Easy Nights (Boudreaux #6)

by Kristen Proby

  “Ethan says the flash drive that we keep all of our financials on is missing.” He pushes his fingers through his hair and exhales loudly. “Depending on who closes that night, it would be him, Shelly, or me that takes it home at the end of the night.”

  “You keep it on a flash drive? Isn’t that a bit primitive?”

  “The point is,” he says, ignoring me, “that the passwords to bank accounts, balances, everything is on there. And my checking account was wiped out this morning.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “I keep the payroll and savings on my computer at home, so those are safe, but whoever did this took quite a lot. I have calls out to my bank and CPA, but it’s a fucking mess.”

  “How can I help?”

  He kisses my forehead. “Be patient with me today.”

  “I can do that.”

  He nods and fetches his car keys. “I’m going to check my place again, and then back to the office to tear the place apart. Do you need anything from me?”

  “I think you have plenty on your plate,” I reply. “I’m good. I’ll text you when I’m on my way home from work later.”

  He nods and waves as he leaves. Who could have stolen his financial information? I wander upstairs and change my clothes, then pause in the living room, glancing about in case I see something. Not that I know what the flash drive looks like, but it doesn’t hurt to check.

  The small pile of mail from yesterday catches my eye on the coffee table. I forgot to go through it.

  I sit on the sofa and thumb through a utility bill, some junk mail, and a large, padded envelope. I tear it open and break out in a cold sweat. I’m numb.

  What the actual fuck am I looking at?

  Photos. Of me. Of Ben. At our jobs, coming out of the dojo, at dinner.

  In my bed.

  The photos fall out of my fingers and scatter over the floor. There’s nothing else in the envelope. No note.

  Just these photos.

  Oh my God.

  There’s a knock at the door. I don’t feel my legs as I stand to answer it, and can’t even process quite who I’m looking at when the door swings open. The sun is blinding me. I shield my eyes.

  “Lance?”

  “We do look a lot alike, don’t we?” He grins and walks in, pushing me backwards.

  “Larry?”

  “Oh good,” he says, glancing down at the photos on the floor. “You got the package.”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “Jesus, Savannah, you’re slow, but you’re not fucking stupid. What do you think is going on?”

  “Who took those photos?”

  He smiles, but there’s no light in his eyes. Jesus, he looks just like Lance.

  My phone is in my pocket, but my fingers are shaking too much to be able to dial it.

  “Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” he says calmly. He picks up a photo of Ben and me sleeping in my bed and smirks. “Don’t you look cozy in this one?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Well, we’re going to explain everything. Don’t worry, we won’t keep you in the dark. But first you and I need to go somewhere.”

  “No.” I shake my head and back up. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Yes. You are.”

  “You don’t know me very well if you think I’m getting in a car with you.”

  “I’ll break your fucking arm, and then put you in the car and take you anyway. If you think I’m bluffing, you’re more stupid than I thought.”

  My God, he looks just like Lance. No, he’s not bluffing. Everything in me is screaming to not get in that car, but I don’t see where I have a choice.

  “Take your handbag and keys. We’re not uncivilized,” he says and smiles sweetly now. “We’re just taking a little field trip.”

  He takes me by the arm and leads me out of my house, down the porch steps, and to my car.

  “You’re driving.”

  “I don’t know where we’re going.”

  He rolls his eyes and shoves me into the passenger seat, takes my keys, and starts my car. “Fine. I’ll drive. But I hate driving.”

  “I hate being here with you, but it looks like we’re both stuck anyway.”

  He arches a brow and pulls away from my house. “No wonder Lance smacked you around. You have quite the smart mouth on you.”

  I don’t answer him. I turn my head and stare out the window and he drives in silence. The city slips away and we’re out in the country for what feels like forever. We drive through Baton Rouge, and keep going until he turns off the freeway, following signs for the Louisiana State Penitentiary.

  My head whips around. “You’re taking me to the prison?”

  He doesn’t answer. He just smiles and shows an armed guard our identification. They don’t even bat an eye as they let us drive through. We’re led inside and to a small, windowless room with a table and three chairs set up for us.

  “This is where inmates meet with their lawyers.”

  “Lance’s lawyer isn’t here.”

  “Yes, he is,” Larry replies proudly. “He’s assigned me as council now that his trial is over.”

  I can’t breathe. I’m covered in sweat. I can’t stop shaking. I have to look weak and vulnerable, which is not how I want to look to them, but I can’t stop.

  “They wouldn’t normally let you in with me, but I made it worth someone’s while to let me do pretty much whatever I want.”

  “You’re paying them off?”

  He laughs now. “Oh, Savannah. You’re so naïve. If it wasn’t so pathetic, it would be cute.”

  A door opens, and Lance walks in. The guard uncuffs him and he sits opposite me at the table, staring at me.

  Staring through me.

  “Well hello, wife.”

  “I’m not your wife.”

  He scoffs. “A technicality. You’re still mine, Van. You’ll always be mine.”

  I shake my head and stand.

  “I want to leave.”

  “Sit down,” Lance says in that calm, menacing voice he used every day of our marriage. I hesitate, but then obey. “Good girl.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Show her,” Lance says, never looking away from me as his brother opens a briefcase that I didn’t even see him carrying. He pulls out hundreds of photos and spreads them over the table.

  Fuck.

  I can’t swallow. I can’t breathe.

  “Look at how big young Sam has grown,” Lance says, pointing at a photo of my sister’s son walking home from the bus stop. “And how sweet Eli’s baby and wife look in their backyard.”

  I sit still, numbly watching as he and Larry comb through the photos of every member of my family, all at different times of day.

  Then Larry pulls out photos of Ben and me and Lance’s smile slips.

  “And now you’re whoring yourself out to Ben?”

  I don’t answer, but rather sit in horror as more photos are pulled out. Ben and me, all over town. In our homes. With my family and his mom.

  “You have someone watching us?”

  “Clearly,” Lance says and rolls his eyes like I’m stupid. “We see everything.”

  Larry tosses a photo of the Chanel No. 5 on my vanity onto the pile.

  “You stopped wearing your perfume,” Lance says.

  “I hate that perfume.”

  “I don’t give a fuck,” he replies. “You’ll fucking wear it. Every goddamn day.”

  “I’m not married to you,” I remind him again. “I can do what I want. I can wear what I want.”

  “Okay.” Lance sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Let’s talk about that. Larry, show her the last of them.”

  Ben throwing up at the side of the road. Ben getting beat up in front of his building. Ben and me standing on his front porch with the door open. Ben and me standing by his Jeep, right after the accident.

  “I admit, the whole cut brake line thing was a bit dramatic.” H
e shrugs. “But I kind of liked trying something out of the movies.”

  “All of this is your fault?”

  “Oh, this and more.” He grins again, looking so fucking smug. I want to kick him in the balls. “Is Ben having some financial trouble this morning?”

  “What the hell, Lance? You’re doing all of this because I’m not with you anymore?”

  “Who do you think you are?” Lance asks, ignoring my question. “You’re nothing, Van. You’re a piece of shit. You’re fat, you’re horrible in bed. Jesus, fucking you is like fucking a dead fish.”

  It’s all things I’ve heard before.

  “Do you seriously think you deserve to be happy?” he continues. “You don’t deserve anything except for the beating I gave you when you thought about leaving me.”

  “And you deserved the one Ben gave you in return.”

  Every tiny ounce of humor leaves Lance’s face.

  “You have two choices.” He leans in now, pinning me in his stare. “You can break up with this prick, go back to living the way I say you may, and I’ll leave Ben and the rest of your fucked up family alone.”

  “Or?”

  “Or, you can keep seeing Ben. Fucking him. You can keep your hair short, and wearing your disgusting perfume, and pretending like I never existed in your world.”

  “I’ll take that option.”

  “If you do, I’ll—”

  “You’ll what? You’ll be pissed and keep following me? Do you think I can’t call the cops and my lawyer and put a stop to this?”

  He tilts his head to the side, watching me. “No. I’ll slowly destroy everyone you love.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  His lips twitch. “I’ve already started. But let me be clear. I won’t kill Ben. That’s too easy. No, I’ll make Ben’s life hell. I’ll destroy him. Financially, emotionally. It will be a constant battle, and he’ll never know where I’ll come from next.”

  “You talk a big game, Lance, but I don’t believe you’ll pull it off.”

  “We’ve been in your house,” Larry reminds me. “And his. When you’re sleeping. When you’re fucking. We’re always watching.”

  “And then I’ll start with your family. This is going to be quite fun, actually, so I’m kind of hoping you go with this option. Look at how innocent and safe Sam looks while he walks home from the bus?”

  “Keep your fucking hands off of my family.”

  He ignores me, and keeps looking through the photos. He holds up one of Mallory locking up her shop after dark. “Mallory shouldn’t close her place up by herself after dark in the Quarter. Anything could happen. Oh, and look at this one! Your mama outside in her garden. She has earbuds in her ears. I’m quite sure she wouldn’t hear someone come up behind her.”

  I’m seeing red. “You’re threatening my family.”

  “Oh, you know this isn’t a threat, sugar. This is what’s going to happen. You may have put me in here, but you didn’t keep me from doing what I do best.”

  “Terrorism?”

  “I’m just being a good husband. I’m helping you make good choices.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Call me that again and you’ll see how fast I can come across this table and choke you out. There are no windows in here.”

  Oh my God.

  “If you’re thinking of going to your brothers about this,” Larry says, “you might want to think again. Because at any given moment, we have people watching them. In fact,” he opens his phone and turns it around so I can see, “I just received this photo a minute ago.”

  It’s of Ben coming out of his house.

  “We bought the house across the street,” he continues. “I have a sniper upstairs, and at any moment he could take Ben out.”

  He’s winning. I’m never going to be free of him.

  “You care about all of these idiots. I have no idea why,” Lance says, as if he’s talking to a good friend, joking around with him. “But you do. So my hunch is, you’re going to ditch Ben and mind your manners from here on out.”

  “Is it because Ben beat the shit out of you?” I ask softly. “Because he’s better than you?”

  “He’s not better than me. You chose me over him long ago. No, it’s only partly because of the physical pain you allowed him to inflict on me. It’s mostly because you’re mine. And you don’t get to be with anyone else. Ever. I won’t allow it.”

  “You don’t have a say.”

  He busts up laughing and points to the photos. “Have you heard anything I’ve said? Have I ever bluffed where you’re concerned?”

  No. No, he hasn’t. Lance doesn’t bluff.

  “So, those are the choices. You remember your place and go back to behaving the way you should, or you continue this nonsense and I terrorize your family. Either way, I get what I want, so I’m really content with whatever you decide. See? I have changed. I’m willing to compromise.”

  There’s a knock on the door and Larry immediately scoops up the photos and puts them back in the brief case.

  “Take that home,” Lance says. “It’s okay, I have copies. Think about it tonight. I’ll know what you decide in the morning.”

  “How?”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be fun if I shared all my secrets now, would it?” He winks and Larry passes my keys back to me. “You can drive yourself home now.”

  “Please don’t do this.”

  “God, you’re so fucking pathetic. So boring. You should go now, before I decide to have Larry follow you out and give you a black eye.” He smiles and wiggles his fingers. “Bye, wife.”

  Bile rises into the back of my throat as I hurry out of the prison and back to my car. I throw the case in the backseat and get away as fast as I can. I have to call my brothers. Ben. Mama.

  I have to call the police!

  But Lance’s face is still in my head, and I know in my heart of hearts that I’ve lost. He wasn’t bluffing. He’ll hurt them. He’ll hurt them forever.

  And I can’t have that.

  I turn on the windshield wipers and then frown when the water doesn’t clear away.

  It’s not rain.

  It’s tears.

  And a hole inside me so deep and wide that nothing will ever fill it up ever again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ~Ben~

  “I don’t know how this happened,” Shelly says, in tears. I’m back at the dojo now, and Shelly, Ethan, and I are in my office, wracking our brains. “I know it was in my purse last night. I always zip it into the pocket inside.”

  “And you didn’t drop your bag?” I ask. “Maybe you didn’t zip it and it fell and the drive fell out?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, look,” Ethan says, holding his hands up. “It’s missing. The bank is working on the fraudulent charges. There’s nothing else to be done about it right now.”

  “You’re right,” I reply and squeeze the back of my neck. “It’ll get sorted out. I’m going to hire someone to revamp our books so it’s more secure. I should have done it a long time ago. This is on me.”

  “Shelly, you should call it a day,” Ethan says. “You don’t have any more classes today anyway.”

  “Thanks.” She stands, but doesn’t leave the room. “I’m truly sorry.”

  “Go regroup and we’ll see you tomorrow,” I reply and sigh when she closes the door behind her. “What a shit show.”

  “You can say that again,” Ethan says. “But I mean it. We’ll get it figured out.”

  “I know.” Ethan leaves as well, and I reach for my phone to call Van. It rings and then goes to voice mail. “Hey, Angel. You’re probably swamped at work. I just wanted to hear your voice. Have a good afternoon, and I’ll see you later tonight.”

  I end the call and frown. Something has felt off for the past couple of weeks. There’s nothing that I can see, it’s just been a lot of shitty things happening, one right after the other.

  I shrug and chalk it up to bad luck just as my phone ri
ngs.

  “This is Ben.”

  “Hi, Ben, this is Sally.” Her voice is shaking, putting me instantly on high alert. “Your mom and I are at the hospital.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I’d really rather tell you in person. We’re in room 3344 at Tulane.”

  “I’ll be right there.” I end the call and rush out of my office, filling Ethan in as I grab my keys and hurry out to the loaner car.

  I fucking hate this loaner. It feels like it takes me an hour to get to the hospital, park, and get up to Mom’s room. Sally’s at her bedside and a doctor is talking to them both.

  Mom looks like she’s barely able to stay awake.

  “Oh good, Ben’s here,” Sally says to the doctor. “This is Millie’s son, Ben.”

  The doctor shakes my hand. “I’m Dr. Coltrain. We’ve admitted your mother, and I have to be honest, Ben, she’s in bad shape.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “I haven’t told him what’s going on,” Sally says. She’s wringing her hands in nervousness.

  “Your mother was given a lethal dose of Ativan.”

  “How?”

  “Her prescriptions were delivered today, like they always are,” Sally says, “and I gave her her meds, but there must have been a mix up at the pharmacy.”

  “Sally called an ambulance as soon as your mother started showing signs of poisoning,” Dr. Coltrain says. “And we were able to counteract the medicine, but she’s still a very sick woman.”

  She’s sleeping now, as pale as the white sheets she’s lying on.

  “I expect her to make a full recovery, but she’ll be with us for a few days. Today is going to be the worst of it.”

  “I can stay with her,” Sally says, but I shake my head no.

  “I’ll stay. You go on home. I’d appreciate it if you can come up tomorrow.”

  “Of course.” She stands and pats my shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Not your fault,” I reply. When she’s gone, I turn to the doctor. “What medicine did she take again?”

  “We sent the pills to the pharmacy to be identified to be sure, but based on her symptoms, I think it was a very high dose of Ativan.”

  “That’s a downer.”

  He nods.

  “Was it enough to kill her?”

  “Maybe,” he says with a grim nod. “But we pumped her stomach and she’s actually already looking much better than she did when she first arrived.”