I’d just gotten off shift and was tired as hell. We’d had three prison yard brawls today, and by halfway through the day, Bayou had pulled everyone’s access to the ‘yard’ and even the ‘common areas.’ Every last inmate was served their dinner in their cell, and I was thankful for it.
There was something in the air tonight that was making life harder than it needed to be.
It’d started with that morning. I’d gotten my truck back from my dad, I’d visited with two cute little babies, and I’d gone home to get dressed for work.
And when I’d started out for work, I nearly rear-ended someone that pulled out in front of me. At the next stoplight, when I could see into said person’s back window and rearview mirror, I saw that it was none other than the woman that set my blood to boiling—Brielle.
The woman that was currently at dinner with us.
Or had been until she’d gotten a phone call and made her way outside.
That had been the only lucky part of my day.
“Is it usual to have fights like we did today?” I asked.
He shrugged. “The full moon sometimes affects them. Today was a particularly bad day, however. I rarely ever confine them to their cells. It always seems to backfire in the end, but there was no containing today’s need. They were going there if I had to force every last one of them into their cells.”
My cell phone rang, and I pulled it over from where it was resting at the edge of the table and glanced at the screen.
Shiloh.
My aunt.
“I have to take this,” I said, going to stand.
He waved me off. “Just answer it here. Brielle talks really loud.”
He gestured with his head to where he could see Brielle pacing and waving her arms outside.
Nodding once, I pulled the phone to my ear and said, “Hey, Aunt Shiloh. What’s up?”
“Hey, baby,” Shiloh said in her warm, sweet voice. “I happened to be talking to your dad, and he said you were out to eat with Bayou Beauregard. Is that true?”
I frowned. “Yes. Why?”
“I…nothing bad, I promise. Not really. But...would you mind bringing him by the compound? I want to…speak with him.”
Frowning at the hesitancy in her voice, I said, “I’ll ask him if he’s willing to come over there. Can I get some information to hand out, at least?”
“Sure,” she hesitated. “Tell him it pertains to his ex—the woman that he saw about four years ago.”
Shaking my head at Shiloh’s evasiveness, I hung up with her and then said to Bayou, “So my aunt wants me to bring you by the compound. She also said that she’d like to speak with you. It’s about your ex. One from about four years ago.”
Bayou’s face darkened. “I’d rather not speak with her about that woman.”
The change on Bayou’s face was nothing short of electric.
I blinked. “Ummm.”
“What did you say your aunt does?” He paused in his anger.
“She’s a social worker,” she said. “She works for the state.”
Bayou seemed to gather himself under control. “Maybe she listed me as an emergency contact, and they’re going to tell me she’s fucked herself up and she needs the plug pulled.”
My mouth fell open. “That bad?”
He nodded once. “That fuckin’ bad.”
Bayou started to gather up his food and trash, shoving it all onto the plate in front of him.
“She wouldn’t want to talk to you unless it was important,” I said. “But I’m not sure why she knew to even ask my dad. But, like always, I don’t pretend to understand her and my father’s relationship.”
“She saw us, maybe?” he suggested. “I was there for a couple of hours the day before.”
“That’s true,” I admitted. “But normally she only…never mind. We’ll go and figure out what she has to say from her. Speculating about the two of them is quite futile.”
Bayou reached into his pocket and withdrew two twenty dollar bills again, placing them on the table.
I looked down at my half-eaten burger and decided to take it with me as I just shook my head. “One of these days I’m going to get to pay.”
Bayou’s eyes flicked up to meet mine. “And one of these days, it won’t be when you’re with me.”
I scoffed. “We’ll see.”
“No, we won’t,” he countered. “I’ll drive behind you.”
I frowned, kind of wishing that he’d want to ride with me. Or have me ride with him. Either would be good at this point.
“Hey, where are y’all going?” Brielle called out, phone still pressed to her ear.
“Home,” Bayou lied. “See you tomorrow for breakfast.”
Brielle frowned, but as she saw us both go to our respective vehicles, she didn’t protest us leaving at the same time.
Which I could tell she wanted to.
But without sounding weird, she couldn’t protest her adopted brother leaving with a woman at the same time. Especially since he’d made it sound as if we were going to our separate homes.
Bayou stayed right on my tail the entire time, and we arrived at the compound thirty-two minutes later.
Pounding in the code to get in the gate—we each had our own individual code to get in—I waited for it to open and kept taking surreptitious glances in my rearview mirror to see where Bayou’s eyes were aimed.
Each time I did, I found that they were directed at me.
A delicious shiver went down my spine at the thought of his eyes—and other things—being on me.
Texting my aunt while the slowest gate in eternity opened—it was solar powered and it’d been overcast and raining for the last two weeks—I got an immediate reply that she was in the main offices.
When the gate finally swung open enough for me to get through—and yes, I’d learned to wait after hitting it not once, but four times in my impatience to get through—I drove straight to the offices and parked.
Shiloh’s car, James, her husband’s bike, and my dad’s bike were there.
Something in Shiloh’s back seat made me pause.
Why did she have a car seat?
Did she have Janie’s daughter with her?
Janie was James’ first child with another woman and had a baby just a few years ago with a man that was to die for. They lived about an hour away, and it wasn’t often that Rafe, Janie’s husband, allowed their daughter to stay anywhere overnight. And it was definitely nearing nine o’clock in the evening.
Bayou, having joined me, asked, “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. I was just wondering why she had a car seat, but I’m assuming she had her grandchild today.”
He made a noncommittal sound and followed behind me every step, a menacing shadow that made my heart pound and my palms damp with sweat. But not the nervous kind, it was the kind that made me want to do naughty things and loosen the control that he clung so tightly to all the time.
If I wasn’t worried that he’d tell me to take a hike, I might’ve already done it. You know, when I was fifteen or sixteen, and he was a cute man who tried hard to be the person everyone thought he should be.
We hit the door, and Bayou got it for me before I could reach out and take the handle.
“Thank you,” I smiled up at him.
He didn’t say ‘you’re welcome,’ but the small smile on his lips was enough.
“Where to?” he asked once he closed the door behind us.
“I’m assuming they’re in the conference room,” I shrugged.
I really had no idea.
This place was quite large, and not only did it have a conference room big enough to hold half the compound—at least forty people—it also housed six bedrooms, a fully stocked state-of-the-art kitchen, and offices that belonged to all six original men who’d created Free—James, Jack, Elliott, Gabe, my dad, and Max—and now Janie.
So yes, they really could be anywher
e.
But I found them the first place I looked. The conference room.
I smiled at my dad, followed by my aunt. I dropped a kiss on my uncle James’ cheek as I passed, and came to a halt next to a conference chair that housed the cutest brown-haired little girl in existence.
“Well, hello.” I smiled down at the girl.
She had to be two or three at most. My guess was three because she was easily navigating her way through a puzzle that would likely be difficult for a two-year-old.
“Bayou,” I heard the man that’d followed me in say. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Shiloh. This is my husband, James,” I heard my aunt reply softly. “Sorry, but Phoebe was raised in a barn and can’t remember common manners.”
I scoffed and turned my head to survey my aunt. “I’m sorry, but I thought y’all met before. My bad.”
A soft, baby fine touch on my hair had me turning back around to see the little girl standing on the swivel chair with her hand raised.
“Pink?” The little girl ran her finger down my hair again.
I smiled.
My hair was what one would call ‘strawberry blonde,’ but to a three-year-old, I could see how she’d get pink out of it.
I’d hated my hair from the moment that it’d started to change from the blonde it’d been originally when I was born to this strawberry blonde that couldn’t quite choose whether it wanted to be blonde or red.
“Yes.” I smiled down at her, then touched her hair. “Brown.”
Her eyes frowned, a look that I’d seen on the man that was now at my back a hundred times before, and then she looked over at the man beside me.
The man that also had brown hair.
The man that had gray eyes just like her, too.
My heart started to gallop and the breath in my chest started to come in pants.
And that was when I knew why Bayou was called to the house. Why Shiloh—a social worker—was looking for him.
Bayou hadn’t made the connection yet, but he was frowning.
Not hard enough to scare the little girl, but enough that I could tell something was off and his brain was trying to piece together the information.
“Take a seat, please,” Shiloh instructed. “Phoebe, would you mind giving us some privacy?”
I swallowed hard and looked at my dad.
He was already up and moving, as was James.
“She can stay,” Bayou said. “Unless you feel like what you have to say is something that needs to stay secret from them. I never meant to hide Ilsa or my past. It’s bad, though.”
Ilsa.
My stomach clenched.
James and my father resumed their seats.
I took the seat closest to the little girl and smiled at her when she turned those eyes so much like Bayou’s to me.
They immediately skittered away, and my heart wrenched as a thousand worries started to pour through me.
She hadn’t been held—which I knew Shiloh would’ve made sure to do. This place was big, and a little girl didn’t sit eight chairs away from the only person that she knew—Shiloh—unless she didn’t want to be sitting in said woman’s lap. Because Shiloh loved every little kid that ever came through her door. No matter if it was for five minutes, or ten years.
They were her kids.
And Shiloh wasn’t the type of person to allow a young girl like the one that was sitting next to me be as far away as she was without a damn good reason.
“Okay,” Shiloh said as she began. “I’m just going to go ahead and start, but please, don’t lose it. I’ve been made aware of a few of your problems with Ilsa. I’ve also been doing my homework. I realize that what y’all had ended very poorly, and was very short lived.”
“It was,” Bayou agreed. “But I’m not bitter about it.”
It was my dad’s grimace and the slant of his eyes toward the little girl by my side that caused my fears to be confirmed.
He knew.
Our eyes met, and I saw the understanding dawn in his eyes that he knew I knew.
He winked at me, and I blew out a breath.
“How about you start with your version of what happened?” Shiloh suddenly suggested.
Bayou tilted his head and leaned back in the chair, his arms going across the uniform that was still starched to perfection even after him wearing it all day.
His right wrist touched the badge that was on his left breast pocket, and I wondered if he polished it.
A little hand touched my wrist, and I looked down to see the girl holding out a puzzle piece toward me. One she hadn’t been able to figure out.
I took the puzzle piece from her and twisted it in the correct direction, then handed it back.
She immediately fitted it into place before starting on the next piece.
“I’m curious why it matters,” Bayou said. “I’m sorry, but did Ilsa die or something? Did she do something stupid and is now going to prison? Is she trying to get her kids back from welfare?”
“Something like that,” Shiloh said. “It does involve her children.”
Children. Plural.
Bayou sighed and leaned forward again, placing his elbows on the expensive butcher block conference table that my father had purchased because I’d said I liked it.
“I didn’t know she had any kids at first,” he admitted. “I met Ilsa four years ago. We had a fling while I was on leave. And that fling almost cost me my military career. Did cost me it, really.” He paused. “Ilsa was a user. A very smart, very ingenious user. She hid her affliction well, and I didn’t even realize that she used drugs until I was being pulled over after spending the night with her…in a hotel room that she usually sold drugs out of.”
“Did you get arrested?” Shiloh asked.
Bayou shook his head. “No. I had four more days left on leave, and I spent those with a tail. I didn’t realize that Ilsa was the reason for that tail until I met with her one other time the day before I left. That was when I found out that not only did she use drugs—after we had relations—but she had a warrant out for her arrest. I was zipping my pants up and about to leave to report back to my new command post when the door was broken down and a search warrant team was storming the room.
“She made the next twelve hours hell as I tried to explain that she was only a fling. And since they had no reason to detain me, I went back to my new station. But her stink followed me. An officer called me, called my CO, hounded pretty much everyone that was involved with me to the point that my CO didn’t trust my judgment anymore and handed me every shit job he could find when I was a seasoned military police officer. Therefore, I retired from the Army six months after that night with Ilsa and tried to never look back. Only Ilsa, finding out where I was, continued to show her face. Each time I saw her, she got a little more angry that I refused to have anything to do with her. The last time I saw her, she promised me I’d regret it, and I did. Because a couple of days later I found out that she had about four kids, and she’d accused me of trying to kidnap them.”
My mouth fell open.
“She what?”
He nodded, his eyes flicking briefly to me.
“Luckily, I was at Dixie’s place, and I had about six police officers that were friends of mine swear that I was four hundred miles away from her and the attempted kidnapping at the time,” he said. “Had some digging done on her and found out that she was a slimy little creature as well as a druggie. She was good at using people, and those four kids of hers were the unluckiest kids on the planet. Luckily, Ilsa had a good mother that cared for them, otherwise, I would’ve gone out of my way to make sure that she didn’t have them anymore.”
Shiloh sighed. “And you didn’t have any more contact with her?”
Bayou shook his head. “She backed off. I haven’t seen or heard from her in about three and a half years.”
He stopped and waited for more information. I could tell he was curious a
s to why any of this was relevant, and I could clearly tell he was humoring us with what information he was giving.
There was likely more, but I was sure without more information he wasn’t going to give that out as willingly.
Shiloh blew out a breath.
“About a month ago, Ilsa got reported to CPS by her mother.” Shiloh glanced at Bayou, then down the table at the little girl that was now fitting the last piece of her puzzle into place. “CPS became involved, and nothing was found.”
We all waited, knowing there would be more to this story than met the eye.
“And…”
“And, it wasn’t until Ilsa’s youngest daughter, Isa, nearly died from a drug overdose that CPS could finally pin something on Ilsa.” Shiloh jerked her chin toward the little girl.
That was when I started to notice the bruising on the little girl. In places that IVs would go such as around the top of her foot, and in the little bend of her elbow.
She also looked quite pale and based on the man’s coloring that was two seats down from the little girl, that wasn’t her natural skin tone.
Her hair was also shaved in a spot right above her right ear, synonymous with a drain or shunt of some sort. Did she have brain swelling due to her drug overdose?
“And the little one beside you just spent a month in the hospital, fighting for her life,” Shiloh said softly.
Bayou looked over at the little girl and frowned.
He still didn’t see it.
But he would.
I swallowed hard, about to blurt out my observation, but someone—my father—kicked me under the table, causing me to narrow my eyes at him.
Then I kicked him back.
He winked, and I bared my teeth at him.
Puzzle pieces hit the table, and I looked over to see the little girl—Isa—scatter all the pieces she’d just painstakingly fitted into place all over the table in front of her, then reach for the first piece again.
I blinked as she started with a middle piece.
Jesus, the kid was smart.
I wasn’t sure how she knew that went there, but I was enraptured all the same.
“That’s awful,” Bayou finally said, turning away. “Did Ilsa finally get charged?”
“Yes and no,” Shiloh answered. “She claims that it was her boyfriend, who was watching her that night, that was responsible for the overdose. The ‘boyfriend’ under question, according to her mother, is actually just some man that randomly comes by the house for drugs, but for some reason, he’s covering for Ilsa. It’s a he said, she said kind of thing right now. With five kids in the middle.”
One Chance, Fancy Page 9
