Hot SEAL, Midnight Magic (SEALs In Paradise)

by Teresa J. Reasor

  “Has he been by the hospital?” Gage asked.

  “No.” Roman twisted open another beer. “But he came in and cleaned up after the police once their forensic guys did their thing. Everything in here was covered with black fingerprint powder and other stuff.”

  Gage rolled his shoulders, stiff from inaction. “At least he made himself useful.”

  “He’s been weird about going to the hospital. He said he couldn’t see Mama like that. I thought he was going to throw up when I told him about her injuries.”

  They had all coddled Decker as the baby. Then suddenly, at age twelve, he got involved with the wrong group of neighborhood kids. Since then he’d been in and out of trouble more times than Gage could count, and lied even when he didn’t need to. By the time they shifted into discipline mode when Decker turned thirteen, it was too late. He’d seemed determined to stay on the path to self-destruction ever since.

  Maybe he was really turning over a new leaf and attempting to be a responsible member of society. But his inner voice said, I’ll believe it when I see it.

  “Why did you ask Mia to pick me up, Roman?”

  “Josie was talking to her and said I had to work, and now that Decker is working too, we didn’t want to screw with that. One small mix-up with his schedule might fuck things up. So Mia volunteered. Said she could leave her shop for an hour to pick you up and drop you at the hospital.”

  “She has a key to Mama’s house, doesn’t she?”

  “Yeah. She waters the plants and takes care of the cat when Mama’s out of town.”

  “The cat?”

  “Yeah. Just a stray. Mama is fostering. She’s only had him a couple of weeks. Mia took him to her place to take care of him while Mama’s in the hospital. We couldn’t take him because my youngest is allergic.”

  “She’s making herself real helpful, isn’t she?”

  Roman was silent for a moment. “Why don’t you tell me why you have a bug up your ass about her? Every time her name comes up you get this look, and you go into attack mode. What the fuck did she do? Sleep with one of your friends? What?”

  Gage rolled his head to loosen his neck muscles. Roman was right. Whenever he sneaked home on leave in the past, he’d stayed away from her. And for six years his anger and resentment had simmered. Seeing her again for the first time brought everything to a boil and made her a handy target for all of it.

  Did she know what her family did to him? Did she have a clue what she cost him?

  Sitting beside Mama Bet’s bed, he had time to dissect every nuance of their short conversation and her reaction to him. Based on the way she spoke to him, he doubted her mother and brother told her how her brother ran him out of town…or rather, had the cops do it for him.

  After the silence stretched, Gage finally looked up to find Roman studying him.

  “I hope it doesn’t take you this long to shoot when you’re in someone’s sights,” Roman commented.

  “Give me another beer.”

  Roman planted the bottle in front of him.

  He twisted the top off, but only took a shallow swallow. “This stays in this room.”

  “Okay.”

  “Six years ago…almost seven now…Mia and I were planning to move in together. She was going to go to LSU, and I was going to go with her to Baton Rouge and transfer jobs. We’d planned everything out. Had an apartment lined up, I’d already talked to my boss, and everything was a go.”

  For a moment he was caught up in remembering how things were between them. Fevered couplings at her small apartment, or in the back of her car, or out in the country in Algiers parish where there was more urban countryside to spread a blanket. He shook his head.

  “Her mother and brother found out about it.” He rolled the nearly full bottle between his palms, the beads of moisture on the outside of the bottle cooling his skin. “Plus Decker was going through a bad patch and had just been picked up for possession a couple of days after his eighteenth birthday.

  “Mason Blanchard visited me at the docks with five cops. They manhandled me into the locker room and tossed me down on one of the benches. He told me he’d talked to Decker’s arresting officer and the possession charge was going to be upped to intent to sell. Decker’d be looking at two to ten years and have a felony record with a thirty-thousand-dollar fine.

  Gage paused, shaking his head. “But that wasn’t all. He flipped open my locker. And took out a fucking brick of white powder. They’d planted drugs in my locker at work. He said I was going to go away for more time than Decker if I didn’t haul ass out of Louisiana completely. Right there was the proof that I dealt drugs, just like my baby brother.”

  “If I left Louisiana and got out of Mia’s life, Decker would be charged with a misdemeanor and walk away with no jail time and a small fine.”

  His throat felt dry despite the beer.

  “Does Mama know about this bullshit?” Roman asked.

  “Yeah. I told her the night I left.” He’d asked her to look after Mia for him. But there was little she could do.

  And now he was back. And he’d let loose all that anger and resentment on Mia. Instead of the two people who deserved it. He raked his fingers through his hair.

  “So you kept yourself and Decker out of prison and it cost you the girl.”

  “Not just any girl, Roman. I’d been in love with her for two years. I was going to ask her to marry me.” He rubbed at an ache in his temple. “There’s never been a woman who’s come anywhere close since. Seeing her today brought it all back.

  “I lost her, my home, my job, and was separated from my family. But who’s complaining?”

  Roman turned his chair and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands for a moment. When he looked up again, two spots of angry color stained his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Gage. I wish I’d known what was going down at the time. But even if I knew, I don’t know what I could have done.”

  “There weren’t any choices, Roman. There never are when you’re faced with rich fuckers who have the cops in their hip pocket. I don’t know where they got the drugs, but I swear they weren’t mine.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that. Out of the three of us, you were always the one who toed closest to the line.

  “I wish I could say your sacrifice did Decker some good. It took two more short stints in jail to make an impression. But at least it wasn’t ten years. And let me give you some advice. The next time you find yourself up against a wall, don’t sacrifice your life for Decker. He’s a grown man, and he needs to pay his own debts.

  “Me and Josie have been keeping our distance for a while now. He’s fucked up one too many times. And you’re judged by the company you keep.”

  “Understood. I won’t take a hit for him again, I promise you that.” And if there was ever a way he could exact revenge against Mason Blanchard and his mother for what they did to him, he’d take full advantage of it.

  Roman got up, dug some keys out of his pocket, and extended them to him. “Mama’s car is parked out back in the shed. It’s gassed up and running good, so you’ll at least be able to get to and from the hospital, or anywhere else you want to go.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Why don’t you come over to the house for dinner Sunday night? Josie and the kids want to see you.”

  Gage stuffed the keys in his front pocket and walked Roman to the door. “Double-check with her and text me tomorrow. I don’t want to show up without her knowing I’m coming.”

  Roman grinned. “You’ve gotten plumb domesticated out there in California, bro. We’ll grill out so she won’t have to wash the dishes.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Roman grabbed his arm, pulled him into a bro hug, and gave him a slap on the back. “You have any trouble, there’s a loaded pistol under the mattress in your room.”

  “Thanks. I prefer the Louisville Slugger in the closet if it’s still there.”

  “It’s there.”

&n
bsp; “They come back and try to pull the same shit on me, they’ll go to jail with some broken bones.”

  “Batter up, son,” Roman said and walked out to his car. “The guitar you left behind is in there too.”

  He opened the driver’s door, but turned to look over the top of the vehicle at him. “You could try again, Gage. Talk to Mia, tell her what happened, and ask her to give you another chance. What have you got to lose?” With that parting shot, he got in his car and drove away.

  Gage settled on the front steps with his beer. The street was quiet but for the sound of crickets that came and went in waves. The scent of someone barbecuing carried to him on the breeze to blend with the strong fragrance of the purple passion vine growing on either side of the wooden steps and up the support posts, nearly to the roof. Sweat beaded on his skin.

  It finally sank in that he was home. But it wouldn’t truly feel like it until Mama Bet was here with him.

  His thoughts drifted back to Mia. His grandmother, Mama Bet, had told him how Mia grieved after he left.

  He was certain Mia didn’t have anything to do with her brother’s actions. It was Camille Blanchard who gave the order. She and Mason conspired to control Mia and intended to destroy Gage’s family to do it.

  Did they know he was back? The idea brought with it outrage because he had to worry about being here to help take care of Mama Bet.

  He needed to put his rage behind him. Rage clouded reason, and right now it was important to stay sharp.

  And he needed to put Mia behind him, too. Any chance they had was in the past.

  But if he had the opportunity to get even with Mason and Camille Blanchard, he’d take it.

  Mama’s clock inside chimed eight times, then the strains of Bridge Over Troubled Water reached him through the screen door.

  CHAPTER 4

  ‡

  Mia parked in front of her mother’s palatial home.

  The front porch accommodated four brand-new, matching groupings of rockers, tables, and potted plants. And wrought iron balconies stretched across the front of the three-story structure, with huge ferns hanging in each arched opening so passing traffic couldn’t see through the French doors to the bedrooms on the front side of the house (of which there were eight). Eight others were in the back.

  Her brother used one wing of the house and her mother the other. They could command two armies from the dressing rooms in their suites. It was beyond her why two people would need sixteen bedrooms, ten bathrooms, a huge living room, two parlors, a formal dining room that would seat twenty, a study, an office, and a modern industrial kitchen with two refrigerators, a walk-in freezer, double ovens and a five-foot-wide gas stove.

  Mia rarely visited these days. She had felt stifled when she lived there and still did when she visited. With every room decorated to the nth degree, it was like living in a magazine layout instead of a home.

  Her apartment above Promises couldn’t be more different. It was minimalist, uncluttered, and very modern. And she was able to breathe.

  The front gate closed behind her, and she got out of the car. The moment she stepped up on the porch it felt like a fifty-pound blanket fell around her shoulders. Any time her mother invited her to dinner, there was always an ulterior motive. This time she told Mia it was about the family business. She wondered what could be wrong this time.

  Mia rang the bell and waited for someone to answer the door.

  Ming, her mother’s assistant, opened it. His black suit fit his tall form like a glove, and he looked the ultimate professional. She had never seen even a strand of his thick, stick-straight hair out of place. He adjusted his square-framed glasses. “Come in, Ms. Blanchard. Your mother and brother are in the little parlor with their dinner guests.”

  Guests? “Who are the guests tonight?” she asked. She needed a heads-up. If her mother was matchmaking again, she was going to turn around and leave without going in.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Samuels, Mr. and Mrs. LeBlanc, two of your brother’s associates, Andrea Boyett and John Curtis, Hunter Stephens and Victoria Sutton, and Will Abney.”

  “Mother said this was a business dinner.”

  “I’m sure it is. Everyone here tonight is involved in a number of projects with B and B Industries.”

  Why did her mother insist on having a balanced number of men and women? She’d probably be seated with Abney, who was old enough to be her father.

  “I can take your purse and keys if you like, Ms. Blanchard.”

  “Trying to deny me the opportunity to escape, eh?” She tucked her keys inside her small bag and handed it over.

  A quick smile softened his often impassive expression. “I’ll put them in the cabinet just inside the study, as always, in case you feel the need to slip away.”

  “Thanks, Ming.” She continued across the entrance foyer and past the grand mahogany staircase leading upstairs to a gallery that split to travel to the east and west wings of the house. Then she entered the small parlor—dubbed “small” because it was about two hundred square feet shorter than the other one.

  The guests were an odd group. Andrea and John worked for her brother, Mason. But two of the couples were older and very wealthy. Hunter Stephens and Victoria Sutton both ran construction companies, and Will Abney had investments all over the city but owned no property straight out, not even the condo he lived in. Camille and Mason mentioned that oddity more than once.

  What did her mother want this time? She always had some deal brewing. And why the hell would she need her here?

  She wove her way to one of the empty wingback chairs and took a seat.

  Her mother, Camille, raised one perfectly arched brow at her entrance. As always, her hair was artfully colored to as light a blonde as Mia’s was dark, like her father’s. For a woman of sixty, Camille was as beautifully preserved as her plastic surgeon could make her. “You all have met my daughter, Mia. She’s usually more punctual than this.”

  There was a time Mia would have been embarrassed by her mother’s disapproval, but that time was long gone. She no longer allowed Camille to bulldoze her. If nothing else came of Gage’s defection, at least she made a clean break from Camille’s overbearing control.

  “I had some time-sensitive work issues I needed to deal with. I’m sure everyone understands that.” But the truth was, Mia dragged her feet, hoping they’d already be eating when she arrived.

  She took the rumble of agreement as support and mirrored her mother’s raised eyebrow.

  One of the maids came to the door and announced dinner, and everyone rose. Mason offered Camille his arm. Her mother, so much shorter, looked fragile against his six-foot-two height. He was as dark as she was light. The two of them led the way into the dining room.

  Mia wasn’t surprised when Will Abney settled beside her. His thick gray hair was brushed back from a high forehead, his pale gray eyes, almost colorless, startlingly light against the olive tint of his skin. Though he was in his mid-fifties, he appeared to be in good shape, and he was polite and attentive, but his association with her mother and brother made her wary.

  The soup was served with a small, individual loaves of herbal bread and butter, and Mia had just picked up her spoon when Abney said, “Your mother says your business is doing well.”

  How her mother knew anything about Promises was a mystery, since she’d never crossed the threshold. “We’re holding our own.”

  “We’re?”

  “It’s actually three businesses under one roof.”

  “I wasn’t aware of that.” Abney broke the small loaf in half and spread some butter on it.

  “We have a café, a bookstore, and the art gallery.”

  His brows rose. “And you manage them all?”

  “No. My purview is the gallery. I have two Senior employees who manage the other businesses. And they’re doing very well.” Though the soup was good, she had learned from experience not to eat too much, because more would follow. She set aside her spoon.

  �
��Camille never mentioned any of that.”

  “Since they’re my businesses, she doesn’t have an interest in them.”

  “How did you get the money to start up?”

  “I had a couple of investors.” God bless her grandmother.

  “Do you need another?” he asked.

  God, forbid! “No. But thank you for the offer.”

  The main course was filet mignon with tiny potatoes in herb butter and grilled asparagus. They ate in silence for a moment.

  “What kind of project is mother trying to loop you into?” she asked.

  “She hasn’t mentioned a project. I think this may just be a social get-together since we’ve all been involved in several projects together already.”

  “I see.”

  Then why did Camille invite her?

  Andrea, sitting on Mia’s left, asked her a question and she turned to reply.

  The evening dragged. Mia waved away the dessert and asked for coffee only.

  “Don’t you have a sweet tooth?” Abney asked.

  “Not much, and not this late at night.”

  “Maybe we can eat earlier next time so you can enjoy the sweet.”

  For a moment she didn’t know what to say.

  “I’ve asked your mother several times to introduce us. I’m glad she finally arranged for us to meet. I’d like to take you out to dinner some night.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m seeing someone.”

  He smiled. “I don’t mind.”

  “I believe he would.”

  “Your mother didn’t mention you were seeing anyone.”

  Was her mother pimping her to a man twice her age for money? She glanced down the table to find Camille watching them.

  “My mother knows nothing about my life or me. We rarely speak.” She took a sip of her coffee. “You do know Camille is available and has more money than I will ever have.”

  Abney chuckled. “I prefer younger women.”

  He rested a hand on her arm and her skin prickled. A prickling, bone-deep chill signaled the onslaught of a vision, followed by heat racing along her nerve endings like lightning while she fought against it.