Page 87 of Bayou Blues (Genie McQueen 1)

Bonnie-Jean took the tissue and wiped her eyes and nose. “I want to thank her. She’ll never know it, but she saved our lives. All of us.”

The little girl, her face devoid of emotion, seemed to stare right at me. I hadn’t saved them. I’d just gotten them out alive. But I would do my damnedest to make sure what happened to them didn’t happen to any other wolves.

A knock at the door jerked me out of my dark thoughts. Before unlocking it, I armed the gun on my hall table and peeked through the eyepiece. My heart thumped, and I fumbled to unlock all the bolts.

“Wilder.”

He was holding a vase of black roses, beaming at me like he’d won them at the Miss America pageant. “I busted out,” he announced. “Got sick of those open-backed hospital gowns. For a bunch of wolf-doctors, they were way too cautious, kept saying I wasn’t ready. So I left.”

Two weeks was an awfully long time to keep a werewolf cooped up anywhere. I’d wanted to see him so many times, but once they’d moved him to the specialty hospital, rules were rules. Only doctors allowed, making me persona non grata in spite of my royal status. Lupo non grata? I mused over the proper Latin for a second before remembering something far more important was standing in front of me.

“You’re okay.” I breathed the words out slowly, hoping I’d believe them if I took my time saying them. “You’re okay.”

“I’m melting out here.”

“Oh. Right.” I stepped aside, and he handed me the roses. “These are beautiful, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, someone left them on your stoop.” He was already in the kitchen, his body inhabiting every space he entered like he could own the air itself. He helped himself to a glass of water and started snooping around, not bothering to ask for a tour. When he disappeared down the hall to my bedroom, I glanced at the flowers.

Black roses were an odd choice for a gift.

A card was tucked in between the dark green thorns, and I plucked it out carefully, slipping the envelope open. In beautiful gothic scroll was a short note:

Glad to know you’re safe, baby girl. The show was Oscar caliber. Ended with a bang. Big man says he couldn’t have done better himself, and he might call on you again. Lots of love, Del & Cain.

I set the vase on my kitchen table, balancing the card next to it, and stared at them uncertainly. I thought about Cain’s words when we’d made our deal. Life for a life. We had saved Hank, and Deerling was dead, but it wasn’t what Cain had asked for. In spite of the pleasant tone of the note, I worried about Del saying Cain might call on me again.

I still owed him a life.

Wilder returned, grinning, distracting me from my uneasiness. “Nice bed.”

“It is.”

A nice bed I’d be sleeping alone in for a while. I liked the idea, the promise of solitude and space. It was going to be a long time before I ever got privacy in public again, so I’d take my quiet where I could find it.

I looked at Wilder.

Okay, maybe I didn’t want to be totally alone.

“You’re okay,” I repeated.

“I am very okay, yes. Takes more than a brass bullet to take down a Shaw.” He puffed out his chest like an old-timey strong man, and I laughed.

I didn’t ask about Hank. Deerling’s confession had absolved him of blame for the murder. He’d gone home to Callum’s, and I’d seen him regularly during my time there. Aside from a few choice words about my taste in men, he’d seemed genuinely grateful for the effort I’d made to keep him alive. He’d even said thank you.

Ben hadn’t said anything to me about my new position. He acted like nothing had happened and went back to treating me like his kid sister. I wasn’t sure if that was good or if I should be worried about some intense blowback coming down the line.

“How are things between you and Callum? He came to visit me during my doctor ordered-lock down. He brought Hank, which was a surprise. We talked, but I was afraid to mention you. Callum did get my motorcycle back from the Franklinton impound, though. I thought that was pretty decent of him.” He smiled and took a big sip of his drink. He played it off like a joke, but he was probably more than a little serious. Callum was a scary dude.

I made my way into the living room, muting the TV as I sat. Maureen Cranston’s shrewish face was on the screen, and underneath her quotes said that CAPA was denying any involvement with Deerling and the Church of Morning.

All right, Maureen. Deny, deny, deny. But I was going to keep my eye on her.

I pulled my legs up under me and stared at Wilder, not entirely convinced he was really here.

“He was pissed,” I admitted. “I’ve never been yelled at so much in my life. I thought he would lock me up and throw away the key.”

Wilder took a seat next to me, waiting for what I had to say next. I glanced at the TV, then turned it off, not wanting to see the photos of Timothy Deerling they insisted on plastering up every ten minutes.

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