“Two weeks. Why?”
“You two seem…” Sophia said.
“You’re very familiar with each other,” Rhona said, completing Sophia’s observation. “If there’s a relationship, it could complicate your return. We don’t want you to be hurt.”
Jean took Billie’s hand and kissed it. His warm breath teased the side of her face. “I already hurt mon Capitaine, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to her, whether she’s here or in her own time.”
Billie wiped away a rogue tear. She hated it when he did that. She was tempted to roll her eyes, elbow him, make a joke of it, but she couldn’t bring herself to stomp on his heart for being honest.
She patted his cheek. “Jean and I have to leave town tonight for a few days. We promised General Jackson we’d deliver cannons, men, and ammunition as soon as possible.”
“Why do you have to go?” Sophia asked. “The British are everywhere. It’s dangerous out there.”
“Jean has to go to Barataria for his men, Dominique is organizing artillery companies, and I’m taking a dozen men to get the ammunition from the warehouse.”
Sophia sat forward in her chair, clasping her hands. “Billie, please wait a day or two until Rick and Pete get back. They’ll go with you.”
“We don’t have time to wait. The general needs ammunition now, and Jean’s men wouldn’t take orders from Rick or Pete.”
“If you’re determined to go”—Remy’s dark eyes tightened with the hint of concern—“let me look at your eye and any other injuries you have?”
She lifted her patch, laughing. “There’s nothing wrong. It’s part of my Penny Lafitte persona. It goes with the blue hair.”
Remy rolled his eyes like she was the comic relief in a macho movie, and then he sobered. “What about your ribs? Do they need to be wrapped? Any cuts or scratches that need attention?”
“Ribs are sore but not broken, and I don’t have any cuts.”
“Your knuckles are bruised and swollen.”
She glanced at them and shrugged. “That’s what happens when you box without wrapping your hands.”
“Any other parts that might need attention?”
She glared at him. “What do you think happened to me?”
“If you were assaulted, you need attention.”
“I was beaten up. I’m sore and scratched, but nothing’s broken, and I wasn’t raped.” Billie didn’t intend to ever talk about what happened to her at Barataria. She stood. “We’ve got to go.”
“How long will you be gone?” Sophia asked.
“Three, maybe four days. When I get back, I’ll be working for the General, so I’ll probably see you and Mr. Fontenot at headquarters.”
“I’m going to ask you again not to go,” Sophia said.
“And I’m going to join her request,” Philippe said. “I know you’re familiar with the battle, but you don’t know where all the skirmishes were or how many were killed between now and the battle on the eighth,” Philippe said.
“Sir, I’m a former Ranger. I can handle it.”
“I’m sure you can, soldier, but this isn’t your war,” Philippe said.
“War is war. People fight. People die. The only difference is the weapons used and the medical care available afterward. I’m trained to fight. It doesn’t matter when or where.”
“We know who you are, Billie,” Sophia said, “and what you can do. We’re just worried. If something happens to you, I don’t know if we can go back again and undo it. You favor high-risk activities for the rush. It’s your personality. You think nothing of speeding down the interstate on your motorcycle or jumping out of airplanes. We know you’re fearless. All we ask is that you don’t take unnecessary risks.”
To ignore their concerns would make Billie look an ass, not a badass. There was a difference, and she knew it. “I won’t.”
“Speaking of risks,” Remy said. “Are you protected?”
“Birth control? What the hell?”
“Vaccines, soldier,” Remy said. “Have you kept up with them?”
“Sure. Aren’t VA benefits the best?”
“Billie, I’m on your side,” Remy said. “I doan want you to get sick.”
“I don’t either. Look, I’ve got to beat feet. I’ll see you in a few days.”
Jean and Billie walked toward the door with Remy trailing behind them. “Are you sure there’s nothing you need?”
Their overprotectiveness was borderline insane. Remy was going out of his way to keep her here, but why? Was it a stall, hoping Rick and Pete would barge in and block the door? No way. They’d never get past Jean’s guards posted all around the property.
“I have a bag full of first aid, drugs, weapons, anything, and everything,” Remy said.
“I’d die for some ibuprofen. Give me some of that, and you can stand down.”
“Hold on.” He hurried from the room while she and Jean went outside. His men needed to know he was okay.
A few minutes later, Remy joined them carrying a rucksack. “I threw some items in there you might need. Water purification tablets, first aid pack, rations, a flashlight, compass.”
She hefted the bag. “And the kitchen sink.” She peeked inside. “A Glock? You’re giving me a Glock? Hallelujah momma.” She grinned. “You’re a man after my heart.”
Jean looked inside the bag. “What’s a Glock?”
“Oh, man. You’ll get off on this, Boss. Wait till you see this baby.”
“Be careful, Billie,” Remy said.
She bumped fists with him. “Hell, yeah!”
35
The Temple (1814)—Penny
Penny Lafitte, aka Billie Malone, stood near the chénier at The Temple, hands fisted at her hips, blue hair blowing in the swamp breeze that chilled her sweat-drenched skin. She swallowed her stress as she watched her men ferry the last load of ammunition across Bayou Barataria to where the wagons waited to be loaded. Half of her job for the general was done.
Before leaving the city two nights ago, Jean and Dominique handpicked a dozen of their best men and told them Penny carried the weight of the Lafitte name, and if anyone harmed her or let harm come to her, they would die a painfully slow death. Boss left them with one parting gesture, his finger slicing across his throat.
He also gave her four pieces of advice. “Be careful. Don’t give them any reason not to trust you. Always show strength. And don’t fail.”
Great way to start a mission, but the men got the message. She worked alongside them, whether it was paddling a canoe, wrangling a mule, or hauling crates of ammunition. She pulled her weight, even though it nearly killed her, and had won their respect.
But the “don’t fail” piece of advice was her biggest concern. Logistics was her strong suit, and one of the reasons she was a successful event planner and caterer. Applying those same skills—detailed coordination of a complex operation—to what she was doing now was complicated by rumors of British troops in the vicinity.
Could her actions change the course of history? If the British took possession of this shipment of ammunition, what would Jackson use to defend New Orleans? Talk about freaky shit. She hunched her shoulders as tension skittered down her spine—bumpa-dee-bump.
If she let fear get a stranglehold, she’d be doomed.
The sun dipped lower until the trees lining both sides of the bayou stood as bronze sentinels silhouetted against the multicolored sky. What a view. She’d give a million bucks to be able to text Jean, send him a picture of the crates stacked on the other side of the bayou, give him a full status report, and receive a message in return.
What would he say? She shook her head. It didn’t matter. She’d deliver the goods, head home, and never see him again.
Time was running out. She needed to make one last sweep through the warehouse to see if there was anything else that would aid Jackson’s cause. Then it would be time to lock up and head back to New Orleans. If they traveled through the night, sleeping in their sad
dles, they should get back by late tomorrow afternoon.
“Captain Lafitte!” Stede Sallier, one of Lafitte’s burly men, called out.
She turned to see Stede and another sailor dragging a man by his arms. Nerves crawled up her throat. God, she hoped she didn’t have to make a life or death decision.
They dropped the man at her feet, much the same way as the guards dropped her at Lafitte’s.
“We caught him spyin’ on us, ma’am. Tried to beat it out of him, but he woan tell us nothin’.”
“Looks like you had a good go at it.” Billie stood over the man. He had a busted lip, eye swelling shut, clothes ripped. She rested her hand on the hilt of the cutlass and kicked him in the side, nearly breaking her toes. Shit. “Were you spying?”
“No,” he growled.
“My men say you were. You callin’ them liars?”
He rolled over and attempted to climb to his knees, gripping his stomach, but he fell back. “Wasn’t spying.” He coughed and spit out blood. “Needed directions. Your men grabbed me before… gasp…I could ask.”
There was something about his voice she couldn’t place, and her tired brain couldn’t slog through the sludge to identify him. She tapped her foot. “Where’re you from?”
“New York.” He spit out more blood.
“You one of Jackson’s men?”
He shook his head.
“You own property around here?”
He shook his head again.
“Then you must be spying for the British.”
His jaw twitched, and his eyes hardened “Not…gasp…spying.”
She kicked him in the gut this time. “Then what the hell are you doing out here?”
“Looking for a friend.”
“There’s a war going on, asshole. It’s not the time to go looking for a friend.” The men had formed a tight circle around them. They were expecting her to kill him—which she would never do—but how in the hell was she going to get out of it?
Do the same damn thing Jean did to me. Turn him over to the men.
She rubbed her still-bruised fists. If she punched him, she might break her bones before she broke one of his. “Well, you see, mister, we’re moving needed supplies to the city. If you’re spying for the British, that means they might suspect what we’ve got and try to take it. I wouldn’t like that.”
“I’d never betray my country,” he slurred around his split lip.
A chyron flashed across her mind. I tried the same thing with Jean, who accused me of spying.
“Neither would I. But I’m not the one accused of spying.” This time. “So what’s your name, New York? Might as well know it for your headstone.”
“Pete Parrino. P.A.R.R.I.N.O. Spell it right. Semper fucking Fi.”
One of her men punched him in the kidneys, and his back arched as he groaned. “Doan disrespect Mistress Boss.”
The man’s words hit Billie like a grenade. “Shit. No, stop!” She searched the faces of her men. She couldn’t afford to lose their respect, so whatever she told them had to be believable.
“Sorry to ruin your fun, boys.” She uncrossed her arms, lifted the man’s chin, and tsked instead of grimacing at the bruises and cuts on his face. “I’ve heard this man’s name before. He’s a friend of Commander Lafitte, and I’m sure Boss would consider it a personal favor to treat him as one.”
She studied each of her men. “Anybody got a goddamn problem with that?” No one said anything, but they muttered about it. “I tell you what.” She studied her broken nails. “If you get this man back to the city without any more injuries, there’ll be a bonus for everyone. How’s that?”
Stede scratched his head. “I doan know, ma’am. Will that bonus come from Boss or you?”
She refolded her arms as a prickle raced down her spine. Stay cool. Keep it simple. “I don’t know, Stede. Does it matter?”
“We know he’s got money. Doan know if you do.”
What were the odds that Rick O’Grady had traveled to the past without money? The guy owned a fully loaded Ford F-450, a convertible Jaguar, and a Mercedes-Maybach. If Rick had money, his traveling companions would too. Oh, and she mustn’t forget the fortune in jewels Jean gave her, plus her turquoise-encrusted cutlass.
Parrino tracked the men in the circle with his deep-set brown eyes. Tracked her too. He wasn’t the kind to go out without throwing down everything he had. He’d take her first and threaten to kill her. She knew his type. Hell, she was just like him.
“I’ve got money, and even if I didn’t, Boss would cover me. So do we have a deal?”
“Ya swear it for true?” Stede asked.
“I swear I’ve got money. Is that enough?” She released an uneven breath while the wind gusted and blew her hair in front of her face. She shoved it out of the way. “Come on, Stede. We’ve got a job to do. What’ll it take?”
“I doan know, ma’am,” he said.
“Fine. Here.” She removed her West Point ring. “Take this. If I don’t come through, the stone alone will give you and the men a bonus. The white gold will make it a bigger one.”
Stede looked at the ring, back at her, and then the ring again. “This is mighty important to ya. If you’re willing to give it up, must mean what ya’re sayin’ is true. ’Sides, if Boss gave it back to ya, he woan like me having it.” Stede gave it back and shrugged. “Ya sweared it for true. That’s good ’nuff for me.”
They locked eyes. He knew who she was—not Penny Lafitte—but a woman he carried to the brothel and probably stood in line to rape. He gave her only a slight nod before helping Pete stand. “I’ll personally see to his good health, ma’am.”
“Good.” She twisted the ring with her thumb. Sometimes people surprised you, and sometimes you surprised the hell out of yourself. She didn’t want to kill Stede. “Let’s wrap this up, get back to the city, and beat the crap out of the British.”
“Oorah,” Pete said between clenched teeth as the men peeled off and left him wobbling on his feet. “Don’t know why you lied, but thanks for what you did.”
“Come with me. You’ve got a nasty cut on your face. How about your ribs? Anything broken?” She almost laughed when she thought about how Remy would jump to the rescue if he saw how beat-up Pete was right now.
She sat on a log and patted it. “Sit your ass.”
“I missed a trail a couple of hours ago and have been wandering around ever since then.”
“Should’ve stopped sooner and asked for directions.” She used a clean cloth in her rucksack and water from her canteen to clean his face. When she got a look at his face after washing away the dirt and blood, she whistled.
“What’s that for?”
“I don’t know who’s better-looking—you, Remy, Rick, David, or Elliott. Although his son is nice to look at too. I’d probably say Remy. He’s younger, no hint of gray, or character wrinkles.”
Pete’s one open eye got so big it almost popped out of its socket. “Who the hell are you?”
“Billie,” she whispered. “But don’t tell them. They think I’m Penny Lafitte.”
“I know when to keep my mouth shut.” Pete shook his head, glaring, then laughed. “You sure as hell fooled me. I thought you were a real hardass bitch about to slice and dice me with that cutlass. But whose moniker did you steal?”
“Nobody’s. Jean and I made it up.”
“Jean? The real Jean Lafitte? Shit!” Pete took a shaky breath, then brought his staring eye front and center, his thick arms crossed over his broad chest. “What happened to your eye?”
She squirted antibiotic cream on a clean corner of the cloth and lightly pressed a smidgeon on the cuts and scratches.
He hissed. “Shit. Burns.”
She laughed. “After what they did to you, you’re complaining about a little bit of ointment?”
“Lost my adrenaline buzz. But your eye. What happened?”
“It’s just a patch. It makes me look fierce. Right? It goes with the blue hair and lea
ther pants.”
“You’re a badass babe, Malone.”
She laughed again. “Thanks, Parrino. Hey, why didn’t I meet you at the winery reopening? I thought I met the whole family.”
“I was in Australia for several months.” His expression darkened, but then he managed a one-cornered grin with his split lip. “I won’t miss the next one.”
She handed him the canteen. “You want a drink? It’s good water.” She also gave him a protein bar. “I guess that’s why I got a call from the winery before I disappeared. But it can’t be another reopening.”
Pete took a long drink, capped the canteen, and handed it back. “Meredith is going to announce her retirement—finally.”
“What does that do for Rick?”
“He’s already president. I guess he’ll be the new chairman of the board too.”
“Interesting.” She squeezed a bit more antibiotic ointment and dabbed it on a cut on the back of his head. “I don’t think these cuts are deep enough to need stitches, but Remy might want to put a couple in this one on the back of your head, just to give himself something to do. You want some ibuprofen?”
“Yeah. Give me four.”
She handed him the pills.
“If you got medical supplies from Remy, then you’ve seen Soph? Is she okay? She promised she’d stay close to Marguerite and wouldn’t venture out by herself. I’m sure she’s worried. I’ve been gone much longer than I planned.”
Billie put away the medical supplies while wondering how the hell to answer Pete’s question. It didn’t sound like he knew his wife was impersonating a soldier and attending meetings with Jackson. She didn’t want to cause problems for Sophia, and she didn’t want to worry Pete.
She gave a nonanswer with a slight turn of her head. “Jean and I went to the Fontenots’ residence two nights ago. When I told Sophia what I was going to do, she pleaded with me to wait until you and Rick got back to town.”
“So Philippe found you first?”
“Not exactly.”
“Captain Lafitte,” Stede called. “We locked up the warehouse. Ya ready?”
Saved by the bell.
The Topaz Brooch Page 41