Page 98 of Highball and Chain

Is this about the cat?I sat upright, praying I’d misread the situation.

Shanna stared at me for a heartbeat before turning away. “Please tell him I’m on my way.”

“Did someone find Mr. Boogerre?” That name. Only Shanna would saddle a poor feline with a moniker like that.

“It’s Jack. He’s hurt.” She rushed around in search of her clothing.

A bolt of jealousy pierced my armor. I’d come as close as I ever had to telling a woman I loved her. Five minutes later, she’s leaving me to go see another man? “What happened?”

“There was a break-in at his shop. He was attacked.” She swayed and grabbed the edge of the dresser. “That was his father. Jack is out of the hospital, but he’s in bad shape.”

You’re an asshole, Marchionni. A real asshole. “Give me five minutes to have a car and security ready to go.” I shoved my legs into my jeans and moved to her side.

“You’re coming with me?”

That she wouldn’t want me there hurt, but I’d follow her lead. “If that’s all right with you.”

“Thank you. I…I don’t know what I’m walking into. I’d rather not go alone.”

I’d spent enough time with her to know better than to embrace her when she was hurt or upset. Instead, I rested my hand on her arm. “I’d hug you, but you’d fall apart.”

She fell into my arms.

Ten minutes later, we were en route to the French Quarter. I held Shanna in the backseat while one bodyguard drove and the other rode shotgun. She hadn’t said much since we’d left the house, but she hadn’t stopped touching me. I’d take what I could get.

The car came to a stop in front of the antique shop I’d found her in earlier that day. Plywood covered one of the plate-glass windows, and bits of glass littered the sidewalk.

Shanna and I were out of the car and halfway to the private entrance on the side of the building before the guard had time to unfasten his seatbelt.

I called over my shoulder, “Stay here. I’ll call if you’re needed.”

He didn’t look happy, but I didn’t give a shit.

Shanna stabbed the buzzer six times before I slid my hand into hers.

“Yes?” A disembodied male voice crackled over the intercom.

“It’s Shanna.”

By the time the door clicked open, I’d lost feeling in my fingers.

She led me through a small courtyard, up a set of exterior stairs, and to another door. Without bothering to knock, she turned the knob and walked inside. “Hello?”

I’d expected the place to resemble the shop below with too many pieces of heavy, dark furniture crammed inside. However, we were greeted with concrete floors, metal and glass banister, and minimalist black leather furniture. Jackson Landry’s home had an industrial chic vibe.

An older man with graying hair and an impressive, if not scraggly beard came into the room and hugged Shanna. “He’s not thrilled that I called you.”

“Tough shit.” She dropped her purse on the entryway table and headed for the stairs. “Is he in his room?”

“Yep.” The guy extended his hand to me. “Monty Landry.”

I gave him a quick but firm handshake. “Lorenzo Marchionni.”

Monty’s bushy eyebrows rose enough for me to see the color of his eyes. “I thought I recognized you. I eat at your place a couple times a month.”

While I enjoyed meeting my patrons, I hated it when they gave me the expectant stare as if waiting for me to recognize them. “Glad you enjoy it.”

He motioned to the room on the left. “Might as well have a seat. Knowing those two, she’ll be up there a while.”

I seated myself on the couch. “She said he’s like a brother to her. How bad are his injuries?”

“A brother, huh?” Monty snorted.

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