Chapter 61
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Romeo
Fiona was standing at the kitchen counter in one of my T-shirts, barefoot, hair piled on top of her head in a messy knot that looked like it had lost an argument with her fingers.
She was slicing fruit with far more concentration than the job required, which gave me plenty of time to sit at the table with my coffee and admire the view without pretending I was doing anything else.
The shirt hit halfway down her thighs.
That was the problem.
Or maybe the blessing.
Depended how charitable a man felt before breakfast.
The last two weeks had done terrible things to my self-control.
I had spent more than a year deliberately keeping my hands to myself while Fiona grew up, graduated, figured out what she wanted, and eventually decided she wanted me.
Now she was my wife, we were alone in a cabin where nobody could interrupt us, and apparently the woman had taken every ounce of restraint I’d shown her as a personal fucking challenge.
I took another drink of coffee and let my gaze follow the bare line of her legs.
She had surprised me.
More than once.
Not just with what she was willing to try; though, Jesus Christ, I could have spent the rest of the morning thinking about that and never tire of it.
What stayed with me was watching her discover how much she could enjoy herself.
The way uncertainty disappeared the second pleasure took over.
The way she stopped worrying about whether she was doing something right and simply let herself feel.
Watching Fiona come apart beneath my hands had become one of my favorite fucking things in the world.
Maybe the favorite.
Her shoulders suddenly went still.
“You know I can feel you staring at me, right?”
I smiled into my coffee. “Can you?”
She glanced over her shoulder, and the blush started before she even caught my expression. It swept across her cheeks and down her throat, which only made the memories in my head considerably less appropriate for breakfast.
“Jasper.”
“What?”
“You’re being creepy.”
“I’m admirin’ my wife.”
“You’ve been admiring my ass for five minutes.”
“Six.” I looked toward the clock on the wall as if confirming it. “Maybe seven.”
She turned back to the counter, but not before I saw her fighting a smile. “You have issues.”
“Several. You married all of them.”
“I’m beginning to realize that.”
“Too late now, Ma Belle. Father Benoit witnessed the whole thing.”
“So did half of Rosewood when they barged in.”
I grinned. “Still think Granny planned that timin’.”
“She absolutely did not.”
“She waited until the objection part.”
“That was coincidence.”
“Baby, your grandmother flies around in a private jet and terrifies grown men for sport. Ain’t nothin’ that woman does that’s coincidence.”
Fiona laughed softly and shook her head while she finished cutting whatever she had decided counted as breakfast. I watched her carry the plate toward the table, and when she leaned across me to put it down, I caught her around the waist.
She squeaked and grabbed my shoulders. “Jasper.”
“What?”
“You know exactly what.”
I pulled her between my knees and rested my hands against the backs of her thighs. “I was just thinkin’ about how much I appreciate this shirt.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Because it belongs to you?”
“Because there ain’t much of it.”
The blush deepened.
I fucking loved that too.
Nearly two weeks alone with me and she could still initiate things that would make a lesser man see God, then turn pink because I mentioned her bare legs.
“You’re impossible,” she muttered.
“Yet incredibly satisfyin’.”
Her mouth fell open before she smacked my shoulder. “Oh my God.”
I laughed and tightened my arms around her when she tried to step away. “What? That could’ve meant anythin’.”
“It absolutely did not mean anything.”
“You got a dirty mind, Mrs. DuBois.”
“You gave me one.”
“Best weddin’ gift you got.”
She stared at me for a second before the corner of her mouth twitched. “Pretty sure Granny’s ring was better.”
I looked down at the thin band on her finger, and the joke softened inside me.
That ring had been on Martha Steiner’s hand for decades before she put it into mine and told me to give it to Fiona.
My own wedding band had belonged to my father.
Somehow both of us had ended up carrying pieces of people who loved us into a marriage neither of us had planned more than a few days before it happened.
“Yeah,” I admitted, lifting her hand and kissing the ring. “Granny wins.”
Fiona’s expression softened, but only for a second before she slid her fingers beneath my chin and tilted my face upward. “You’re getting sentimental.”
“Don’t tell anybody.”
“I’m calling Gator.”
“That motherfucker already knows too much.”
She laughed and leaned down to kiss me. I kept it light because if I didn’t, breakfast was going to get abandoned and I had already learned that Fiona had absolutely no objection to eating cold food two hours later.
Probably because I kept distracting her.
Worth it.
When she pulled away, I let my hands linger at her waist before finally releasing her. “I gotta walk the perimeter after we eat.”
Her expression changed immediately—not frightened exactly, but more attentive. “Why?”
“Because we’ve been here almost two weeks and I haven’t done a full sweep since yesterday mornin’.” I reached for a piece of fruit and popped it into my mouth. “Ain’t expectin’ to find anythin’.”
“Because of the SUV?”
“Because I’m not stupid enough to hide somewhere and then quit checkin’ whether it’s still hidden.”
She studied me for a second, and I knew exactly what she was doing. Trying to decide whether I was minimizing something for her sake.
I’d earned that suspicion.
“There’s nothing you’re not telling me?”
“No.” I held her gaze. “King still has nothin’. Gator hasn’t heard shit. Nobody’s askin’ about you that we know of. I’m checkin’ because that’s what I do.”
Her shoulders loosened.
“Okay.”
I reached across the table and caught her hand before she could pull it away. “And you stay here.”
One eyebrow lifted.
“Inside.”
The other one joined it.
“Please.”
“That sounded painful.”
“It was fuckin’ excruciatin’.”
She squeezed my fingers. “I’ll stay inside.”
“Door locked.”
“Jasper—”
“Humor me.”
Her expression softened again. “Fine. Door locked.”
I finished eating, changed into jeans and boots, then checked the pistol at the back of my waistband before heading outside. Fiona barely glanced at the gun. She’d spent too much time around the Sons of Hell to give a shit about a biker carrying.
The morning had warmed while we ate, humidity settling over everything like a wet blanket. The bayou stretched dark and still beyond the dock, cypress knees pushing through the water while Spanish moss hung in long gray strands from the branches overhead.
I stepped off the porch and stopped.
The bayou was silent.
Not peaceful. Silent.
For nearly two weeks, the place had been loud every fucking minute of the day.
Frogs called from the water. Birds bitched at each other from the trees.
Lizards scattered through the leaves. Fish broke the surface beneath the dock.
The first few days, half of it disappeared whenever Fiona or I stepped outside.
Not anymore.
The animals had gotten used to us. Frogs barely moved when Fiona sat at the edge of the dock. Lizards had started sunning themselves on the porch while we drank coffee. The birds didn’t give enough of a shit about either of us to stop whatever they were doing.
Now there was nothing.
No frogs.
No birds.
No rustling through the undergrowth.
Nothing broke the surface of the water.
I’d grown up in this shit. The bayou didn’t shut up for no reason. Something had entered its habitat that didn’t belong there, and everything living in it had taken cover.
My hand settled near the pistol at my back as I started around the cabin.
Gator had chosen the place well. There was no road leading directly to it, no neighboring cabin close enough to stumble across us, and no reason for anybody to come this far unless they knew exactly where they were going.
Most people would have needed a boat and somebody familiar with the channels just to find the right stretch of land.
That had been the point.
I checked the ground near the porch first, then followed the narrow path we used down toward the small dock. Fiona and I had walked it enough that our own prints were everywhere—hers smaller and shallow where the ground stayed firm, mine deeper near the places that held mud.
Nothing unusual.
I moved past the dock and followed the edge of the clearing toward the trees.
That was where I found the first print.
I stopped with one boot half raised and stared down.
Not mine.
Too wide through the toe. Different tread. Deep enough that whoever left it had been heavier than Fiona but not necessarily heavier than me.
I crouched long enough to look at the tread and the clean edges pressed into the damp earth.
Recent.
I immediately searched the ground around it.
Another print.
Same tread.
Then a second set several feet away.
Different sole.
Two people.
At least.
I followed without stepping directly into either track, moving slowly enough that I could distinguish disturbed leaves from ordinary mess. There wasn’t a trail exactly. Whoever had come through here knew enough not to stomp a straight path toward the cabin.
That bothered me more.
Tourists got lost.
Fishermen wandered.
People who knew how to avoid leaving a clear trail usually had a fucking reason.
I backed toward the cabin instead of pushing forward.
If somebody was out there, my job wasn’t to hunt them.
Fiona was inside.
That changed every instinct I had.
Ten years ago, I would have followed those tracks until I found whoever made them and asked questions afterward. Five years ago, probably the same. Hell, six months ago, I might have done it just because someone thought sneaking through the woods near me was a good fucking idea.
Now every step away from the cabin meant another step away from my wife.
Not happening.
I moved around the opposite side instead, keeping the structure between me and the trees while I checked the waterline.
That was when I saw the boat.
Barely.
Dark hull tucked beneath a curtain of branches on the far side of a narrow channel where nobody had any reason to anchor. No fishing gear visible. No person sitting inside. From where I stood, I couldn’t tell whether the engine was warm or whether anybody had recently stepped out of it.
I could tell it hadn’t been there yesterday.
I knew because I’d stood in almost this exact spot looking across the channel while Fiona sat on the porch behind me.
That was enough.
I backed toward the cabin.
A twig cracked somewhere beyond the trees.
Not close.
Not far enough.
Then another sound came from farther to my left.
Not the same location.
Multiple people.
My pulse slowed.
Funny how that happened.
Fear sped most people up. Training did the opposite. Everything narrowed. Distances became easier to judge. Sounds separated instead of blending together.
I reached the porch and pulled the burner from my pocket without taking my eyes off the trees.
Fiona appeared behind the screen door.
I lifted one finger.
Stay.
She stopped.
Good girl.
I dialed Gator.
He answered on the second ring. “What you need?”
“I need you.”
The humor vanished from his voice. “Talk to me.”
“The swamp went dead. I got fresh prints around the property. More than one set. Boat tucked across the channel that wasn’t there yesterday.”
Gator didn’t say anything for half a second. He’d grown up in the same bayou I had. I didn’t need to explain what the silence meant.
“You seen anybody?”
“No.”
“You hear ’em?”
“Movement in two directions.”
“Then get your ass inside with your wife.”
“I was plannin’ on it.”
“Good. Lock it down. Don’t go playin’ hero until we get there.”
I almost smiled. “You know who you’re talkin’ to?”
“Yeah. That’s why I said it.”
Something shifted in the brush again.
I turned slightly, putting my body between the sound and Fiona.
“How long?”
“Depends how fast Juju can get the boats ready without bitchin’.”
“I heard that!” somebody yelled faintly in the background.
Gator ignored him.
“We’re on our way, cousin.”
The line went dead.
I slipped the burner back into my pocket and opened the screen door.
Fiona had already backed away from it.
Her eyes moved immediately to my face, reading everything I hadn’t said yet.
“You found something.”
I stepped inside and locked the door behind me.
“Yeah.”
The color drained slightly from her cheeks, but she didn’t panic. She simply folded her arms across her chest and waited.
I crossed the room, took her face between my hands, and kissed her forehead before looking into her eyes.
“I don’t know who’s out there,” I told her. “I don’t know if they’re here for us. I don’t know if that SUV had a damn thing to do with this.”
“But someone’s out there.”
I nodded.
“More than one?”
“Looks that way.”
Her hands closed around my wrists.
“What do we do?”
“Gator’s comin’.”
That answer settled something in her expression. Not relief exactly. Gator was one man, and Fiona knew enough now to understand I wouldn’t have called him unless I believed I needed backup.
I brushed my thumbs over her cheeks.
“Until he gets here, you stay with me.”
Her chin lifted.
“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”
Despite everything outside, a smile tugged at my mouth.
“That’s my girl.”
Then something moved beyond the back window.
And every trace of humor disappeared.