“What?”
“Coup De Grace, the woman with you guys. Not the one I just treated, the tall one, total hottie but married?”
I laugh, recognizing Katrina. I guess she doesn't give her real name out often. “Gotcha. Thanks.”
I go down the hall to Nathan's room, where Jackson, BA, and Melissa are still watching over the sleeping Nathan. “Hey guys.”
“Jesus, you need another ice pack,” Jackson jokes, looking me over. “You go ten rounds with Foreman or something?”
“Very funny,” I quip back, taking a seat. “I take a few more shots to the face, you might have a chance to actually look better than me. No, the girls needed some sister time, you know how it is. No boys allowed, sisterhood of the traveling pants, all that. How goes it in here?”
“Nathan was just telling us some gripping tales of his adventures in the Army,” Jackson jokes, smiling. “You should have heard about him and the General's daughter. Then he heard you coming and promptly fell asleep again. Guess he thinks you're boring.”
“Oh yeah? All right buddy, that's it. You, me, outside. I'm challenging you to a hundred meter dash.”
That one even gets a chuckle from Melissa, who looks over and shakes her head. “You two... I'm glad BA is here, at least someone acts their age.”
I laugh, and pick up BA, giving her a kiss. “You are a cutie, you know that? Actually, your Mommy wants to give you a kiss and a hug, you wanna go see her?”
BA gurgles, and I set her down in Jackson's lap. He's moved to a wheelchair, although I have no clue how he's moving around, I guess the ribs aren't all that bad. “I think your wife would like it to be a DeLaCoeur thing, honestly. You mind?”
“Nah, I can get down there pretty easy. If not, I'll have Igor at the desk give me a push,” Jackson says, unlocking his chair and pushing slowly. “I may not set any land speed records, but I'll get there!”
I help Jackson along, pushing him to the door and into the hallway, where he nods gratefully. “Thanks, bro. Hey, if Igor lets us all go, you wanna grab dinner out afterward? Can't walk, but I can eat.”
“Andrea can't, but we'll see what happens,” I tell him, patting him on the shoulder. “Sure you can make it?”
Jackson looks down the hall, then nods. “What, twenty yards? I can crawl that if I have to. Heck, Andrea here would probably love the idea, her and Daddy having a race.”
I look at BA, who coos and waves her arms happily in her Daddy's lap. “She doesn't really crawl yet.”
“Then it'll be a fair race,” Jackson says with a grunt, pushing off. “Enjoy your talk with 'Lissa and Nathan.”
I go back into the room, where Melissa is still sitting next to Nathan, a small smile on her face. “Well?”
“He's immature, an overgrown kid, and I think he's a great addition to the family,” I tell her, holding out my arms. Melissa stands, and I wrap my sister up in a hug, squeezing her tightly. “We did it.”
“You did it,” Melissa reminds me, hugging me tighter. “And without too many scratches too, I might add.”
“Someone's gotta be able to walk besides you,” I chuckle, holding her tight. “I'll be honest 'Lissa, I was scared shitless out there.”
“But you did it anyway. Because you're a good man, little brother. Let's be happy about that, and we can heal.”
I let go, and sit down in the chair next to her as she resumes her seat next to Nathan's bed. “How is he?”
“It's going to be slow,” Melissa says, but there's no fear in her voice. “But he's a strong man, he'll make it. He just needs rest, and after that... I was wondering if you'd be upset if we offered him a place to recover once he wakes up?”
I shake my head, knowing exactly what Melissa is saying, but that's a conversation for another time. “I think we can find a bedroom for him somewhere. Actually, I need to check in with some people on that. Our house is a total fucking mess. And... I know Nathan would prefer to do it himself, but I need to go bury Maverick.”
The dirt is soft but heavy, rich with clay. I thought about moving him, but in the end, I decided that the tree was a fitting resting place for a good dog. I've already been digging for an hour, and my back muscles ache after the abuse I've put my body through today, but I'm nearly there.
I hear footsteps approaching, and I drop my shovel, my Glock in my hand pointing into the inky darkness of the Louisiana night. “Who is it?”
“Just me,” Katrina says, emerging into the light of the lantern I've set up. “When we couldn't find you in the house, Andrea got worried. I saw the light, figured I'd check it out.”
“How'd you guys get a ride home?” I ask, turning and starting to dig again. “And sorry about pulling the gun on you, I'm still a bit jumpy.”
“Understandably so. I'd be more worried about you if you weren't jumpy,” Katrina says, kneeling down next to the hole. Maverick's body is a few feet away, right now covered with a big painter's canvas, part of a roll that Melissa keeps upstairs in her painting studio that allows her to make custom-sized paintings whenever she wants. It's not enough, but at least it keeps the worst of the flies off of him.
I go back to digging, careful not to throw dirt in Katrina's direction, and we're silent for a little while. “It's a good grave,” she finally says, looking at the hole. “Four feet?”
“Almost five, I think. I can't go down much farther without hitting the groundwater, but Maverick deserves better than a shallow scraping of dirt. He was a good dog,” I say, sticking the shovel in again. This time, the clay comes out soaking wet, a thick sucking sound with it, and I know I was right. I drop the dirt back down and tamp it, turning around and boosting myself out of the hole. “How's the shoulder?”
“Give it a couple of days, it'll be fine,” Katrina says, moving it carefully in a circle. “Aches like hell though. I'm surprised he didn't break my shoulder blade.”
“All that training and martial arts, gives you stronger bones,” I comment, putting what I have to do next out of my mind for a moment while I catch my breath. “Saw it on National Geographic Channel once. So how did you guys get back? Igor's car isn't big enough for everyone, especially with Jackson in a cast.”
“Actually, Melissa insisted on staying with Nathan,” Katrina says, holding up a hand when I look alarmed. “Don't worry, I have a good friend watching and protecting her.”
“Oh? Who, you know Jason Bourne or something?”
Katrina shakes her head, chuckling. “No, but I am best friends with a woman whose husband is a detective for the NOPD. He happens to have the night off, and is currently sitting in the clinic next to Nathan and Melissa, fully armed with a vest and shotgun, and ready to handle business. Jeff's a good cop.”
“You sure we need good cops?” I ask. “Not enough of them in this town, but can you trust them?”
Katrina nods. “Jeff's more than a good cop, he's a moral cop. He won't say a thing to the department about this one. Meantime, Darcy gave us a ride here in her minivan after we stopped at Home Depot for some supplies.”
“Supplies? Like what?”
“Scrub brushes, cleaners, drywall patch, and twenty gallons of interior latex paint along with a power sprayer,” Katrina says. “We can do the glass tomorrow or something, but Andrea and I talked and we decided that when 'Lissa comes home, it'll be as close to perfect as we can get it.”
I nod, my emotions thick in my chest. “Thank you. You mind if we get to work on it as soon as I finish here?”
Katrina nods, and pats me on the shoulder. “Knowing Andrea, she's probably already started the scrubbing. She thinks you're pretty special, Carson.”
I nod, and look over at Katrina. “The feeling's mutual.”
Katrina hums, then gives me a smile. “Okay then. When you're finished, come on in. I know Darcy would enjoy meeting you, and she's got some good news. Actually, would you like some help?”
I shake my head, wiping the sweat from my forehead. “I've got it. You guys go ahead and start the cleaning,
I'll be back to help out in maybe an hour or so. Filling in the hole is the easy part.”
“Sometimes it is. Not always,” Katrina says sadly, turning to go. “Oh, last thing. Good speed on the Glock, just remember that we're home now, okay? Look before you shoot.”
I go over to Maverick's body, using his own bulk to start to roll him up. “I know. Thanks, Katrina.”
Katrina leaves, and I finish wrapping up Maverick, making sure he's covered from head to toe before using the rope from the barn to bind the whole bundle together. Dammit, he deserved better than this. I only got to know him a few weeks, and I know this dog deserves better than this.
“I promise you boy, you'll be remembered,” I tell the lump in the shadowed grave, then let my tears flow for a little while longer. There's just been too much horror, too much blood, too much danger for the day, and I'm not ashamed to cry over it. When I can gather myself, I stand up, dusting off my hands, and go over to my shovel. There's still work to be done, and I get the first scoop of dirt up, covering Maverick's body. I go carefully at first, sprinkling the body, but once the canvas isn't visible anymore I work faster, more efficiently. The night is still young, and I still have work to do.
“So you're Carson,” the smooth-skinned pretty woman in front of me says. She's got a spray of white paint on her cheek that looks like reverse freckles from the work she's been doing. “Darcy. Pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” I say, not offering my hand. “Apologies, but my hands are... not suitable for shaking right now.”
We're in the kitchen, which looks like a team of mad Munchkins have been hard at work already. The smoke grenade is gone, the glass swept up, the kitchen and dining room areas cleared of everything with the table and chairs outside, wet and drying in the cool early autumn night air.
“Well, if you want, you could run upstairs and take a shower,” Andrea says, trying to keep up the facade of just friendship that we know is fast crumbling. Katrina's already giving us knowing looks. She knows it's more than just a one-night stand between us. And after spending time burying Maverick, the idea of holding Andrea and drawing strength from her is intoxicating.
Instead, I shake my head, looking down at my mud-stained, filthy clothes. “No... but maybe you can do me a favor?”
“Whatcha need?” Andrea asks, and I smile at the forced casualness.
“Can you run up to my room, grab me a towel, a pair of jeans, some clean undies and stuff, and a t-shirt? I don't care what, and I'll paint in my bare feet.”
Katrina, who's currently refilling the power sprayer, shakes her head. “No go, Carson. Andi, make sure you grab tough guy here some shoes. I don't want to pull a sliver of glass out of his big toe because he wants to save his Reeboks for another day.”
Andrea nods and disappears, her feet pounding on the stairs. “Thanks, I forgot about that,” I acknowledge to Katrina, who nods and goes back to work. I look at Darcy, who is giving me another knowing look. “I need to thank you for having your husband watch 'Lissa and Nathan.”
“Don't sweat it. I'm thankful to Jackson for taking Henry for the evening.”
“Who's Henry?”
“My son, he's a handful,” Darcy says with a chuckle. “He's always hell to put to bed, but Jackson just herded them into the living room, telling him that they're going to camp out, and bam! All three of them are knocked out in ten minutes.”
I go over to the edge of the living room and see Jackson sleeping peacefully on the carpet, BA nestled against his good side while a young boy is laid out on the couch, snoring softly. It looks good, and I wish I could join them. “The painter's not too much noise?”
“Not for that group apparently, although you should leave the door closed,” Katrina says. I nod and close the swinging door, which we normally leave open. I head back out to the porch, and start stripping off my clothes, pulling off my filthy t-shirt first before pushing down my mud-caked pants.
“Oooh, Kat, you didn't tell me I was getting a stripper as a thank you for doing this!” Darcy jokes from inside, causing me to blush. “Shake what your Momma gave ya!”
Katrina laughing softly when I jump off the porch and run over to the garden hose, kicking off my boots and turning on the faucet. The spray handle works just fine, and while the water's cold, it helps, and I spend the next few minutes giving myself a thorough shower, until my fingernails are white half moons in the dim light that filters from inside.
“Mind leaving me a bit of my dignity and turning around?” I call when I approach the porch again, staying in the shadows. “I left my undies on at least.”
“Damn, I wanted to see what he looks like with no drawers on,” Darcy half-jokes, and I hear that Andrea's rejoined them as she half-growls. “Okay, okay. I'm turned around.”
Andrea comes to the broken window holding a towel out for me, and I take it from her gratefully. I see that Katrina and Darcy are both turned around, and I lean in, smiling, to whisper in Andrea's ear. “Thank you, my dove.”
“Thank you,” she whispers back, looking me over. Despite the horror of the day her look sends warm tingles down my body, and I push my wet underwear off, giving her a little tease that causes her breath to catch. “Thank you very much.”
“When we've recovered,” I promise, wrapping the towel around my waist. Darcy takes my other clothes and sets them on the windowsill, my shoes last. “I promise.”
Andrea nods and goes over to Katrina and Darcy, picking up a brush to get some edges on the cabinets while I quickly dry and get changed, going inside to find that during my shower, someone's put on a pot of coffee as well. The smell is heavenly, and I know I'm going to need a cup before all is said and done. “Okay, where can I help out?”
“Well, first you can take five minutes and rest,” Darcy says, not taking her eyes off her work. “Have some coffee, it's French Roast from Cafe Du Monde.”
“We're getting the good stuff,” I chuckle, pouring a cup. It's surreal, the seeming normalcy of painting a room at nearly eleven at night to cover up the effects of an armed assault just that morning. Maybe this is how soldiers in war are able to deal with it, just by flowing with the surrealness. “So Katrina said you might have good news?”
“Uh-huh. I assume that little bang-bang at the RV was your doing?”
“Watched too many reruns of MacGyver as a kid, along with the Bourne movies,” I acknowledge, taking a sip of the coffee. It's good, strong and dark, but not too rich. “Why?”
“You gave Peter DeLaCoeur one hell of a spanking with it,” Darcy says, chuckling. “He survived, but he's going to need skin grafts and a few other surgeries. More importantly though were the after-effects.”
“Which are?”
Darcy points to Katrina, who shuts off the power sprayer to turn before she speaks. “My parents, or at least my father, has reached out to the federal prosecutors to turn state's evidence against Peter. I don't know how that'll affect them, but it's causing headaches for Peter DeLaCoeur.”
“Also,” Darcy says, “Jeff's buddies in the detective unit are quite interested in how a known Russian hitman, who is on the terrorist watchlist by the way, was able to fly into the country and end up in the exact same spot as the Don of the Delta when an RV, sold in said hitman's name, blows the hell up with the hitman inside.”
“Damn shame the fire destroyed all the fingerprints and evidence of who rigged the RV,” Katrina says, giving me a reassuring smile. “What do you think, Andrea?”
“Damn shame,” she says, giving me a look. “Tell you what though, since Peter's in the hospital, I was thinking. Maybe in a day or two after we finish this work and get some rest... how about I go pay him a visit. Carson, would you like to be my escort to the hospital?”
I finish my coffee and set the cup in the sink, nodding. “Nothing would be better.”
Chapter 23
Andrea
All my tough talk from two days ago doesn't really help much as I stand outside the hospital now, looking up at th
e five-story glass and steel building. Actually, I'm frightened out of my mind, and I want to take a step back before running away. Instead, Carson takes my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“You can do this, Andrea,” he says, looking into my eyes. He's dressed up today, with tweed trousers, a gray turtleneck, and a houndstooth check sport coat with, of all things, corduroy patches on the elbows. Meanwhile I'm dressed in my typical power suit, bought just yesterday off the rack after sleeping from sunrise to noon, and after visiting Melissa and Nathan in the clinic. It's not a great suit, but it works, and I feel at least slightly more comfortable in it than I would in jeans and a t-shirt.
“I don't know, Carson,” I mumble, trying to look away. Carson doesn't let me though, his eyes powerful and unflinching. I take a deep breath, and nod. “I'll try.”
“I know you will,” he says. “I'll be right next to you the whole time.”
“Wish you could be carrying your pistol,” I grumble, steeling my nerves. “That'd help too.”
“Gun-free zone, and he's under arrest. Next time, my dove,” Carson says softly, a thrill rolling through my body. I'd been able to wash my face gently this morning, so I know I'm healing, and the idea of being able to be together with Carson again leaves me weak in the knees.
“Yes sir,” I whisper playfully, and take his hand. We go into the hospital, where the nurse at the front desk checks our IDs before we head up. I was surprised I still had it actually, but my driver's license was tucked inside my wallet behind my student ID for school, so up I go.
The cops check our IDs again when we get to Peter's room, and give us a metal detector sweep, the only beep coming from Carson's belt buckle. The cop nods, and gives us the rules. “He's in custody, so no passing him anything,” the cop says, “but his lawyers have already been in here, so there's no recording in there either. At least from us.”
“Thanks. And if we need help?”
The cop gives me an incredulous look, then shrugs. “Just holler. He ain't getting out of bed anyway. Not with his injuries.”
Retaliation: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Page 19