This awkward tension between them knotted his shoulders and he looked away. “She’s never mentioned that to me.” The moment he said it, he realized it sounded like an accusation.
Mia bit her lip and remained silent. She turned off of I-10 toward the hospital, pulled up to the front entrance of the hospital, and told him which tower and floor Mama was on. “Why don’t I drop your bag at Mama’s? I doubt the hospital staff will allow you on the floor with it.”
“I didn’t mean that how it sounded, Mia.”
“Yes, you did.” Her glare was hot with temper, her winglike brows drawn tight with it. “You were the one who broke things off and walked away six years ago, Gage. If guilt is what’s driving this, that’s on you.” Her tone turned cutting. “I don’t deserve your hostility, and I won’t put up with it.”
She revved the Mitsubishi’s engine. “You’ll have to catch an Uber or a cab to get to Mama’s after you’ve finished visiting. I’ve already been away from my business long enough.” She picked up a key from the cup holder in the console and held it out it to him.
He clenched the key in his fist, oddly relieved because she dressed him down. Up until this point, her nonconfrontational behavior made him wonder if she’d lost her spirit. “You could come in with me.”
“No, I’ll visit later.”
Her tone said after you’re gone.
“You’re not family,” he said. “ICU won’t allow you to visit.”
“You were gone, Gage. Your brother Roman is married and has family to take care of, and Decker—is Decker. You didn’t just leave me. You left Mama, too. As far as the staff here is concerned, I’m part of her family. I’ll come any time I please to visit her. Now get out. I’m ready to leave.”
He laid his hand on her arm for a moment because he just had to touch her.
Mia bit her lip and looked away.
“Thanks for everything you did for Mama, and thanks for the ride.” He got out of the car and shut the door. With eyes straight ahead, she pulled away from the curb and circled away from the hospital.
“Shit! That went well,” he muttered, and loped into the hospital. It was better if he kept being the asshole and held her at arm’s length. Just to be on the safe side.
It wouldn’t do for him to let her get close again. He’d lost his family before, and now he risked the life he’d built since then.
*
After dropping Gage’s seabag at Mama Bet’s house, it was nearly one o’clock before Mia turned onto James Street in the warehouse district and whipped into the first parking spot she found. She had deliveries coming later, and if she parked behind the building below her apartment her car would be boxed in when it came time to visit Mama. She got her purse off the back floorboard, locked the car, and hoofed it on her narrow heels up the street toward her destination.
How many times had she told herself in the past six years to never again pine for Gage Fontenot? Hundreds? Thousands? After every dream she had about him, she fought again to lay her feelings to rest. What a colossal a waste of time.
He’d bulked up from the long-limbed, rangy twenty-year-old to become a muscular, fit, twenty-six-year-old man. His hair was long and out of control, his beard needed a trim, but for all that, she still found his external metamorphosis physically disturbing. Thank God his abrasive personality had successfully crushed her reaction.
For a few brief minutes she thought the caring, affectionate man she remembered was long gone, and that he’d managed to forge himself into the hard, insensitive asshole he was projecting.
But the emotional reaction she sensed when he attempted to ask if Mama Bet was raped lowered her defenses and left her too open to him So she caught a glimpse of what he was thinking. If he could, he’d level all of New Orleans to find the man responsible for her beating.
Then, when he touched her arm… Being a SEAL, seeing so much death and destruction, changed a man. It had to. But it hadn’t completely wiped away the man she’d known.
Those brief glimpses of who and what he was now only underscored her need to keep her distance. She didn’t dare forget the emotional aftermath of his sudden defection six years ago. They’d planned to live together, him working while she went to college. But the way he broke things off without warning. She lay awake every night for weeks, grieving and wondering what she’d done wrong.
She refused to think about how she gave herself to him. How free and open she’d been to his lovemaking. But his betrayal turned her pleasure against her and made her cringe in shame and embarrassment.
Her memories had turned on her in the same way, making her doubt that anything they had together was real.
She’d never allowed another man so close. Never trusted another enough to lower her guard.
Well. Now she’d seen him. And survived it. And if it caused her a little pain, he’d never know. Plus, now she’d done her good deed for the day, she could put him back in his box and move on.
She didn’t need a man to make her happy. She had her business to fill her days…and her nights. Besides, what man wanted to live with a woman who could glimpse his secrets with just a touch? None she’d ever known.
Reaching her destination, Mia paused outside the entrance to Promises to clear her mind of distractions. Every time she stood in front of that oversized, violet-hued entrance, a feeling of anticipation buoyed her. When a customer came through it, she wanted them to be as surprised and delighted as she was every time she stepped across the threshold.
She pulled the door open and stood aside as two women exited with bags from the bookstore looped over their arms. One also carried a box from the gallery. Both sipped drinks from the café. That was an excellent start to her afternoon.
Once a warehouse, the space had been converted into three separate but integrated businesses—a café, a bookstore, and her art gallery. They had chosen the name Promises as the umbrella that housed all three businesses, but each had its own distinctive name.
Her gift shop and art gallery, Promises Given, took up a large area inside the entrance and soared up to the second floor by way of the stairs. The decorative staircase and floating second floor with its glass railing could be seen from the entrance, and an impressive stained-glass window hung from the ceiling and drew customers’ attention upward, while several stained-glass sculptures spread out from the centerpiece window.
On the right, behind glass walls, was Promises Made, the café. Her friend and business partner Lottie Trahan was a master chef. The restaurant sold po’ boy sandwiches, jambalaya, gumbo, and sixteen other local specialties, along with beignets, bananas Foster, bread pudding, and several other desserts. The sour cream pound cake with strawberries was her favorite. Sweet iced tea, lemonade, soft drinks, hot tea, lattes, and coffee were also on the menu.
Mia stopped at the café and waited in line to get a hot tea with cinnamon and a beignet to take to her office. Lottie beckoned to her, and she left her spot to answer her call. “How is Mama Bet?” Lottie asked, her usually cheerful, round face showing her concern, as did her startling hazel eyes.
“She’s holding her own, but still in an induced coma. And they’ve set her cheekbone and done surgery on her jaw, putting in a plate and some screws.”
“Thank God she can sleep through that. Whoever did it meant to kill her, didn’t they?”
“Yeah, they did.” If she hadn’t found her…. A sudden rush of emotion hit, and she turned her back to the line of customers.
“I’ll fix your tea and a beignet. You need a few minutes of peace, a shot of caffeine, and something sweet to set you right before you get back to work.”
What would Mia do without Lottie’s support, since her own family…other than her grandmother…seemed completely devoid of empathy?
She searched through her purse and fished out a five for the tea and beignet.
Lottie waved the money away while she wrapped the pastry in waxed paper and put it into a white paper bag. “I know you gave me a deep discoun
t on that painting I bought my mom for her birthday this week. And, by the way, she went crazy when she saw it. She knows the artist and has been wanting one of his paintings for years.”
“I’m glad she’s so thrilled with it. How does she know Drummond?”
“They went to school together. Can you believe that? He painted even back then. He learned on his own because there weren’t any art teachers when he was in school.” Lottie tucked a stray braided and beaded strand back into the intricate design at the back of her head.
Mia leaned against the waist high counter. “He impressed me with both his art and his stories. Listening to his memories was both a joy and heartache. He even inspired me to think about doing audio bits for some of the artists. Customers who walk through the gallery could push the button and listen to a message from the artist about what inspired the work on display.”
Lottie pressed a hand to her generous, apron-covered bosom. “That’s an amazing idea, Mia. You could give the customer a transcript of the tape to go with the painting.”
“I could. That’s a good idea, too. I’ll let you know when he comes in next time, and you can call your mom to come over and reminisce with him.”
“Only if he’s okay with it. I wouldn’t want to impose on him.”
Mia nodded. “We’ll work it out. Thanks for my treat.” She raised the bag.
She bypassed the bookstore, Promises Written, which featured texts on art, the history of New Orleans, and every other subject any reader should want to know about, as well as the latest best-selling fiction. She sometimes went in to scan the New Age section to see if there was anything new about psychic abilities.
She kept hoping she’d run across something that would explain her experiences, or how to control them.
She stepped through the open doors of her gift shop. Along the walls were high-end gifts, but not souvenirs. There were already plenty of souvenir shops elsewhere in the city.
She checked the downstairs exhibits, enjoying the arts and crafts all over again while she did. Paintings, wall hangings, pottery, wood carvings and more were displayed on walls and on glass shelving. Exceptional story quilts dominated one corner, soft sculptures telling the history of New Orleans, a story of French and Spanish rule, of fires burning the city, of hurricanes—including Katrina—leveling it. And how the city was rebuilt, over and over again, after each disaster. Of how the riverboats sailed up and down the Mississippi, bringing goods and passengers. And then there were some that depicted the city as it was today.
She rearranged a few of the crystal creations in a glass display case and eyed a dark purple crystal ball set on a brass stand on the bottom shelf. Light refracted through the sphere and was projected onto the floor. The ball was one of six, each a different color, arranged front and center on each shelf.
The display was her one nod to Halloween, though the bookstore and the café were decorated earlier in the week with hanging ghosts and motion-activated, cackling witches.
She closed the cabinet door and turned to answer a customer’s questions about one of the framed, quilled pieces displayed on an easel, then paused to ask another if she needed help. “There’s artwork upstairs. You can take the elevator or go up the stairs.”
Noticing one of the quilts was missing, Mia paused to speak with Stan Guillory. Stan was a good salesman and assistant. He was charming, and had an appealing, clean-cut, college boy look, which also happened to be what he was. “Mrs. Bouchard came in and bought the one with the steamboat on fire. Her son-in-law is a real history buff and has decorated his office with prints, so she thought that particular piece would be perfect for his birthday.”
“Good sell. Mrs. Cramer will be thrilled. This is her fifth. And you won’t mind that commission check, either.”
Stan grinned. “You’re right, I won’t. It’ll come in handy for next semester.”
“I have to do some paperwork, and I have a shipment of fifteen paintings coming in an hour. Is Jessica here?”
“Yeah, she’s in the office, keying in those barcodes you left. She’s better at it than I am.”
“Bless her.” Mia took the elevator up to the second floor and joined Jessica in the office. The desk was actually a large, rock-maple table instead, since she liked to spread things out. She pulled a chair up to one corner of the table and took out her beignet while she waited for Jessica to finish. “Would you like some of this?”
“No, but thanks.” Jessica’s caramel blonde hair shone with paler highlights while her fingers flew over the keys as she typed in the information for each barcode created for the artwork about to arrive. Mia would be eternally grateful that Jessica came to her from another gallery, because the woman really knew her business.
While she ate, Mia studied the artwork in the office with a critical eye, deciding which pieces to rotate out of her office and back onto the floor. The more sculptural pieces she displayed on the shelving unit opposite her desk could all be switched out.
After she finished the beignet, Mia decided to wander around the office while she sipped her tea. A thick, woven rug with a bold black and white design spread beneath the grouping of a couch, two chairs, and a coffee table and broke up the space, but rather than sitting, she wandered to the back wall windows to look out.
“I’m done,” Jessica announced. “How was Mama Bet?”
“I’m going to see her later. Her grandson was there, and since they only allow one person at a time and give you only ten or fifteen minutes with her, I decided to wait.”
“You should probably eat more than that beignet. It’s going to take us hours to write up the description cards for the new pieces.”
“I’ve already done them and printed them out.”
“Wow.” Jessica’s eyebrows shot up. “When did you have time for that?”
“Last night. I couldn’t sleep.” The thought of seeing Gage for the first time in six years had kept her too wound up to close her eyes. The swarm of emotions she experienced still lingered, like the nervous flutter in the pit of her stomach.
“There was a package delivered here for you this morning.”
“Oh?”
Jessica leaned down to pick the box up off the floor and set it on the table. The container had been used before, with remnants of tape sticking out from under the fresh adhesive used to close it.
Mia reached for the scissors in the organizer and cut the tape, then opened the box. A piece of paper lay on top. She snagged and unfolded it. The words Sorcière was printed in big letters across it. Then reste en dehors de ca.
“I don’t speak French. What does it say?” Jessica asked.
“Witch, stay out of it.” Mia grabbed a pencil and gingerly peeled back the newspaper at the bottom of the box—then gasped and jerked her hand back. When nothing stirred in the container, she bent over it again. The snake lay motionless. It was dead.
“Oh, my God!” Jessica exclaimed. “What kind of snake is that? Is it alive?”
“It’s a water moccasin. But luckily it’s dead. They’re dangerously poisonous,” Mia dug her phone out of her purse and, with trembling fingers, dialed a familiar number. She’d been careful not to touch the box too much, but she’d study the note some more while she waited for the police to arrive.
CHAPTER 3
‡
Gage sat down at the small table in Mama’s kitchen, twisted the cap off the bottle of Dixie, tipped the beer up high, and drank deeply. Ice-cold and malty, with a hint of hops and lemony in color, the beer was perfect, and brought back a treasure trove of memories of hot, humid summers hunting gators, working on the car, or playing football in the street.
Roman, sitting across from him, hadn’t changed at all. At thirty he had a sprinkling of gray hairs winding through the wavy mass of dark hair at his temples, and he was tanned from working out in the sun. His job with one of the big petroleum companies paid him good money but could be dangerous at times. He lived in a larger house in a more upscale area of the city, the nei
ghborhood a little safer than Mama’s. Gage didn’t begrudge him the move one bit.
“Tough duty, sitting at the hospital all day waiting for Mama to wake up.” Roman twisted the cap off his bottle before tossing it at the garbage can in the corner.
“Yeah, it was. The longer I sat there, the more I wanted to find the fucker who beat Mama and break his fucking bones.”
“You and me both,” Roman agreed. “If we knew who he was.”
“Anyone been giving her any trouble?”
“No. Everyone loves Mama. Or at least I thought they did. I don’t know anyone who would raise a hand to her. She works in the church any time they need her. Makes baby blankets for all the newborns in the congregation….” Roman set aside his beer to rub his hands over his face. “She takes the boys for Josie and me when we go out for a date night once a month. The boys love her.”
“Maybe the police will find the bastard.”
“You know how many murders and break-ins around here are never solved, Gage?”
Gage knew what the crime rate had become since Katrina. Every year, one in sixteen people in New Orleans were victims of a crime. Plus, the city was still fighting to recover from Katrina’s destruction and come to terms with it as well.
“Funny thing is, the only things stolen were a little cash and some painkillers Mama got for an abscessed tooth a year ago. It was like they beat her because there wasn’t more to steal.”
Mama Bet never had much money. The last time Gage was here, he painted the living room, kitchen, and hallway, and patched the roof. Decker lived elsewhere when he was flush, and with Mama when he wasn’t, but he seldom did anything to help keep the house up.
“Where’s Decker?” Gage asked.
“He’s actually got a job doing motorcycle repairs for Elmwood Harley. He’s been toeing the straight and narrow for almost a year and has his own place.”
“Glad to hear it.” Maybe Decker was finally growing up. About time for a twenty-four-year-old man.
Hot SEAL, Midnight Magic (SEALs In Paradise) Page 2
