Page 39 of Provoke You

12

We Can’t Let the Bad Guys Win

Matt

A second safe house in a week’s time. I hated being right, but at least now, we were flying less blind. I sat back on the sofa, staring at the pile of papers and folders sprawled in front me on the coffee table. The bright light coming in through the bedroom window made the space look cheery. Not how I felt right about now. I needed to come up with a better plan to keep Ela safe.

We’d managed to get her out of New York and back to New Orleans without a hitch, but she’d been literally under lock and key for three days. She couldn’t stay here forever. I expected Mr. Benoit would call soon and ask why the hell Ela wasn’t in Paris with her mom. If that happened, we would need concrete answers to explain to him why Ela was still in town.

At this point, the chief security job had gone out the window. Come to think of it, it went out the window the minute I agreed to take Ela to New York. I picked up Ben’s file, hoping I was right about him and his relationship with Mrs. Turner. If Ben cared about his housekeeper, he would have to come to New Orleans to get her back.

I wanted to believe he was a good guy and on Ela’s side, but his behavior in recent months suggested he was either too scared to help her or he’d been paid off to stay away from her. Regardless of how he felt, he had to help Ela execute her right as heiress to the LeBlanc fortune.

I rubbed my side where one of the guys slammed me with an oar. Broken ribs were something I was familiar with. Lucky for me, this dull pain was no more than a bruise, maybe a light fracture.

If Ela wasn’t in the kitchen baking up a storm, I would get up and get some ibuprofen from the supplies box Kitt and Chase brought in. A supply box that apparently included loads of flour, butter, and whatever else Ela asked them for so she could bake her famous scones. The ones I didn’t get to try before. I took in a big waft of the amazing scent that permeated the entire house.

I rose to my feet and paced the bedroom a few times before I put all logic aside and headed downstairs, where the smell of baking was even stronger. It pulled at something in my chest.

She stood in the middle of the kitchen, her hair up in a ponytail. Here, Ela was in her element, dressed in active wear and a black apron that was already covered in flour. I ran my fingers along the countertop, making the white powder puff up around my hand. The last time Ela and I were alone like this, we ended up kissing in a hot frenzy. She’d finally stopped flirting with me. I would have guessed that would help our situation, but instead it made me miss her more. I missed kissing her, her lips.

I leaned on the counter and watched her work on the new batch of pastries. She smiled absently at the dough, completely consumed and content with the task in front of her.

“Are you mad at me?” She glanced up from her workstation, her cheeks red. Probably from taking things in and out of the hot oven.

“No. Why would I be mad at you? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?”

Was that what I was doing? Did I bury my nose in work so I wouldn’t have to sort through all the feelings that came out of the incident at the lake?

“I’m not avoiding you. I’ve been working on a plan.”

“What now?”

“Well.” I was done hiding things from her. She deserved to know the truth.

“No, don’t tell me. You were right. I don’t need to know.” Her eyes watered. She pressed her palms on the countertop and let out a breath.

“You can talk to me. You know? What happened at the lake house was hard core.”

She shook her head, meeting my gaze. The lines around her mouth deepened for a moment, then disappeared when she plastered a smile on her face.

“Come over here and sample these scones.” She turned her back to me to grab the tray behind her.

A hard lump churned in my stomach when I spotted the marks on her bare shoulders. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I whispered on her temple, pressing my chest to her back.

“I think these are the best ones. I used a bit of pumpkin.” She froze when my thumb slid across the bruises that clearly delineated four fingers. “The world can be a shitty place sometimes. I’m learning that.” She glanced at me over her shoulder, and I slipped my arms around her waist.

“Yes, it can be. I’ve seen pretty fucked-up stuff in my time with the corps.”

“How do you do it? How do you not send it all to hell? Or crawl under a bed.” She gripped my arm.

“You just have to remember there are things worth fighting for.”

“Like what things?”

“I don’t know. Love. We fight for the people we love.” Was that what I felt when I thought she wouldn’t wake up, when she couldn’t take a breath on her own? “You.”

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