Joshua

A lead weight is crushing my chest. I try to inhale, and my ribs are like knives stabbing my insides.

She walked out.

For the last fucking twenty-four hours, it’s been one hit after another, but the biggest hit of all I never saw coming. Molly is gone.

My phone rings, and I sit up quick, hoping… But it’s my dad.

“Josh!” His voice is strong, happy. “I wanted to let you know I’m in the car headed home.”

“Wait… What?” I’m on my feet grabbing my jacket. “Hang on, I’ll drive you. I’m sorry—I just got side-tracked. Molly was—”

“I know, I know.” He chuckles. “I was young once. I’m fine. The doc said I could go home, and I wanted to get out of that place as quick as I could.”

“Dad, let me take you. Just wait.”

“Too late. I’m already in the car. Enjoy your evening and come by the house when you get a chance. We’ll go over those papers together.”

The call disconnects, but I’m standing in the middle of an empty room. I want to be glad my dad’s out of the woods, but with every heartbeat, pain radiates through my entire body. Dropping to sit on the bed again, I open the messenger app and send her a text.

It doesn’t take her long to reply.

I hold the phone in both hands.

Everything? My finger hovers over the call button, but I don’t press it. I wait for her to respond.

She doesn’t reply, and I drop the phone on the bed beside me. Falling back, I pull her pillow to my chest and try to figure out what to do next.

I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.

* * *

Molly

Mardi Gras has ended when I arrive back in New Orleans, as if nothing even happened, as if it wasn’t flooded with a teeming, chaotic mob just days ago.

It took almost two days to get back here flying commercial. First, I had to wait for a nonstop flight, and I had to go through TSA to declare my firearm.

Now I’m settled in a newer hotel away from the French Quarter. It’s quiet and closer to the river, surrounded by high rises in the Central Business District.

I’ve mapped the address, and now I’m just waiting to meet with Stas later this evening. My old mentor is the only person who knows I’m back in the city… besides Joshua.

The room is quiet, and looking out the window, I can’t see the sun setting. I can only see the sky growing darker like the pain in my chest expanding with every heartbeat.

Since I left Seattle, I’ve been entirely focused on the logistics of getting here—finding the right plane ticket, finding this hotel, pushing what happened far to the back of my mind.

Dropping onto the bed, I have to face what I’ve done. My head is in my hands as the scene replays before me.

He gave me an ultimatum.

I walked away.

My arms are cold. My whole body is cold, and all I want is to curl into Joshua’s strong embrace. My fingers tighten on my scalp, and I pull myself across the slate blue bedspread. I’m lying on my side curled in a ball, and for the first time in a long time, I allow the tears to fall.

As I allow my insides to break, the pain of separation radiates through my bones.

“I’m sorry…” It’s a broken whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

My phone buzzes from beside me on the bed. I don’t want to look at the face. I’m not ready to talk to Stas like this.

Still I lift the device and read the text. It’s Joshua.

He hasn’t stopped texting. It’s the way we would talk, every time he thinks of a new argument, some new reason I’m making a mistake, he tells me.

Only he can’t fix this.

He can’t fix me.

New Orleans. My finger hovers over the blue arrow a beat before I hit send.

He answers at once. Does Lara know you’re there?

I wait, but he’s silent. The floating gray dots aren’t there. I can see his face lined with worry. He thinks I’m in danger, but he doesn’t know the extent of my training. He only knows what I know. The pain of saying goodbye is overwhelming. It aches all the way to my soul.

I drop the phone and bury my face in my hands. Tears slick my cheeks, but I’ve got to stop them. I have got to get on top of this.

I’ve known Joshua is a weakness I can’t afford for too long, but I couldn’t walk away. When he speaks, when he laughs, when he smiles… even when I just imagine these things, it’s like happy butterflies swirling in my stomach.

It’s a feeling I’d only read about, and it’s addictive as hell.

It only got worse as time passed. He would touch me sweetly, move my hair off my cheek. Come up behind me to hug my waist when I’d be making coffee or making lunch or washing dishes… Then he started that thing where he’d hold my face and look into my eyes right before he’d kiss me. Or he’d cover my whole body with his and make love to me.

It became a form of healing I wouldn’t have thought possible.

Now it’s gone, and I’m torn and bleeding inside.

The butterflies are all crushed, their wings broken.

Just like me.

Pushing off the bed, I go to the bathroom to splash water on my face. I have to shower and dress for my meeting with Stas. I’ll wash my hair and shave and get on with the fucking show.

My job now is to help Stas get the information he needs, or help him feel satisfied he’s gotten what he needs, then I have my own business with Reese Landry. I’ve got to get a fucking grip on myself and focus.

An hour later, I’m smoothing my hands down my black Gucci dress. The gold chain is around my neck—not because I plan to use it, but because I want him to see I still have it. It’s still in mint condition, only slightly used.

The elevator dings, and I step out into the lobby with its sky-high ceilings and massive white Corinthian columns. The décor is modern, geometric furniture with leather cushions, and tall windows with dark, straight lines. The bar is in a separate room, off to the side, through soaring French doors. Everything in this place is open and tall because it used to be a cotton warehouse. These old buildings sat empty for years until they were refurbished and put back in use as hotels or offices or apartments.

A few still sit empty, but they’re becoming few and far between.

My friend is waiting with a tumbler of brown liquid in front of him at the bar. He’s wearing a dark gray suit with a light blue shirt and tie, and he’s sitting on one of the vintage wooden barstools around the shiny black counter. When I approach, he stands.

“Stas.” I place my hand on his forearm.

He touches my shoulder lightly, kissing my cheek. “You look very well.” His eyes flicker to the gift he gave me so long ago. “It looks stunning on you.”

“I wanted you to see I have it.” Being with Stas helps me push my feelings for Joshua to the background.

His presence forces my thoughts to realign with what I’m here to do. “Let me buy you a drink.”

The bartender isn’t busy, and he quickly places a tumbler of Sazerac in front of me. I don’t really care for the flavor of absinthe and bitters mixed with Rye whiskey, but I drink it as we talk.

“It’s been years since I’ve visited this city.” He takes a slow sip of his scotch. “I was afraid of what I’d find since the flood.”

“Some places bounced back quicker than others.” I take another sip of my cocktail. It’s very strong, and the absinthe makes my stomach feel queasy. “I can barely remember it.”

“You were in the Quarter, yes?”

“Yeah, we drifted around, but mostly we stayed on high ground.” Stas knows my story. “Like good little mice.”

He finds this amusing. “Myshka, I already know you’re were a survivor. You don’t have to remind me.”

“I wasn’t surviving very well when you found me.” My glass is empty, and I frown. I hadn’t meant to drink it so fast on an empty stomach.

“Ahh, but I did find you.” He signals the bartender, and faces me. “Now, will you go with me to the address of our friend?”

“Tonight?” I’m feeling a little off-balance, and the drink I just slammed back didn’t help.

“No better time than the present.”

He places cash on the black tray and stands, holding his hand out to me. I put my hand in his and hop off the barstool, following him out into the night. He hails a taxi, and I slide across the cracked leather seat.

He hops in beside me, slamming the door and giving the driver the address. We take off, three blocks west, then around the crescent on St. Charles Avenue.

“I’m sorry for the primitive mode of transportation.” Stas’s sneer is withering.

I shake my head and look out the window. Inside the cab smells like cigarettes smoke, sweat, and a hint of vomit. We stop and start, the driver slams his fist on the horn, and I fight the rising nausea.

“I can order a Lyft to take us back to the hotel.” My voice is quiet.

Shit, I’ve never been so sensitive to a drive. It must be the temperature of the air combined with the stopping and starting, the smells in the car. Outside feels like the inside of a human mouth—a thought that turns my stomach again.

In three more jerky blocks, we’ve arrived, and he stops in front of a looming stone mansion.

Stas hands him cash again and helps me out of the vehicle, and a faint tremble moves through my stomach. I look up at the structure and do my best to swallow the bile. I need to pay attention to this transaction. I need to see the facial expressions. I’m watching Stas for his.

A gas lamp is at the entrance to the sidewalk. We pause, and Stas slips a hand in the pocket of his slacks. “We’ll simply ask to speak to Mr. Landry.”

“Do you know what you want to say?” I watch him in the flickering lamplight.

“I’ve known what I wanted to say for years.”

It’s a sentiment I can understand. I nod and take his arm as we walk the short distance up the flagstone walk. The door is wide and heavy with square inlays and a round iron knocker. Stas presses the white button for the doorbell.

I’m feeling slightly better by the time a shadow passes in front of the glass. A slow creak and the lock opens revealing a man in a white shirt and black suit.

“May I help you?” His eyes are level, and he scans our formal attire.

“We’re here to see a Mr. Reese Landry.”

The man bows his head slightly. “One moment please.” He closes the door and leaves us standing on the doorstep.

Stas and I exchange a glance, and his hand goes to his side pocket. I know he carries a pistol, and in an unpredictable situation like this, I would expect him to be armed.

We don’t have to wait long. This time a woman opens the door. She’s dressed in jeans and a black sweater with a long jacket over it. She isn’t tall, and her dark hair is styled in a shag that ends at the top of her shoulders.

“May I help you?” Black eyes survey us.

“I’m sorry,” I speak up. “We were looking for a man named Reese Landry. My friend here is an acquaintance of his.”

The woman studies me a moment. Her eyes crinkle with her smile, but it feels fake, her eyes don’t soften. I’m immediately on guard.

“Oh, no.” She acts empathetic, concerned. “My name is Renee. Renee Landry. I must have a similar address to this Reese Landry, but there’s no one here by that name.”

Stas cuts in as confused as I am. “You’re saying this has happened before?”

“Once or twice.” She studies him with the same keen eye she used on me. It feels as if she’s memorizing our features.

“How odd.” Following her lead, I study her face, doing my best to commit her features to memory.

Renee Landry has a slim nose, high cheekbones, and pale, ivory skin. Her jet-black hair matches her eyebrows, and she’s elegantly dressed.

“We’re so sorry to have bothered you.” Stas does a little bow. “I don’t suppose you might know where we could find Reese Landry?”

She tilts her head back and a light laugh escapes her thin red lips, past her straight white teeth. “I never thought of tracking him down. I should have done it before!”

“So you don’t know the man we’re looking for?” I say it again just to be sure.

Her dark eyes level on mine, as if she’s accepting a challenge. “I have no idea where he is.”

Only, that isn’t what I asked her…

“We’re so sorry to have troubled you.” Stas takes my arm and we step away, not turning our backs on her.

“No trouble at all. I’m always happy to meet new people. What did you say your names are?”

“Maggie.” I answer before Stas can say anything. “I’m Maggie Brown and this is my colleague Stan Winchester.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Brown, Mr. Winchester.”

We’re still backing away slowly. She watches as I take out my phone and touch the Lyft app, quickly ordering a car. “We’ll just call a car. Sorry again.”

Another step… one more, and she finally closes the door. I exhale a deep breath. My phone pings that the car is arriving, and I look up to see a gold Prius pulling up at the curb.

Stas returns my serious gaze. We’re both on alert after that bizarre encounter.

Once I’m sure we’re out of earshot, I murmur. “What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know…” His voice is equally thoughtful. “Head back to your hotel and rest, Myshka. I’ll see what I can find out and call you tomorrow.”

I don’t argue with him. I know Stas very well. He is both able to take care of himself and adept at finding information the old fashioned way. Anyone would be a fool to think of his age as a handicap.

Whatever just happened here, it felt like a test, a hunting expedition. I intend to use more modern technology to find out what the hell Renee Landry is up to.

Stepping into the car, I lean back against the leather seat and say a quiet prayer of thanks the air conditioner is blowing strong. My stomach is worse with the adrenaline pumping in my veins, but the drive back to the hotel feels shorter, whether because the driver knows a superior route or the traffic has thinned after rush hour.

We’re back at the hotel, and I go straight to my room on the fourth floor. My phone is in hand, and I’m careful, checking the halls and watching over my shoulder as I go to my door and enter.

A quick sweep verifies I’m alone. I go in the bathroom and push the shower curtain aside to be sure it’s empty.

“You’re being silly, Molly,” I tell my reflection, but I’m bothered by how pale my face looks. “Fucking Sazerac.”

Returning to the room, I grab the phone and order room service. It’s after dinner, and all I’ve had to drink are cocktails. I’m hungry is all. In the bathroom, I run the faucet and proceed to wash my face, splashing warm water on my cheeks. It doesn’t seem to help.

I switch to cool water, and take a washcloth from the rack, getting it as cold as possible before returning to the bed to lie down and press it to my face.

That’s a little better.

My phone buzzes, and I answer quickly, thinking it’s Stas with information. I’m wrong. It’s Joshua.

“I was thinking about you.” His voice is low and rich, warm water in my veins.

“Is everything okay?”

“I wanted to hear your voice.”

Oh. Rolling to the side, I put the damp cloth on the nightstand, my hand under my cheek. “I just ordered dinner.”

“What are you having?”

“A hamburger.”

“What?” The shock in his voice makes me smile. “I expected a foot-long three-fer. What’s this hamburger shit?”

“It’s late. I just went the easy route. Tomorrow I’ll walk to Mother’s.”

We’re quiet a moment. I listen to his breath. If I close my eyes, it’s like he’s with me here in the bed.

“I closed on the house today. The girls have started moving in.” He exhales, and I imagine him rolling onto his back. I imagine tracing my finger down the line in his arm. “You and Dean did a great job—we got an allowance to install new carpeting or wood floors.”

“It was all Dean. I basically walked around with my eyes wide and my mouth closed.”

“We were supposed to do this together.” His voice is quiet, and my stomach cramps. “Helping these girls was our idea. You helped me think of it.”

“I have a different idea of help.”

It’s quiet again. Then he breaks my heart. “Are you ever coming back?”

A tap on the door interrupts us. “The food’s here. Hang on.”

I check the peep-hole before opening. A young man with dark hair and a black uniform is outside with a large tray on his shoulder. I quickly unbolt the door and allow him to enter. Without a word, he places the tray on the desktop. Then I sign, and he’s gone. Just as quickly, I lock the two locks and slide the bolt in place.

My hamburger is under a large silver cover, and it smells like a good burger… but my stomach tightens. Instead I take the glass of ginger ale and sip it.

“What are you having? Rosé?

“Hm…” I swallow quickly. “Ginger ale. I had a Sazerac earlier and it made me feel kind of sick.”

“Who were you having drinks with?” A note of anger enters his voice, and I hate that I like it. I hate that I screwed up, but I love that he cares. “Just an old friend. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“That’s what you said about the guy at The Napoleon House. Was it him?”

I’m not going there with him. “How’s your dad?”

“Molly…”

My stomach is tight, and I take another sip of ginger ale. He sighs in my ear.

“My dad is much better. They let him go home.”

“That’s good! I’m so glad.” I wish I could hug him.

“Now back to my question…”

And just like that, my hugging feelings are gone. “Have I ever told you you’re stubborn?”

“We haven’t told each other a lot of things. Like you’re the most stubborn woman I know.”

His words, the swirl of pain and longing in my chest makes me start to laugh.

“And the prettiest…” That smile I love so much is in his voice, and my eyes heat.

Our voices are back to soft, longing, missing. I look at the clock and realize it’s still early for him.

“What will you do this afternoon?”

“I’ve got to go by the title office and sign off on some paperwork, then I might stop by and check on the girls.”

“I’m sure Candi will be glad I’m not there.” Not sure where that snarky comment came from—or the simmer of jealousy I’m feeling.

“Why?”

“Oh, seriously, Joshua. You are so clueless.”

He starts to laugh. “I don’t know how you do it. One minute I’m miserable, the next I’m scratching my head. What’s going on with you two?”

I exhale deeply, not really feeling up to it. “We just got off on the wrong foot, I guess. She hates me.”

“Come back and we can work on making things right.”

My eyes close, and I hug my arms over my stomach. “I need to go.”

“Okay,” he sighs. “Eat something, get some rest. Come back to me, Molly.”

I can’t even answer that. I hit end on my phone, and start to cry. The pain in my chest hurts so badly, and I don’t think I can fight it. I don’t know which is worse, being here, doing what I do, or being so far from him, on the other side of the country.

My throat tightens, and I cover my mouth with my hand.

“Oh, no,” I whisper, jumping off the bed and dashing across the large room.

I almost don’t make it before I drop to my knees quickly and vomit in the toilet.