Chapter 5 Brooks #2
Now I give him my most charming smile, though, and wonder whether I can play off whatever feeling he still has left for me.
Lucien’s eyes snap to the folder in my lap and then back up, his gaze clashing with mine. “What are you thinking?”
Ah, we’ve switched to Right to the Point Lucien, then.
That makes this easier.
“Probably nothing you don’t already know.
Too many girls are missing and it’s been going on too long.
We need to know who’s taking them and why, and where these girls are ending up.
Why are they focusing on girls who should be safe?
Where’s their security when they’re taken? Where are they being held?”
He nods once, his eyes going distant, then jumps to the next point I was going to make like he already knows where I’m heading.
“And why are they going to other cities? If this started in New Orleans and comes down to a New Orleans family, why are they taking girls from Boston, Atlanta, and New York?”
His gaze sharpens on that last word, and I know he’s thinking more than he’s saying there, too.
Because he’s guessed exactly what I’m thinking. He’s just not saying it.
“And if Aislyn is the first girl taken in New York, why did they go right for a girl connected to my friends?” I ask quietly, letting my mind run through the implications.
I don’t know Aislyn personally, but that hardly matters.
She’s a Brennan, cousin to my best friend, and her disappearance comes on the heels of three families attacking the Brennans on what has always felt like a flimsy excuse.
Sylvester Poffo and his underlings, the Massimos and Carusos, came after the Rossi and Brennan families because Sylvester Poffo wanted more power in New York and thought he’d get it if he took out the largest families in the city.
He paid the Massimos to attack the Rossi and Brennan organizations, and the Massimos hired the Carusos to do the dirty work.
Operationally, it makes sense.
As far as Poffo’s motivations, though...
I’ve never bought it. It feels too simple.
Like something a high schooler would come up with, not a major player straight from Italy.
I haven’t had time to put too much thought into it, because we’ve been busy fighting a war, but now that I have a moment to breathe, my brain can’t let go of the idea.
That excuse was too simple, and if it feels too simple and looks too simple, it usually is.
What if Poffo was working for–or with–someone else, and attacked the Rossis and Brennans for reasons that had nothing to do with power in New York and everything to do with power somewhere else?
And were those families truly a random target, or were they picked because that was where I found a home?
“I think you’re right,” Lucien says quietly.
I jerk back into the present and stare at him, trying to remember what we were even talking about. Did I say something that requires a response? Is he answering a question?
Or has he been watching me work through the problem without him?
“You don’t even know what I’m thinking,” I snap.
He chuckles, the sound dark and melty, and it trickles down my skin like hot syrup. Sticky. Impossible to get rid of.
“Your poker face isn’t as good as you think it is, Brooks.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh, though it comes out shrill and awkward, which pisses me off. “My poker face is the best in the business, Lucien.”
He shakes his head slowly and leans toward me, the air around us suddenly going so electric that the hairs on my arms standing up. His eyes drop to my lips and then rise back up so slowly that I can feel his gaze dragging over my skin. He’s abruptly too close. Too big. Too male.
“Maybe to people who don’t know you. But you forget. I grew up learning how to read you. You can’t hide from me, love.”
A fine shiver runs through my body, and I forget how to breathe for a moment.
Lucien is all I can see, his woodsy scent filling my mouth and his eyes going so dark I feel like I’m drowning in them.
He’s right; he did grow up learning to read me.
Any time I was in New Orleans, he claimed me and spent my days–and some of my nights–keeping me to himself.
When we learned we were to be married, it had been a natural progression because we’d already been so wrapped up in one another.
But that was then and this is now, and he’s wrong if he thinks I’m still that lovesick little girl. He doesn’t have the ties on me that he used to have. I cut them a long time ago, and swore that no one would ever hold me like that again.
“You don’t know me as well as you used to. Things have changed.”
He reaches out and runs a finger along my lower lip, his eyes following it like he can’t look away, and all the blood rushes into my lower belly.
I want to arch my back and take his finger into my mouth.
Fall into the familiar rhythm we once had together and let him tell me exactly what we’re going to do about all of this.
I don’t want to be alone anymore.
But that’s not the right answer, I tell myself firmly. Because I know better. I may not know what Lucien has been up to for the last ten years, but I do know one thing: When it comes to him, there are always traps. And you almost never see them before you find yourself falling.
Even now, I suspect that he knows more than he’s telling me.
I would bet that he came to New York with this information already in his pocket, ready to use it when the moment presented itself, as either blackmail or something more nefarious.
Christ, there’s even a chance he’s involved in it.
After all, his family is one of the most powerful families in New Orleans.
They don’t deal in smuggling, at least not that I know of, but Gemini Boudreaux is a brilliant businessman.
If he saw an opportunity, I’m betting he would take it. And he’d drag Lucien along with him.
I admit to myself, very quickly, that I don’t want to believe that. I don’t want to think Lucien would ever enter sex trafficking. I’d like to believe that he has more humanity, more decency, than that. Because how could I ever have loved someone who would do something that horrific?
And what will I do if I find out he is involved?
Will I stand up to him and destroy him, the way I should?
Or will my heart get in the way and stop me?
I need to get my heart out of the equation, by hook or by crook, and the moment I have that thought, I know how to do it.
“Did you have anything to do with it?” I ask, counting on the question to be confusing enough for him to make a mistake and tell me the truth.
His expression shutters and he pulls his hand away from my mouth. “Anything to do with what?”
Dammit. Well, the truth, then. “My father’s real reason for our marriage.”
Lucien’s face goes through a range of sudden changes, from confusion to understanding and then shock and anger. “His plan to put a mole into my family for information? Your idea that he was planting a spy rather than handing me a wife? No. Of course not. That doesn’t even make sense.”
He’s right; it doesn’t. It probably never did. But I was convinced at the time that Lucien had known what was going on and agreed to it.
“But it made sense at the time,” I note. “Why else would you have agreed to marry me?”
“And why would I agree to a plot that would endanger my family?” he returns.
He lays a gentle finger on my hand and shakes his head.
“I wanted you, Brooks. That was my only thought.” When I don’t answer, he continues.
“You should have come to me for answers. I would have helped you. Saved you from your father.”
Now I do jerk away from him, furious at the idea that I needed saving.
Furious at the fact that he’s right.
“You would have helped me for your own reasons, and they would have been just as bad as my father’s. How long until we get to New Orleans? I want to find Aislyn and get back to New York, where things make sense.”
He doesn’t answer me this time, but gives me a long, weighted look, and then moves back to his original seat.
Good. I can’t think when he’s in my space, and right now, I need my brain more than ever. All my body wants is Lucien, and I need to keep my brain strong enough to overrule that urge.
Because Lucien is the last thing I need when I’m trying to save girls from a fate worse than death.