by Wendy Rosnau
"No, I don't need a loan."
Patch lit up, then leaned back on his throne and blew out a stream of smoke. "Well, that's my business, Blu boy, remember? I share my money with the world and then they share their money with me."
"One job," Blu said. "Pick the meanest son of a bitch who owes you the most, and I'll bring him to you on his knees ready to pay up. And in return, you'll make a few phone calls for me and get me some information."
"Information?"
"That's right."
"A rank job for information? That's your deal?"
"The rankest," Blu agreed. "For hard facts."
"Credible information can be costly."
Blu didn't say anything. One job was all he was willing to do. And it was a fair deal.
Patch puffed some more on his cigarette. "You know I always liked you. Damn if I could ever figure out why."
"Because I always got you your money," Blu pointed out.
"That's true. Tell me a little bit about this information. Maybe it's over my head."
"Nothing's over your head." Blu wasn't trying to flatter Patch, just state facts. "I'll have an agreement first, then I'll name-drop."
Grinning again, Patch slid off his big chair, then stepped around his cheap desk. "Now I remember, Blu boy, that's why I always liked you. You were smart. Muscle and guts don't go far in this business if you ain't smart. And you were the smartest badass muscle in the city. Hell, yes, we got a deal, Blu boy. Hell, yes."
Blu nodded, then stated the terms once more, this time ready to drop names. "A rank job, for information on a man named Salvador Maland, and a woman he calls Kristen Harris."
Patch sobered, then finally nodded. "We got a deal, Blu boy."
"Then who do I hit?" Blu asked. "What's the name of the poor slob you want on his knees?"
"Can I have him tonight?" Patch rubbed his hands together like an anxious kid.
"Sure."
"Then I'll see you back here at eight with my cousin, Big Lester. He started out owing me a grand. Now it's up to eight. I've tried to impress upon him that family still has to pay their bills, but…"
What Patch meant to say was that none of his men had been able to bring Lester to his knees. And Blu knew why; Lester worked in the underground pit as a professional fighter. He'd actually killed men in the ring for sport.
"And what about my information?" Blu asked. "When do I get it?"
"If you bring Lester to me tonight, I'll turn my rats loose on the city by nine. We'll have what you want in two, maybe three days."
Patch stuck out his hand. Blu took hold of it and pumped it. Patch was big on handshakes. It's how he ran his operation: a handshake, a Glock in his back pocket, and Squeeze listening at the door.
* * *
It was just before noon when Blu boarded the Nightwing. As he started down the stairs, he heard his ma's voice. Cursing under his breath, he found Angel perched in a chair with his mother braiding her long blond locks. So engrossed in friendly chatter and looking at pictures, they hadn't even heard him descend the stairs.
Blu lingered in the doorway, one hand on his hip, his shoulder propped against the jamb. His eyebrows rose as he listened to his mother inaccurately detailing an old story he'd just as soon forget.
"Blu was responsible for saving Fern Needle's life," she was saying. "She was so lonely after her husband died. She never had any children, you see. Well, Blu borrowed Grady Fink's cat and gave it to Fern so she would have something to love. It was the sweetest thing. Knowing she was lonely and struggling, well, he—"
"Grady was starving that old Tom cat," Blu interjected. "And I didn't borrow him, I stole him, just like I did his newspaper every Saturday morning just to piss him off."
Rose gasped and spun around. Angel did the same.
Blu, wearing a scowl, stayed where he was. "You got that story twisted, Ma. I didn't give a damn about that cat or old lady Needles. She had an odd smell, and so did that cat. They were perfect for each other."
"How long have you been standing there?" Rose huffed. "You nearly gave me a heart attack, sneaking around like that."
"I don't need to sneak. This is my boat, remember? You done boring Angel?"
"Oh, she wasn't boring me," Kristen piped up.
Blu's gaze shifted to the woman whose voice was beginning to torment him as much as her mouth and brown eyes. Not to mention her little curvy body packaged so perfectly in Lema's sarong. He wanted to ask her if she was all right. If she'd slept okay. He felt his mother's eyes on him and decided to keep his frown in place instead. "Why are you here, Ma?"
"I got a postcard from Margo." She reached for her purse and dug out a card and handed it to him.
Blu took the postcard, eyed the cows on the front, then flipped it over. The message was brief. Margo had met Ry's brother and his mother and father. She was enjoying the trip but missed them both. She and Ry would be back in six or seven days, and if there was time, she'd send another card. Oh, and by the way, these cows looked just like the ones on Ry's brother's ranch.
Blu handed the postcard back to his mother, then glanced at his watch. "You still opening at noon on Tuesdays?"
"Yes."
"Then you're going to be late."
"Oh, dear." Rose snatched up her purse. "I've got to run, child. If you'd be so kind as to drop my pictures by when you're finished, I would—"
Blu shoved away from the doorjamb, bunched up the pictures in his huge hand and dropped them carelessly back into his mother's straw purse. The photo album in Angel's lap followed. "She's done, Ma. Better get going. You wouldn't want customers standing on the street thinking you've forgotten about them."
"I would never forget about my customers," Rose huffed. But as she said the words, she was glancing at her watch, moving through the galley and toward the stairs. "It was nice meeting you," she called. "Come by the store, child. Oh, Blu, I filled the fridge. That milk was sour. Smelled to high heaven."
There was a long silence after his mother left. Blu watched Angel shove back on the chair and fold her hands in her lap. He tried to ignore her baby-soft bare shoulders, and her smooth pretty legs. Better to concentrate on her face, he thought, until his eyes found her mouth and the memory of what she tasted like slammed another heat surge into his groin. It was enough to make him groan. Instead, Blu reminded himself that from here on out there would be no more touching her, and definitely no more kissing her. She'd been hurt, and in the worst way possible. He wasn't going to add to her problems by pawing her with sweating hands and breathing on her as though he were trying to put out a fire.
"Would you like something to eat? Your mother made me eggs for breakfast. I could—"
"I'm not hungry. My mother sometimes gets carried away. Sorry if she made you uncomfortable—"
"She didn't."
"I checked on you before I left. You were sleeping like a log. I thought you might sleep 'til noon."
"I haven't slept that good since I left the island."
"The island? What island is that?"
"I—I didn't mean to—"
"Let it slip?"
"Where I've been living isn't really important."
Blu tried to control his anger. Hell with that, he thought. He had a right to be angry, he was out scrounging information while she was holding back. "You made it sound like Maland lived somewhere close by."
"I never said that."
"You implied it." Blu sauntered forward and dropped down on the couch a few feet away. "What is it, you still don't trust me?"
"I do trust you. I do."
Her words, the conviction behind them, were as much of a surprise as his mother dropping in for a visit. Blu studied her for a moment, then said, "Prove it. You've got a little secret that you've been hiding and I know what it is. If you trust me, you'll share it."
"You know what I've been hiding?"
Blu watched all the color drain from her face. Stretching out in the chair and getting comfortable, he said, "You said yo
u trust me. Here's your chance to prove it."
* * *
He'd found out about Amanda. Kristen was glad she was sitting down. He had admitted that he'd followed her to the shelter the other night. Had he gone inside? Had he searched out Sister Marian? So now what? Did she confess, or should she wait to see just how he felt about her having a daughter?
"So where's this island?"
It wasn't what Kristen had expected him to ask. "The island is off the coast of Belize. It's very small. I don't think it even has a name."
She watched Blu kick off his slip-on leather shoes to reveal tanned bare feet. Stretching out, his long toes came within inches of touching her own bare feet. It was strange how intimate bare feet could be, stranger yet was the rising urge Kristen had to slide her toes forward to touch him. But she didn't—this was no time to be thinking about touching the Blu Devil's bare feet. Amanda's safety was in jeopardy.
Kristen dragged the braid over one of her bare shoulders. Carefully she said, "I don't know why I didn't tell you about the island."
"Sure you do."
His expression was devoid of any emotion, and Kristen decided Blu duFray was the most serious person she had ever met. He probably hadn't cracked a smile since he was five years old.
"Trust doesn't come easy with you, you said that once. But like I told you, not trusting anyone isn't the answer, fille. It's trusting the right someone."
"And as I recall, you said that would be you."
"The biggest mistake you can make now is not leveling with me."
Kristen wished she knew how Blu felt about children. Why didn't he just come out and mention Amanda? Some men felt strongly about fathers being able to keep in touch with their children. What if Blu was one of those men, or what if he simply despised babies?
"Come on, Angel. Tell me about the years you spent with Salvador Maland. Paint me a picture."
Again, what he was asking surprised Kristen. Maybe he was just trying to get her to admit she'd had a child by Salva. Suddenly she felt defensive. "If you know my secret, why don't you fill me in? My memory doesn't work, remember?"
"I'm not asking you about facts before the accident. I'm talking about the island and your life with Maland."
"Can you be more specific?"
Suddenly he sat up, drawing his long legs beneath him. "I want to hear you say it, dammit!"
Kristen held her ground. "I'm not confessing anything," she said stubbornly.
"Just how violent can your boyfriend be, Angel? You've got bruises on your arms. Where else?"
Kristen couldn't hold Blu's gaze a moment longer and she lowered her eyes to her lap. It was almost as if he already knew where else. But how could he know that? And for what reason had he brought up her bruises? They were talking about Amanda. Weren't they?
She heard him swear, and when she glanced up she saw him drop to his knees and move toward her. Suddenly his hands were shoving up the sarong, and at the same time, spreading her thighs apart. Kristen cried out and tried to squeeze her legs back together, pushing him away at the same time. When she couldn't make him stop, she lunged forward to try to get away, but it only made things worse.
He wrestled her to the floor, and in a matter of seconds he had her pinned down, one of his legs wedged between her legs in a way that opened her wide. "Now," he said a little breathless from their tussle, his forearm resting across her chest to keep her still, "what the hell is that?"
Kristen didn't have to look down to know what he was questioning. How he even knew about the old bruises on her inner thighs was as much a shock as it was a mystery. But the fact was, he did know they were there, and by the look on his face he also knew what had caused them. Dread swept over Kristen and she went limp, all the fight going out of her in a heartbeat. Mortified, she squeezed her eyes shut and let the heat from her embarrassment flood her cheeks. Turning her head as far away as she could, tears filled her eyes.
She heard him swear, this time low and regretfully, she thought. Then suddenly he was off her and pulling her up with him. Kristen kept her face turned away and her body limp as he lifted her into his arms. Then he was on the couch again, cradling her on his lap.
"Dammit, don't cry. Shh. I'm sorry."
Kristen didn't want to cry. She'd already shed too many tears over Salva's repeated cruelty. It had been a horrifying shock that first time, then it had become her dirty little secret she couldn't tell anyone. But as much as she wanted to tell someone, to confess her pain, she didn't want it to be Blu duFray.
"Let me go, please," she whispered.
"No."
She buried her face, and tried to weep as quietly as she could.
"He's never going to hurt you again," he drawled next to her ear. "I promise, mon ange. Do you hear me? I promise."
"I didn't want anyone to know," Kristen insisted. "I still don't."
"Your secret is safe with me."
Your secret. It was then that Kristen knew Amanda was still well hidden in the shelter. That the secret Blu had been wanting her to confess all this time had been Salva's abuse.
"How did you find out?" Kristen asked, still unable to meet his gaze.
"Last night… While you were sleeping. I didn't … I didn't do anything to you, so don't worry that I—"
"I'm not worried."
His hand brushed her hair away from her face, then lifted her chin. "The secret goes no further. You trust me, and that's good." Gently he brushed a tear from her cheek. "I have to be gone for a little while tonight. Will you be okay here alone?"
Kristen sat up a little straighter on his lap. "Can't I go with you?"
"No. I want you out of sight. I don't even want you topside. Understand?"
Kristen shivered at the thought of Salva closing in. "I could wear the wig. And I wouldn't be any trouble, I—"
He shook his head. "I'll be back no later than midnight."
She laid her head on his shoulder. "What are you doing this afternoon?"
"At the moment, holding you."
Kristen could feel his gaze on her face. She didn't look up, and instead of climbing off his lap, she curled against Blu like a cat seeking a warm place to take a nap and closed her eyes.
* * *
Chapter 9
« ^ »
Big Lester answered his front door wearing red boxers and nothing else. When he learned Blu's intentions, he tipped back his head and laughed so hard by the time he was done, his face was as red as his shorts.
"Thought you'd given up being Patch's ankle biter, boy?"
Blu thought he had, too, and being reminded of it only made his already black mood blacker. "So what do you say, Les, should we head over to the Red Lizard? Both of us walking, or just one of us?"
"You think you're tough enough to take down Lester Batou?" The older man roared out his laughter again. "I don't think so, coonass. No, I don't think the Blu Devil's got it in him no more. Word is, you've turned soft since your sister married that fancy cop."
Blu didn't remember Lester being this tall—six feet, ten inches at least. And he'd put on weight this past year—he had to weigh one hundred pounds over Blu. "Can't believe everything you hear, Les. Word is you're slowing down, but I'm willing to wait and make that call for myself."
"But you think you're faster, ain't that right, boy?"
Blu shrugged. "You got two choices here, Les. You can either come along and face Patch on your own power, or see just how fast I still am. But one way or the other, we will be paying Patch a visit tonight."
Lester spit a wad of black smear on the porch of his bayou shanty, just missing his already-sticky beard and Blu's booted foot. "Patch tell you we're blood kin?"
"He mentioned it."
"Mangy bastard ain't got no loyalty ta kin."
"Les, you got his eight grand?"
"Maybe I do, and maybe I don't."
"You shook his hand for a grand, right? You know what that means."
"I don't care what the hell it means. He can ta
ke that handshake and shove it. You want me down at the Lizard, come on and take me, boy."
Blu let a minute lapse, just in case Lester wanted to rethink his decision. When it didn't happen—no surprise there—he started up the steps. On the porch, he made a quick move to the right, then drove his knee into the giant's groin, countering with a hard left to Lester's protruding gut.
Lester gave a weak grunt, but neither blow rocked him. A second later, he grinned.
And that's when Blu knew it was going to take a little more sweat to bring Lester to his knees than he'd first thought. He had never lost a fight in his life, however, and this time he had a different reason altogether for winning. This time it wasn't about money, or proving he hadn't gone soft. This time it was about a promise. He'd never made one of those to anyone before—not a verbal promise anyway. It was enough motivation—that, and remembering how Angel had felt in his arms as she slept in his lap that afternoon.
And so Blu waded in, determined to have Lester Batou on his knees in front of Patch's desk by eight.
* * *
Kristen called to check on Amanda after Blu left to see to his business. Sister Marian assured her that everything was fine. She made herself a sandwich from the groceries Rose had left, then fell asleep on the couch.
She woke up with a start some hours later and knew that someone had come aboard the Nightwing. She checked the clock and found it was a little after ten. Blu had said he wouldn't be home until midnight so she knew it wasn't him.
She entered the galley and quietly retrieved a frying pan from the cupboard. She fleetingly wished she had the small .22, but she had no idea where Blu had put it—she hadn't seen it for a couple of days.
It was dark in the galley, and as footsteps started down the stairs, Kristen sucked into the shadows and raised the frying pan. A moment later the light came on and Blu was standing at the bottom of the stairs. He looked terrible. "Oh, God! What happened?"
He stared at her, then at the frying pan. "Next time, get the gun. It's in the nightstand drawer." He walked past her then straight into the bedroom.