“Well. Those are all very nice things for sure.”
“And it’s all the truth. No embellishment.” He smiles.
I’m about to tell him the one problem with what he’s said, that how, like me, my sister has refused to take risks all her life—up until just recently, anyway—when the door opens and three people enter the kitchen area, stopping our conversation cold.
CHAPTER SEVEN
May is the first person through the door. Behind her is Thibault, and the last person in is Ozzie. May is trying to appear cheerful, but she has that crazy look in her eye, so I know she’s covering up her real emotions. The other two look like they’re going to a funeral.
I stand. “What’s going on?”
Dev speaks before anyone can answer. “Did you guys figure everything out?”
Thibault responds. “Not really.”
“Why don’t we all have a seat at the table here so we can discuss it?” Ozzie suggests.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to argue and tell them that I’m leaving and I really don’t care what’s going on, but the look on my sister’s face stops me. She’s giving me those puppy-dog eyes. Dammit. Foiled again.
“Fine.” I sit down in my seat with a long-suffering sigh. May is so going to pay for getting me into this mess and forcing me to stay in it. Very soon, too. Forget that revenge-is-a-dish-best-served-cold nonsense. I like my revenge served up hot and fresh, baby. Piping hot, so it burns like a mofo.
Once everyone is seated, Ozzie leans forward and puts his forearms on the table, folding his hands together. His eyes sweep the space, looking at each person around the table individually for a moment before he speaks. It’s very effective at getting total silence.
“We’ve filed a report and had a conversation with a detective from the New Orleans Police Department. There’s a couple hundred dollars’ worth of damage to the front door, but that’s not really an issue. The door still functions.” He turns to look at me. “However, your car is parked outside.”
I wait for him to say something else, but he seems to be waiting for me to respond. I shrug. “Yes, it is.” Then it hits me, and anger rushes in. “Did they do something to my car too?” My insurance deductible is huge. This is going to suck.
He shakes his head. “No. Your car is fine.”
Relief floods through me.
“However, I have a concern that whoever’s responsible for the damage to our door has taken note of the fact that your car was parked outside.”
My mouth kind of falls open, because I feel like I should say something, but I have no idea what the appropriate response is. I just don’t get what the big deal is. It’s a frigging parking lot. Where else would I put my car? I look around at the others for signs that they get me. He’s not making sense, right? Or is it just me?
When my sister starts speaking, her voice comes out very soft and slow. This is how she talks to my children when she’s trying to convince them to go to bed on time and she anticipates that they’re going to argue and whine. My hackles go right up and stay there.
“Jenny, we’re not exactly sure who is responsible for causing that damage. Now, of course we hope that it’s just some random thing, that some drunk guy went a little crazy doing doughnuts out in the parking lot or something, and accidentally hit the door. But we can’t ignore the fact that there are bad people out there who would like to get in our way.”
I look at her like she’s nuts. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
Thibault gives me a tight smile. “We’re in the security business. We also work with local law enforcement to help build cases or find probable cause evidence to obtain warrants and the arrests of certain criminals who are at large. Most of our work is done confidentially and behind the scenes, but every once in a while, someone is made aware of our involvement, and occasionally we have to deal with threats.”
“Threats?” I hate how weak my voice sounds.
May speaks before anyone else has a chance. “It’s probably nothing. We’re just being overcautious, like Dev was today when he locked you in the panic room.” She flashes him a sideways glare.
Dev rolls his eyes. “I already apologized to her. She understands.” He looks over at me. “Right, Jenny? You understand it wasn’t intentional.”
I’m still stuck on the whole threat part. “Yeah, whatever.” I shift my attention over to Ozzie. “So, you’re telling me that because I had my car parked outside and some dickcheese—pardon my French—decided to come over here and . . . I don’t know what . . . storm the castle? That now I’m somehow involved in your problems?” I shake my head. “No. I do not accept that.” I stand, tired of the games, tired of these conspiracy nuts, and tired of being checked in against my will to the Hotel California.