by Elle Casey
“How fortunate,” I say before I can stop myself.
He gives me a half smile. “You need protection. I offer protection.”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t need protection.”
He sighs. “I don’t mean to be rude . . . or pushy . . . but I have to say this . . .” He presses his hands together. “. . . It sure seems like you need some.”
“Why? Because I left the hospital in a robe? As you might recall, I arrived in the hospital in an ambulance and my car was towed. There was no way I could have clothes to change into.”
“Unless you had a friend to bring you some.”
I shrug. “As you’ve so kindly pointed out, I’m stubborn sometimes. Maybe I have friends but I don’t want to inconvenience them.”
“Are you going to punish me for saying that about you forever?” he asks, looking slightly pitiful.
“Maybe.”
“Stubborn,” he says, smiling.
I try not to smile back, but it’s hard not to.
“Do you want to know what I think?” he asks, scooting to the front of his chair and then wincing and rubbing his knee.
“Probably not.”
He says nothing and the pressure mounts.
“Fine. Tell me what you think.”
He keeps his eyes locked on his knee. “I think that there’s a man named Pavel who came to see you and the baby he thinks is his, and that this man is not a very nice man, and that you’re trying to stay away from him as best you can.” He looks up at me to gauge my reaction.
I open my mouth to hit him with a barrage of questions, but he stops me with a lifted hand.
“Hold on . . . I’m not finished . . . I also think you’re a good girl who might have gotten into a bad situation, and maybe just a little help could get you on the right track, because you’re tough and self-sufficient and you want to do the right thing by your son.”
My emotions are swirling around like they’re caught in a tornado. One second I’m offended, then sad, then proud, then confused. I say the first thing that comes to mind. “How in the hell do you know anything about Pavel?”
He presses his hands together and rubs them a little. “I told you. I’m in security. And my company has a great relationship with the NOPD.” He pauses, glancing at the floor for a few seconds before looking back at me. “I came to see you this morning, like I said I would. I had a donut with sprinkles on it for a young woman who’d just had a baby and hadn’t yet had a visitor other than me.” Before I can question him on that, he answers. “I asked the nurses and they were more than happy to give me the information. Turns out they were hoping I could talk some sense into this woman who was refusing to fill out the baby’s birth certificate.”
“Ha. You want to talk about stubborn women . . . talk to those nurses.”
“I know, right?” He smiles. “They sure do love their paperwork over there.”
I move the baby’s little foot, covered in a sock. He’s sleeping so deeply he doesn’t even flinch. I can’t look at Thibault anymore. He’s digging into my fears, but I know efforts to stop him won’t work. And I want to know what he knows and how he found out my personal details, because if he can do it, so can Pavel. I need to learn how to guard my privacy better by not making the same mistakes twice.
“There were two police officers outside the maternity ward when I got there. I know them well from work we’ve done together. They told me about a young mother who had a visit from a known gangbanger named Pavel, who, after refusing to see him, disappeared from the hospital with her baby. She’d somehow figured out a way to short-circuit the security bracelet the baby was wearing.”
“I had to go,” I say softly. I can still picture the look on that nurse’s face when she told me Pavel was outside wanting to get in. She knew he was bad news. Thank goodness she followed her instincts and didn’t let him in.
“I have no doubt. His rap sheet is pretty scary.”
I nod. The police don’t even know the half of it. It makes me sick to think my baby has half his DNA, but I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure he grows up on the right side of the law. I’m more determined than ever to see this through.
“So, it wasn’t too complicated to figure out where you’d gone. I asked my sister to find the tow yard that had your car, and she got over there just in time to find you trying to get it. But I guess Pavel beat you to it.”
“Yeah. And how in the hell did he find my car before I did? That’s what I want to know.”
“Your story was all over the news. Still is. They even had shots of your car being towed away, so the tow yard got a bunch of free advertisement and Pavel didn’t even have to make a single phone call to find it.”
I let out a long sigh, settling back into the cushions and staring at the ceiling. “You’re pretty good at your job, I guess.”
“I’m damn good at it.”
“And humble, too.” I have to smile. He’s a good guy. Pushy, but good.
He chuckles. “You got me there.”
The room goes silent. My head swims with possible futures for myself and Tee. Where will we go? How will we go there? How much money do I have, and how long will it last? I haven’t checked my mutual fund account lately, so I don’t know if the balance has gone up or down. I’m guessing I have enough money to last us six months if I live frugally and find a dirt-cheap apartment somewhere. I wonder how hard it will be to rent a place without giving my true identity.
I look over at Thibault. “At your work . . . do you guys get fake identities for people?”
He frowns at me. “No.”
“Oh. Bummer.” I go back to staring at the ceiling.
“Wouldn’t you rather fix the problems that are making you run rather than change your identity?”
I laugh bitterly. “Sure. And I’d like to own a winning lottery ticket, too, but I don’t see that happening in my near future.”
“Can’t win if you don’t play,” he says, staring at me.
I look at him again and sigh, tired of the conversation, of the topic, of the entire concept of my life and the horrible direction it’s going in. “Is that supposed to mean something to me other than the obvious?”
“It means that running isn’t going to get you anywhere but in another place with the same problems. You’ll never feel safe. This guy—Pavel—seems to have a lot of resources, from what the police said, anyway. Aren’t you worried he’ll find you?”
I sit up, angry now. He’s doing it again. “You’re always pushing, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m just—”
“Yes, you are. Pushing, pushing, pushing. Yes! Okay! I get it! I’m screwed! I’ll run, he’ll find me. I’ll run again, and he’ll find me again. There’s nothing I can do but play this out and see what happens. Maybe I’ll get lucky and he won’t find me.”
“Do you have a plan?” He’s completely unaffected by my rude response. It makes me think he’s not listening.
“Maybe I do, but it’s none of your business.”
He nods. “You’re right.”
“I know I’m right.” My nostrils flare with aggravation.
He smiles. “You’re arguing with me about something I agree about.”
“So?”
“Stubborn. Just like I said.”
“Whatever.” I stand. “Where’s your bathroom?”
He points. “Down the hall, first door on your right.”
I stand and grab the car seat handle.
“You can leave him. I’ll keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t unbuckle himself and crawl away.”
I roll my eyes at Thibault as I release the handle. “Thanks.” I feel foolish, thinking I needed to take the baby with me. I have no idea what I’m doing. I hate feeling so stupid and helpless.
Thibault stands with great effort. “Wait. Hold on a second.”
I pause in the middle of the room. He approaches on crutches and stops a couple feet away. “I’m sorry.”
I blink a few times, trying to figure out what he’s up to now. “Sorry for what?”
“For being a jerk. I’m just worried about you is all.”
I shake my head slowly and give him a pitying look. “Poor Superman. He’s got a damsel in distress who doesn’t want his help. Whatever will he do?”
He frowns at me. “What is it with you and Toni calling me that? I’m no superhero. I don’t think I’m one, and I don’t try to act like one.”
“Sure seems like you’re trying to be one.” I walk to the bathroom.
“I don’t know how you can call me a superhero with this bum leg I’ve got!” His voice follows me into the hallway.
I smile. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. “I guess we know what this Superman’s Kryptonite is.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“Toyota car bumpers!” I close the door to the toilet and giggle to myself as I take care of business. My heart is lighter now than it was a half hour ago. I know the feeling won’t last, but I’ll enjoy it while I can. By the end of the afternoon, I need to have a plan that includes me being gone from here and out of Thibault’s life forever. The thought makes me sadder than it should. He’s a nice guy, and someday I’d like to have a guy like him as a friend in my life.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After feeding the baby and taking a nap sitting up on Thibault’s couch, I find myself alone with Tee asleep beside me in the living room. I don’t hear anything other than the cuckoo clock that just woke me up. It’s five in the evening and my stomach is growling.
I look around the room, and my eyes land on a photo album. I take it from the coffee table in front of me and start paging through it.
The first thing that strikes me is how happy everyone seems. I think I’m looking at Bourbon Street Boys employees since one of them is wearing a logoed T-shirt with that name on it. They celebrate with a lot of barbecues apparently. I can tell I’m seeing more than one in the various photos because the people are wearing different outfits and the trees are different. Someone has put the shots together with little captions next to them, and whoever that person is, she has a great eye. I’m assuming it’s a woman responsible, since I don’t know any men who make photo albums like this.
The twins are in some of the pictures, almost all the time with either Thibault holding them or another man. Maybe the father. He’s gorgeous, with a thick, long beard that does nothing to hide his handsome face. He’s standing next to Thibault in the photo I’m looking at now, and I find this man’s appeal dimming when compared to Thibault’s. Thibault looks stronger. More compact. With a darker skin tone and harder angles to his face. He looks very sure of himself, of who he is and where he belongs in the world. I envy him that.
“Ah, you found the famous photo album.” Thibault comes limping down the stairs, one arm using a crutch, the other holding on to the banister.
“You guys have a lot of barbecues.”
“Every time we close a case, that’s how we celebrate. Rain or shine.”
I turn the page. “Lots of kids.”
“Yeah, everyone but me has at least one now.”
I look up at him. “Some of them are very young, so I guess this is a new thing for your company? To have all those kids around?”
“Yep.” He joins me on the couch, setting the baby seat off to the side so he can point to the pictures. I focus on the large man in the photo. “That’s Ozzie,” Thibault says. “He started the company, and he was the first to go down.”
“Go down?”
He smiles. “Yeah. Fall under a woman’s spell and put a ring on her finger.”
I shrug. “Well, if you like it, then you better put a ring on it.”
“Ha, ha. Nice one, Beyoncé.”
“Who’s this?” I ask, pointing to a man who’s a couple feet taller than the woman he’s standing next to.
“That’s Dev and Jenny. He was the second to go down.”
I laugh. “And the third?”
“Lucky.” He points to the man with the beard. “My sister’s husband. Went down with her.”
“Poor guy,” I say, before I can stop myself.
Thibault barks out a laugh. “Ha! You said it.” He leans back on the couch. “Nah, I’m just kidding. But that was funny. I’m going to tell Lucky next time I see him.”
“She doesn’t drive you crazy?” I can’t imagine having a sibling like her. “She must test her husband’s patience.”
“Sure, she drives me crazy. And the day I get married, it’ll be to someone who’s her total opposite. But I love her more than anything or anyone in the world.” He shrugs. “We’ve been through a lot together. And she might be a little harsh, but inside she has a heart of gold. I wouldn’t change who she is for anything.”
“You’ve been through a lot together when you were young, you mean? With your parents?”
He gets a far-off look in his eye. “Yeah, then. And later in life, too.”
I slowly close the photo album. Things are starting to sound interesting, and I can’t think of anything that could work better at getting my mind off my problems than hearing about someone else’s instead.
“What happened?”
He doesn’t answer for the longest time. Then he seems to snap out of whatever trance he was in and sits up suddenly. “Nothing I’d like to rehash.” He takes the book from me and sets it down on the table. “Let’s talk about you.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
His abrupt about-face puts me off-kilter. “Uh. Yeah? A little. Maybe.” My stomach growls. My face burns with embarrassment. “Definitely. I’m definitely hungry.”
He pats me on the knee and then presses on my leg to lever himself up. “How about I cook dinner while we chat in the kitchen? You can help me, since I’m temporarily handicapped.”
I stand, grateful for the change of scenery. I’ve been sitting in this room for hours. “Sure. Can I leave the baby here?”
“Yeah, of course. Feel free to take him out of his seat and put him on the couch. He’ll probably be more comfortable.”
“But what if he rolls off?”
“He won’t. He’s too little yet for that. But we can wrap him up really tight and then put that album next to him so he won’t be the first two-day-old baby to learn to roll over and land on the carpet.”
I feel silly not knowing the most basic things about babies. “Okay.” I watch as Thibault wraps Tee up like a pro, until my little man resembles a human burrito. Then he sets him gently down on the cushion and uses the photo album near his middle to box him in.
“We’ll come check on him every few minutes to make sure he’s okay. And I can go over and borrow Toni’s old bassinet, too, in case you want to give him an actual baby bed.”
“We’ll see.” I’m not comfortable with the idea of borrowing anything from Toni, and having a bed here feels like a commitment to something I don’t want to make. I follow him into the kitchen, glancing back at my son. He’s sound asleep, not moving a muscle.
“Do you like pasta?” he asks, opening up a small door that leads into a pantry.
I go over to help. “Sure.”
“Grab that box, please,” he says, pointing.
I take down some rigatoni from the shelf along with some sauce he points to next.
“I’m an expert at boiling noodles,” he says, pretending to be proud of himself.
I hide my smile, for some reason not wanting him to know that his charm does have some effect on me. I put the items down on the counter next to the stove and then watch him do his expert noodle-making thing.
“My sister has started doing more cooking lately, since she had the kids. I go over there for dinner a lot.”
“You guys are really close. You live next door to each other, share meals . . .”
“Yeah. We’re real close now, but there was a time when we weren’t so much. When she was with this guy. Charlie.”
“Really
? Why? Did you not like him?”
He shakes his head while he fills a pot with water. “I said I didn’t want to rehash it, but here I am bringing it up again.”
“Maybe you do want to talk about it.”
He shrugs, watching the pot as the water inside comes to a boil. “Talking helps sometimes. Some people. Not me, usually.”
“Do you do it often? Talk to people about your problems?”
“No. Never.”
“Then how do you know if it helps or not?”
He dumps noodles into the water, stirs it a little, and sets the spoon down on the counter before turning to face me. “Maybe I don’t.” He shrugs and reaches for the salt, turning to add some to the water. “It’s a long story.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, “I’ve got time,” but then I realize I might not have time. What am I still doing here?
“What’s that look on your face mean?” Thibault asks me, catching me frowning at the floor.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Come on, it’s not nothing. You look stressed.”
I shrug. “It wouldn’t be crazy for me to be stressed right now, would it?”
“No, probably not.”
“Do you mind if I get myself some water?” I ask.
“Not at all. Help yourself. Glasses are in the cupboard there. Water bottles are in the pantry.”
Happy for the distraction, I move around the kitchen, getting water for both of us.
“I have an idea,” he says, putting another pot on the stove and adding sauce to it.
“Am I going to like it?”
He chuckles. “Are you always so suspicious?”
“Pretty much.”
He mumbles his next words. “God, you remind me so much of her.”
“Of who?” I’m afraid I know the answer already.
“My sister.”
“So, essentially, I remind you of a person who annoys the hell out of you.”
He looks over his shoulder. “Yeah. But I also love her to death, so it’s not all bad . . .”
“Yeah, well, no offense taken. Not to be rude or anything, but you’re not really my type, either.”