The Switch (18 page)

I nod my head, apologize frantically,
and then collect my blanket with the stolen firearm and scurry away. Though I could swear my heart stopped beating, the switch took less than five seconds. That’s the key to pick-pocketing—timing. Not that I’ll have any further use for this knowledge. I’m reformed. But this is an emergency situation, and I’ve got no time for ethics.

I wait at the edge of the crowd, avoiding Victor’s gaze. As the traffic, both foot and auto, begins to lighten, Victor lets out an appreciative sigh and turns to walk away. I follow him through the throng of people, keeping my distance the best I can without losing him. We walk for blocks before he leads me down a dead end, far away from the crowd. It isn’t until I turn the corner into the empty alley that I realize I’ve walked into a trap.

“You could have been safe. Let me get away. Never seen or heard from me again,” he says as he turns around, hands still in his pockets. I hold the blanket tightly to my abdomen, unwilling to show the gun until I know what’s in his pockets.

“That’s a fine rescue blanket you have there, Shelby. What are you going to do, smother me with it?”

“Trust me, if I could, I would,” I say, fighting to keep the tremor out of my voice.

Victor removes his hands from his pockets
. My chest tightens, but he removes nothing. He merely places his hands on his hips in disapproval.

“You stupid bitch,” he says shrilly. “You
know
who I am.”

He takes a few large steps toward me. Instinctively, I reach inside the blanket and grab the gun, letting the blanket drop to the ground. Keeping Chase’s warning from our first day together in mind, I unlock the safety and point the gun at Victor’s heart.

Victor takes a step back and teasingly throws his arms in the air. “Don’t shoot,” he says with a smirk.

“I pulled a gun on a man once who I had no intention of shooting—or perhaps twice. I’ve learned my lesson,” I snap. “I’m not letting you get away. I don’t care if I have to keep you here all night. You’re going to pay for what you’ve done.”

“And what about what you’ve done? You’re not exactly innocent yourself, Shelby.”

I tighten my grip on the trigger, c
oming terribly close to firing.

“You didn’t give me another choice. Why did you do that?”

“Because I can,” he says, sounding bored.

“But the diamond
. . .” I trail off.

“Is useless,” Victor finishes for me.

Chase was right. It was never about the diamond.

“But that little scene in the Quarter would have been excellent blackmail.”

The sounds of impending footfalls put me on edge. Due to our position in the alley, I’m unable to keep an eye on who’s coming and on Victor at the same time. With panic fluttering in my stomach and clenching in my chest, I take my chances, keeping the gun pointed at Victor.

I hear his breathing, somehow instinctively knowing it’s him, before I see him. His rich scent of soap and sweat fill
s the air as his tired pants remind me of our times together. Chase comes to a halt behind me, and I relax only to realize that he’s, once again, found me in a compromising position. This time it’s with a stolen police-issued gun. Tears burn at my eyes and spill down my cheeks.

“Baby, put down the gun,” Chase gently urges.

“I can’t let him go,” I whimper-cry. My hands shake as I let out a shuddered sob. Soon, the tears overtake my vision, and I’m unable to hold the gun steady. “He needs to pay.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind I realize I don’t need to do this. I could put down the gun, let Chase take care of this, and this would all be over. But I can’t get myself to move. After everything Victor has done to hurt me, and especially Becca, I can’t just let him go.

“Just give me the gun, Shelby. He isn’t getting away. I promise.”

My tears break into heavy sobs as I realize what I’m about to do. I lift my pointer finger from the trigger and move to hand the gun to Chase.

Just a few months ago, I was just a girl who didn’t know where she wanted her life to go. I had little direction beyond Saturday night and even less determination to find any. I had always flirted with danger but hadn’t experienced any real threat at that point.

And then everything changed. Lured in by a handsome smile, false kindness, and a mysterious draw, I fell into Victor’s world, hook, line, and sinker. Everything fell apart
, and just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, it did.

I just want to go back to being
the girl I was before everything went to hell. And though I don’t know if that’s even possible, I’m going to try. And trying begins with making the right decision.

As I hand the gun over to Chase, Victor moves quickly, shoving his hand into his pocket. He pulls out a small, dark green item with a silver circle at one end.

Chase grips my arm with a ferocity I didn’t know he was capable of and tugs me backwards several feet. My entire body aches, most especially my injured leg, but I don’t fight it. Slow as I may be, eventually my mind registers the item as a grenade.

We back up into the desolate street as Victor approaches us. Chase wraps one arm around my midsection
, and the other points the gun at Victor over my shoulder. Chase is fast, but Victor is faster as he pulls the metal clip from the end and tosses the grenade in the air.

Despite having a loaded gun, Chase is forced to lower the piece as we turn and retreat. We make it out of the immediate danger zone just barely in time.

The grenade explodes behind us, sending us off our feet and into the air. Shards of wood from the nearby stack of crates fly at us, smoke billows from the ground, covering us in filth, and my vision blurs.

The next thing I know, I’m curled against Chase on the hot concrete.
The back of my head throbs, my entire body aches, and my breathing is shallow. I blink twice and crane my sore neck to look at Chase. For the first time since the explosion, I see that his eyes are closed and blood is collecting behind his head. An intense sickness washes over me. I climb up his limp body and cry into his chest.

“No, no, no. I love you,” I scream into his chest.

I lay a hand on the Kevlar vest, eyeing it mercilessly. He’d donned the vest to protect himself from injury but not a helmet, which is what he needed in this situation. I continue to shout at him, though I don’t think he can hear me. I tell him I love him and he’s stupid for not protecting his head. I say everything and anything that comes to mind just in case he catches even a single word.

“You can’t leave me. Not yet.”

Surprising me, he coughs, flutters his eyes, and winces. Every movement he makes lightens my spirits just a little, telling me he’s going to be okay.

“I can’t leave you?” he says, nearly a whisper.

I lean in, brushing my lips against his, whispering, “Never.”

A small smile radiates from the corner of his mouth.
“And you love me, even if I have brain damage?” he asks.

Sirens sound in the distance, growing closer as FBI agents rush down the alleyway. I ignore it all, knowing in my heart that Mr. Funny is going to be all right.

“I do,” I say.

He guffaws at the term, struggling to focus on my face.
“And you don’t listen. I told you not to rush this,” he scolds, giving a masculine pout.

“I can’t help it,” I tease, smoothing a strand of hair that’s fallen over his eyes. “And you love me even in an orange jump suit?” As I say the words, the agents descend and the reality of my situation hits home. All the love in the world isn’t going to get me out of this scot-free.

“Hey,” he defends weakly, “I think you can pull off orange.”

The ambulance arrives, separating us and checking us each over. Thankfully neither of us are found to have obvious major injuries, though the EMTs ask about my leg and give Chase an annoyed look when I explain how he played doctor at the cabin. There’s no sense in lying, I figure. If I’m going to be good enough for Chase, I had better get comfortable telling the truth.

Eventually, agents begin asking me questions I’m not prepared to answer and, in all honesty, I’ll never have a good answer for. Thankfully they determine that we should be taken to the nearby hospital and evaluated. One of the agents gives me an apologetic look before he handcuffs me to the gurney they’ve loaded me on. I let the tears splash down my cheeks with abandon. No use in pretending like I’m not terrified right now.

“Miss Brignac, I’m
Federal Agent Brown. You’re in serious trouble, having committed a slew of felonies over the last few days. You do understand that we can’t just let you walk away from this.”

I nod my head and sniffle
. “I understand.”

The agent explains I was caught on tape stealing the diamond. In addition to that, they have me on tape accidentally waving the gun as I fled the scene in the Quarter just before meeting Chase. He lists off a few more charges, but I’ve stopped listening. I’m trying really hard not to pity myself since this is my fault, but I can’t help it. This entire situation has ended in disaster.

Then it strikes me—I know aspects of Victor’s business that could really help them nail down the crooked cops. If I play my hand just right, they may even drop the charges against me.

Chase fights off the paramedics attempting to apply a neck brace just long enough to give me a reassuring smile. Clearly thinking the same thing, he nods his head
. “Do it, baby.”

Then he lays back and allows the paramedics to do their job as they strap him down and load him into another ambulance. I crack a hint of a smile and nod my head, letting love and determination guide me.

“I’d like to cut a deal,” I say.

As they strap a neck brace on me and secure me to the gurney, I mentally flip through wedding dress options in my head—Chase is
so
marrying me even if he doesn’t know it yet—and I give the agent just a few tidbits of Victor’s business to get the ball rolling.

EPILOGUE

Shelby

I just want to get to Chase.

IT’S BEEN A
long day at the café, but the crowds are welcome. They let my mind slip into my work and away from what today is. Friday.

It’s the end of hurricane season
, and the forecast is clear of any major storms. It looks like the gulf won’t be throwing us for a late-season loop. Thank God. When the weather is good, like it is now, breezy and warm with little rain, folks come in droves to the little seaside café, Stormy’s. There’s something about Florida after all the storms have passed—it’s almost as beautiful as New Orleans is all of the time. But I’m partial.

As much as I’m loving my little life detour on the Florida coast, I miss my home. I miss the food and the people, not just my people but the city’s people. I miss the sounds of the city and the hustle and bustle. Folks say the South moves slow, and so it does, but there’s an energy in New Orleans that would be impossible to replicate.

Once Chase nails down Victor, I should be able to go home. And it can’t be soon enough. I miss the food (no really, I love food), and my family. But what I’m really missing like mad is Chase. He’s still shiny and new, and every other weekend just isn’t enough. Thankfully, though, this is one of those weekends.

I untie my bright orange apron that goes with absolutely nothing in my sparse closet and toss it in the laundry bin in the back of the café.
Adjusting my cut-off jean shorts, my hand grazes my thigh, finding the scar that’s formed courtesy of my knife wound.

I fight off the impending yawn as I pull my personal items from my locker. I had classes this morning
, which nearly wiped me out for the rest of the day.

When I found out what Chase had planned for me—a getaway for a few months to Florida—I thought he was nuts. But the more we talked about it
, the more all right it sounded. He even convinced me to sign up for two classes—Introduction to Criminal Justice (his idea) and Modern Art (my idea). It’s only been a few weeks since I started my classes, but I have high hopes I’ll finish this term with high marks.

Eyeing
the clock, I realize I’m about to be late. Chase is due to arrive at my room in about twenty minutes, and I had hoped to freshen up before I saw him.

I’ve rented a room
farther away from the shoreline at a small, rundown motel. Chase wanted me to get an apartment, but that felt too permanent. It was like I was settling into a new life—one without him—and I just couldn’t stand that.

Besides, I really like having housekeeping, even if they only come twice a week when a local trusted cop from town swings by to make sure there’s no funny business, as per Chase’s orders. So until I can go home and be Shelby Brignac again, I’ll stay here in Florida as Shelby Connor, under the watchful eye of the Atlantic Bay
Police Department.

But I don’t want to think about any of that now. I just want to get to Chase.

“I’m heading out,” I shout over the obnoxiously loud jukebox that only plays Jimmy Buffett songs.

Betty, my boss, an older woman who looks like a prime candidate for skin cancer, smiles wide.
“It’s one of those weekends, huh?” she asks knowingly.

I nod my head, fighting off the blush that creeps in. Betty knows a little bit about my past, though not much. She’s an inquisitive woman whose children are grown and whose husband traded her in for a newer model.

I get the feeling she doesn’t have many people, because the ones she does have, she clings to. So we talk infrequently but enough for her to get the gist of it. Bad boyfriend plus legal trouble equals get out of town. She still can’t quite figure out where Chase came into play, but it’s not for a lack of effort. If Betty had her way, she’d know everything, including at what age I lost my first baby tooth.

“You should bring that man of yours by before he leaves this time. I’m still ticked you haven’t let me meet him, girl.”

I roll my eyes and wave her off, a grin overtaking my face, and say, “You’re liable to scare him off with all those questions you ask.” Shuffling the weight of the textbooks in my arms and affixing my satchel on my shoulder, I give Betty a teasing glare. This is a little game we play every time Chase comes into town.

She leans against the counter with a lofty sigh and glances at the open wall of windows at the other end of the cafe. “Come on, tell me about him,” she urges.

And just like the last time and the time before that, I do.

“Chase is good,” I say before anything else, just like always. “He’s strong and smart, and he loves me.”

“That’s what you always say,” she gripes, narrowing her eyes.

It’s
true, so just this once, I give her a little more.

Leaning against the counter, we’re eye level, and I say, “He’s got this smile. It’s sickening how much I like his smile. He’s tall. And he’s well-built.” Before she can say anything, I shake my head ruefully and mutter, “He’s a gym rat.”

“And he’s got black hair?” she asks.

I pull back nervously. I’ve never told Betty what Chase looks like before. Any other situation and that comment would be unsettling. Considering Victor still hasn’t been found, it’s terrifying.

“Relax, Shelby,” she says, concern evident in her eyes. “Turn around.”

I gulp l
oudly and swing around. On the outside deck, just beyond the opened floor-to-ceiling windows stands Chase. His chiseled physique is accented by the fitted jeans and muscle shirt he’s sporting atop his flip flops. His arms are folded over his chest, and his mouth is upturned into that beautiful smile that helps me sleep at night. He’s never been to Stormy’s before, so this is quite the surprise. We had agreed to keep things quiet here in Florida, not wanting to arouse suspicion.

My heart nearly stops when Chase unfolds his arms and splays them out in invitation. Instantly, I drop my textbooks and my bag and take off at a sprint. I’m already flying through the air by the time I realize I’m actually squealing.

I slam into him at warp speed, making him stumble backwards. He never loses his grip on me. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I throw my arms around his neck and crush my lips against his. He responds instantly. Just like always, it’s a heady combination of give and take. When we pull apart, our lungs are fighting for air and I’ve covered our faces with my tears. I don’t want to lose a moment with him, so I don’t look back, but I know if I did, I’d find Betty open-mouth gaping at us.

“You’re early,” I whisper, placing a soft kiss to his jaw.

“And you’re perfect,” he says. I quirk an eyebrow at him. “Well, minus your felonious tendencies and morning breath.”

I throw my head back and giggle. Because when I’m with Chase, I’m that girl.

“Walk with me?” Chase asks as he loosens his grip on me, letting me slide down to the deck.

His demeanor has changed. Suddenly, his jaw is tight and his eyes are darting every which way but at me. It’s like in those final moments before someone breaks up with you. A mixture of guilt and displeasure covers their face. And just like in those moments, my stomach drops. I look down and nod my head, then excuse myself, going to pick up my books and satchel.

When I return, Chase takes my hand and leads me down to the beach. The wind is strong tonight, throwing my braided hair every which way and sending chills up my spine. Being early evening, the sand is mostly desolate except for a few stray visitors. From the looks of it, I’d say a rain storm is rolling in.

We stop halfway to the water
, and Chase sits down, pulling me into his lap. Still worried about his demeanor, I take my time setting my things beside us. When I can’t postpone it anymore, I meet Chase’s eyes. He gulps and does this thing he’s prone to do when he’s nervous where he cranes his neck in different directions. Truth be told, he looks spastic when he does it.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, fearing the worst.

Since Becca and I were found in that apartment, she hasn’t spoken to me. Last I heard, she’s staying with her aunt in Ohio. She did write me a letter, wishing the best for me but asking for space. After all my poor choices that she had to pay for, I can’t be selfish with her.

Still though, I think about her every day. Becca has always loved Florida
, and I know she’d think Stormy’s Café and Betty are awesome. There’s so much I wish I could share with her, but she’s not ready. My mother says she still has scars on her face from when Victor cut her in the warehouse. Her face may one day heal, but I don’t know if the scars I placed on her soul will. For that, I may never forgive myself.

“Nothing, baby. It’s good news. It just suddenly hit me that pretty soon I’m going to get you every day. I won’t have to leave you like I do now.”

His words make me take pause. If they mean what I think they do, then soon this will all be over.

“Every day? Does that mean
—” I stop, unable to say the words. If they’re not true, it’ll crush me.

But he nods his head, the smile returning to his lips.
“We got him,” he says, clearly taking pride in his part in Victor’s capture.

Since Chase assisted the FBI that day in not only getting me and Becca out of the apartment but also in taking down Sarge and a slew of other dirty cops, they’ve used him as his department’s FBI liaison. According to my father, it’s a pretty big honor, especially for a rookie. But that’s my Chase—he’s going places.

“And,” he says, regaining my attention, “Don wanted to tell you, but I demanded the honor . . .”

Don Blick, my attorney, has been working through a deal with the FBI for me. I gave the feds some information
, and the FBI agreed that if they found it useful, they’d cut me a pretty sweet deal. Considering I waved an unregistered handgun around the Quarter like it was a strand of Mardi Gras beads, I’m pretty grateful they’re willing to work with me. But as Chase says, I’m not the big fish.

“Those addresses you gave Agent Brown? The feds recovered over a million dollars
of coke in forged oil paintings. You’re scot-free, baby. All you have to do is sign the paperwork, then you’re all mine.”

I burst into tears at the news, unaware of how heavily a prison sentence was weighing on my heart. It takes a while for me to calm myself down, but when I do
, there’s a newfound calm in my soul.

Chase places featherlight kisses along my jaw and whispers, “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I want to change my last name,” I say, already deciding on a winter wedding. We’ve been through this. Chase normally calls me crazy and tells me we’re breaking up if I buy one more wedding magazine, but we never do. And I have a subscription to five of them.

“This again? You’re crazy, woman.”

And I am, so I don’t squabble. Never before have I been this way. And sometimes I’m horrified by the things that fly out of my mouth. But instead of running away or freaking out, Chase just laughs off my wedding fever and tells me I need medication. He’s wise not to fight it too much. We both know that one day we’re going to share his last name. It’s only a matter of time.

“I know,” I say by way of apology and nuzzle into his neck.

He tightens his grip around my torso and clears his throat. “When are you going to ask me good and proper, huh?”

It takes a moment before I realize what he’s said. Even when I’m certain of what he’s said, I don’t react, fearful I’m actually going crazy.

But then he continues in a nasally voice, “I’m not going to be giving it up forever. You’re going to have to make an honest man out of me soon or the Church Ladies’ League is going to start praying for my soul.”

The giggle begins quietly and builds into a raucous laughter. I’m still trying to fight back the overwhelming glee when I meet his eyes. Neither of us
is laughing now, and I know it’s the perfect time.

“Will you marry me, Mr. Guilliot?”

He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, he grabs the back of my head and smashes my lips against his. In between breaths, he mumbles, “About time.”

And while I’m focused on the way his tongue slides against mine, a cool metal band finds its way onto my left hand.

The End

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