Chapter 20 Ridge #2
My jaw tightens, but I keep my voice level. Names do that. They turn something abstract into something that can be acted on. “When were these taken?”
“Last year,” Vin says, setting the photo down. “Duvall approached your father about a shipping lane deal. He wanted to share access on one particular line and offered a profit split.”
I nod as I bite my top lip, thinking back to what Wells told me and now recalling a brief conversation I had with my father.
I can see him now, standing in the kitchen, coffee gone cold, already irritated by the idea before he finished explaining it.
“I’d forgotten he’d mentioned it to me. Didn’t like it. ”
“He was right not to,” Vin says without hesitation. “That deal only benefited Duvall. Too many variables. Too much coordination. Too many places for things to go sideways.”
That sounds like my father. Controlled risk, no partners he couldn’t manage outright, opening himself up to risk that was unnecessary.
“How do these exist?” I ask, gesturing to the spread.
“Your father had a photographer hidden for the meeting,” Vin says. “Wanted a record of every face that showed up. He figured if the Duvalls ever tried something, we’d know exactly who to look for.”
That tracks. Perfectly. My father didn’t collect leverage for show. He collected it so he never had to scramble later.
“And after?”
“We went through them together,” Vin continues. “Your dad shut the whole thing down and told Duvall to figure something else out for his transit. They weren’t happy, but no one expected them to take it this far.”
I watch his face as he speaks. The cadence stays steady.
“You think these tie into what happened to him?” I ask him.
Vin nods slowly. “Yeah, absolutely, I do. Makes a lot of sense now why he thought he should document, and it makes sense Duvall wanted him out of the way.”
He stops there, jaw tightening slightly, then exhales through his nose. He hesitates, just long enough to choose his words.
“There’s something else,” he says. “I didn’t think it mattered at first. But now that we’re certain it’s the Duvalls, I think it does.”
I sit up straighter without meaning to. “What?”
“I was at their warehouse that night,” Vin says. “Hours before.”
My pulse kicks, sharp and immediate, but I keep my posture still. I don’t interrupt. “You were there? Why?”
“Dane and Ronnie reached out,” he says, naming the same men Iggy did.
“They wanted to meet. Claimed they had another proposition or some bullshit. I told your father, and we both agreed I should hear them out to keep our finger on the pulse of what they were doing if they were bringing product into New Orleans.”
That detail matters. He didn’t freelance. He didn’t decide on his own. He looped my father in, the way he always did.
He pauses, then continues. “Met them at the warehouse on Burgundy. They were pissed I showed up alone.”
“So what’d they say?”
“They wanted to move a shipment through our docks quietly that night, and I said no. They wanted to hear it from Robert, and I said the answer would be the same regardless.”
“And you walked,” I say.
“Yep,” Vin replies. “I was there less than five minutes.”
The room stills around us. Five minutes. In and out. Enough time to confirm intent. Not enough to get entangled.
“And you didn’t tell me once he was murdered there? Doesn’t that seem important after the fact?”
“At the time, it didn’t register as anything more than another failed attempt,” Vin says. “We were chasing Boudreaux. You saw Juno do it, and I knew he was Laurent’s guy. I figured Duvall was just using the chaos in the aftermath to his advantage.”
I drag a hand through my hair. Anger flares, heat rising up my neck. Not on Vin. Not even on my father. It settles backward instead, heavy and useless. On timing. On misdirection. On the days we lost chasing the wrong threat.
“Jesus, Iggy,” I mutter.
“I would have focused on Duvall if you hadn’t seen it and heard otherwise with your own ears,” Vin says quietly. “It all happened so fast.”
The silence stretches, filled with the muffled thrum of music bleeding through the walls. The sound feels distant, like it belongs to another room, another version of tonight.
“I’ll dismantle what they’re running,” Vin says, his voice hardening. “Just tell me this is enough for you to move forward.”
I nod slowly. “It is. I want to talk to my brothers first, though. I’m sitting down with them tomorrow. No more half-measures.”
Vin stands. “I’ll be there. Shoot me the when and where.”
After he leaves, I sit back, staring at the photos still spread across the table.
Vin’s explanation fits. The timing. The faces. The motive. All of it locks into place.
My anger drains, replaced by something colder and far more useful.
Methodically, I gather the photos and slide them back into the envelope. Coco was right. These were the key.
And now I know exactly what door they open.
I lie on the bed in the bunker, the low hum of the systems buried beneath the walls steady and familiar. I’ve been staying here exclusively, now, because if I want to be with Coco, I want to make sure she’s safe. It’s the only place I can lock down completely.
Coco’s breathing brushes warm against my skin, slow and even, her head resting on my chest as the last of the tension drains out of both of us.
The sheets are twisted around our legs, evidence of what just happened, but the room itself is calm. Settled. The kind of quiet that only comes after bodies have burned through everything they were holding back.
These nights aren’t occasional anymore. They’ve started fitting into the gaps of my schedule like they were always there.
I know Laurent’s routine now better than my own. I know when he’s distracted, when he’s unreachable, when this place is quiet enough for us to exist here.
He finally agreed to let Coco return to her own house, which makes it all easier for us, but has me more on guard, making sure she’s safe.
This city is full of people who would use her if they realized what she means to me.
She shifts slightly, her cheek pressing closer, fingers idly tracing the lines of my ribs. The silence stretches, unforced. I don’t feel the need to fill it, and neither does she. That alone feels dangerous.
For the first time in weeks, I’m not bracing for the next hit.
Mostly because I already know where the next one is going to land.
She tilts her head up, green eyes finding mine. “How did it go with Iggy?” she asks, voice soft but direct. “I forgot to ask you the other day. You were… distracting.”
There’s a hint of a smirk there. I feel it anyway, low and sharp in my chest.
I’ve been expecting the question. Still, it tightens something I haven’t figured out how to loosen. I told myself I wouldn’t pull her deeper into this. That I’d keep her insulated from the worst of it.
That’s getting harder to do every day.
“It was useful,” I say. My hand moves absently over her shoulder, grounding myself in the reality of her there. “You were right to push for it. He gave me names. Dane and Ronnie. Said they were outside the warehouse that night.”
Her brow furrows. “Did he say why?”
“Not exactly.” I shake my head. “But he knows enough to know they were part of it. He connected things that didn’t make sense before.”
She nods slowly, fingers stilling. “So what happens now?”
I stare up at the ceiling for a moment before answering. I’m not sure how much I want to tell her. Not because I don’t trust her, but because I don’t want her any more involved than she has to be.
“I met with Vin last night.” The words carry weight, even now. “I showed him the photos. The ones you didn’t want me to see.”
Her eyes sharpen, attention fully on me. “And?”
“He had an explanation,” I say. “The photos were from a meeting last year. Duvall’s people tried to negotiate a shipping lane deal with my father that he didn’t go for. He had a feeling they were up to something, so he had the meeting documented anonymously.”
I swallow, jaw tightening. “Turns out it was insurance. Just not the kind he expected to need.”
“It sounds like you’ve figured out who was behind this,” she says carefully.
“I think we have,” I agree. “Thanks to you. Iggy’s timeline lines up. Everything points back to Duvall.”
She studies me. “But…”
“But one of the men who used to work for your father was there the night he was killed,” I say, rubbing my temples. “Not working for Duvall, but clearly not acting alone. He framed your father. I know Boudreaux didn’t do it, but I don’t fully understand why that man did.”
“You don’t think Duvall somehow pulled him in?”
“Maybe. But the question is why. That’s the one thing I want to figure out before I jump. Duvall knows you’re back now, and the escalation he expected didn’t happen. So I’m running out of time.”
“Sometimes you don’t know why people in this world do the things they do, Ridge. You have the big answers, doesn’t that matter?”
I exhale slowly. “It might be something I never get a clean answer for.”
Her fingers resume their slow movement against my chest. She doesn’t say anything more, which I appreciate.
I look down at her. “My brothers and I met earlier tonight. We’re preparing to take action against the Duvalls.”
Her eyes widen, just slightly. “What kind of move?”
“I don’t know yet,” I say. “Not down to the details. But it won’t be reckless. And it won’t be symbolic.”
She shifts, propping herself up on her elbow, searching my face. “When does it stop?” she asks quietly. “The danger. The fallout?”
I don’t answer immediately. I don’t soften it, either.
“When the people responsible are dealt with,” I say. “Not before, and definitely not halfway. Whoever did this will be held accountable, full stop.”