Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Valentina, AKA Landry
I watch Deuce leave out the back door of Saint’s Suits while I pretend to dial another vendor.
Honestly, I have a headache already and I’ve only been here a few hours.
I’m not sure civilian work is for me after all.
I’m better at money laundering, smuggling narcotics, and breaking fingers to get what I want.
It’s just hard to put that on a résumé in corporate jargon, you know?
As soon as he’s out the door, I hop to my feet and crack the door open.
He turns the corner at the end of the alley and I slip outside, footsteps silent as I follow him.
I have to wait behind the corner of the alley while he gets in his car and backs out of the parking space. He waves at someone walking by.
“God, he’s such a small-town guy now,” I mutter to myself.
As soon as he turns the car down the street, I rush out from my hiding place and try to keep pace along the sidewalk.
It’s actually not hard. The Square is packed with college students and locals alike heading to and from lunch at the various restaurants.
It’s easy to blend in, thanks to the floral skirt and pastel top I’m wearing.
I pull my hair out of the slicked-back ponytail and try to fluff it out into something similar to the college students.
Deuce has been acting squirrelly, ever since I told him about my little panic attack issues. I have a sinking feeling he’s telling my secrets to someone. Keeping tabs on me. Hell, maybe he’s even been compromised by whomever is trying to take over the Barzettis.
And I don’t fucking like it.
He guns his car as soon as the road clears a bit just outside the Square.
I have to almost run to keep up at this point, cursing under my breath about my lack of a vehicle.
I feel stranded without wheels or anyone to call.
I’m just about to resort to an all-out sprint when a black crossover SUV pulls up beside me, driver’s side window rolled down.
“Landry? Everything okay?”
I turn, trying to keep one eye on the direction Deuce is headed. Betsy has her arm out the window, leaning out to address me. She’s frowning.
“Hey, Betsy!” I say brightly, pasting on a smile.
“Need a ride?”
I make a quick calculation in my head and decide to try to trust someone I barely know. It could go south quickly, but Betsy’s pregnant and way shorter than me. I’m fairly confident I could take her in a hand-to-hand-combat situation.
“Yes, actually. You don’t mind?”
She shrugs. “Nope. I was headed home anyway. These ankles are expanding and I have a date with the couch.”
I run around to the other side of the car, but there are large shopping bags in the front seat.
I notice Deuce making a turn so far down the street I can barely see him.
I don’t have time for Betsy to clear out her passenger seat, so I hop in the back instead, plopping my ass down and slamming the door before I realize there’s a little human in a car seat in the middle of the back seat.
She’s staring at me like this thing could go either way.
She might giggle or burst out crying, who’s to say?
Betsy, bless her, takes off down the road, casting glances in her rearview mirror. “Harlow Jean, honey. This is Landry.”
I wave at the small human and bark at Betsy to make a right turn at the next street. The little girl’s face starts to crumble. Fuck.
“Hey!” I say in a high-pitched voice that sounds creepy to my ears. “I bet you keep your mommy and daddy on their toes, don’t you? I like your flower!” I point to the flower pinned in her wispy dark blonde hair.
She reaches up with chubby hands and pulls it out, then hands it to me.
“Oh.” I take it, unsure if that’s the right thing to do. “Thank you.”
I bark out another set of instructions, trying to stay far enough behind that Betsy won’t know who we’re following but not so far that I lose the tail. I’ve done this hundreds of times over the years, but never while trying to entertain a small person in the back seat.
Harlow starts kicking her legs and pointing to the flower. I try to give it back to her but she pushes it toward me with surprising strength for such a little thing. I hold it up and she waves her arms wildly. I try to hand it back. Her face crumbles.
“Okay, okay,” I mutter, shoving the flower clip into my own hair.
That earns me some mouth sounds lubricated with plenty of spit and some hand clapping.
It’s better than crying, even if I look ridiculous.
I give the next direction a little too late and Betsy’s tires let out a squeal as she takes the turn too quickly, but she doesn’t panic.
She just rights the car and guns it. I can appreciate that kind of steadiness in a person.
When we end up pulling into a hospital parking lot, Betsy puts the car in park and turns to study me with curious eyes. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but if you’re fu—” Her eyes cut to her daughter. “If you’re effing with Deuce, I’m all in. That boy needs someone who has some spice.”
Hmm. Betsy’s smarter than she lets on.
“I feel it’s our job as women to keep our men on their toes,” I explain without really explaining anything.
Her face splits into a grin. “You’re kind of weird, Landry, and I haven’t figured you out yet, but I really like you.”
I look at her daughter, who’s got one foot in her mouth with an impressive show of flexibility, then back at Betsy. “Well, I like you too, Betsy.”
I hop out before she tries to hug me or something, but don’t get very far before she’s got her window down, elbow hanging out, watching my every move.
“I owe you one,” I tell her, walking backward for a moment. Deuce is walking into the hospital with another man. They’re too far away for me to make out who the stranger is.
“I’ll hold you to that!” Betsy calls after me. Harlow lets out a giggle, and despite myself, I find it pretty dang cute.
I jog away, heading for the same doorway Deuce went through.
The hospital is humming, healthcare professionals and patients everywhere I look.
Makes it easy to blend in, but harder to keep a tail on Deuce.
I end up losing him at one point and have to resort to ducking my head into doorways to find him again.
I see things I wish I hadn’t. They really need to make hospital gowns with more coverage.
My adrenaline is pumping. For the first time since hitting the border of the town of Heaven, I feel like myself.
I happen to walk by an abandoned nurses’ station on my way to finding Deuce.
One of them left their lab coat right there on the back of the chair.
I take a quick look around and don’t see anyone watching me.
I slide my arms through the jacket and then duck through a door when the mob of nurses returns to the station. It’s a supply closet.
“Yeah, baby,” I mutter.
I hit the jackpot. Clean, folded scrubs line one shelf.
I grab some and duck behind a stack of boxes, abandoning my floral ensemble for one that’ll have me blending in completely.
I put the white coat over the scrubs and head back out to the corridor.
Striding past the nurses with my nose in the air, I keep looking for Deuce.
I finally find him, lounging in a fucking chair. I roll my eyes and reach for the knife I keep strapped to my person at all times. I pause when I hear a female voice whispering inside the room.
“Thank you, Debra. You’re the best nurse around here.” Deuce’s voice is velvety sweet. Ew. I don’t want to stand here and listen to Deuce flirt. Gross.
The door opens and a nurse slips out, giving me a head nod as she walks away. Jesus. Her cheeks are pink from blushing at Deuce’s flattery. God, women are so dumb to fall for him.
When the coast is clear, I kick the door open and lunge inside. That kick would have been more effective if I wasn’t wearing these stupid kitten heels, but whatever. I’m inside the room.
Deuce jumps to his feet. I take in the rest of the room in an instant, only seeing one old man in a hospital bed. Why is Deuce here and who’s the old man?
Deuce hisses at me, demanding to know why I’m there.
I demand to know why he’s here. He looks all fierce and angry, even after I tuck away my knife.
If I didn’t know better, I’d be all hot and bothered by his sexy growl as he blocks me from seeing the man in the bed.
But I do know better. This man is not to be trusted. Not at seventeen years old and not now.
“I followed you,” I deadpan. It’s pretty fucking obvious, isn’t it?
Deuce doesn’t even blink those green eyes of his. “Yeah, I know. Why did you follow me?”
“You didn’t tell me where you were going.”
“Are you my keeper or something?” he snaps right back.
“No, but you’re my keeper. Shouldn’t you be watching me at all times instead of flirting with nurses and shirking your duties?”
His eyes are sparkling with anger, but his lips purse into a devilish smirk. It’s a nice one. If you like that kind of thing. I certainly don’t. Especially not on Deuce St. Legare.
He steps backward and now I can see the man in the bed. His salt-and-pepper head has swiveled our direction and the same green eyes stare at me from the white sheets beneath him. Deuce sweeps his arm in the man’s direction.
“Meet my father, Marcel. Papa, this is Landry Greer, the one I told you about.”
Marcel holds out his hand. I step forward, a little off-balance.
I should have guessed this. I didn’t even ask Deuce about his father.
I should have known he still lives here in Heaven.
I’d heard Bettina grouse about his small-town life infecting her son often enough over the years.
I slide my palm into his hand and he tugs me closer.
“Let me get a good look at ya,” he says with a weak voice, but a warm Southern twang.
My smile is wobbly but he doesn’t seem to care. His thumb strokes across the back of my hand and I can sense that he’s a genuinely kind person. Pretty much the opposite of Bettina.
“Pretty as a picture. Welcome to Heaven, Valentina,” Marcel says kindly, using my real name. “I can’t say I’m glad to see you, but now that you’re here, you be good to my son, ya hear?”
“I intend to be,” I say weakly. I actually had no such intention when I got here, but it’s sweet that Deuce has a father who cares about him. I never knew my father. “I’ll make sure he stays safe.”
Marcel smiles, but it looks weary. “I’m not worried, honey. He can take care of himself. He is also Bettina’s son, after all. I’m more fretful about you and that doctor you stole your outfit from.”
I look down at myself. I forgot I changed clothes to sneak in here. I feel a bit foolish, to be honest. Marcel gives my hand one more squeeze before dropping it.
“I think I’m almost done here if ya don’t mind waitin’ for me.”
Deuce places his hands on my shoulders and steers me away from the bedside. “Of course we’re waiting for you, Papa. Take as long as you need. I’ll let the nurses know the drip is done.”
He pushes me right out the door. He’s not exactly gentle as he pushes my backside against the wall just outside the room.
He crosses his arms over his chest, back to not looking happy to see me.
The toe of his dress shoe taps the linoleum floor, impatiently waiting for an explanation of why I’m here.
“You’ve been taking phone calls and being secretive about it!” I hiss, trying to defend myself. It’s a somewhat plausible reason to follow him all the way here.
“Why didn’t you just ask me?”
I screw up my face. Is he serious? “Because! It’s not like you would have told me.”
Deuce drops his arms, looking disappointed.
I don’t like that look. It’s like he expected more from me and I’ve let him down.
Valentina Ricci doesn’t let people down.
Well, only if they deserve it. And that’s the whole point.
Deuce doesn’t deserve it. He’s here taking care of his ailing father. Even I know that’s nice-guy behavior.
“You should have just asked, V. I would have told you. I keep telling you we need some trust between us, but I don’t think you’re capable.” He spins to leave, but stops. “Nice flower, by the way.”
My hands fly to my head where I still have the stupid pink flower Harlow made me wear lodged to the side of my head. My cheeks burn with humiliation. I shove the nuisance in the pocket of the white lab coat.
I watch Deuce march off to the nearest nurses’ station where they all hang on his every word, male and female alike.
He interacts with people like it’s the most natural thing in the world to smile and joke and build rapport.
I hover at the doorway of the treatment room as he helps his father sit up, not knowing what to do with myself or how to help or even if I want to help.
Deuce patiently fans his father’s face until he feels well enough to stand up.
No task is below him when it comes to his father.
It’s a side of Deuce I didn’t know he had.
Caring. Doting. Loving.
It makes my stomach feel all squishy and liquid. I’m not sure if I need to find a bathroom or if this is the feeling of guilt for following him. For not trusting him.
As he helps his father down the hallway and out of the hospital, I trail behind, wondering if maybe what Deuce said is true. Distrust is kind of my default. Has been my whole life. It’s kept me alive.
It’s kept you lonely, a little voice in the back of my head screams.