Chapter 9
Zephyr
She lived in the Garden District. She was the type to want the house in suburbia with the manicured lawn. She wouldn”t enjoy the hustle-bustle of the Quarter, which I loved.
”How long have you lived here?” I asked because she was purposefully looking out the car window as if trying to catch a haint.
”Six months.”
She was still not looking at him.
”Cher, I made you come with my tongue; you can look at me when we talk.”
I heard her gasp, and for some perverse reason, it made me happy. At least I had her attention.
”Can we not talk about that?”
”My tongue, your pussy, or your fabulous fuckin” orgasm? Or maybe we shouldn”t talk about how blue my balls are.”
”You could take care of your blue balls with that blonde who was draped all over you,” she snapped.
I ran a tongue over my teeth, amused. ”You jealous, darlin”?”
”I already had your tongue and my orgasm. Why on earth would I be jealous?” she bit out harshly.
”You liked it?” I asked huskily. I fucking loved it. I could still smell her. I could still feel her on my tongue and my fingers. And I wanted to taste her again, real soon.
”It was alright.” She looked away again, and if I weren”t keen on driving us off into a ditch, I”d have watched for that flush that rose right above her gorgeous nipples and went all the way up to her cheeks.
Grace Carta was a sexy-as-hell woman. Her brown skin was delectable…like warm chocolate. I had actually thought of dripping melted chocolate over her grade-A tits, suckling them. Fuck! I had to stop thinking about her naked cause driving a stick shift with a stick between my legs was not comfortable.
”Aw, come on, cher. You”re breakin” my heart here.”
She chuckled. ”I doubt your heart is involved.”
That was usually true…but something about this woman tugged at my heartstrings. Hell, I wasn”t in love or any such nonsense. I was…infatuated. Hell, yeah. How long had it been since I”d felt this way about a woman? High school? Earlier?
I enjoyed women and respected them. Unlike my reputation of fuck ”em and leave ”em, I didn”t kick a woman out as soon as we had finished. I enjoyed the intimacy of sleeping with a woman, waking up for another round, and cooking breakfast. I wasn”t like how Blaze used to be before Nick, who would literally zip up and leave. I”d heard about that from more than one broken-hearted girl who”d been with my brother and found my shoulder to cry on.
”You want to tell me about the op?” I decided to change the topic to something designed to soften my dick real quick.
”We want to set you up as the perfect bait.” Grace turned to face me.
I shifted gears as I changed lanes. ”And how do you propose doin” that, cher?”
”We”re going to have you be in debt. A whole lot of it.”
I raised an eyebrow. ”You do know how much money Doucets have, don”t you? That would be one hell of a debt.”
”You”ll also have a public falling out with your brother, sister, and Rome about your gambling habit.”
I chuckled. ”I have a gambling habit? Darlin”, this is the Big Easy; if a Doucet has a problem like that, everyone will know.”
”Oh, you”ve been hiding it real well.”
I had a feeling that cops did a lot of this—or at least it appeared so in the movies. ”I”m assuming you guys know how to make it all look real?”
”Yeah.”
”Okay.”
”No one can know except the task force, which we”re keeping tight, plus Rome, Gaia, and Blaze. That”s it.”
I thought about it. ”We have a few more people we can trust, Grace. Having Henri and Miss Matty on board will—”
”Not Henri Allard. And I don”t know this Miss Matty, except for the one time I met her at three in the morning after Rome and Gaia”s wedding.”
I frowned. ”Henri has been the family lawyer for…forever. Every Doucet trusts him implicitly. As we do Miss Matty.”
”I don”t trust either of them.”
”Elaborate.”
Grace took a deep breath. ”I know this won”t be the popular opinion. Nick wasn”t too fond of it either. According to Blaze, Henri Allard knew about Detective Lemmo being dirty. The chief told him.”
”For God”s sake, Grace. The chief is a moron who talks too much. He didn”t only tell Henri about that…there were probably others.”
”But Lemmo got dead, and Victor Zakone managed to hurt your brother and several others before Ash took him down. I don”t trust Henri Allard. I don”t trust how close he”s to your mother.”
I drove right on her street.
”It”s the third house…the one with the white fence,” she instructed. Of course, she”d have the fucking white picket fence! Goddamn, this woman was a cliché.
I turned onto her driveway. It was a lovely house, standing among ancient oaks draped in Spanish moss.
”Henri is like a father to all of us,” I assured her. ”I trust him with my life.”
”I”m not trusting him with your life or my op. That”s a deal breaker for me.”
I banged my hand on the steering wheel. ”Grace, you don”t understand how it works in our family. Henri is…hell, he”s taken care of all of us. What do you suspect him of?”
Grace took a deep breath. ”You want to come in?”
”Yeah.”
She walked to her door and punched in a code to open it. I followed her and handed back her car keys.
The fa?ade of her home was adorned with intricate ironwork on the balconies, and around the wide front porch were a few well-placed chairs and a swing beckoned for lazy afternoons.
”How will you get home?” she asked.
”Don”t worry about it.”
I liked her house. It was spacious, two-stories high with its architecture that sang of both history and modernity. High ceilings were crowned with elaborate moldings, walls were lined with tall windows. The floors were a polished wood that reflected the light, leading us through rooms that were a perfect blend of elegance and comfort.
We walked into the living room, which was stunning. A grand fireplace stood as the room”s heart, while plush sofas and chairs invited conversation and relaxation. Art, vibrant and full of life, adorned the walls.
”Didn”t think you”d be an abstract art fan.” I surveyed her walls closely. The elegance of the house didn”t surprise me, but the coziness made me view Grace in a whole new light. This here was a homebody.
”I”ve always been fascinated with the works of Hilma af Klint.”
”The mother of modern art,” I mused.
”Drink?” she asked.
”Yes. Do you have some coffee?”
”This late in the night?”
I shrugged. ”I like coffee.”
”Okay.”
”I”ll be on your front porch. It”s…inviting.”
Her face lit up. ”You should see it during the day.”
”Is that an invitation, cher?” I teased, and she stared at me open-mouthed and shook her head, realizing what she”d said.
”I”ll get you some coffee. Milk and sugar?”
”Black.”
I sat down on a couch and put my feet up on the glass table, enjoying her garden and her home, soaking it in.
I was like Grace, I figured. At the end of the day, no place was right for me but my home. I liked my space to be comfortable. Gaia was a minimalist, while Blaze was a nomad. I liked stability in my house, which is why I”d set up my place to be livable and not something set up by an interior designer to be fancy. I liked to entertain, cook for friends and family, and have a space that was inviting and welcoming. Gaia”s home with Rome had the same vibe.
Grace set my coffee in front of me in a porcelain cup with a saucer. Even her China was prim and proper. I left my feet up on the table because I knew it would annoy her.
She set a cup that had the UCLA logo on it on a side table. She”d changed as well and was now in leggings and an off-shoulder shirt. She looked fucking amazing.
She sat on a chair and draped a blanket on her legs as she tucked them under her thighs. Oh, yeah, a homebody who liked to get cozy.
”What are you drinking?” I asked.
”Hot cocoa.” She picked up her cup and blew into it.
”I like your home, Grace. It”s…very comfortable.”
She looked around. ”Not boring?”
”Not at all. Warm and inviting.”
”I”m sorry about your house.” She blew on her cocoa again before taking a tentative sip.
”Yeah. I”m hoping they get it fixed up sooner than later, but it”s going to take the time it”s going to take.” I drank some coffee. It was good, exactly what I expected from Grace. The woman was classy as fuck.
”But you can”t pay the construction crew, which is why your house is not getting fixed?” she suggested, continuing our discussion about how I”d be set up as bait.
”Of course. I”ve lost so much to gambling.”
She grinned. ”Exactly. And you had to pay so much money for your shares to get on the BBH board. You”re pissed about it and angry with your brother for forcing you.”
”Sure. How do I show this anger?”
”You bitch and moan during a board meeting. Maybe have a heated argument at Jazz Sessions.”
I nodded. ”I was planning to bitch and moan during a board meeting anyway, so it shouldn”t be too much of a made-up story.”
”You obviously don”t care about Bayou Belle Holdings or being a Doucet. But you do like your life. And Big Daddy isn”t cheap.”
I didn”t like the way she mentioned the place where Angela worked. ”We don”t bring that into this.”
”It”s common knowledge you go there regularly, Zephyr.”
There was a sneer in her tone that rubbed me the wrong way.
”And that Angela Thibodeaux is a long-term—”
”We don”t bring her into any of this.” I kept my voice low but firm. No fucking way would I let any of this touch Angela. She”d suffered enough and was now getting her life back in order.
”Zephyr, be reasonable. It”s a really good cover story, and it”s true.”
I narrowed my eyes. ”What the fuck do you know about what”s true?”
She licked her lips as if a little surprised and scared of my change in demeanor.
”That Angela is your personal whore.”
I set the coffee cup down deliberately. I stood up, my anger ready to pounce out of me and decimate Grace.
”You say that about Angela again, and I will fuckin” end your career in New Orleans.” I looked her in the eye when I spoke, my voice steady, ”Angela has more character and dignity than most of the high society bitches in the state. She”s had a tough life, and there is no world in which I”d allow someone to get near her with the intention of hurting me through her. You understand?”
”Do you?” she demanded, her voice a little shaky. ”You”re the one who gave Big Daddy as an alibi for Yves” murder.”
”That was Blaze, and I had no choice because you had a ten-inch hard-on for me.”
She put her cup of cocoa down and flung her hands up in the air. ”I don”t understand. Are you in a relationship with Angela?”
”Yes. She”s one of my closest friends. Her choice of profession doesn”t make her my fuck buddy or whatever else you”ve conjured up in that small mind of yours.”
I saw a flash of hurt that quickly disappeared under anger.
”Your friend is a prostitute at Big Daddy”s whore house, Zephyr. That”s a fact. How the hell am I being small-minded?” she screamed.
”You called her my personal whore,” I said in disgust. ”Angela has lived a life that most people wouldn”t be able to tolerate. Show some respect for a woman who fought all odds to—”
”Become a whore?” Her eyes sparked with fury.
”I”ll see you in your office tomorrow. It”s unfortunate that I pegged you wrong. I didn”t expect you to be so fuckin” judgmental. I thought women supported women. And here you are, demeaning Angela”s life and her choices.”
I called for an Uber as I walked out of her house, feeling like I”d lost someone. And I had. I had lost Grace…which was ridiculous because I never really had her.
I couldn”t stand people who spoke so callously about those who had made different life choices than them.
Angela had not had the easiest life. Had she helped herself by doing drugs in addition to what fate threw at her? No. Had she done everything she could to become a better person? Yes.
This was a woman who I would write a check for any amount if she asked. Yet, the only times she”d asked for help was when she was arrested or reached a point in her self-destruction and needed to go to rehab.
It had been two years since she stopped using and drinking. She didn”t even smoke. She was a prostitute, yes, but she never sold her soul. I couldn”t say the same about a whole hell of a lot of other people.