Chapter 40
Grace
The storm had been raging for hours, its ferocity unlike anything I”d seen before in New Orleans. The wind howled like a banshee around the corners of Zephyr”s apartment above Jazz Sessions. With the electricity knocked out, the only illumination came from the occasional flash of lightning, casting eerie shadows across the room.
”Stay here. I”ll make sure it”s all good downstairs.”
Zephyr had gone downstairs to check on the bar to make sure everything was boarded up tight.
Before he left, he”d lit a couple of candles that Gaia had left behind, but I was too tired to even keep my eyes open. After months of running an operation, I was finally feeling relaxed. I was half asleep on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly of Zephyr. I was almost asleep when a sudden crash of thunder jolted me awake, my heart racing. In that brief moment of heightened senses, I heard it—the faintest sound of footsteps. Zephyr was coming back. We should go back to bed and stay there. Make love again. I”d never had this ease in a relationship—this comfort.
The front door creaked open, and the air coming in turned off the candles. I was about to call out to Zephyr when, in the dim light, I saw a figure step inside. Adrenaline coursed through me. Hell no. That wasn”t my man.
That was Henri Allard.
His presence was a cold shock.
I snapped out of sleep and felt panic run through me. He wasn”t here to talk about a deal, not when I could see the flash of a gun, a Glock, similar to mine, which was on my bedside table at home in the Garden District. Here, I had no weapons.
The storm outside mirrored the turmoil within me, but fear was quickly replaced by a steely resolve. Zephyr was still out there, and the minute he came in, he”d be easy prey. I crawled off the couch and lay low. Henri hadn”t seen me. He was walking through the small living room, making his way to the bedroom where he thought Zephyr was.
I ducked next to the coffee table, my breath shallow. I was trying to make as little noise as possible. I hoped the storm”s cacophony masked my movements. I grappled for a weapon and was relieved when I touched the cold metal of the flashlight Zephyr had found and left on the coffee table.
Henri moved with dangerous purpose, his silhouette a menacing shadow against the intermittent lightning.
”Zephyr, you here?” He spoke calmly, but there was an undertone of malice, something shaky.
Was he drunk? High? Or just plain angry?
Christ! What would I do if Zephyr walked in through the front door now? Henri would shoot him.
”Zephyr, son?” He called out again.
”Look, I know you”ve been sleeping with that bitch. I don”t know what lies she told you, but I wanted to clear the air with you. Z?” He moved slowly, his eyes looking around and hopefully not seeing me.
Please, God! Please, please, please!
He moved toward the bedroom. The door was closed, and I held my breath. Could I lock him in? I didn”t even know if the door had a damn lock.
”Is Grace with you?” His hand touched the doorknob, and he opened the bedroom door.
I closed my eyes, not sure what to do next, when he fired a shot, the sound deafening in the enclosed space. He”d soon know Zephyr wasn”t there. I wasn”t there. We both heard the footsteps coming up the stairs. My heart hammered in my chest, knowing I had only moments to act.
Recalling the self-defense techniques I”d learned, the ones that made me vow to myself that I”d never be a victim again, I waited for the right moment. As Henri passed by, I lunged, using the flashlight to strike at his hand. The gun clattered to the floor, and we grappled in the darkness, his surprise giving me a fleeting advantage.
The fight was a blur of motion, driven by instinct and the fierce desire to protect not just myself but Zephyr.
Henri was strong, but desperation lent me the power I never knew I possessed. A well-placed knee in his groin and a twist of his arm ensured he was on the ground, writhing in pain.
I secured the gun, aiming it at him with trembling hands. The front door opened. ”Zephyr, keep that flashlight out of my eyes and call 911. I have Henri here,” I warned.
He gently moved his flashlight so as not to blind me. He saw Henri moaning on the floor and me holding a gun, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts.
He slowly walked to me and leaned to turn Henri around, so he lay on his stomach. He put a knee on his back and dropped the flash light and its halo of light fell on the door that opened onto the small balcony.
”Call Nick. Faster than 911,” he spoke calmly. He held out his hand. ”Give me the gun. Is it yours?”
”Henri”s.”
I saw him smile in the flashing light of the storm. ”Good girl.”
I handed him the gun, and I ran to the bedroom to find my phone, relieved that 5G was still working despite the storm. I called Nick and ended the nightmare that had started months ago with the reading of Lucien Doucet”s will.