One Chance, Fancy

by Vale, Lani Lynn

  I studied the little girl.

  “You’ve got the big man tied in knots,” I told her. “Your daddy is scared to death right now, and barely hanging on by a thread.”

  The little girl’s gray eyes, filled with intelligence, seemed to comprehend what I’d just said.

  She pressed her fingertip to my hair and ran it down from root to the hair tie that I had holding my hair into a tightly-controlled bun.

  “I don’t really know what to do with a three-year-old,” I told her teasingly. “Would you like to play on my phone?”

  I pulled it out of my pocket and unlocked it for her, thinking about what I had on there that a three-year-old could play.

  Nothing. I didn’t have a single game on there.

  “Umm,” I quickly went to the app store and found a puzzle game that she might like, downloading it and opening it all within about a minute.

  All the while she sat calmly on my lap watching me.

  No impatience at all.

  No…nothing.

  After showing her how to work the puzzle game, I handed the phone to her, which she took.

  Moments later, she was finishing the puzzle and handing it back.

  “Smart girl,” I teased.

  A big man walked in and my heart leapt.

  It settled back down when I saw who it was.

  “Hello, Rome,” I said softly.

  Rome’s eyes were warm when they met mine. Then they slid to the girl on my lap, and something in his eyes went haywire for a long moment before going soft.

  Rome’s son, Matias, had died of leukemia. I was sure that it was still as raw and fresh now as it was the day that it’d happened.

  “This Isa?” he asked softly.

  I nodded. “It is…did Bayou talk to you?”

  He pulled up the chair from Diane’s desk—Diane that I noticed was late as hell today and hadn’t called to tell anybody that she was going to be late or call in sick—and sat down.

  He was such a big man that his size was intimidating, but the smile he had on his face for the little girl in my lap was nothing short of beautiful.

  “She looks a lot like him,” Rome murmured, eyes trained on the girl’s face. “The hair. The…holy shit.”

  The eyes.

  “Yes,” I agreed as Isa looked at Rome and let him see her eyes. “She has his eyes, too. And like I just told Bayou, you should really watch your language around her.”

  He chuckled and leaned back in his chair as he studied the little girl.

  Isa nudged me and I looked down to see she’d finished the second puzzle.

  I found her a new one just as the phone rang.

  “Shit.”

  “What was that, Ms. Mackenzie? I don’t think we heard you.”

  I flipped Rome off and stood up to walk to the phone that only rang when I had an inmate on the way down.

  Usually it was a courtesy warning for us to put up any objects that shouldn’t be out when inmates were on their way down—like pens, or guns…things like that.

  My heart leapt. I couldn’t handle an inmate right now! Not with Bayou’s daughter in the infirmary with me while he was in a meeting.

  I answered the phone with a curt, “Hello?”

  “Ma’am,” the officer on the other end said. “I have a Slate Solis on the way down to you with a laceration that needs to be stitched up.”

  “Slate Solis?” I confirmed.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I said, sounding much calmer than I felt.

  I pulled up Slate’s file on my computer and scanned his records, all the while my stomach was churning.

  “Don’t worry,” Rome mumbled as he caught the look of panic in my eyes. “This prisoner is different. Plus, he’s my brother-in-law.”

  I frowned, unsure whether that was a good thing or not.

  “I’ll stay,” he continued to reassure me.

  I wasn’t sure whether I could believe him or not.

  Which Rome obviously read on my face.

  “Slate used to be a cop. Plus, the only reason he’s in here in the first place is because he killed his fiancée’s murderer. He’s set to get out in a year, six months if his parole goes without problem. He’s not going to do anything to jeopardize his chance to get out.” Rome paused. “Plus, I’m not leaving.”

  I blew out a breath.

  He must’ve sensed the panic on my face and thought to reassure me.

  “If you say he’s okay, then I’ll trust you.” I paused. “But just realize that Bayou’s daughter is over there, and I’ll beat the ever-loving shit out of anything that seeks to cause her harm.”

  Bayou’s daughter, oblivious to the tension in the room, continued to play with her puzzle game as if there was nothing in this world that could harm her.

  And I had a feeling, now, that it was true.

  Bayou, now that he knew about the little girl, would never allow her to come to harm.

  No matter what he had to do, or who he had to go through, to prevent it.

  Rome’s eyes narrowed on me. “Good.”

  That was when the prisoner was brought into the room.

  He had chains on his ankles and on his hands, and he was shuffling in about as fast as his chains would allow him.

  He was bleeding profusely from a gash right above his left eye, and it was trailing down his face in gruesome rivulets.

  I worriedly looked over to Isa, but she was so enraptured with my phone that she didn’t bother looking up.

  “Sit him over there,” I indicated the very corner of the room, about as far away from Isa as I could get while still being in the room.

  The guard that was escorting this ‘Slate’ man nodded once, and Slate turned to follow orders like a dutiful little boy.

  “Sit.”

  Slate sat.

  Then there was some readjusting, and Slate was then chained to the bed at his hands, and at his feet.

  “Thanks, man,” Rome said as the guard backed up. “I don’t mind staying.”

  The guard looked at Rome, then shrugged. “Sounds good. It was my lunch break anyway.”

  Then the guard was gone, and Rome was grinning like a goddamn loon at Slate.

  “What did I tell you about getting in fights, bro?” Rome drawled.

  Slate lifted his hand as far as the chain would allow him and flipped Rome the bird. “Fuck you.”

  I walked over to the med kit that we used for cuts that would require sutures or glue, and picked it up.

  Rome took it from my hands and walked it over to the metal table that was attached to the wall.

  He set it down and opened it up before I could even walk across the room to his side.

  “Slate, this is Phoebe.” He paused.

  I turned to survey Slate and smiled at seeing that lazy grin on his face.

  “Ma’am.” He nodded.

  My grin grew. “Why does that voice strike me as sugary sweet only when you want it to sound that way?”

  Slate’s grin grew, too. “Because girls say my voice is sweet as sin.”

  Rome gagged. “That’s disgusting.”

  “It’s true,” Slate shrugged.

  I silently agreed with him.

  My eyes drifted over to the little girl that was across the room, and Slate’s eyes followed my gaze.

  “Ummm,” he paused. “You have a child…in a prison.”

  I walked up to Slate’s side with some gauze in my hand and laid it over the cut. Then I walked back to pull out a set of gloves.

  “You’re not allergic to latex, are you?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No. But…why is there a kid in here?”

  “Bayou’s,” Rome said. “He found out he had it yesterday when social services dropped her off in his arms.”

  Slate’s mouth dropped open. “No shit?”

  “No shit,” I confirmed. “Are you allergic to anything?” />
  “About half the antibiotics you can name,” he paused. “Is the mom dead?”

  “No.”

  That came from not me or Rome, but the man that was all the way across the room. Bayou.

  He was significantly less tense than he had been when he’d left the room, and he was looking a little wired now that I could study him. His eyes were also ringed with dark circles…as if he hadn’t slept last night.

  Then again, who could blame him?

  I sure as hell couldn’t.

  “Do you want her to be? Because I know a guy,” Slate teased.

  At least, I thought he was teasing.

  “No.” Bayou walked farther into the infirmary, taking a wary glance at the little girl that had glanced up at him and dismissed him at hearing his voice. “But I could use a little downtime from the boys.” He gestured to the building around him. “What the fuck is going on lately? I’ve never had to send the place into lockdown twice in one month, but the guards are acting like it’s about to be Armageddon any day now.”

  That was true. We’d had an influx in fights, or so I’d been told.

  “No fuckin’ idea.” Slate shook his head. “That was what I was trying to figure out when this happened.”

  He gestured to his face.

  “Unhook him,” Bayou grumbled. “Jesus, who brought him in here, anyway?”

  “Flook,” Rome answered, using some keys to unlock the chains that were keeping Slate tied to the bed and restrained.

  “Fuckin’ Flook.” The moment he was free he was sitting up and shaking out his arms. “God, this feels beautiful.”

  I felt my heart pounding a mile a minute at seeing him ‘free.’

  But, if Bayou was comfortable with it, then so was I.

  At least, I was trying to be.

  I pulled the gauze that I’d left on Slate’s face away and shifted so that I was standing in front of Slate, with Bayou at my back. I could practically feel Bayou’s heat all along my back, I was standing so close.

  I wanted to shift back until I could feel him from shoulders to ass, but that might be inappropriate to do in front of others.

  “Needs stitches,” I said to Slate.

  Slate snorted. “Ya think?”

  “Yes,” I answered, knowing he’d meant it to be facetious.

  He rolled his eyes.

  “But…” I said as I tossed the bloody gauze on the gurney behind him. “I don’t know how to do stitches, so we’re gonna superglue the bitch together and then steri-strip it.”

  Slate’s eyes met mine, and then he grinned, making my heart stall in my chest for a few seconds.

  But then Bayou moved closer until he was practically in line with my body and stared at the gash on Slate’s brow. “I think Pretty Boy here won’t care.”

  ‘Pretty Boy’ scoffed.

  I forgot how to breathe because I could smell Bayou, and I could also feel him.

  His utility belt was pressed into me, and I could feel the long column of his baton along the crack of my ass.

  “I’m going to care if my fuckin’ face never heals correctly,” he countered, then turned his eyes to me. “You’re sure that it won’t fuck anything up to glue it?”

  I shook my head. “It’s not actually superglue. It’s special and is designed to be put on these kinds of things. I don’t really have a choice, though. The doctor isn’t here yet and the longer that stays open, the worse it’s going to get.”

  “Diane was supposed to be here?” Bayou rumbled.

  I could feel his question against my back as his chest rumbled with his words.

  “Yes,” I answered, swallowing hard. “Rome, can you hand me some more gauze?”

  Rome grabbed a large stack and handed it to me. “Thank you.”

  Something touched my leg, and I looked down to see Isa standing there, holding my phone up to me.

  There was a message on the screen, and I grinned. “Bayou, can you get rid of the message for me so she can go back to her puzzle?”

  Bayou took the phone from Isa and then gagged.

  “What?”

  “Your sister just asked you if you thought it was normal for her vagina to bleed profusely after having a baby,” Bayou said, sounding a tad bit strangled.

  “Tell her yes,” I ordered. “That she had a baby for Christ’s sake, and that it’s probably going to do that until it’s completely healed. Tell her that you also don’t want a picture, because if you don’t, that’s going to be what she sends next.”

  I couldn’t hear Bayou’s laughter, but I could feel it against my back.

  I looked down at Isa, who was now staring at Slate.

  Slate was staring down at Isa with what looked like longing in his eyes.

  “She’s cute as fuck,” Slate rumbled.

  I pressed a little too hard on his forehead, and he cursed and jerked back, eyes going to me with surprise.

  “Don’t curse in front of her,” I ordered.

  Slate’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I keep telling you.” Bayou handed the phone back to Isa, who took it and walked back to her chair across the room. “She doesn’t talk.”

  “Doesn’t yet,” I corrected him. “Just wait.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Slate’s head was as fixed as I could get it, and I was walking to the cabinet marked ‘antibiotics’ as I called the hospital using the prison phone and asked to speak with my mother.

  She answered two minutes later.

  “Yes, baby?” she asked, sounding distracted.

  “Hey,” I paused. “I need you to go find a doctor and ask him what antibiotics I can give, and how much, to a man that just had his brow busted open. He’s allergic to…”

  I then went on to name off all the antibiotics he was allergic to.

  “Okay, hold on and I’ll get back to you.”

  I was placed on hold, and I tucked the phone in between my shoulder and my ear as I washed my hands. Once they were dry, I took the phone back into my hand and then turned to lean my hips against the metal table that was now freshly cleaned and disinfected thanks to Bayou.

  With his own hips against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest, I studied him.

  His eyes were studying the little girl across the room, but that by no means meant he was missing any of the conversation that was going on around him.

  Slate said something, and Bayou’s mouth twitched as he responded.

  Absently, his hand went down to his front—between his legs—and he readjusted himself.

  My mom came back on the line and started to talk, but my brain had short-circuited.

  Why?

  Because Bayou had no baton on his tool belt. In fact, he didn’t have his utility belt on at all.

  Holy. Shit.

  Chapter 10

  I don’t feel like I’m getting older. It’s more like my warranty is about to expire.

  -Coffee Cup

  Phoebe

  I was staring around my living room with awe.

  I had a place of my own. I could afford it. There was room for my shit and I still had room to spare. Oh, and I didn’t have a neighbor that was close enough for me to hear them fart.

  Score!

  The last person had just left, and the only souls left were me and my animals.

  I looked over at Mr. Miyagi, my Siamese cat that liked to sleep on my face. “Well, what do you think?”

  He flicked his tail and didn’t answer.

  I hadn’t seen my other cat, Karate Kid, since we’d let him out of his carrier earlier in the day.

  I had a feeling he was probably underneath my bed and wouldn’t come out for a few hours yet.

  Taking a step in the direction of my bedroom, I thought that maybe now would be a good time to change, but there was a knock at my door.

  Thinking it was my sister, or possibly my father, I walked to it and yanked it open only to be st
unned speechless to see who it actually was.

  “Come over and eat with us,” Bayou said without waiting for me to say anything. “I’m having a talk with the boys, and a few of the ladies came to join. Plus, your sister’s over there with the babies, and she’s making me uncomfortable after what I read today.”

  I started to giggle. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “It was,” he disagreed. “And, just sayin’, Isa’s uncomfortable as hell. And you’re good with her.”

  I looked over at the little girl that was in his arms.

  She was staring at me with eyes the same color as her daddy’s.

  They also looked tired, as if she was seconds away from falling asleep.

  My heart melted.

  “Sure,” I said softly. “I just have to go change.”

  His eyes took in what I was wearing. A slow perusal from the top of my head—where my hair was piled into a messy bun—to the tips of my toes—toes that were painted a hot pink with silver glitter.

  “What’s wrong with what you have on?” he asked.

  He sounded genuinely curious, as if he really did see nothing wrong with what I was wearing.

  I looked down at my tight jean shorts and cut-up tank top that I’d made when I was fifteen.

  “Nothing,” I admitted. “But if you’re having a party, I don’t want to look like the oddball.”

  His eyes went warm. “Trust me, honey. You’re not the oddest duck in the pond, that’s for sure.”

  I felt my heart swell.

  But I wasn’t going over there in sweaty underwear for the next couple of hours.

  “I’m changing,” I told him. “But not because I’m self-conscious or anything, but because I’m sweaty as hell.” I paused. “I’d really like to take a shower first.”

  His eyes took me in for a few long seconds, and then he nodded once. “Okay. I’ll stay here until you’re ready.”

  “I can walk in the dark,” I told him. “It’s only three houses down from yours.”

  He looked at me but didn’t answer. “Fine, whatever. Just don’t be mean to my cat. He’s an asshole and not very friendly.”

  Bayou closed the door behind him. “Go take your shower. I’m hungry.”

  I looked at him where he was standing in my—his—front foyer and nodded. “I’ll be twenty minutes, tops.”

  Bayou bent down and placed Isa on her feet. Isa, comfortable in who she was, walked confidently over to the couch as if she’d done it in my place a thousand times, and took a seat on the loveseat. There, she leaned back on the couch and got comfortable.