Oh, she remembered the gap-toothed Remy who had followed his bigger brothers, René and Luc, around Houma as children. Now she remembered something she had heard about Remy as an adult. He’d been a pilot in Desert Storm, where his helicopter had been shot down, causing him massive burns.
Remy was still a beautiful man, depending on the angle at which one viewed him. He was angel-gorgeous on his right side, including intact lips and nose and both eyes, but the left side of his face was scarred and puckered with pink burn tissue.
To Sylvie’s embarrassment, she saw that Remy was taking in her survey with a lifted brow and faint smile. He didn’t turn away as some men might, but then he was probably accustomed to the scrutiny. Instead, he froze in place and waited for her to register the full extent of what he no doubt considered his grotesqueness.
Neither one of them wanted to break eye contact. Remy seemed to want her to shy away in revulsion. She refused to do so.
Remy was the one to snap the silence, and his words shocked her. “Don’t hurt my brother.”
“Wh-what?”
“Luc is a good man. He’s been a father to me and René. Lots of people depend on him…too much, sometimes. I would take it kindly, ma’am, if you wouldn’t break his heart.”
At first, Sylvie was too stunned to react. “Oh, I can’t believe you said that. What makes you think I have the power, or the inclination, to hurt your brother?”
“Just take care, that’s all, ma’am.”
“Take care of what?” Luc asked, coming up behind them on the dock in front of the plane.
“Nothing,” Remy said, casting her a speaking glance of warning. Then he noticed the Happy Meal box in Luc’s hand. It was obvious that something live was inside since the waxed paper was rustling up a storm. “What is
that?
”
“Fucking rats,” Luc replied dryly.
Sylvie put her face in her hands, but still she heard Remy exclaim, “Luc! Now you’ve gone too far with your cursing in front of a lady.”
Sylvie peeked through her fingers and saw Luc open the Happy Meal box in front of Remy’s astounded face. She could just guess what he was witnessing with Samson and Delilah.
“I told vou,” Luc said. “
Fuck
-ing rats.”
“I want to go home,” she said a short time later.
Luc, Remy, and René all looked at her, sighed with exasperation, and exclaimed with a communal “Jeesh!”
René stood next to her on the dock. Luc and Remy were in front of them doing something manly with ropes that would presumably allow the plane to lift off soon.
René had come out of the tavern a moment ago. Even though the tavern was still open, the band had quit for the night. Grinning at her unabashedly, he’d inquired, “How’d ya like my song, chère? I’m thinking ’bout sending it to BeauSoleil to record.” Luc had threatened to break his too-pretty nose then, especially when René informed an amused Remy about his “Cajun Knight” lyrics.
God must have been in a really good mood when he created these three gorgeous men
, she thought
irrelevantly now, just after making her pronouncement. But perhaps not so irrelevantly since the appeal of one of them was the reason for her current panic.
“I want to go home,” she repeated.
“Uh-oh,” René said.
“Oh, damn,” Luc said.
“I smell trouble,” Remy said.
“Really, I just want to go home. I don’t want to be any trouble, though. I can call a cab…or call my mother to send her driver.” She practically choked on that last offer.
“Do the words ‘spoiled brat’ mean anything to you?” Luc asked. “Or ‘over my dead body’?”
Raising her chin in silent defiance, she felt like a whiny child insisting on some impossible whim, but she had had enough of this “adventure” with Luc. She hated the way mysterious people or events were steering her life, and her lack of control with Luc had been the last straw. Who knows what she would do if she were in his company much longer?
Actually, she knew exactly what would happen, and that was the problem.
“You can’t go home, Sylv. Not for a couple of days, at least,” Luc told her with exaggerated patience.
“Yes, I can. I appreciate your letting me tag along so far, Luc, but I’m not cut out for this
Die Hard/Lethal Weapon
stuff.”
“And you think I am?” He raised his eyebrows indignantly. “You think I envision myself as some Bruce Willis/Mel Gibson fool?”
He was better than those two, in her opinion,
but he didn’t need to know that. “I’ll hire a bodyguard, like you suggested,” she said. “Maybe your
friend
Claudia can give me a recommendation.”
“My
friend
Claudia isn’t going to give you diddlysquat, unless I tell her to.”
Oooh, he was making her so mad. First, he didn’t want to take her with him. Now, he wouldn’t let her go. “Listen up, Luc, this is the end of my trip with you. That’s final.”
“Uh, I don’t think so, ma’am,” Remy interjected, raising a hand like a little boy in a classroom. “There are a few things that have happened in the past ten hours or so that you two are not aware of. My boss needed me to deliver some parts to an oil rigger who lives in Houma. It would have appeared odd if I’d refused. The point is, I picked up some news. I had planned to fill you in during the plane ride.”
He had everyone’s attention now.
“There’s a warrant for Sylvie’s arrest, for one thing.”
“
What?
” Sylvie couldn’t for the life of her imagine any reason for her arrest. She’d never even gotten a speeding ticket, or a high school suspension. Besides, she was the one who’d been vandalized.
“Terrebonne Pharmaceuticals,” he explained, “claims you stole some of their property.”
She put her face in her hands. “I can’t believe Charles would do this to me. A warrant!” She shivered with apprehension as she comprehended that the spotlight would be on her for sure when she returned to town. A cold clamminess came over her skin…the precursor to one of her shyness anxiety attacks, she feared.
“Actually, you might look good in prison stripes, Sylv,” Luc quipped. She knew he was just teasing her, to lighten her fears.
“Hey, I could come sing ‘Jailhouse Rock’ for you in the slammer,” René added, also seeming to empathize with her devastated condition. “The Cajun version, of course.”
“If it’s anything like your ‘Cajun Knight,’ I’ll pass,” she said in an embarrassingly wobbly voice.
“You didn’t like my new song?” René cast wounded eyes her way. The boy, who was really only a few years younger than Sylvie, was way too good-looking for his own good. Those eyes probably worked on lots of women, but not her.
Still, she laughed, despite her dark mood.
“Hey, this is nothing to laugh about, guys,” Remy said. “At first, I thought the warrant was issued because of the formula…which may still be the case…but now I’m kinda thinking the property they want back is…” He looked pointedly at the Happy Meal box in her hand.
“Samson and Delilah?” she practically shrieked, and hugged the box to her chest. “They belong to me, bought and paid for with my own money.”
“Samson and Delilah?” René asked.
“Don’t ask!” she and Remy shouted as one.
“Fu—” Luc began, hesitated, grinned, then started again. “Full-fledged, furry sex machines. In other words, Sylvie’s lab rats.”
“Rats? You have real live rats in that tiny box?”
Sylvie nodded. “They’re miniature lab rats.”
“And cute as hell,” Remy observed.
Luc frowned at his brother. “They are
not
cute.”
“What’s all that noise they’re making?” René wanted to know.
Luc and Remy exchanged a look with each other and waggled their eyebrows at René. “Guess.”
Wanting to change the subject back to the important issue at hand, Sylvie said, “Well, a warrant is all the more reason for me to go back home and resolve this misunderstanding. My lawyer will handle Terrebonne Pharmaceuticals, believe me. Thank God I’ve got legal documentation for everything.”
“Did I mention that your mother held a press conference this evening at the state capitol in which she suggested you might have mental problems?” Remy went on. “She insinuated that a short stay in a restful resort might be called for.”
“Short, as in till after the next election?” René offered.
“Exactly,” Luc agreed.
Sylvie was horrified that her mother would do such a thing to her, and publicly, too. Anything to protect her reputation and political career from being tarnished by a less-than-perfect daughter.
Luc laced his fingers with hers and squeezed, apparently sensing her hurt. “Is that all?” he asked his brother.
“Well, other than Sylvie’s front stoop being loaded down with gris-gris dolls and other voodoo paraphernalia, that’s it for Sylvie,” Remy said. “Now, you, on the other hand, big brother, have got even more trouble.”
“How’s that possible?”
“Dad called me, and he’s practically frothing at the mouth.”
Luc shrugged. “Let me guess. I’m the biggest disappointment of his life. Always have been. Always will be. Must be my bad blood, from Mom’s side of
the family, of course. Should have beaten the crap out of me when I was a kid…as if he didn’t try on numerous occasions.”
“That’s about it,” Remy admitted. The sadness of his face, and René’s, as well, told the whole story. Sylvie would bet that Remy and René hadn’t suffered nearly as much as Luc at their father’s hand because Luc—the big brother—had taken the blows for them.
It was Sylvie who squeezed Luc’s hand then. He gave her a questioning glance that was both surprised and oddly touched. He immediately masked his vulnerable expression with a scowl, but she had seen enough. More and more, Sylvie was discovering that Luc was not the man he pretended to be.
“Anyhow,” Remy went on, “Dad says that Cypress Oil is flying in their top lawyers, anticipating a court battle. He warned that you might lose your law license over this thing, if you’re not careful.”
“Did you bring that scientific equipment I asked for?” Luc asked him, undaunted.
“Yep,” Remy replied.
“What scientific equipment?” she asked.
“The stuff you and I are going to use in the next few days to test the tributary waters.”
She gave him a chagrined look.
“We need something to while away the time,” he explained.
“And you couldn’t have informed me of that? Or asked my advice about what equipment I need?”
“You probably would have given me another lecture.” He shrugged. “Sometimes it’s better to just do it than ask for permission.”
“Luc! For shame! That’s the same advice you gave me when I wanted to kiss Evangeline Arnaud in the fourth grade,” René pointed out.
They all had to smile at that.
“Hey, it’s a multi-purpose bit of advice,” Luc said.
“Back to the problem at hand,” Remy reminded them. “From what Dad said, or didn’t say, I have to tell you that you are going to be hit from every angle on this water-pollution issue. The DER, the EPA, Louisianans who depend on the oil industry for their paychecks, hired thugs. Are you sure you want to get involved?”
“I’m already involved,” Luc said.
René looked at his older brother as if he walked on water. So did Remy.
“Oh, and I forgot. Tee-John is missing and Dad thinks you’re to blame,” Remy added. Although he threw the news out flippantly, she could tell he was concerned.
“Tee-John! What happened? How’s long’s he been missing?” Luc asked with alarm.
“Since early this morning…almost twenty-four hours.”
“Why did he run away?” René asked.
“I swear, if Dad’s been beating that kid—” Luc’s fists were clenched and his voice icy with anger.
“Maybe he just hightailed it to Tante Lulu’s. We all did that when we were kids and the old man was in one of his rages.” René was speaking, but Remy nodded as well.
Then Remy shook his head. “She hasn’t seen or heard from him.”
Luc frowned, obviously worried. “I’d better stick around and see if I can find him.”
“No, René and I will handle it,” Remy said. “You’ve got enough on your plate as it is.”
“Why is Dad blaming me for the kid’s disappearance?”
Remy shrugged. “You started running away about the same age. Maybe he figures you’ve been giving the kid tips. Either that, or the kid isn’t even missing, and this is just a piling on of charges to get you in trouble with the police.”
“God, when it rains, it pours around you, Luc,” René observed.
“Who’s Tee-John?” Sylvie finally asked.
“Our half brother,” Remy explained. “He’s only ten years old and lives with my father and Jolie Guillot, his…uh, mistress. Don’t you be worryin’ none, ma’am. Tee-John is a tough little critter.”
Sylvie thought she heard Luc mutter, “As a LeDeux, he’d have to be.”
Luc pulled Sylvie aside then. “You can’t go back home till we’re sure it’s safe…both from the greedy bloodsuckers at Terrebonne Pharmaceuticals, and from your bloodsucking mother. Oh, and the voodoo fruitcakes, too.”
After hearing all that Remy had related about the dangers to Luc, she’d almost forgotten the warrant for her arrest, and the ludicrous notion that her mother might have her exiled to some remote resort. Both ideas were so preposterous they didn’t merit serious consideration, except that a niggling fear wormed itself into her subconscious. Desperate people did desperate things.
Sylvie didn’t even bother to protest his characterization of her mother. “I don’t know, Luc. I have a bad feeling about the two of us going off like this.”
He lifted her chin with a forefinger and forced her to make eye contact. “This is about us almost making love, isn’t it?”
She blushed till the roots of her hair felt hot, then lied, “No.”
“Liar.”
“I’m afraid,” she confessed.
“Of the bad guys?”
“Not at the moment.”
Not while I’m with you
.
“Of being arrested?”
“Well, yes, but it would be more embarrassing than anything. I couldn’t bear to think of making a spectacle of myself.”
“Your mother?”
“I’m not afraid of my mother, but she does have the ability to mortify me with that kind of public exposure.”
“So what, then? What are you afraid of?”
She lowered her head and refused to answer or look at him directly.
“Sylvie?” He tilted his head in puzzlement, then gasped with shock. “Of me?”
Her head shot up. “No, you fool. Of me.”
He smiled then…a slow, lazy spreading of lips over bright white teeth. The jerk!
“See?” she cried. “This is not a good idea. You think it’s funny, and I think it’s bone-chilling serious.”
“Ah, Sylv, come on. You and I are adults. We can handle a day or two in the swamps alone. We have self-control.”
“Right,” she said, but what she thought was,
Yeah, right!
Minutes later, while Luc was helping Remy load a few last-minute items in the plane, René gave her
a warning. “Hurt my brother Luc and you’ll be sorry.”
“Me?” she demurred, a palm to her chest. “Why does everyone think I have the power to hurt Luc? Your aunt and Remy gave me a similar warning. Luc couldn’t care less what I say or do to him.”
“You can’t possibly be that blind,” was René’s only reply.
Within five minutes, they were boarding the hydroplane. That was when Remy gave them one last bit of information he’d somehow forgotten to impart.
“Did you know that Tante Lulu got a citation from the zoning officer in Houma today?”
“Why?” Luc drawled out, as if he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answer.
“Seems she was delivering some chickens to Sylvie’s town house. Seems she made a makeshift chicken coop on her patio. Seems the neighbors started to complain about all the clucking.” Remy glanced over at Sylvie and grinned.
She and Luc both groaned and put their faces in their hands.
“Do you have any idea what Tante Lulu means by ‘flocking the bride’?” Remy asked with seeming innocence. “And, by the way, who’s the bride?”
Then Remy laughed. And René did, too. Hilariously.
But she and Luc just groaned again.
The dark predawn skies lightened slowly to an ashy blue, then suddenly burst open over the bayou like a firecracker into clear blue skies, swirling white clouds, and a full orange sun. A per
fect moment for the small Piper hydroplane to set down in the stream in front of Luc’s cabin.