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Think Before You Speak

Page 10

by D. A. Bale


  While Rochelle acted cool and fun like a more mature thirty-something woman would, Baby kept things barely legal. That girl worked the crowd like someone who had a hell of a lot more experience than her twenty-three years suggested. Or maybe she was a lot like me, kept in a bubble until reality exploded that quasi-happy place like a twenty-two gauge shotgun, sending Baby on a spiraling course toward – well, my world.

  I’d never set goals toward a life of dissipation involving libation inebriation, lascivious lying down, and other assorted attributes. Yet, here I was. Or am. Or used to be. Watching.

  Baby got me thinking about Zeke’s comment the other night – or was that just this morning? What were my career aspirations? Where was my life headed? Was I destined to be like Rochelle, in my thirties and stuck in a position just to make ends meet?

  ‘Course unlike Rochelle there’d be no kids in my picture. I’d never considered myself the type to settle down and raise a herd of crumb-crunchers. Me a soccer mom?

  Okay, you can stop laughing now.

  Baby pranced over to the bar to the rhythm of the band, swishing her crinoline baby-doll skirt and settling the tray of empty glasses on the counter with a thud and clatter. “Hey, Vicki. I need another round for table seven.”

  “From the tap?” I asked.

  “Yep. That’ll work.”

  Her too-bright, blue eyes said she’d been enjoying plenty of sips and slurps like I usually did – ‘cept I got mine from behind the bar while she tickled it out of patrons playing drinking games.

  A cry from the guys crowding the aforementioned table with several lifted hands, then Baby added to the order. “Oh yeah, and throw in a baker’s dozen shots of Jack.”

  Whiskey mixed with beer. Yeah, her bottle-blond little head was gonna sport a headache like a jackhammer splitting concrete come morning – that is, if she didn’t barf first.

  “You sure about that, Baby?”

  She grinned with a flip of her hair. “I’m gonna show these guys the meaning of the phrase hold your liquor before the night is through.”

  “Should I start a pot of coffee now instead of later?” I asked as I filled the order.

  “Nah. I’ve already confiscated everyone’s keys.”

  “I’m talking about you. If you keep this up, one of us will need to drive your passed-out carcass home and put you to bed.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She winked. “After all, I learned from the best.”

  “Sure,” I called after her as Baby balanced two trays brimming with alcohol and made the return trip to the raucous table.

  Rochelle came up with an empty tray and stood beside me, watching the swarm that swallowed Baby’s diminutive frame. “Every day that girl reminds me more and more of you.”

  “I’m not sure I want to take responsibility for this one.”

  “Well someone had to pick up where you’ve left off.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Well,” Rochelle started with hesitation before continuing. “Ever since this awkward phase…or whatever you want to call it…has developed between you and the boss, you’ve rather, how shall I put it, mellowed.”

  “Me? Mellow?” I asked. “Them thar’s fighting words.”

  Rochelle laughed. “I’m not saying you’ve lost yourself completely, but you have mellowed. You’re not drinking as much as you used to.”

  A cry rose from the venue of the drinking game as Baby launched up onto the tabletop, tossed back a shot of Jack, and started quivering her hips to the band’s beat.

  “You’re not dancing on top of the bar,” Rochelle continued. “Going home with a different guy every night...”

  “Every night?” I interrupted. “It wasn’t every night.”

  “Okay, every week then.”

  I gave her my best evil eye.

  She just shook her head with a chuckle. “Point is, you’ve changed lately…and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

  “Maybe it has something to do with almost standing at the pearly gates before my time,” I muttered.

  Rochelle nodded. “That’s possible. Or might it have something to do with a certain hot Aussie gentleman we’ve all come to know?”

  I nervously glanced around the room to make sure Nick wasn’t walking through the crowd before shooting her a scowl. “Don’t even say it.”

  “Stranger things have happened when love gets involved.”

  “Lust, Rochelle,” I said, tossing last dregs into the sink before loading glasses in the dishwasher. “There’s a difference.”

  “And you know this how?” she asked, leaning forward to look me in the eye.

  “That’s it.” I grabbed a shot glass and poured three fingers before adding another for good measure and tossed it down like a warm embrace. I shivered. “Sorry, Rochelle, but with talk like that, it’s time for me to get shit-faced.”

  While filling orders, I proceeded to do just that for the remainder of the night. All this talk of change, coupled with my own contemplation of Zeke’s words, had the avoidance radar tilting toward the end zone – er, red zone. By the end of the evening, both Baby and I were on top of the bar playing my favorite old game of Guess the Color of that Thong.

  ‘Cept this time, the number of bets placed and hands groping my legs seemed less of a turn-on and more of a freak-show. What had at one time left me with a sense of euphoria – and an all-night squeeze – now left me feeling jaded and a bit hollow.

  Rochelle was wrong about the connection I had with Nick. Our trip together proved that beyond all reasonable doubt. Even through my whiskey-sloshed brain, I knew what Nick and I had was lust – pure and simple.

  Well, maybe not the pure part. The fact that I’d barely tolerated Nick’s presence when we weren’t doing the deed spoke such truth in volumes. There was also the fact I’d feigned sleep most of the way home from San Antonio. Me in love? With Nick? That was an easy hell no.

  But Rochelle was right about one thing – something had changed, and it wasn’t just my attitude toward the boss. Or Nick. I wasn’t so sure how to feel about the realization, so I did what any psychosomatic gal would do.

  Ignored it. Or covered it up by swimming in alcohol. And this time, I didn’t have someone to take me home and tuck me in – or sex my brains out so I didn’t have to think such thoughts.

  Uh-oh. Time to find a new and willing victim.

  ***

  The hangover headache was the first thing to stab my conscience – I mean, my consciousness – as morning broke the haze of last night’s drunken spree. Since it had been a few weeks since I’d responded to Jack Daniel’s call, the after effects were magnified ten-fold. My head felt as if Baby had done a tap dance number inside my skull instead of on top of the bar.

  Bad Vicki.

  The second thing to register was the scent of brewing coffee and the clink of kitchen utensils. I cracked an eyelid to discover I was safely ensconced in my own bedroom. The drapes were pulled to shut out the worst of the daytime sunlight. How thoughtful of…

  I wracked my whacked brain, trying to remember if Nick had showed up at some point in the evening, but apparently all of my wires were a little crossed. Or a lot. Had I taken Rochelle’s challenge too far and ended up dragging some other poor soul home like a stray kitten? How had I even gotten home last night? Was my car intact? Worry over the Vette rolled my sorry carcass from the mattress, and I staggered into the too-bright living room.

  It took a moment for everything to come into focus, including the male figure stirring eggs over my brand new stove. Something about the backside seemed familiar. As I stumbled into the couch and stubbed my toe, he turned around with a lopsided grin tilting the edge of his mustache.

  “Mornin’, Vic,” my companion said in that familiar drawl.

  Flies could’ve camped in my mouth as my jaw practically bounced off the floor before my grating vocal chords took over.

  “Grady?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I collapsed onto th
e nearby sofa and buried my pounding head into a pillow with a groan. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”

  The scent of scrambled eggs joined the coffee and sent my stomach into a swoon – and I’m not talking the good kind. Oh, I was so going to Hell for this one. Sleeping with the boss? After fighting it all this time? Wasn’t like things between Grady and me weren’t already awkward – and now I’d slept with him? After years of an all-out, avoid at all costs, no matter how tempting refusal to get involved, I’d failed.

  Truth be told, I’d spent many an evening simply imaging what he’d be like between the sheets. It sucked that now we’d crossed that line, I couldn’t even remember the experience. Not fair. Not fair at all.

  Grady lifted my sprawled legs and sat down on the couch with me. “Relax, Vic. Before you let your thoughts take you too far along the wrong path, you might want to open your eyes and see what you’re wearing.”

  I took his advice. A quick peek between eye slits revealed the too-tight blouse and skirt I’d worn the night before. A further glance and I noticed Grady wore the red chambray button-up and jeans from last night’s shift.

  “We didn’t do it?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Grady said around a bite of eggs. “And try not to look so relieved either. You might offend my manhood.”

  “None intended,” I muttered and leaned up to accept the offered steaming cup. A long sip then I sighed. “Ah, just what the doctor ordered. Irish coffee.”

  “Figured you could use it after last night’s show. Just drink it slow.”

  The Texas-sized portion of eggs and salsa sitting on my coffee table made me shudder, so I nibbled the piece of dry toast instead and washed it down with another stiff sip from my mug.

  “Please tell me my Vette is okay,” I mumbled.

  “Safely locked in your garage,” Grady responded. “You were in no condition to drive home last night.”

  “Then what did you do with your truck?”

  “It’s at the bar.”

  “Was that safe?”

  “Safer than leaving your little hot rod there all night. Besides, no one would touch my truck.”

  The image of Banker Boy with those rather nefarious-looking characters popped into my addled mind. “You sure about that?”

  “Why do you think I’ve got all that security?”

  “For fun?”

  Both sides of his mustache tilted this time as Grady smirked. “If someone even succeeded in getting inside my vehicle, they wouldn’t get far.”

  “But they could sure do some damage if they wanted.”

  “That’s where my public persona comes in handy. If that wouldn’t deter some idiot, then my buddies at the ATF would have a little to say about it. Then again, there’s always Ranger Taylor.”

  “Don’t remind me,” I murmured into my cup, trying to dislodge the memory of our recent encounter. Wasn’t thinking about what Zeke had said about my life – or lack of career aspirations – what had set me up on last night’s binge?

  “You two on the outs again?” Grady asked. “I thought things were looking up between you.”

  “Things will never be more than friends between me and Zeke ever again.” And in my book, friends was still up for debate. “Once a cheater, always a cheater.”

  Grady took a long sip of coffee then headed toward the kitchen for a refill. “Things aren’t always what they seem, Vic.”

  I grunted. “Tell me about it. I never in a million years would’ve guessed you were an undercover Fed.”

  He paused in mid-pour. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful you were there to save me from a concrete kiss,” I acknowledged. “But knowing you’re a Fed and working with my ex-boyfriend sometimes feels…I don’t know…weird?”

  Grady sauntered over, taking a sample sip and watching over the rim before sitting down again. “So are we finally going to talk about the elephant in the room now?”

  “Which one?” I groaned.

  “Fair point,” Grady offered. “How about we start with my being a Fed?”

  “I haven’t said a word to anyone,” I said, crossing my heart and dotting my I’s…or is that crossing my T’s and dotting my eyes? I really needed my brain at full capacity in order to have this conversation. “I swear.”

  “You’ve already demonstrated that. But everyone at the bar seems to have taken a peculiar interest in how you’ve been acting lately.”

  “Yeah, and Rochelle thinks we slept together.”

  “And Wanker,” Grady mentioned. “I’m sure Baby does too.”

  I sat up a little straighter. “You do realize your taking me home last night only adds fuel to the rumor mill inferno.”

  “Maybe the fact I asked Wanker to escort Baby home will temper the talk.”

  “Fat chance,” I muttered. “They’re further apart in age than we are.”

  Grady chuckled. “The age difference just gives people more to talk about.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.” I sighed and rubbed my forehead as if I could scrub away each and every thought, worry, and – well, headache. “I hate being the subject of rumor. Got enough of that from the Born-Again Brigade.”

  “Then tell them nothing happened,” the boss offered with a shrug. “Rochelle will believe you, and if she believes you then the others will soon follow suit.”

  I shook my head. “She already suspected something was going on between us before last night.”

  “Tell her you’re keeping a secret I told you.”

  I shot him a grimace and offered up a brow for good measure – then regretted even the tiniest move. “Not like I already am keeping your secret or anything.”

  “True.”

  “And if she wants to know more?”

  “Tell her I’ve got a case of crabs or something,” Grady said with a grin before popping the coffee mug up for a sip. I think it was more to cover a chuckle.

  “Sure,” I drawled. “That will keep the rumor mill from turning.”

  “She’ll believe whatever you tell her ‘cause it’s coming from a friend, right? Case closed.” Grady laughed and patted my leg. “You gotta trust people sometimes.”

  “I was cured of that years ago.”

  “You trusted me enough to get you home safe last night.”

  I leaned against the armrest and closed heavy eyelids. “I was drunk. I would’ve trusted a gang member to get me home safe last night.”

  Grady sobered. “Which leads to the other elephant in the room.”

  “Meaning?” I asked, testing my tummy with another nibble of toast.

  “Zeke told me about your little run-in the other night in gang territory.”

  I sat up too fast to a spinning world, the toast clattering to my plate as I fought the urge to hurl – from more than a hangover. “I already got the third degree from the Ranger. I’m not in the mood to hear it from you too, Boss.”

  “Not even gonna try,” Grady said raising his hands in surrender.

  “Then why’re you bringing it up?”

  “Cause. You were followed home last night.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  If Grady had hoped to scare me with his little revelation this morning – well, he’d succeeded. The presence of a late night follower helped clarify better than any words spoken about why Grady had stuck around my place thru the morning. That was an elephant in the room I didn’t need explained. Or even discussed – especially if the follower tied to Reggie’s blackmail. I needed to get a handle on how to dig my friend out of this hole instead of merely spinning my wheels.

  After swigging down the rest of my Irish coffee, I switched to the regular stuff and took two aspirin for good measure. By the time I dropped Grady off at his truck, the roaring headache had reduced to a low growl.

  Saturday afternoons were typically better spent recuperating from Friday night bar antics. Instead I drove into the countryside and turned up a long drive to enter the De’Laruse
estate. The type of paper the blackmail notes were written on and the use of calligraphy spoke of quality. Money. Who better to poke around those circles than someone who had more than a little cash?

  Just so we’re clear, the country and I are not friends. To put it mildly, I’d rather go to a piñata party and be the piñata. With the myriad bees, mosquitoes, spiders and other assorted insects that buzz and crawl in the heat, those Texas-sized critters usually kept me busy smacking arms and legs until my skin looked like someone else had taken a baseball bat to it.

  Hence the piñata sentiment.

  The familiar face at the guard station waved me through the twenty-foot high, wrought iron gates before I even had a chance to roll to a complete stop. Since Janine’s mom had grown up on a former Louisiana plantation, she insisted her children have that expansive acreage experience.

  Their antebellum manor was built in true southern tradition, with first and second floor covered porches wrapped around three sides. This allowed ample opportunity for Janine and her younger brother George to spend time outside, learning to tolerate the heat and assorted pests like properly bred ladies and gentlemen.

  Give me the city and air-conditioning twenty-four-seven or trust me, you wouldn’t want to be within fifty yards after five minutes of glistening, as my mom would say. But let’s call it like it is. I’d be a hot, sweaty mess, which is why ponytails in summer suited me just fine.

  Around the bend, the trees opened to reveal the white columned mansion. The home was a gift from the elder De’Laruses when the business management end of the family’s oil and gas enterprise moved to Dallas. It was a smaller yet modernized version of the antebellum homestead in Louisiana – Charlotte’s side of the family, that is.

  When Janine’s mom eloped with her dad, the one caveat for Charlotte’s return to family grace was that her husband of questionable Creole background rescind his last name in favor of hers. Years of elocution lessons and a master’s in business with a law degree on the side, Thomas was finally deemed ready to publicly accept the mantle of an empire. The fact they were now the wealthiest family in all of Texas – and that’s saying something in the oil capital of these United States – spoke volumes about Thomas’ commitment to the name of De’Laruse.

 

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