empty without Henri in it.

  He needed to make a decision. But the choice laid out in front of him seemed like some kind of cruel test.

  He’d always been taught to follow the law. That those who committed a crime should be held accountable. But what happened when you understood the reason for the crime? And what if you had committed a similar one but were exempt because you wore a badge and uniform?

  Those were the questions that haunted him, and the reason for his indecision.

  When Bailey felt his legs weren’t about to collapse on him anymore, he let go of the bag and tore off his gloves. He tossed them onto the workbench, then wiped a hand over his brow and headed inside. He was just about to make his way to his bedroom when there was a loud knock at the door.

  He thought about ignoring it, but in the back of his mind he couldn’t stop the voice whispering that maybe, just maybe, it was Henri.

  When Bailey pulled open the door, he was glad he was hanging on to the handle, because standing in front of him was the last person he’d expected to see—Joel Priestley, or as Bailey now also knew, Joel Donovan.

  Dressed for work, Priest appeared as put together as ever in a navy wool coat over a blue suit, and when he took in Bailey’s black sweats and sweaty white tank, he raised a brow. “Hi. I’m sorry to just drop by like this. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

  Bailey wondered what Priest would say if he said this was interrupting him crawling back in bed to pine over Henri. He shook his head and ste
pped aside to let Priest in. “No, you’re not. It’s fine. I just got through working out, that’s all.”

  Priest raised an eyebrow as if he didn’t quite believe that, which probably had a lot to do with the fact that Bailey was looking a little pale, a little unshaven, and a whole lot worse than Priest had ever seen him before.

  Bailey shut the door as Priest wandered toward the living room and looked around. It was strange that the two of them had been friends for quite a while now and yet Priest had never been in this house.

  Huh, maybe Bailey would invite him, Julien, and Robbie over one day, providing they were still all friends after this.

  “Should I be worried talking to you right now?” Priest asked.

  Bailey took a deep breath and walked past Priest and into the living room. He’d wondered how this was going to go, what Priest would think and feel when he found out what Henri had confessed. “No.” He looked over his shoulder to Priest. “I would never betray your trust that way.”

  Priest slipped his hands into his pockets. “And that’s what’s most important to you? Trust?”

  While Bailey heard Priest’s question, he also heard the hidden one beneath the surface, and felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.

  All he’d done for the past week was sit around and think about what Henri had told him, about what Henri had done. And no matter how many times the words replayed in Bailey’s head, they couldn’t replace the I love you.

  He missed Henri. His voice, his laugh, that sexy smirk when he was up to no good, and Bailey had wrestled with himself over and over about the right thing to do in this situation.

  What could he live with? What could he live without? And as he agonized over that answer, he realized that he was the only one that would ever know. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation on what was, or wasn’t, most important to him.

  “Why don’t you ask me what you really want to ask, Priest?”

  “Okay. Is your loyalty to the police force going to put me and my family in a prison cell?”