Page 19 of Hot Momosa

An hour later, I’d said my farewells and made the short drive to my place in the Quarter. The second I walked in the door, I knew I had a problem. After spending the day surrounded by people, the place felt empty.

The click-clack of dog paws on hardwoods filled my ears. A split second later, I was surrounded by three fluffy poodles. Fi-fi, Cupcake, and Eugene belonged to a guy our father had ordered Gabe to off. My brother hadn’t pulled the trigger. Instead, Gabe had given him enough cash to leave New Orleans. The only problem was, Artie Guzman couldn’t go on the run with three award-winning, pure-bred poodles.

Gabe’s solution? Stash the dogs at my place. Eighteen months later, I still had them and wasn’t about to give them up. I loved the little furballs.

After a quick walk so they could do their business, I filled their bowls with the boiled chicken and brown rice I’d made the night before. The poodles inhaled their food and claimed their favorite spots on the couch.

I plopped down between them and turned on the nature channel for the Three Poodle-teers. No TV for me—I had some shit to sort out, and it was high time I stopped avoiding it.

How in the hell do I win Dahlia back?

Truth be told, I’d never had to win her in the first place. We’d clicked from the moment we’d met. Which was a miracle in and of itself. I hadn’t been interested in anything serious, and she hadn’t done casual sex. I’d never had a female friend, but I’d known I wanted her in my life. It’d taken a few years, and a hell of a lot of debating, for us to cross the line and become lovers. We’d kept it on the down-low for both our sakes, and then everything had changed when we’d found out she was pregnant with Gunnar. Before we’d had a chance to recover from the surprise, my brother had been murdered.

What I needed was a way to remind her of how we used to be. Scratch that, I needed a way to show her how great we could be now. A fresh start, clean slate, a new fucking beginning without all of the baggage.

Easier said than done.

My ringing phone interrupted my trip down Memory Lane. The number on the screen made my pulse race.

Dahlia.

I swallowed hard and tried to sound casual. “Hey, you.”

“Leo, thank God. Are you home?” She sounded out of breath, and Gunnar wailed in the background.

“I just walked in the door.” My already-quick heart rate shot into hyperdrive. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone was in my house.” Dahlia’s voice cracked. “I didn’t know who to call. The police were out once already, but they couldn’t do anything. Christina wasn’t here. I panicked—”

“Dahl, slow down. Who was in the house? Was it a reporter?” Grabbing my keys and wallet, I headed for the door.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. I grabbed Gunnar and ran.”

Images of her fleeing with our son in her arms sent a chill down my spine. “Where are you now?”

“The neighbors’. Can you come?”

“I’m on my way. Which house?” I hit the ground floor and sprinted to my car. Her place was only a couple of miles from mine, but it might as well have been in another state.

“The pink one behind me—”

“Mrs. Simmons. I remember her.” I could barely hear her over the baby. “Call the police again.”

“They can’t help.”

“Babe, if they were already out, they’ll take a second call more serious.” I’d never felt so damned helpless. Not long ago, I would have given an order and had an armed security detail on the way. As it stood, I’d have to go through Marco to get help.

“You don’t understand.” She murmured soft words to the baby, but he continued to cry.

“Explain it to me.”

“Hang on.” Her voice became muffled as if she were speaking to someone else in the room. “I need to go. Please hurry.”

“No. Don’t you dare hang up.” Anything could happen in the few minutes it’d take me to reach them. I couldn’t do jack shit about it, but as long as I could hear their voices, I’d know they were safe. “Put the phone down if you have to, but stay on the line.”

“Okay.”

Crushing the cell to my ear, I hurried to my car and wove my way through the narrow, cobblestone streets of the Quarter, and crossed Esplanade Avenue. In the background, Dahlia alternated between cooing to our son and speaking to her neighbor. While I could only make out every few words, I distinctly heard her mention the governor, a stalker, and the police.

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