The Fall of the Red Queen (Self Made Men...Southern Style Book 3)

by Lexxi Callahan

  “Why are you here?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

  “Have you interviewed Trip Kincaid yet?”

  “You came all the way down here to ask me that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” He straightened. “Haven’t you tried to pay him off yet? You and the Warren brothers have been busy minions for the last two weeks.”

  “Have you? It’s important.”

  “I haven’t.” And technically he wasn’t lying because he hadn’t. Grant had talked to the Kincaid family over a week ago. He also didn’t mention that the Kincaid family had put them in touch with another family whose son had died in custody at West JDC. Grant was holding that card close.

  Her eyes narrowed on him. “Did Grant talk to him?”

  Jared let out a breath. “Yes.”

  She laughed lightly and shook her head in disappointment. “You need to work on your poker face. Did you get what you needed?”

  “You would know if you’d accepted the job like you were supposed to.”

  Something flickered in her expression, proving that she wasn’t as frozen solid as she looked. “Just answer the question.”

  He crossed his arms. “Yes, we got what we needed.”

  Relief softened her features for a second before her mask slammed back down and she stepped away‏‏. What was up with her? She’d made it clear she’d returned to the Robicheaux fold. She was openly helping the Warren brothers build a defense for the old judge.

  Her gaze flicked to Stefan and Jen, who were watching them warily. “Jen, when are we going to do that lunch?”

  Jen moved away from Stefan, waving him off when he tried to keep her close. “If you’ve got something to say to me, Madlyn, then just say it. I’m tired of this dance.”

  Cold black eyes stared back at them, then another bitter smile burned Jared’s skin. “No, I don’t have a thing to say.” She gave Jared a predatory smile, then swept out of the kitchen as quietly as she’d come in.

  “What the hell was that?” Stefan asked.

  “I have no idea,” Jared said, an eerie chill running down his spine. “So Matt Hansen? The television reporter?” he asked, trying to distract them from asking the wrong questions.

  Jen went pale again. Jared immediately felt guilty.

  “Fraternity brother,” Stefan explained, pushing his fingers through her hair.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jen said, and they both turned to her, even though she was apologizing to Stefan. “I thought it was you. All this time.”

  “If I’m supposed to be upset you were jealous, forget it.” Stefan teased, and her eyes narrowed on him before she could get upset about her mistake.

  She popped him on the chest. “I was more than jealous!”

  “I’m sure you can come up with a suitable punishment,” Stefan taunted her. “Even though I am completely innocent.”

  “This time,” she shot back, a smile trembling on her mouth instead of tears.

  Jared knew better than to laugh out loud, but watching Stefan banter with her to distract her from getting upset, just confirmed Jared’s earlier suspicions. Stefan might be an overprotective asshole, but the person he was constantly trying to protect Jen from was Jen.

  “Hey.” He changed the subject completely, wanting to shake off the pervading chill Madlyn had left in the room. “Are you guys coming to Chat Bleu tomorrow night? Marcus Napier is in town. Last time he was here, he dared Adam to play Dobro.”

  Stefan shook his head in disbelief. “That should be interesting.”

  “I bet Adam’s excited,” Jen added.

  “Yeah, I left him throwing up all over the loft this morning. He’s real excited.”

  “Are you playing?” Jen asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll be lucky if I can keep up.” He left out that Adam had refused to play without him, which made Jared feeling pretty queasy. Playing at the Frenchmen Street club Chat Bleu was a big deal. Playing Chat Bleu with Marcus Napier was major. The place would be packed and not just with locals. The press loved when Marcus returned to his roots.

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “Whatever.” Jared shrugged. “Jackson’s playing drums. Elliot reserved the balcony.”

  “We’ll be there,” Stefan said, steering Jen towards the door.

  He waited until he heard the outer door close, then slid back down the wall to sit. He closed his eyes, pushing the heels of his hands against his eyebrows, trying to rein in the anger.

  Two weeks.

  Two freaking weeks and the pain throbbing in his chest was worse. He’d almost started to believe he was over it, but less than ten minutes in her presence, he was dying again. Anger warred with pain, which made him madder because he didn’t like being angry.

  He didn’t like wanting to grab her and shake her so hard she would stop putting up all those walls. And he absolutely didn’t like the way he responded to her when she told him what to do. Except he did like that part. That part was hot.

  He kicked the stainless steel worktable in front of him and winced. The table didn’t budge, and his Chucks didn’t do much to protect his toes. It didn’t help. He could still feel her nails raking across his neck and her mouth on him, driving him insane.

  Two weeks and now he was starving and aching all over again. Well, screw that. She didn’t get to just waltz into his kitchen dressed in those shoes, smelling that good, then waltz out again after flipping him back on like a light bulb.

  He jumped to his feet. She’d flipped him on. Well, she could flip him off. And she could tell him what the hell all those questions about Trip Kincaid had been about.

  Chapter Twelve

  Madlyn stood before the full-length mirror in her bedroom, staring at the stranger in front of her. What was she doing?

  She smoothed the black and tan chevron-patterned palazzo pants again, then buttoned the last buttons on the black silk blouse. She closed her eyes and shook her head in defeat, then unbuttoned a button. It felt strange not wearing red, but somehow she couldn’t face it. Not after today. What the hell had she been thinking going by their bakery?

  Stupid move.

  She hadn’t thought it through. Her shoulders dropped. She’d just wanted to see him. The conversation she’d walked in on momentarily stunned her. She’d reverted to form when it was too late to back out of the doorway without them noticing her. So she’d brazened her way through it and escaped as quickly as she could.

  And she’d seen him. Every delicious inch. Her insides still didn’t feel quite right, and there was a tingle just under her skin.

  Shaking it off, she unbuttoned another button, then turned away from the pale, hesitant woman gazing warily at her from the mirror.

  She should never have let her grandfather talk her into going to dinner with Rafe Warren. Working with him and his brother the last two weeks had been excruciating. Spending time with Robbie made it worth it. She was able to pick Robbie up from school, help him with his homework, and eat supper with him each night. Then she would break her heart by taking him back to her sister. But she’d seen him every day for two weeks in a row. The longest time she’d ever spent with him.

  So she’d swallowed what was left of her conscience and helped the Warren brothers build a defense with one exception. Every time West JDC came up, she denied any knowledge of it and she successfully deflected their attempts to look into it further.

  Rafe Warren was no fool. He was methodical and thorough. He let West JDC go, but he hadn’t been happy about it. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to redirect him if he took it up again.

  When his brother had flown back to Dallas, Rafe had stayed in town to work over the weekend. So her grandfather had naturally volunteered her to take him to dinner.

  Rafe was, of course, alone in town and wanted to see the real New Orleans, maybe listen to some music. There’d been no way to say no. But it also meant Robbie could not spend Saturday night with her. She promised to take him to breakfast in the morning.

  Rafe
had called Saturday morning to work out the details. He was nice enough and very upfront that the ink on his divorce wasn’t dry yet.

  Startled when the doorbell rang, she grabbed her black lace kimono wrap and checked her make-up one more time. She hadn’t changed her lipstick. Maybe it was too much. Should she consider a different shade? Was she getting too old for red? Or was she just losing her taste for it?

  The doorbell rang again. He was early, but that was okay. She was so busy arranging the lace around her shoulders when she opened the door that she didn’t look up at first.

  Words died on her parted lips when she didn’t find Rafe Warren on her front porch. The smartass expression on Jared’s face melted as his eyes narrowed on her outfit.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded, stepping inside before she could stop him.

  She took a deep breath and turned, holding the door open with one hand. “You need to leave.”

  “You smell good, too.” His expression turned scary. “What? Do you have a date?”

  She waved at the door. “No, really, you should go.”

  “You do, don’t you? With who?”

  She faced him again, bracing herself as she turned. He looked so good in the worn black jeans, white button-down and black vest with no tie. A loop was back on his lip, and her mouth ran dry as her tongue tried to pull her whole body forward to taste it.

  Did he have a date? Why was he dressed up? Anger sparked in her stomach before she shut it down. “Did you need something?” Where was he going?

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding towards her bedroom, “I think I left my earrings here.”

  Speechless for a second, she thought he was kidding, that it was a smartass excuse to see her. The tiny thrill inside her died as she remembered that she did have his jewelry.

  “As a matter of fact…” She stalked past him to the bedroom. “Stay where you are,” she called over her shoulder when he started to follow her.

  She could only plead insanity as she wrapped all the barbells and studs in the red scarf he’d tied around her wrists. She stopped in the hall when she heard his voice in the other room.

  “’Sup?”

  “The door was open,” a deep voice said. “Is this Madlyn Robicheaux’s house?”

  Her heart stopped waiting for Jared’s answer. There wasn’t one.

  She forced herself to smile as she took her time joining them. This wasn’t a date. Not that it mattered. It was none of Jared’s business.

  “Rafe,” she said, greeting him warmly. Dressed in a gunmetal gray suit with no tie, his sandy-brown hair expertly cut, and holding flowers, Rafe Warren might have looked attractive if the rock god of hell hadn’t been glaring at her from the middle of her living room. “You’re early. Come in.”

  “Yeah,” Jared hissed. “Come in, Rafe?” He questioned the name as he looked at Madlyn, then moved towards the older man and grabbed the flowers out of his hand. “I’ll put these in some water.”

  He stomped out of the room, and Rafe fought an awkward smile. “Do I want to ask?”

  “No. You really don’t. Give me just a minute.”

  She walked into the kitchen in time to see the flowers hit her garbage can. “What’re you doing?”

  He looked up and the next thing she knew he’d jammed her into the corner of the kitchen cabinets and covered her mouth in a brutal, possessive kiss that melted her kneecaps and destroyed all the barriers she’d tried to rebuild. It hurt and felt amazing at the same time. She bit back at him, teasing at his lip ring.

  He raised his head, his mouth smeared with her lipstick. “Screw you and your date,” he snarled at her, grabbed the red scarf out of her hands and slammed out the back door, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. She’d just caught her breath when he slammed back in, his fury and pain hitting her straight in the gut. “You sleep with him and I’ll fucking kill him.”

  Her lips parted in shock. He meant it. Had he lost his mind? And he had no right. And the sudden flare of heat was totally inappropriate. “Get out of my house!” she warned before she did something stupid and flung herself at him.

  “Is there a problem?” Rafe asked from the doorway.

  Jared’s expression when he turned towards Rafe could have melted steel. “Not yet,” he snarled, and slammed back out of the house again.

  “Jared!” She came back to her senses as the back door shut.

  “So not a younger brother then?” Rafe asked.

  “No.” Her shoulders sagged and she held on to the doorframe for temporary support. It shouldn’t hurt so much that Jared was upset. It shouldn’t thrill her either. But it did both. Something territorial in her liked that he was so obviously jealous, but that other softer part, the part she tried hard to snuff out, hated hurting him. “More like a stupid mistake.”

  “Well, I know all about those,” Rafe said as the SUV screeched out of her driveway. “You want to fix your make-up before we go?”

  Her fingers touched her mouth, but it was a minute before she could stop shaking long enough to repair the damage.

  Lüke was packed as usual, but they sat at the bar and ate oysters. Rafe didn’t talk about his ex-wife, and she didn’t mention Jared. He did tell her about his twelve-year-old daughter. Madlyn talked about Robbie. It was such a low-key, friendly dinner that she almost wished it had been a date. It felt so normal. And she hadn’t felt normal in a long time.

  Rafe tapped his longneck beer against the frosted mug she’d poured her beer into. “This has been quite a week.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, and it had. Most of it had been taken up with her grandfather telling the Warren brothers what they needed to do. Rafe had listened and nodded, then did what he was planning to do to start with.

  “Tell me something, straight up.” He paused as he decided how to ask the question. “The Judge isn’t…all there, is he?”

  She choked on her beer and almost tipped the mug over as she tried to set it down. He took it from her, handing her a napkin at the same time. Unsure that she’d heard him correctly, she answered carefully. “He’s eighty-three years old.”

  Rafe nodded. “I think we can use that. Ask the court for an evaluation. If we can show diminished capacity—”

  Diminished capacity? She felt herself trying to leave her body as the room came into a weird sharp focus. Was Rafe serious, or was he just trying to create a plausible defense? It was true that her grandfather’s incarceration had changed him. He tired easily. He’d lost weight. But his temper hadn’t suffered, and it wouldn’t be long before he built his strength back up. That tremor she’d noticed in his hand wouldn’t last.

  “He’ll never agree to that,” she dismissed, shivering a little at the idea of how the old man would react if they suggested it.

  Rafe sipped his beer. “You and I both know these corruption charges aren’t going to go away. The State of Louisiana and some very powerful people aren’t going to want the scandal of a trial. And the trial will be huge.”

  “Isn’t that why you and your brother took the case? For the huge nationally televised trial?”

  He nodded, his expression grim. “We came for a nationally televised trial that we could win. I don’t see that happening here.”

  Shock sizzled under her skin. He was completely serious, and the idea that someone believed her grandfather could go to prison sent her into a tailspin. She didn’t know how to feel about that. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the possibility. Winston Robicheaux was untouchable. She’d paid a horrible price to learn that lesson. “He has too many powerful friends.”

  “Not as many as he may think he does. There’s blood in the water, Madlyn. The DA knows it. Grant Marshall knows it. It’s a no-win scenario for all of us unless there’s something you’re not telling us.”

  The friendly expression on his face was the most terrifying thing she’d seen in a long time. Rafe Warren didn’t think her grandfather could win. “Have you shared these concerns with him?”

  “Not yet
.” He leaned back. “You know him better than anyone else. Has he actually done some of things they’re accusing him of?”

  She caught her breath, torn once again between impossible choices. She wanted her grandfather to pay for the things he had done, but she fallout would hurt her son.

  “I guess I’m asking you if he’s guilty.”

  Everything that had happened in the last ten years seemed to be leading to this moment. This was it. She could finally make him pay.

  But it would mean Robbie would also pay. She couldn’t do it. She could not sacrifice her son’s happiness. Once again, she was trapped and she was alone. She wished she could talk to Jared about it. And that thought took her breath away completely.

  “Forget I asked that. I’ve obviously upset you, and that wasn’t my intention.”

  “No, no, it’s okay. Maybe it would be better if I discussed your recommendation with him first.”

  “I admit, I was hoping you would volunteer. It might be easier coming from a family member.”

  She bit back a laugh. She was the very last person her grandfather would want to hear it from.

  Rafe waved at the bartender, who brought Madlyn another beer despite her protest. Then he completely changed the subject and delivered the second-most shocking thing he could’ve said. “I heard Marcus Napier is playing on Frenchmen Street tonight.”

  “Marcus Napier?” she echoed, wondering how this refined, elegant man knew who Marcus Napier was. “You want to go hear bounce music?”

  His smile went crooked. “I’ve always wanted to see Frenchmen Street and it would seriously increase my street cred with my twelve-year-old. Her hip-hop dance class did a routine to one of his songs.”

  Madlyn’s jaw dropped. “And she’s twelve?”

  He nodded. “There are many reasons my wife and I divorced. Pageants and hip-hop dancing, being in the top ten.”

  The way he said it made her laugh. Her cell phone buzzed and she fished it out of her purse without thinking. Her eyed widened at the four texts from Jared. “Would you excuse me?”

  He nodded, and she escaped to the ladies room so she could read the long, detailed description of what he was going to do her after he killed her date. If he’d meant to make her angry, he’d failed. Instead, his list turned her on so much she couldn’t breathe right. She could clearly picture every erotic thing he said in full Technicolor. She shivered, then washed her hands in very cold water. She’d been gone too long.