Bayou Vows

by Geri Krotow

  Chapter 16

  Jena endured the trip to Paraguay only because she wanted to see the bastards who’d killed so many innocent people behind bars. The days passed in a blur and, true to Grant’s word, she was back in NOLA by Tuesday morning. Grant left her in Miami, hopping the next plane to D.C. as she went on to New Orleans.

  After a pit stop at the carriage house to shower, she went into The Refuge House. She knew she wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t have a minute’s rest, until she’d had a chance to talk to Jeb.

  He’d gone radio silent the entire time she was gone, refusing to answer her texts. She couldn’t blame him, but she had to show him that she was telling the truth, that The Refuge House was her work. That her life was here, with Jeb.

  She walked in through the front door, wanting to see the center through a client’s eyes. The front of the house was freshly painted and looked like all the other stately homes on the avenue. But the porch had been widened, an accessible ramp installed, and the unobtrusive sign with the “The Refuge House Community Services” painted in script hung on brass chains from hooks screwed into the porch overhang. It was welcoming and professional.

  Jena opened the front door to a cacophony of voices of all ages, phones ringing, and the toddler-level television in the play corner blaring a musical cartoon. She looked to the newly hired receptionist, who looked frazzled as she quietly but firmly spoke to a distraught man who held a baby in his arms. It was only eight in the morning—the door had opened minutes ago.

  “Hey, Maribel. Can I help?” She stood behind the counter, next to Maribel, and gave the man a smile. The baby was adorable, her bright eyes full of life.

  “Welcome back, Jena. This is Mr. Du Bois. He came in on Friday afternoon to find out about educational and counseling services for his five-year-old son, Mickey, who has ADD.”

  “He’s a very smart boy, but I’m not getting anywhere with the school.”

  “Why don’t you come back with me and I’ll see what we can do?”

  Maribel shot her a relieved look and mouthed “thank you” as Mr. Du Bois bent to pick up a large diaper bag.

  “Anything else you need help with today, send it my way.” She paused. “Is Jeb in yet?”

  Maribel’s eyes widened. “Oh, I thought you knew.”

  Her stomach heaved, and not from jet lag. “Knew what?”

  “He resigned, effective Saturday morning. It was the first thing I saw this morning when I came in.” She picked up a piece of paper and handed it to her. Jena didn’t read it—she didn’t need to.

  Jeb had finally had enough. He’d left.

  “Thanks, Maribel. By the way, I’m going to be out of the office for a few more days, maybe even a week.” With Jeb gone, it didn’t matter if she stayed here. She could go back to D.C. and get some work done that was waiting for her.

  * * * *

  The smell of sawdust mixed with welding assaulted Jeb’s nostrils, making his eyes smart.

  “I’ve missed this. There’s nothing else like it.” He spoke to Brandon as they walked through the shipbuilding facility. He’d insisted on showing Jeb what had changed, what they’d been able to salvage when he’d begun bankruptcy proceedings, and what the company would be able to do now that Jeb had brought back five million dollars.

  “That’s what I was counting on, bro.” Brandon stopped at the entrance to the flat-bottom boat production warehouse. His eyes, so much like Jena’s, lasered into him. “You’re not planning on taking out more money to save Jena anytime soon, are you?”

  Hell. He’d neglected to tell her family where she was, as if by doing so it wasn’t true and she’d be back. It was Tuesday; she said she’d be back by today.

  Not that he’d know. She’d have his resignation, and be either totally pissed at him or relieved to be rid of the constant friction at work. Probably both.

  “No, no chance.” Dread filled his gut. He should have waited to send the email to the Atlanta firm. He’d done it before he’d gone to Jena’s the other night, wanting to be able to tell her that he’d firmly committed to staying in NOLA.

  Now he had no choice but to take Brandon’s offer, at least for the cash flow—and to do the work he enjoyed most: building boats with his best friend.

  “Did you think more about doing volunteer hours for The Refuge?”

  “I’d rather work out something here, as a way to give back.” He couldn’t work around Jena again, ever.

  “Keep talking.” Brandon’s eyes lit up.

  “What if we team up with one of the high schools and begin a vocational program here? We’d be able to offer courses in welding and shipbuilding. I’d bet we could add in budgeting or basic finance—I’d teach that part, with an extra aside on embezzling.” He waited for Brandon to laugh and was relieved when he did.

  “That’s all good with me.”

  “I think I’ve finally accepted that you’re not going to be looking over your shoulder at me.”

  “No need.”

  “On that note, I’d like to have another person working the numbers with me. A third party neutral observer, so to speak.”

  “That’s not necessary, Jeb.”

  “It is. For my peace of mind. I never want you to have to think about what we’ve been through again.”

  Brandon quickly checked his phone for texts. They stood in the entrance to the flat-bottomed boat facility, the overhead lights harsh yet comforting. Jeb was back home.

  Except a true home for him included Jena.

  Not here.

  He couldn’t think about Jena in front of her brother, no matter how close they were. This cut was too deep. She had ripped the wound back open by reminding him that he hadn’t known about her job as an undercover agent. Jena’s inability to admit she was still involved with the CIA and unwilling to make a commitment to what he’d thought was their new relationship was a deal breaker.

  Jena deserved a man she’d trust with her entire life, the public and undercover. He wasn’t that guy.

  “Huh. Jena’s asking if I’ve run into you lately.” Brandon’s puzzlement was fortuitous, enabling Jeb to not reveal his immediate and profound relief. She was back, and safe.

  Until the next mission.

  “She knows how to reach me.”

  “Wait a minute—that sounds like you two are Splitsville again. What the hell, Jeb?”

  Jeb didn’t answer. He couldn’t, not without spilling the beans on where Jena had been all weekend. “At any rate, she says she’s on her way to D.C. for a few days. Something about wrapping up her Navy commitment.”

  Son of a bitch. Had she even come back from the weekend trip, then? Another gut punch, but he refused to label it a sucker punch. He wasn’t a sucker, unsuspecting of the reality of Jena’s career.

  So why did it still hurt so damned much?

  * * * *

  Jena sighed with relief as she boarded her fifth plane in as many days. This trip from NOLA to Dulles, Virginia, was as unexpected as the return visit to Asunción had been, but instead of being told to go, she’d made the choice. She had to go back to Langley and get something for Jeb. Proof that she was truly done with her career as a CIA officer.

  A man her height with a slight build bumped her as she placed her carry-on in the overhead bin, and she turned to see him give her a stony glare devoid of emotion, not offering an apology, his expression cold. Immediately her agent senses lit up.

  “Excuse me?” She smiled and knew it didn’t reach her eyes. She didn’t intend it to.

  He didn’t answer as he continued to stare at her. What the hell?

  She closed the bin and slid into the middle seat—it was all that was left when she’d bought her ticket for her short-notice trip. The cold seat belt clicked into place and she closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm down. The rude passenger wasn’t her problem; if there was an
alert on this flight, then a US Marshal was onboard. Not her circus.

  Would her instinct to always assume the worst ever go away?

  Jeb. He was all the reminder she needed that she was indeed coming back to herself, letting go of her undercover persona.

  She was headed back to Langley to sign the last of the paperwork that released her from her tenure with the CIA. She could have had it express mailed to her, but she wanted the documents in hand. In eight hours she’d be free, one hundred percent civilian, The Refuge House her only employer.

  With a jolt she realized what she had to do. She needed to make a grand gesture. Grander than the paperwork she would hold in her hand, saying her CIA employment was final. A grand gesture like Jeb had made, taking her to their tree after introducing her to his family.

  She pulled out her phone and texted him.

  Meet me at my place tomorrow night, eight o’clock.

  Normally she slept on flights, but on this one rest eluded her. Her life since she’d graduated college had revolved around being able to handle any situation thrown at her, from basic agent training, to advanced training, to taking down enemies with her bare hands. But for the life of her she couldn’t figure out how to reach Jeb, to prove to him that she was ready to let go of her past fear of commitment and trust someone with the rest of her life.

  Jeb.

  She ate the sack lunch she’d purchased in the NOLA airport, the hard-boiled egg not sitting well with her stomach. Something was bothering her; what was it? Aside from the overwhelming sense of grief that she’d lost Jeb forever.

  Pay attention.

  Her intuition alerted her, making her sit up and surreptitiously look around the cabin. She stood up and stepped over the sleeping man in the aisle seat, heading for the restroom at the front of the plane even though the rear bathroom was closer. Jena silently counted the passengers as she moved forward, noting that the flight was almost full. The bulkhead row had two empty seats, and she stopped in her tracks at the sight of the man who’d bumped her earlier. He leaned forward in his seat, making a slice across his throat with his finger before he pointed at her.

  What. The. Fuck.

  “Excuse me, do I know you?” She’d give him one last chance to come clean before she used her phone midair to contact Grant to raise the signal and have him detained upon landing. The chances of him being related to the Jardin cartel were slim, but she had just testified against them, ensuring the kingpin would spend the remainder of his life behind bars.

  Cool mental clarity flowed over her, putting her into the headspace she needed to face a potential enemy. Jena wasn’t a stranger to having her life threatened—it was part and parcel of working for her soon-to-be former employer. Back when she’d foolishly thought she had nothing to lose, being followed by a creep like this dude wouldn’t have fazed her.

  Now she stood to lose her last thread of hope for a life she’d never dared imagine. A life with Jeb.

  The man stood up and gave the cabin a quick perusal with his unfeeling eyes. In a blink he was in her face, not touching her, but definitely crossing all her personal boundaries.

  “You’re dead, bitch. This is from Jardin.” He flicked out a blade at least three inches long and jabbed at her midsection. Jena acted on instinct, lurching her core backward while forcing her arms between his, breaking his momentum. The knife flew from his grasp and a female passenger screamed. The sound of running footsteps rose above the roar of the jet engines, but to her it was all white noise. She grabbed the bastard’s head and knocked it with her forehead. His groan wasn’t satisfying—she never enjoyed hurting anyone. But it told her she’d hit her mark. Shoving her knee into his groin gave her the necessary result, as he bent in two and crumpled to the cabin floor. The passengers roared and clapped. Jena had never had such a large audience while taking out an attacker.

  A tall brunette woman in jeans and a blazer stood at the front of the cabin, speaking to the flight attendants. She took the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated while the authorities handle this situation. I’m US Marshal Williams. There is nothing to be concerned about. This man is a suspected felon who will be taken into custody upon landing.”

  Jena never took her attention away from the man she’d leveled. He lay in the fetal position, his face contracted in extreme pain, but she was prepared if he attempted any further action against her or another passenger.

  “This almost hit me.” A passenger held the criminal’s pocketknife in her palm, her hand held out for Jena to take it.

  “That’s mine, I believe.” Marshal Williams reached over with an evidence bag to take possession of the knife. She smiled at Jena. “US Marshal Serenity Williams.” Marshal Williams opened her blazer wide enough for Jena to see her holstered weapon. “I witnessed the entire event, Ms. Boudreaux. I’ve got this.” The suspect was still conscious, so Serenity read him his rights and cuffed him. She addressed the flight attendants who hovered over the scene. “We’ll keep him here until we land. If he’s up to it, I’ll buckle him into his seat for landing.”

  Jena shook her head. “Why the hell didn’t you sit up here? There were two empty seats next to him.”

  “Sorry about that. But to see you take him out—that’s a paying ticket.”

  “I’ll have to give a statement to TSA upon landing.”

  “We’ll make it brief, I promise.” The respect in Marshal Williams’s eyes caught Jena off guard. Of course the marshal had the flight manifest, and since Jena was a possible target of the Paraguayan cartel, it raised the risk against this particular flight. The marshal would have been thoroughly apprised of the situation.

  “Good.” Jena looked at Jardin’s henchman one last time. “Don’t give him any special treatment. His colleagues have caused enough devastation to last ten lifetimes.”

  “Agreed.”

  * * * *

  The next night, Jeb waited on Jena’s porch for two hours past the meeting time she gave him. His initial elation that Jena had told him the truth—her truth—quickly turned to despair. She’d said in her text that she had to leave this one last time.

  He’d been a fool.

  He looked at the trees around her carriage house as he turned to walk back to his car. The Spanish moss hung limply, as if the trees were weeping along with his heart. Something more important had kept her in D.C., or she’d arrived back home only to realize she didn’t want to be with him after all.

  Whatever the reason, it led to the same result:

  They were through.

  * * * *

  By the time Jena got to CIA headquarters for her final discharge ceremony and paperwork, three different videos had made it onto social media. It didn’t matter that Marshal Williams had instructed the passengers to turn over any cell phones they’d recorded with and warned that if anyone publicly shared images they were subject to prosecution. The sight of a female taking out a man with a knife was too juicy to ignore.

  “Good thing you’ve resigned. Your cover is totally blown.” Grant’s voice was level in the cubicle next to hers, where they’d shared their workload for the better part of the last decade.

  “No one knows I’m CIA—was CIA.” Only a few more minutes and she’d be walking out the door, away from her life in undercover service of the United States of America and toward her life with Jeb.

  “The social media posts got picked up by the Associated Press. They connected the suspect you took out with the Jardin cartel, which led them to the trial.”

  “You’re kidding me. This is your last little way to jerk my chain, right? Please tell me that’s what it is, Grant.”

  “Afraid not. But hey, they don’t have your name, and you’re returning to a quiet life in NOLA. Your fame will die a quick death—as long as no one recognizes your face on that grainy video.”

  “Right.” Her heart
began to pound. “But my friends and family might recognize me.” She had to call Jeb.

  “Let them know you’re okay, that they shouldn’t confirm it’s you with anyone.” Grant’s mouth was its usual straight line, but the skin around his eyes fanned and his eyes twinkled.

  “I’m glad you think this is funny.”

  “Aw, come here. I’m going to miss you.” He opened his arms and she regarded him warily.

  “You’ve never hugged me before.” He hadn’t—through all their missions, all the life-threatening and heart-stopping work they’d accomplished together, not one iota of affection had passed between them. They were partners, trained agents.

  “We weren’t about to become friends before.”

  She awkwardly stepped forward, accepting his brief, tight, bear hug, during which Grant whispered in her ear, “Go and get your man, Jena. You’ve earned every drop of happiness you can get.”

  Chapter 17

  “Jena!” Jena’s mother’s cry signaled she’d finally come back to NOLA for good. She’d walked out of the arrival gate and into the welcome arms of her family. Her mother’s voice had reached her over the others’, Gloria’s mascara running on cue. Her parents had texted continually while she was gone, asking when she’d return—another sign of their desire to turn over a new leaf.

  The news about her midair takedown had only added to their angst to have her back home.

  “Mom.” She hugged her mother, allowed the familiar grasp of her arms to sooth her, before she pulled back and took in everyone else: Hudson, Henry, and Sonja, with baby Will, Brandon, and Poppy.

  No Jeb. Disappoint sucker punched her gut, solid and low.

  Don’t go there.

  She’d find him, wherever he was. And do her best to convince him what she knew. They belonged together no matter what.

  “Honey, don’t you worry about anything. You’re home safe now.” Hudson hugged her, kissed her on her cheek before he gave her shoulders a tiny shake. “I can’t believe we fell for your Navy bit!”