A voice in my head snaps.
“Don’t be crude, James.”
My mother’s tone sends me reaching for a glass. I don’t pay attention to my own strength until the broken shards slip from my grasp.
“Goddammit!” I shout to what I believe to be an empty house.
“James, are you ok? Where are you, darling?”
Carrie’s shrill outcry grates like nails on a chalkboard. I snatch a cup towel from the counter, wrap it around the minor gashes on my hand, and scramble for the door in attempt to cut her off in the hallway.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Her round gaze jumps from my wounded palm back to my hard expression. She rushes forward in effort to close the gap between us, but I step to the side and force her to follow me back to the door. I don’t have to face her to know she’s annoyed. I can feel her scowling disapprovement on my back.
“Just stop.” Carrie grips my arm and jerks me around. “I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but someone needs to look in on you. And I’m glad I did. Look at that hand.”
Her fingers touch my bicep and I instantly taste bile. I can feel the heavy weight between us. This woman’s broken.
Dangerous.
Her eyes are cold and dark. She fakes emotion, but she can’t conceal her hard, haunting stare blinking back at me.
I don’t know what it is, but I don’t have to when chills break out along my skin. She’s evil. Hateful. And there’s something else that I just haven’t put my finger on yet. It’s lost somewhere in my thick, rattled skull.
I snatch my arm from her grasp.
“What the hell’s wrong with you? She arches a single brow.
“You can’t come in here and act like I didn’t just end things. As a matter of fact, give me your damn keys.” I stick out my hand and she twists her mouth into a wounded, pouting frown.
Which only makes me shove my arm out further.
“James, you don’t want to do this.” Her words come out more as a threat than a statement when she lowers her voice.
“Don’t tell me what I want. You have no fucking clue what I want.” The longer she stands in front of me, the more heated I get. “Give me the goddamn key and get the fuck outta my house.”
Something about the way she points her chin and a snarl blankets her stone face makes rage boil, leaving me seething. I grab the leather Bentley ring from her grasp and fidget with it until I remove the labeled Gauthier key, tossing her set back at her before ushering her out the house.
Carrie gets in the last word, but it loses its impact from the other side of the door.
“You’ll regret this, you and that sorry ass piece of stripper trash, Baby Jade.”
Stripper Trash.
Carrie Scott’s true colors.
It’s not exactly a memory, but a sensation. This is the real Carrie, and there’s no way in Satan’s hottest hell that I am going to marry this awful woman.
Baby Jade.
Baby…
*
I can’t say that it really ever happened before. It’s bizarre, an unnatural sensation, but I did it. I pushed through all the heavy shit swirling around in my gut.
After kicking Carrie out of the house, I marched right back into the kitchen, place the sealed bottle back in the cabinet, and finish cleaning up the broken glass from the white tile.
Once done, I went upstairs to take a long, steamy shower and then forced myself to call it a night.
I really wanted to drink myself into a stupor, but I didn’t. I was a good boy, lying there alone with my eyes wide open. All the while forcing myself not to haul ass across town and beat down her door. For fuck’s sake. That silky, smooth skin and the heat from her open mouth on my own.
But not yet. It’s not the right time. I have to get my shit together. With or without my memories, I can’t go to her like this.
*
“Sir, I don’t know if I should be getting involved. What about Sheila. I’m sure she can be of use. Or maybe I can ask Ms. Belhomme for you.”
I whip my head around and plant my coffee smack down on Wendy’s desk. “No, I fired Sheila this morning. Well, not so much fired, but more like being let go with a very healthy severance package. Keep Jade out of it, just let me know when you track him down.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do what I can.”
I leave her standing alone. Drew is all the information I have to go on at this point, but I refuse to let the sun go down on this day without getting to the bottom of some mystery bullshit.
I have yet to run into Carrie this morning and it’s a damn good thing because I haven’t cooled down one ounce.
“Excuse me? I pop my head in the open door.
“Mr. Gauthier,” The man jumps up from his chair. “Sir, um, what can I do for you?”
“You work under Ms. Scott, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.” He grips a folder to his chest and I swear I see his chin tremble. My old man must have left a real bad taste in his mouth.
I step inside and pull the door closed behind me before helping myself to a seat.
“Sit, you’re making me nervous.” I wait for the young, sweaty man to plop down his chair, bellying himself up to the desk.
“I want you to get me a comprehensive list of everything Ms. Scott is working on. Bonus points for files or copies.”
He furrows his thick, bushy brow. “Sir?”
“Did I not make myself clear?”
“No excuses. Get it done. And I shouldn’t have to say it, but I will. This is to be kept confidential, understood?”
He adjusts his drab suit jacket. “Of course, Mr. Gauthier.”
“Good. I expect results by the end of this afternoon.” I stand, shoving one hand into my pocket and popping open the door with the other, leaving it open in my wake.
By the time I get back to my own office, Wendy rushes to my side, matching my quick step. “Sir, there’s someone here to see you. Well, not you, but since our talk…”
I stop in my tracks and she takes two more steps before realizing my abrupt halt.
“Just tell me, is it good or bad because I don’t know how much more of the bad shit I can handle right now.”
Wendy stares ahead with a vacant expression before a round of heavy blinking.
“I think you might wanna put on some waders, sir. This one might get pretty deep.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Baby Jade
I taste the bitter sting in the back of my throat. The light hurts my green eyes, causing me to squint.
“What the fuck are you doing back here?”
The overpowering punch of cheap chemicals and roses assaults my nose. The voice gives away her total hate for me. I spin, surprised that I was able to fly under the radar for the first twenty-two seconds.
“Barbie, what are you now? Mickey’s new welcoming committee? Sounds about right.” I dart my gaze around the dark shit hole. No Jewella. Or Mickey. Not even Velvet. And certainly, no Willow.
No. That would be too easy.
There are more faces and it makes it that much harder to keep track.
“You’re a real smartass. I hope I’m there when you finally get yours.”
Her nasty threat causes the blood to ice over in my veins, leaving my cold fingertips tingling. I don’t have time to respond because my eye catches the female entering from the basement stairwell.
Her slight frame is nearly skeletal. Her signature blue eyeshadow is the same, but there’s something else about her eyes.
Something new.
Different.
Not as empty as usual.
Jewella scans the room and her observing gaze falls on mine. I brace myself for the usual shit storm, but it doesn’t come. She heads in the opposite direction, but not before jerking her chin toward the hallway.
I wait a few seconds, giving Barbie the cold shoulder. It doesn’t matter. She lost interest in me as soon as the cowboy tourists scramble in the door an
gling to make day drinking the new Olympic sport.
I weave through the tables and chairs, making my way down the hall. When I don’t see Jewella, I duck into the bathroom. I fight to ignore the way my stomach pitches, churning from the familiarity of my old stomping grounds. My enemy pops out from the last stall. “Weird in here, huh? A lot’s gone down in this shit hole.”
I shake away her casual, yet coherent tone. “What do you want? I don’t have time for your crazy bullshit right now.”
She drops her stare, shuffling her heels against the chipped cement. “Yeah, I get it. So, Mickey ain’t here.”
“I don’t give a fuck about that fat bastard. What about Velvet? Or have you seen Willow around?”
As soon as her name leaves my mouth, Jewella whips her head in my direction. “You need to leave. This ain’t the time.”
“Not before I talk to one of them. Willow’s been calling me. I know she’s in danger. When will Mickey be back?”
She shrugs. “He’s not in much anymore. Bigger fish to fry.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“He’s been spending a lot of time with some,” ahem new friends.
My mind races with old images. “The suits.”
She nods. “Yep.”
I don’t bother asking details. There’s no reason for her to help me or for me to trust her if she did.
“Listen,” Jewella starts as she steps in toward me. She lowers her voice to a whisper. “You have to…”
She doesn’t finish her serious statement because the bathroom door flies open, slamming the knob into the wall, flaking off the pain.
Velvet glances from one face to the other. Jewella recoils, slipping her lips into a snide smile, only she doesn’t know what I’ve noticed her change in behavior.
“Hola, chicas. I must be missing out on this little reunion.”
“Baby was just looking for Mickey, but I told her he ain’t here and won’t be back today.”
I recognize the way she steps in once again in attempt to control the situation, obviously not wanting the Latin beauty to know who I’m really looking for – Willow.
“Si. He’s been checking in on some other investments.”
I nod, but don’t have a chance to speak.
Jewella cocks out a hip and places her hands on her non-existent curves. “Oh yeah, the shit about the containers, right?”
I don’t know where the fuck it comes from or why, but Velvet’s stunning face distorts into a full-blown scowl. She narrows her full, round eyes, leveling her stare at Jewella. I see the way she rolls her jaw, clenching the muscles throughout her neck.
Velvet must remember I’m standing here because she quickly pulls her plump lips back into a tight smile. A nervous chuckle escapes. “I don’t know anything about that. No, he’s just out checking on some property.”
My chest constricts as the invisible vice wrenches the blood from my panicked heart. Jewella is ashen. All the color drains from her face and her hands shake as she flicks a cigarette into her mouth and fights with her lighter. “Yeah, that was it, sorry.”
The three of us stand in an awkward huddle, not knowing what to say. I don’t know what’s going on, but for reasons I can’t fathom, Jewella’s trying to tell me something and I don’t want to ask questions and tip her hand. Velvet spins, launching her long hair into a wild aerial fan. “Anything else I can help ya with?”
Her dismissal lingers in the air.
I swallow the ball of confused anger and bite back my initial response of telling her she can fuck herself and her dog too, but I decide to keep the peace… for now.
I make up something about a meeting and leave the club in my dust. I can’t get out of the building fast enough. This can’t be right, what my gut is screaming. It doesn’t make sense.
Jewella is trying to help Willow.
The realization makes me pluck my phone from my back pocket and dial Drew. To his credit, he sits in silence allowing me to ramble.
Velvet’s words spin out of control in my skull.
Property.
My cell phone beeps and I see Ma’Linn has tried to call three times.
“Drew, I gotta get this. I’ll be ok, I promise.”
I click over to Ma’Linn, nowhere near ready to hear what she has to say from the other end.
Not this time.
Not now.
*
I hold my only friend’s heavy hand as we trod down the long, narrow corridor. We’re blindly following the elderly, gray haired man in what looks like a dime store suit.
Detective ‘something’.
When you make a living on tips, you become a connoisseur of men’s fashion. It helps to know where to guide your attention.
“Right this way, ladies.” The cop steps to the side allowing us space to move to the front.
The air is sucked out of the rectangular space.
I wrap my stable arm around Ma’Linn’s quivering shoulders. We move to the front of the square window centered on the wall.
Blinds conceal the glass.
The thrift store cop disappears, and I know it’s coming. I squeeze harder as a shudder ripples through my tormented friend, and I know she knows too.
I pull in a sharp inhale and the strong linen and cleanser scent reminds me of Pecan Grove. My head gets fuzzy, but there’s no time.
Ma’Linn shakes loose of my grasp and presses both palms to the window when the blinds raise from the inside. A still figure lies on a metal slab with a sheet covering the body. The detective nods and the tech pulls the sheet down over the bloated face, folding it under the lifeless neck.
I look at my friend. I can’t be sure the cry was hers because my body tuned out the horrid sound.
But I couldn’t tune out the way I had to catch Ma’Linn’s crumbled body before she hit the floor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Lucky
My stomach lurches and I don’t know why. I swallow back the mouthful of saliva and twist the cold door handle. I assume I’m ready to see the face that’s now staring back at me.
Without memories, there’s no way to tell who’s friend or enemy.
I open my office door and this man is tall, taller than me and I don’t like it. I don’t like him.
“James Gauthier,” he says while sliding a finger along the fancy name plate. “Seems a bit repugnant for ya, Lucky.”
It’s not the first time I’ve heard that name, Lucky. And it’s obviously not the first that we’ve met.
I force myself to extend a hand. “Mr. Kenner, have a seat.”
He releases my grip and nods. “Come on, man. After all the shit we’ve been through. Call me Drew.”
I don’t like the way he feels so comfortable, familiar.
He spins and watches me as I move around the large desk.
“Thanks for seeing me on short notice.”
I pop my head up and scrunch up my face when I realize he’s not here because I ordered Wendy to track him down. I decide to play it safe and let him lead. “What can I help you with today?” I run my hand over the length of my paisley tie. The motion is odd, and the tie suddenly feels like a noose, strangling my airway.
“It’s about Baby.”
I take a beat and place where I’ve heard the name. Stripper trash Baby Jade. My gut burns thinking about this man and Jade talking on the phone all hours of the night. Or whatever else they might have done.
“I’m listening.”
“She’s in some seriously, deep shit and I’m scared she’s gonna go too far this time if you don’t do something to stop her.”
The blood rushes to my head. “Why me?”
Drew snaps his shoulders straight. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean? You’re the only one. You’ve always been the only one.”
*
I roll the photo between my fingers. Something about the men is off-putting. Vile, even. The suits can’t hide their haunting, malicious expressions. The tall one is the worst.
The tightness in my chest tells me I know him. And I really, really don’t like him.
“Sir, can I help you?”
I take two steps and make eye contact with the officer. “Yes, I was involved in an accident a while back and I want to see if there’s been any update.”
The officer drops his double chin, as if bored with another New Orleans fender bender. The highlight of his day, I’m sure.
He takes my name and the date of the wreck before punching buttons on the ancient desk top.
“Take this number an’ sit over there. Someone’ll be with ya in a few.”
I opt not to tell the man right where he can go and then I remember his badge. I can’t help Jade from inside.
So, I give the officer a curt nod, which he doesn’t notice because his snout is stuck back in his footlong po’boy.
I assume dinner time is over when a man calls me back to his office.
“How can I help you today, Mr. Gauthier?”
I explain what I’m looking for and he nods. “Yeah, ok. I remember this case. So, you still haven’t recovered your memories?”
I shake my head. “No, but I think I’m getting close. Things are moving around, and some things seem familiar. I’m seriously hoping this information will help fill in some of the gaps.
“Yeah, let’s see here,” he says. He pauses to read his monitor.
I don’t know what I hope to gain, but I just can’t shake away the nagging feeling deep in my gut, sending the ball of frustration into my chest.
“If I remember correctly, the driver of the vehicle didn’t make it. I don’t know how no one else was involved. As horrible as it is to say for the man and his family, but this could have been so much worse. I’ve seen it myself. You’re a lucky man, Mr. Gauthier.”
I hear his words, but the sentiment is lost on me. I don’t feel Lucky or like Lucky. Whoever the hell that is. I sit in silence as my head screams on the inside.
Something’s not right.
“Looks like we did actually get a name back on that driver. Had to use dental records due to burning, but he was a 22-year-old, black man. The match belonged to a Phillipe L’Hueruex.”
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