Confessions: Henri (Confessions Series Book 5)

by Ella Frank

  That was the only reason he was grabbing his keys and walking out the door this fucking early in the morning. It was a miserable morning, too, wind and rain accompanying him and his irritated mood, as he drove through the deserted streets in Priest’s Aston Martin, letting a little Pink Floyd ease his mind.

  He had to hand it to Priest: when he’d restored this baby, he’d done a damn good job. Supple red leather interior, chrome fixtures, a sweet paint job, and a stereo with speakers that made everything you played sound like you were at a damn concert.

  Henri was actually surprised Priest hadn’t come after him for taking off with his pride and joy after the showdown with Jimmy. But then again, he’d have to find him first, and he figured Priest had left it with him in the end as reward for a job well done.

  With the windshield wipers going, Henri drove under the railway and through an intersection that marked this part of town worse than the part he’d just driven through, and made sure to keep a watchful eye at all times.

  This kind of car in this part of the city always drew attention, and it was never too early or late for the seedier members of society to be out making deals and looking to cause problems. Something he knew well, since that was the part of society he’d inhabited for most of his life.

  As he made a right at the intersection, he spotted a slew of blue and red lights flashing on the street he was heading toward, and already knowing the drill, Henri pulled into a side street several blocks up.

  After parking at the curb, he shut off the headlights and engine and hit the number that had called him earlier. “I’m three blocks west. You can’t miss me.”

  He ended the call, tossed his phone on the dashboard, and looked at the half-empty packet of cigarettes sitting in the center console. He really wanted a smoke, but not even his addiction could make him light up in a car as sweet as this. Not to mention, if Priest ever did come for his baby and found out that Henri had smoked in it, he’d kill him. And of all the people in his life, Joel Donovan—Priestley—was the only one Henri knew could do him some real damage, because he was the only person Henri would never fight back against.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  The hard rapping of knuckles on the rain-streaked passenger window had Henri’s head jerking to the right, and when he reached over and flicked the locks up and his door was pulled open, he watched his early morning caller slide inside.

  Detective Sean Bailey—or, as he fondly referred to him, Detective Dick—ran a hand through his thick brown hair as his dark blue eyes scanned the tight confines, and Henri was petty enough to enjoy how uncomfortable he seemed as water slid down the back of his jacket.

  “This weather is shit. Fucking rain.”

  “Agreed,” Henri said, as he looked at the man he’d been “helping out” here and there over the past few months. “So can we hurry this along?”

  “I’m sorry,” Dick said, sounding anything but. “Did I drag you away from a hot fuck or something? Ask me if I care.”

  Henri was about to lie, but really the only thing the detective had disturbed was another frustrating night. Over the last two weeks, Henri had kept waking up midway through the hottest dream he’d ever had, the same dream he’d been having ever since he’d met the man he only knew as Blue, and his lack of sleep was starting to frustrate the hell out of him.

  That was the only excuse he had for poking at the guy beside him. Well, that, and the detective was being a special brand of dick tonight.

  “You really should work on your people skills, you know that? What are you, mid-forties? You should be married, dating someone by now.”

  “Eat shit, Boudreaux. I’m in my thirties. And I don’t need people skills; everyone I usually deal with is dead.”

  “Charming,” Henri said, and rubbed his fingers over his stubble.

  “That’s me, charming. Now, as much as I’m enjoying this little chitchat, I need something.”

  “You mean you didn’t just call me here because you wanted my company? That hurts, detective. That really hurts.”

  “Sure it does. You heard of someone who goes by the name rAz? He’s new on the scene, a brutal motherfucker. Is making quite a name for himself dealing guns, H, and whores.”

  The name was familiar; Henri had heard it thrown around when he’d been doing some work over on South Side, but it wasn’t someone he had ever dealt with. “I mean, he’s not on my speed dial, but I can probably track him down. What’s the deal?”

  “We think we found one of his girls behind Déjà Vu this morning. Severely beaten. Strangled. Apparently she was talking a little too loudly to the wrong customer.”

  “A cop?”

  “Doesn’t matter. What matters is this is the third girl in a couple of months, but we got nothing to tie him to it. We need you to sniff around. Look into it.”

  Henri drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and shrugged. “Yeah, okay. My dance card’s pretty open this month.”

  “Glad to hear it, and try not to get yourself fucking killed in the process, okay? That requires too much paperwork.”

  “Careful.” Henri smirked at the unimpressed expression on Dick’s weary face. “You almost sound like you care.”

  “About the information? You’re right, I do care. Let me know when you have something.”

  As the detective shoved open the door and slid out, Henri said, “A pleasure, as always,” and was met with a middle-finger salute, then Detective Dick slammed the door shut, flipped up the collar of his jacket, and headed off down the street.

  Henri grabbed his phone off the dash and checked the time. It was closing in on five, and when his stomach growled, he decided to head into town and find himself a twenty-four-hour breakfast joint as he mulled his new “project.”

  He tossed his phone on the seat beside him, turned the key, and, as The Who blasted from the stereo, put his foot to the gas and headed off to hunt down a cup of coffee.

  THE SOONER TONIGHT’S shift was over the better, as far as Bailey was concerned. The last twelve hours had felt like twenty, and he had a feeling it was going to be a grind right up to the very end.

  He wasn’t sure why, but people were so much more careless with their lives when the weather was shit, and that made for a long-ass night of him trying to make sure they stayed safe.

  Bailey looked at the clock on his dashboard and saw it was closing in on five on this lovely Thursday morning, and three more hours seemed like an eternity from now. He was just coming off his four-day workweek, and for the last few days he felt as though he’d been running on empty.

  Not that that was anything new. His internal clock was always jacked up whenever he worked nights, but ever since that disastrous weekend up in Oshkosh, sleep had been even more elusive. He couldn’t count how many days he’d spent tossing and turning, unable to forget what had happened that night. But the one thing that stood out with startling clarity was the mysterious face of a stranger—Henri. A face that now seemed determined to haunt Bailey for the rest of his damn life.

  Okay, stop thinking about him. You have three more hours and then you’re done. If he could just make it through those then he’d be home free. But maybe it’d help if he stopped somewhere for a quick hit of caffeine for that final push.

  As he made his way down Roosevelt, the downpour continued and began a relentless rhythm on the roof of his patrol car. It was really coming down now. So much so it was difficult to see more than a car length in front, and as he pulled to a stop at the intersection to turn onto Clark and waited for the lights to change, the rain got progressively harder.

  Bailey squinted out the windshield and saw the lights flick from red to green, and just as he was about to pull forward and make the turn, a sporty little number flew through the red light, barely missing him.

  Bailey let out a string of curses, flipped on his lights, and took off after the idiot who’d almost taken out the front end of his vehicle.

  His windshield wipers were working overtime as he fo
llowed after Speed Racer, and when the driver seemed to realize he was being followed, he slowed down and came to a stop on the side of the street.

  Bailey pulled in behind the car, his headlights illuminating the vehicle through the relentless onslaught of the weather, and resigned himself to getting soaked because this moron hadn’t been paying attention.

  With his rain jacket on, Bailey let out a sigh and shoved open the door. He had a flashlight in one hand as he made his approach, and as he got closer, he couldn’t help but admire the vehicle. As a lover of classic cars, he noted it was a fully restored 1959 Aston Martin coupe, and it was gorgeous.

  He would’ve thought that someone who bothered to put such time and care into restoring such a beauty would have had better common sense than to drive it so fast in this weather, not to mention barreling through a red light. But then again, maybe this wasn’t their car.

  As he walked up the side of the vehicle, Bailey peered into the back seat to see it was clear, and when he reached the driver’s side and the window rolled down, he shifted the light so it would illuminate the person in the car.

  Bailey bent a little to see inside, and the face staring back at him woke him up quicker than any hit of caffeine could ever do. What in the hell? Henri?

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” As those words left the mouth Bailey had spent the last two weeks fantasizing about, his brain tried to catch the hell up.

  One minute he’d been about to write the driver up for speeding and failure to stop at a red light, and now? Now he was busy trying to find his tongue, because he was face to face with the man who’d stroked his dick to full mast in public, only to up and vanish when it came to closing the damn deal. This was unbelievable.

  “You’re a cop?” Henri said, his eyes roaming over Bailey as he stood there in the pouring rain, trying to make sense of what was going on.

  This was the last thing he’d expected this morning, to run into Henri, here. He must’ve gone over that night in Oshkosh a million times, trying to work out what he’d done to make Henri leave without any explanation. And even though Bailey had decided it’d been for the best, sparing him the morning-after walk of shame and subsequent days of regret that would’ve followed, the purposeful dismissal still stung.

  Now here Henri was, sitting in front of Bailey after almost careening into his patrol car. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  As water slid down the inside of his uniform, that wicked smirk that had tempted him to throw aside caution and take a walk on the wild side slid across Henri’s lips. “In Chicago?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I live here, Officer…?”

  When Henri’s eyes shifted to Bailey’s vest, Bailey realized his name was covered up by his rain gear and he had yet to identify himself. He also thought it prudent to note that he hadn’t told Henri his name the first time they’d met either. Apparently, Henri had the innate ability to render him completely fucking useless.

  “Bailey. It’s Officer Bailey, and you were speeding. You went right through a red light.” Bailey wasn’t sure what he expected after that comment. But when Henri’s eyes remained fixated on the bulletproof vest he wore over his shirt, Bailey said, “Did you hear me?”

  “Your name’s…Bailey?”

  Bailey put one hand on the roof of the car and leaned down so he could get a better look at Henri’s face—for professional reasons, of course—then nodded. “Yes. I realize that’s news to you, but—”

  “Officer Bailey?” When Bailey just stared at him, he thought he heard Henri say, “No fuckin’ way…”

  “Look, I know this is a shock, but can we focus here for a minute? This rain’s no joke.”

  Henri shook his head and closed his eyes for a second. He was probably trying to recover from the same shock Bailey was—it wasn’t every day the guy you ghosted pulled you over for a speeding ticket—then he opened his eyes and said, “Sure thing, officer. Go ahead.”

  Chapter Six

  CONFESSION

  I’d rather be pulled over by a cop

  than have to talk to a priest.

  OF ALL THE cops in the city, I had to get pulled over by the one I stood up? Really? Henri thought, as he stared into the arresting blue eyes he hadn’t been able to get out of his head. Arresting, ha, now there’s a joke.

  “Can I please see your license and registration?”

  Shit, okay. So we’re really doing this. “Sure thing…officer.” Henri looked up at the still-rumbling sky before returning his attention back to Blue. “You want to come around and get inside out of the rain?”

  Blue—Bailey—looked at the empty passenger seat and frowned. “I don’t think so. How about you just give me what I need?”

  Henri had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to fight back the urge he had to make a sexual comment, and wondered what it said about him that in a situation as fucked up as this one was turning out to be, his cock was still reacting.

  “Sometime soon would be fantastic, Henri.”

  “Yeah, right. One second.” Henri picked up his leather jacket off the seat beside him, dug out his wallet, and located his license. Then he flipped open the glove box, ready to grab the registration, and froze.

  Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was not good. In fact, he’d been so caught off guard by seeing his almost one-night stand in front of him, accessorized with handcuffs, that he’d completely forgotten one of the main reasons he was super fucking careful not to get pulled over in this car.

  “There a problem? Do you not have your registration?” Bailey shined the flashlight toward the open glove box, and Henri gritted his teeth, wishing that was the problem he had right then. “Henri?”

  Knowing there was no way out of this, Henri grabbed what he needed and slammed the glove box shut, and as he handed it all over to Bailey, he flashed a tight smile.

  He’d been wondering if this morning could get much worse as he’d driven across town in such shit-tastic weather, and when Bailey aimed his flashlight at the documents in his hand, Henri had his answer: yes, it could get much, much worse.

  “Joel Priestley owns this car?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Kind of?” Bailey repeated, and Henri thought, Please, God, don’t let him call Joel.

  Henri tried for his most winning grin. Maybe he could charm his way out of this somehow. “Yeah. He knows I have it, though. You don’t need to worry him about it.”

  “Wait here.”

  Or maybe not.

  With the rain not easing up, and the water now sliding down the sharp angles of Bailey’s face as he headed back to his vehicle, he looked like a pissed-off version of Zeus about to strike Henri down with a bolt of lightning.

  Henri watched him go in his rearview mirror, and with the water now soaking through Bailey’s rain jacket, the material molded to his body like a second skin.

  Henri wasn’t sure what was about to happen next, if Bailey was going to call Priest. But one thing Henri did know: he might’ve been the one to leave that night in Oshkosh—something he now regretted even more after seeing Bailey again—but unless he was thrown into a jail cell tonight, Henri would find a way to finally have the man who’d been haunting his dreams.

  BAILEY CLIMBED INTO his patrol car and yanked the door shut with a hard slam, his eyes glued to the back of the Aston Martin as he tried to make sense out of everything he’d just learned.

  First: Henri lived in the same city he did. Second: he was driving around breaking the law in Priest’s car. And third: even though he might have to ticket the man, all Bailey could think about was why Henri had left that night. Why had he changed his mind when it was clear, even now, that the two of them wanted the same damn thing from one another?

  It was official: his dick was now thinking for him, and not very clearly, apparently. Bailey took his hat off and ran a hand over his buzzed hair, then he gripped the back of his neck as he sat there for a minute and tried to remind himself he was a professional. An offi
cer of the law, for God’s sake. But that was difficult when all his frustration and annoyance over the past couple of weeks was sitting in the car up ahead of him.

  He stared at the photo on the license he was holding, and it annoyed him that Henri even managed to make that look good.

  Henri Boudreaux. Even his last name was sexy. But then again, so were his eyes, his mouth, his voice— No, those things don’t matter. Bailey needed to stop getting sidetracked. He had a job to do, and while he knew he should issue a ticket, Bailey wanted to confirm that Henri’s story about Priest’s car was true.

  He looked at the time and grimaced. He didn’t relish the idea of waking anyone at this early hour, and a friend? That was even worse. But he needed to make sure Priest was aware of where his car was. Especially considering Henri had told him that he wasn’t friends with any of the grooms the day of the wedding.

  The first thing Bailey did was run the plates, and when the vehicle didn’t show as stolen, he let out a relieved sigh. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything—with the way Henri had been driving, he could’ve been hightailing it away from Priest’s, and as he hit Priest’s number and waited, Bailey found himself praying that wasn’t the case.

  “Hello?” As Priest’s gruff voice came through the line, Bailey kept his eyes on the car ahead of him and told himself he was doing the right thing.

  “Hey there, Priest. It’s Bailey. Look, I’m sorry to wake you so early, but—”

  “Bailey?” Priest said, and the sound of rustling sheets had Bailey wincing. “You didn’t wake me. My alarm just went off.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “Is there something wrong? Did you pick up one of our clients or something?”

  Or something seemed about right, and as Bailey tried to work out how to ask this next question, Priest said his name again.