“Perhaps,” the old man said, “history will repeat itself.”
“Jeez Louise,” Nell said involuntarily, thinking of her parents who’d almost been blown up, and the whole teenage pregnancy thing. Not that she could have a teen pregnancy at thirty-two but… “I hope not.”
“I’m sure you will make a better choice than your grandmother.” The old man’s words fell into the gap between another round of thunder.
For some reason, the storm seemed louder all the sudden, as if it wanted the party over, too. Nell could think of several responses to this—none of them polite. Finally Nell met his gaze with as much firm as she could muster. “I will.”
Alex shifted, as if he wanted to say something, but was restraining himself. She’d liked to have looked at him. Could have used one of his reassuring smiles right now, but she seemed to have lost the ability to look at him. Or she was afraid to? Was she afraid of what she’d see in his face?
As if he knew, the old man looked at Alex. “How is Zach? He retired a few years ago, did he not?”
“He’s fine.” Alex’s tone was clipped.
“I was older, of course.” His voice turned reflective, like an ordinary old guy. “Knew Charlie better.”
Nell stiffened. Suspected Alex did, too.
“Of course, we didn’t run in the same circles. He played football. I…didn’t.”
He probably beat people up and sold drugs. A totally different “letter” jacket.
His chilly gaze traveled from Alex to Nell, then back again. “I liked Charlie.”
Alex’s face hadn’t changed, but there was a rigidity to his shoulders that spoke of tight control.
“You have the look of Charlie,” Aleksi added.
Family is everything.
Was that the message of this evening? Nell might not really be one of them, but she’d never be part of Alex’s life because of Charlie?
Family is everything.
Alex’s family was tight. She hadn’t met many of his siblings, but she’d seen, she’d felt the connection, the love, the loyalty. She’d envied it. She’d…wanted it? In this big, cold room with a grand canyon between them, Nell realized two things.
That she might be more involved with Alex than she’d let herself realize.
And that even if her relations were pretending to like her, they wouldn’t want Alex in her life simply because he was a cop. The son of cops. Since she’d walked through the door, they’d been dividing them, reminding Alex of who and what she came from. Reminding her of what she’d lost.
And what did they want for her? Guido had been tempting her with the allure of having family again, while the old man, well, it felt like he taunted her. Taunts were more his style.
She stared down at the food, her stomach roiling. Had there been more than pot stirring? Not just “remember Charlie,” but don’t be Charlie? Because you could disappear, too. Just walk away. That’s all he had to do. His family ranks would close around him. He’d be safe. How could she blame him? He hadn’t known her that long. Spending time with her could put not just him, but his family at risk. Again. And she’d be…
Alone.
Her parents had each other when they’d disappeared all those years ago. She didn’t know why these people wanted her alone, isolated from support. Maybe they got their kicks from it. It didn’t matter why. They did. Would they run off Sarah, too? Or try to suck her into the slime?
Alone.
Her chest tight, she had a sense that someone was saying something, but she couldn’t hear. It wasn’t just the thunder. There was a roaring sound inside her head, inside her heart.
And that’s when it finally happened.
A shot rang out.
Alex heard the shot and saw the flash off to his left, where Nell sat. He dove for her, knocking her to the floor. The hard, unyielding floor. Felt her breath go out as they hit marble, cuz he sure couldn’t hear it over thunderclap.
And then he heard the sound of glass breaking…
…the thunder sounded louder with the windows gone…
…But it got swallowed up in sound of gunfire as some semi-autos opened up.
He tried to shield Nell, groped for his weapon, but it was not right time to fire back. Not yet. His muzzle flash would give away their position.
Bullets chewed across the tabletop, spraying glassware and food in every direction.
Then slammed into wall above them. Near as he could tell, shooters were determined to write with bullets in both directions. And then back again.
Air was thick with plaster dust and smoke.
Throw in thunder as background. Lightning. And the shooters.
A total Charlie Foxtrot.
Except…
Alex frowned. Didn’t seem like anyone was shooting back. And the pattern of the shots seemed odd, though conditions were bad for an accurate assessment. Seemed like some shots ought to be hitting marble and ricocheting around. One shooter did take out a chandelier. It smashed into the tabletop with a crash.
And then it stopped.
The shooting, not the storm.
Through a couple of lightning flashes, Alex tensed, waiting for round two.
Rain splattered against the marble floor. Outside smells mingled with the smell of food and cordite.
Cautiously he lifted his head, then came to his knees beside Nell, his body between her and where the shooting had come from, but his head still below the table. He popped up for a quick look. Lightning flash confirmed shattering of food and dishes. Oh well, he’d lost his appetite anyway.
And then he noted wide eyes peering over the edge of the table at nine, eleven, twelve, and one o’clocks, and another set over at three o’clock. He did a mental count. Then did it again. All that shooting and not a single casualty? Not even the old man? How was that possible—his heart jerked and his breathing stalled.
Nell.
As abruptly as they’d gone out, the lights flickered a couple of times, then stayed on. Nell lay where he’d left her, seemingly not moving.
The first shot.
He turned, panic clawing up his throat, but before he reached her, she moved. Shifted, flexed her legs and arms, groaned and then rolled over.
“Ow.” She grimaced. Or maybe she tried to smile.
The hit to the marble had to have hurt. “Are you all right?” He crouched by her. Without being told, his hands moved up her legs, then her arms, wandered over her head, probing for injuries. Wanted to keep going, wanted to check out the good stuff, but a look in her eyes stalled him. He helped her sit up, then get up, as other figures around the table rose like they were puppets on strings. Would have been funny any other time. Any other place. He was aware that the two men moved to help the old man back into his wheelchair, but he didn’t care that much. “Where does it hurt?”
His gaze raked over her without seeing. Like a blind man, his hands run up her arms again.
She tried to grin. “There are a few spots that don’t hurt.”
His fingers found the tear in the shoulder of her dress. That focused his attention. He probed it, but only the surface had been torn as the bullet passed by. That first shot had come from inside the room. One of them had tried to kill her. His money was on one of the two women. The two men had been circling Nell. He didn’t know for sure, but he had his suspicions. His gaze lifted, met her widened gaze as she studied the spot, then looked at him.
She managed a shaky, sort of smile. “Bruised but not broken.”
He pulled her into a fierce hug. Too near, the miss. And not just the bullets. Starkly, clearly he saw Nell in his life and Nell out of his life. He swallowed dryly. Her gaze had been shadowed by more than the shots. And there’d been a question that hadn’t been there when they arrived. He wasn’t—couldn’t be—in love with her, but he was deep in like. Deep. Lots of like.
Over her shoulder, Alex saw the old man, saw the look in his eyes. Not happy. Neither were Guido Calvino and Dimitri Afoniki. The moment they walked thr
ough the door, the dividing had begun. And it almost worked. Guido’s smiles, the toast, mention of his Uncle Charlie—it all took on new meaning. He knew they they wanted him gone. He was a cop. He didn’t know why they wanted to isolate Nell, but it didn’t matter. They were bad guys. It wouldn’t be for her good.
And he’d almost let them. Almost helped them.
He sighed, tightening his hold on Nell. How much damage had been done? Their relationship—his insides flinched at the word, but he manned up—was so new. With some unseen bracing, Alex found her chin and looked into her eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked, hoping she caught the double meaning to the question. Women were supposed to know these things but—
Her gaze searched his. It felt like it took a long time. Slowly, so slow it made his chest hurt, the edges of her mouth began to edge up, nudging the shadows and the question almost out. It wasn’t the smile that had started his fall into like. It was better than that. He held his breath and hoped.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m good.”
His dad had always told him to pick his battles. This was a good one. A battle worth the fight. They weren’t running. There’d be no hiding. He wasn’t Charlie. Nell wasn’t Ellie. If he quit being stupid she wouldn’t give up on him. She wouldn’t bend or break. He didn’t know everything about her, but he knew this. Come mob or piles of kids, he sure as hell wasn’t giving up on her. Lesson learned.
As if she sensed this, her smile widened, and the vestiges of doubt, the lingering question faded like mist in the sun.
He adjusted the angle of her chin.
He shot the old man a hard bring-it-on look.
And then—in front of God and the mob—he kissed her.
Thank you for reading my short story, “Family Treed.” I hope you enjoyed it. :-) The next adventure in the series is Dead Spaces.
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Project Enterprise The Big Uneasy Lonesome Lawmen
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Also by Pauline Baird Jones
If you enjoyed Family Treed: The Big Uneasy 1.5, I hope you’ll check out the first installment in the series: Relatively Risky: The Big Uneasy 1. I’ve included an excerpt below. :-)
* * *
A quirky artist must unravel her parent's secret past before the mob erases her future. But will the protection of a handsome homicide detective be her only hope of surviving the Big Easy?
Nell Whitby is starting over in New Orleans, getting a publisher for her children’s book, sketching tourists in the French Quarter, and leaving the tragic death of her parents behind. When a handsome detective asks her for a date, her fresh start seems perfect…until a dangerous family secret bubbles up from the past and puts her life in jeopardy.
The oldest of thirteen children, detective Alex Baker has two goals in life: solve murders and avoid anyone under the age of ten. That is, until the day the quirky children's book author foils a carjacking, becomes a target for the mob, and makes his libido sit up and reconsider the whole no-kids thing. If he doesn’t protect her, she’ll be the next body to turn up in his homicide investigation.
As bullets start to fly, Nell can’t resist her sexy bodyguard or ignore her past, and Alex must protect the irresistible kid-magnet from whoever has them both in the crosshairs.
“Jones’ writing style is unique: a strong dose of noir balanced with humor and witty dialogue. The plot moves at a fast pace as does the chemistry between Alex and Nell. The characters are well-developed and likable, the relationship between Alex and his 12 siblings fun, and the New Orleans ambience conveyed so realistically the reader will feel as if they have been plopped down right in the middle of the Big Easy.” Midwest Book Review
The excerpt:
He’d passed his house, wondering if he was going to be doomed to drive around until one of the college students across the street had to go to class, but as he passed a cross street, he’d spotted half a space just around the corner. It was by a hydrant, but the parking Nazis weren’t out this early, and he could get his dad to move his truck later. He pulled in, got most of his truck off the street, if he didn’t mind blocking the sidewalk. He didn’t. The dividing line between street and sidewalk was more imagined than real anyway. He’d shut off the engine and thrust open the door, anxious to get unconscious as soon as possible. Should have known better. Should have kept an eye on his surroundings. Which was why the stinking little piece of crap got the drop on him, down shifting his night from bad to worse.
“Get out real slow with your hands where I can see ‘em, mother—” The pressure of the gun against his neck eased some, as if the perp couldn’t point and talk at the same time.
Alex rolled his eyes at the spate of unoriginal swearing. The education system was so screwed up, it was depressing. Kids couldn’t even swear good and had nothing better to do than try to jack a detective who’d spent the night knee deep in bodies.
“Keep your cool,” Alex said, more for himself than the kid, as his temper tried to slip tired’s leash. Making sure both hands were visible, he slid out and turned around. The kid was as small as he sounded and looked like he was on the downside of a high. Probably looking to trade Alex’s wheels for a trip back up. Man, the guys’d really roast him if he got jacked by a kid too young to shave.
“Shut up and give me your wallet and keys!” The kid practically foamed at the mouth as another round of filth poured out.
At his age, Alex hadn’t known half that many cuss words. And when he got caught saying the ones he knew, his head had been down in the sink eating soap. If he shoved a bar down the kid’s throat? Probably be called police brutality and get him a sit down with IAD.
“Life’s not fair,” his dad would say about now. “But it’s always interesting, bubba.”
And about to get more so, Alex realized. The swearing, while tiresome, had drowned out the unlikely figure on a bicycle bearing down on them both. She was hunched over the handles, an intent scowl on a face that was ordinary, but not in a bad way. Her feet pumped hard on the pedals, as she steered around the numerous potholes and bumps that pockmarked the street. Her eyes were narrow slits and her hair stuck out around her head like a ragged, brown halo.
Alex sure hoped she didn’t plan to ram the little crap while he had a gun pointed at him—oh yeah, she meant to. As if the kid sensed her incoming, he started to turn.
“Here, catch.” Alex tossed his keys high in the air. No surprise the kid followed the shiny object. Or that he stepped back to catch them. The front wheel of the bike caught the kid in the butt and sent him running forward, right into Alex’s waiting fist. He crumpled into an untidy heap, though a final hand twitch fired the gun. Alex’s driver’s side window exploded into flying shards of glass.
And took his insurance rates with it.
Alex mentally deployed a few swear words. Didn’t have time to say them as the bike and its rider skidded sideways. No way she’d regain control. Alex jumped forward, tried to catch her. Instead, he got tangled in the bike. Gravity weighed in but not on his side. Damn, he didn’t remember the pavement being that hard. The front wheel spun against the side of his face through two rotations before he untangled a hand and stopped it. He turned his head and found himself nearly nose to nose with the rider. It was a nice nose. Short but straight and set neatly between her eyes. They were nice, too. He’d spent the night fielding angry looks. Didn’t mind the nice change of gaze. They were a warm brown and…he tipped hi
s head, trying to find the right description, and settled for nice. They were nice. She smelled better than all of his perps. That wasn’t surprise. He noticed her lips were pursed, which sent his thoughts down a kissing side path. If he hadn’t been so tired, he wouldn’t have thought about kissing her, of course—
As if on cue, she licked her lips, kick-starting something deep in his gut. Maybe he’d spent too long on the bench after his divorce. He blinked, a bit hazily, and realized she was engaged in a counter scrutiny. Her curious, oddly innocent gaze intersected his and she blinked, lashes thick as a hair brush sliding down, then up again. Despite the intrusion of the bike they were as intimately entangled as lovers. Shouldn’t have thought that. His breathing stuttered.
“Are you all right?” Voice matched the eyes.
“I’m fine.” His voice was on the husky side, but she wouldn’t know that. His gaze drifted to her mouth again. Wasn’t a kiss a time honored thank you for a rescue? Did sharing her crash count as a rescue? His conscience kicked. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes widened. The mouth curved up. “Yes, thank you. Though…”
Apparently oblivious to his snarled thoughts, she untangled her legs from her bike and from him, wincing a bit in the process, and scrambled up.
He lifted the bike to the side. His nerve endings started sending an inventory of which parts hurt and how much. Gravity, as if sensing his desire to escape, tightened its grip. When he turned forty earlier this year, he’d decided it was time to quit slamming his body against the ground, hard objects and other people. It was getting embarrassing how long it took him to get up. Didn’t remember it hurting that much when he was younger. That’s why he’d applied for a transfer to Homicide. Life had a way of bringing you full circle—not to mention reemphasizing its most painful lessons. Lessons like, you can run but you can’t hide. And quit banging yourself against the ground, idiot brain.
He ignored the hand she held out to him and fought gravity until he got both legs under him. He crouched and flipped the kid, cuffed him, then checked his pulse. He’d live to carjack again. Might even live long enough to be old enough to drive what he stole. He secured the perp’s weapon and then went to right the bike. He gave it a roll forward—seemed to be all right. Not too bent out of shape. Something ironic in that thought, but he was too tired to figure it out. He deployed the stand, wondered what she was doing out so early, turned to ask, and found her staring at the handcuffs. Then she looked at him, her eyes a bit wide.
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