by Meghan March
“One at a time,” Lord replied.
The rest of the day was uneventful—thank God—but when we were climbing in the ’Cuda to head back to Lord’s, it occurred to me that I really needed to get more clothes and do laundry, and there was a certain green dress I wanted to get my hands on so I could wear it to work and see what happened. And for the record, I’d be wearing it without panties…
“You mind dropping me at home?”
Lord’s gaze cut to me. “You need to grab some more clothes?”
“I need to do some laundry and get myself organized. I’ve been living out of a suitcase, and I’m running out of options. And … we should probably talk about how long I’m going to be staying with you.”
“Still no leads on who killed Bree and Jiminy.”
“But what if they never close the case? I can’t just move in with you permanently. It’s … it’s way too fast to be normal.”
Lord’s expression sobered. “I thought we were on the same page, Elle. Things move fast when a lot of intense shit happens. I’m not willing to go backward just because you think we should be moving at any pace except for the one that works for us.”
“What are you saying? You do want me to move in with you? Like, for real?”
“Works for me.”
“You’re serious?”
“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”
“I think my head is spinning.”
Lord laid a hand over my arm. “There’s no reason to freak out. Let’s just keep doing what we’re doing, and if it works for us, then it’s nobody’s business but our own. You know I’m in this for real, and so are you. That’s all that matters.”
His words calmed me—mostly. I wouldn’t be entirely calm until I had a little time alone to get myself together. But Lord was right—it didn’t matter what anyone else thought about it, and I didn’t care about that. It just … it seemed so fast to me, but then again, I guess Lord wasn’t the type to move slowly.
“Okay. But I really do need to spend a few hours at home. I need to do laundry, organize some stuff, and it’s nothing you’re going to want to do.”
“I’ve got some shit I can take care of too. I’ve been slacking off at the gym, and I can catch the tail end of practice if I hurry. Once we’ve got the shop back on solid ground, I’m going to look into hiring another employee. With us working the same shifts and me trying not to leave you there alone, I haven’t been pulling my weight with the boys.”
Guilt slid through me. “I don’t want to be a bigger burden to you than I am help.”
Lord studied my face. “Do you even want to still work there now that you’ve got the watch?”
My eyes widened. “Are you serious? You’re really asking me this question right now?”
“Elle, you don’t have the best … track record for keeping jobs, and if this isn’t a job you want to keep, you don’t have to work at Chains to keep me.”
If my eyes could’ve shot laser beams, I’m pretty sure they would have. “If it hasn’t occurred to you yet, I happen to love working there. I know it hasn’t been that long, but I feel like I’ve finally found my place. I love the haggling, the stories, the crazy customers, and goddammit, I like working with you.”
Lord held up a hand in what I considered a gesture of surrender. “Okay. But if you decide you’re bored with this, I want you to know it isn’t a package deal. I’m with you either way. But, for the record, I like working with you too. I’d love for you to stay.”
“Good. I’m staying. If I change my mind, you’ll be the first to know. But don’t hold your breath.”
Lord turned the key in the ignition, and the subject was put to rest.
He dropped me off at my apartment, and I kissed my sexy man through the window of his sexy car. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”
“You better, otherwise I’ll be here hauling your ass to my bed anyway.”
“Promises, promises.”
And then he was gone.
I caught more than the tail end of practice—I caught a beer with my brother. I filled him in on all the shit going on with Elle and her ma … and I finally told him that Chains had been struggling for a little while, but I was close to getting it back on track. It was humbling to admit to your younger brother than you were having trouble keeping a business afloat that had run just fine while he owned it.
“If you need anything from me, you just let me know. And don’t get your panties in a wad over this. When you ran Chains for me, you didn’t have to worry about paying me. I know that takes a big chunk out of your profit, which is why I tried to give you the place,” Con told me.
“I ain’t telling you to get sympathy; I was telling you because I’m sick of pretending there’s nothing going on when I’m sure you know there is. And there’s no way I would’ve taken it for free. I would’ve let you sell it to someone else first.”
“Which is why I sold it to you, you hardheaded bastard. You’re too fucking stubborn for it to be anything but a success.”
“Yeah, well, it’ll be a success as soon as I unload a couple of those muscle cars. They were a risk, and one that I took with shit timing.”
“You got a convertible, right?”
“Yeah, the SS. Needs some work. Could use a new paint job. I was thinking cherry red with a white racing stripe.”
Con nodded absently. “I’ve been thinking about getting something for Van that was a little less … German. She’s only ever driven a Mercedes, but she’d look sexy as fuck rolling in a red SS. Plus, it’d give me something to wrench on when I’m bored. And it’s got a nice, big back seat…”
He didn’t have to finish that sentence for me to know exactly where it was going. I left it alone. “Are you serious? Because I know a guy who can do the work. I didn’t want to put the cash in just yet. Broke my heart to think about selling it as-is.”
“Oh, so now you want to make a profit off your little brother? Nice, Lord. Nice.”
“Business is business. But I’ll still give you the family discount.”
Con grinned, and I knew he didn’t care. “I don’t want a damn discount, and I’ll front the cash for the restoration if you can get it done quick. It’d be a great birthday present … but you’ve only got six weeks.”
“Let me talk to my guy,” I said, knowing this was Con’s way of giving me a hand up without giving me a hand out. I found I wasn’t too proud to take it.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Not a text—a call. Elle.
“I’ll be back,” I said, rising from the table and heading outside to answer it.
“What’s up, sweet thing?”
“Hey, ummm … I kind of need to stay at my place tonight.”
“That’s cool; we can crash there if you want.”
“I mean … by myself.”
I stilled on the sidewalk in front of the bar. “What’s going on, Elle?”
“Do you remember Yve? She manages Dirty Dog.”
“Sure, I remember her.”
“She’s kind of having a rough night. Like, really rough. She found out her ex might be getting out of prison. She’s freaking out, and I don’t want to leave her alone. We’re holed up in my apartment, and she’s sewing a voodoo doll of him. And I think it might be a real one. I’m not entirely sure.”
What the fuck? I opened my mouth to reply, but I seriously didn’t have a clue how to respond.
“Lord? Are you still there?”
“I’m trying to figure out what the hell say to that.”
“I’m so sorry. I just … I think I should stay here tonight.”
“Don’t apologize. You take care of your girl. But can I ask you a favor?”
“Okay. Sure.”
“Don’t go rolling around in the Quarter tonight. Hennessy still doesn’t have any leads, and I don’t want you out there without me at your side.”
“I can do that.”
I relaxed at her easy acceptance.
“I’ll pick you
up in the morning. Call me if you need me.”
“I will. Bye, babe.”
And then she hung up.
Voodoo doll? That did not sound like a good omen.
I was back in the shop the next day with Elle by my side. All was right with the world—until it wasn’t.
“Oh shit, it’s my mom calling. Do you think he told her?” Elle’s voice was panicked as she stared down at the screen of her phone. “What am I going to say? Shit. Shit. I’m not ready.”
I moved behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. “It’s gonna be rough, but we’ll get through it. It’s gonna work out okay in the end.”
Elle swiped her finger across the screen, and answered. “Mother?”
Because I was standing so damn close to her, I could hear every word coming from the other end of the line.
“Elle honey, it’s Margaux. You … you need to come right away. Your mother is … she’s having a time.”
“Is it Denton? Did he—”
“You’ve already heard?” The housekeeper sounded confused.
“That he was going to leave?”
“Leave? No, child. He’s dead.”
“What?” Elle held the phone away from her ear and stared at it like it was a foreign object.
Margaux continued speaking, and Elle put the phone back to her ear.
“—found murdered. Your mama is having a complete meltdown. Calling herself the black widow because her husbands can’t survive her. I’ve been trying to keep her away from the liquor cabinet, but there’s no stopping her. She’s a mess.”
“I’m on my way. Right now.”
Elle hung up and stared at me. “Did you hear—?”
“Yeah, I heard. Let me go grab Mathieu and tell him we’re leaving.”
Elle bobbed her head, her eyes wide and blank.
Jesus fucking Christ.
We hauled ass across town, and I followed Elle in through the kitchen entrance. We both winced at the screeching coming from somewhere within the house. Elle’s ma sounded like a banshee.
Margaux met us in the hallway. “She’s really upset, Elle. I can’t calm her down.”
“Did you call Doc Monroe? He’s got to have a sedative or something to quiet her.”
Margaux raised a hand to her temple. “I should’ve thought of that. It’s just … it’s been—”
Elle wrapped her arms around the woman. “Don’t fret. You’re doing everything right. We’ll take care of her, but if you could call Doc Monroe and get him over here¸ that’d be appreciated.” She released Margaux as another shrill howl tore through the house. “She’s in the library?”
“Yes, come.”
We followed Margaux to the library, and when she pushed open the door, Elle and I both paused at the complete disaster in front of us.
“Holy shit.”
It looked like a tornado had ripped through the room. Books were everywhere—except on the shelves where they belonged. White shards littered the tile in front of the fireplace. Several pictures hung drunkenly on the wall, glass shattered.
“Mama,” Elle breathed when we saw the woman huddled in the corner rocking back and forth, arms wrapped over her head, an empty bottle beside her.
Fuck.
Elle’s face—already pale—drained of any remaining color. I could only imagine the memories this must have been stirring up. I squeezed her hand before releasing it so she could go to her.
She crossed the room, glass crunching under her shoes, and crouched before her ma.
“Mama, I’m so sorry. So sorry.”
Her ma’s head came up, eyes wild. “You hated him. You’re glad he’s dead.”
Elle shook her head and repeated, “I’m so sorry.”
I expected more hurled accusations, but the woman broke down into sobs, and Elle wrapped her arms around her, rocking with her, stroking her back and her hair.
I felt totally and completely useless standing there watching, but there was nothing that could make me move from this spot. Elle might not need me right this second, but I’d be her rock. Together we’d make this right for her ma.
Talk about fucking timing. I’d expected this breakdown to come in a few days, when Denton delivered the news that he was done because Elle hadn’t bowed to his demands. But instead, she’d be helping her mother plan yet another funeral.
How fucked up was that?
Margaux came back and stopped beside me.
“You got a broom?” I asked. “I want to clean up this glass so no one slices themselves to bits.”
She shook her head. “I’ll take care of it.”
I laid a hand on her shoulder as she turned to leave. “Let me help. I’m feeling pretty useless right now.”
“Okay.”
When she returned with the cleaning supplies, I asked her, “What about the son? Where’s he at?”
Margaux frowned. “He was here, and he left. Think he went to his mother’s house. Or maybe to a friend’s. He didn’t say much, just heard what the cop had to say and turned and walked out.”
“What did the cop say?”
Her gaze sharpened. “I wasn’t supposed to be eavesdroppin’ I’m sure, and I know I shouldn’t be gossipin’, so you didn’t hear this from me. But he said that Mr. Denton was shot in the back. They aren’t sure of the motive just yet. He said maybe a robbery that got out of hand.”
“Shot in the back?” A cold shroud settled over me.
“When did it happen?”
“Last night. Detective Hennessy said he was leaving a …” she cleared her throat and lowered her voice, “a gentlemen’s club in the French Quarter.”
Fucking A.
My mind spun. Hennessy was on the case, and Denton had been shot in the back. How the fuck could it be connected? It didn’t make any goddamn sense.
The doorbell interrupted my thoughts.
“That’ll be the doc. He’s a neighbor. Said he’d be here fast as he could.” Margaux bustled up the hallway to the huge front door and pulled it open. An older man, probably in his fifties, stepped through.
“Where is Virginia?” he asked without any greeting.
The wailing from the library had quieted, so he didn’t have the same cues to follow that Elle and I had when we’d arrived. Margaux led him toward the library. I nodded at him, but I don’t think he noticed my presence. He strode across the broken glass, black doctor’s bag in hand, and dropped to his knees beside her.
“Oh, Ginny, I’m so sorry.”
Elle pulled back, and her ma’s attention jumped to the doc. “He’s dead,” Ginny whispered. It seemed to be the only coherent thing she was capable of getting out. She felt around on the floor and grabbed the empty bottle and brought it to her lips.
“Oh, Ginny. Shit. You cut yourself.”
Even from my position by the doorway, I could see the red smear on the clear glass of the empty bottle.
“Shit,” Elle echoed. “Mama—”
“I don’t care. I don’t care about anything except why the hell this bottle is empty!” Her voice rose on every word and she hurled it—with surprising strength—at the wall. It bounced off, and I was glad as fuck it didn’t shatter and add to the mess.
The doc took that opportunity to flip open his black bag, pull out a syringe and bottle, and quickly measure out a dose. He was fast, and luckily Elle’s ma didn’t notice. She was too busy trying to struggle to her feet, but couldn’t quite get her legs under her. The doc slid the needle into her arm without a word, and she was too blitzed to even notice. Another minute of struggling and she sagged back against him. “What did you do…” The slurred words trailed off.
“Thank you,” Elle whispered. “I didn’t know what else to do. She was inconsolable.”
“And drunk. I only gave her a tiny fraction of a dose because of the alcohol. I’m going to have to stay with her and monitor her as long as she’s out. I’m not taking any chances.”
Elle lifted a hand to her mouth. “I didn’t even think
about that. Hell. What a mess.”
The doc looked to me. “Could you help me get her upstairs?”
Finally, something I could do to be useful. “Of course. I’ll get her; Elle, you lead the way.”
Once we had Elle’s ma situated in her bed, and the doctor by her side, holding her hand in a way that suggested to me that he was a little more caring than your average doc, we went back downstairs.
Elle threw herself into my arms, and I squeezed her tight.
“What a mess,” she said. “What a goddamn mess.”
“We’ll work it all out. I promise.”
As soon as his arms closed around me, I let go. The edges of the wound that had been knitting together tore wide open, and years of grief flowed free.
I’d been transported back over a decade, to the moment when my mother had called to tell me my father was dead.
Her lifeless words still rang in my ears.
“He’s gone. You need to come home.”
But home wasn’t home without my father.
Tears streamed down my face, soaking the front of Lord’s shirt. I cried for everything I’d lost. Years of memories I never got to make. Knowing that my dad would never meet the man I’d fallen in love with and give his approval. Never walk me down the aisle. Never hold the children I’d have someday.
I cried for my mother and the wedge my father’s death—and everything that had followed—had shoved between us. I hadn’t just lost him that day; I’d lost her too. Nothing had ever been the same. I’d gone from the safety and comfort of knowing I had two parents at home who loved and supported me to being completely alone. Barely eighteen. Still trying to figure out who I was going to be and how high I could soar … but my foundation had crumbled. The night before my college graduation, I’d listened to all of my friends talking about their parents coming to see them walk, taking them out to celebrate, and all I could think about was how unfair it was that I’d never share another milestone with my dad.
Unable to deal, I’d pulled a card from my mother’s deck and drank until I didn’t care about anything at all. The next day, she and Denton had bailed me out of jail, and their scathing reprimands had made it clear just how alone I truly was.
