coffee and sighed. Perfect.
“Sounds exciting. Are there handcuffs involved?” Rosie’s brow arched.
“Shut up. I’ll see you.”
Odalia crossed to Jacques’ side and offered him a cup of coffee. His gaze was too intent on the street to be people-watching.
“What is it?” she murmured.
“Blue car’s following us. I think it’s the same one from yesterday, but the plates are different.” He sipped the coffee and nodded toward the door. “Let’s see if it’s us they’re after.”
Odalia didn’t like the idea of being bait. It was like allowing herself to be a victim, but sometimes you had to stick your neck out there.
“Let’s do this.”
* *
Jacques paused in front of a shop displaying antique silver pieces and a large mirror. The blue sedan had moved closer, again. Each time they walked another block, the car followed but kept at least twenty or thirty yards between them.
“I hate this,” Odalia muttered.
He resisted the urge to chuckle. She was all action and energy. If it weren’t directed at a crooked cop, he’d be enchanted by it.
“Tell me about yourself.” He took her hand, now free from the coffee cups they’d discarded a block back, and threaded their fingers together. It felt right, this organic connection lacing them together.
Odalia blinked at him a few times, her brow furrowed. “What to tell… born and raised in New Orleans. I’m a cop. End of story.”
Jacques snorted. “Unlikely, bébé .”
He could almost hear her teeth grinding together.
“Fine, I was born here, Mom left Dad and me when I was a little girl, and I grew up with him working night shifts, odd jobs and taking charity when we could get it. I got through school, wasn’t doing much with myself,” she took a deep breath, as if preparing herself for something, “and then Katrina happened. Dad died. It was the worst time in my life, trapped in our house with my dad needing to be rescued, and we couldn’t get out.”
Jacques stopped walking and pulled them into a sheltered doorway, out of the foot traffic. He’d expected some rough knocks in her past, but he remembered paddling from house to house searching for people. How many scenes like hers had he stumbled across?
Was this also the source of the darkness he’d sensed from her last night? There was a story there he doubted she was ready to tell him, and he wouldn’t press her. In her own time, if he was lucky, she’d trust him with it.
Odalia shook her head and scratched Creature. “I know the police get shit on a lot for what happened after Katrina, but they did right by us, and I joined the academy first chance I got.” She tipped her head back and stared him in the eye. “Anything else?”
You’re amazing, strong, courageous, beautiful . The string of words rattled off in his head, and what he wouldn’t give for a camera to capture the raw emotion on her face. The stark honesty.
He dipped his head and brushed his lips across hers.
Did she know how inspiring she was?
“Where’s the car?” she whispered against his lips.
He grinned and glanced past her. Smart, bébé. “Still a block and a half back. I’m thinking there’s a café down the street. I’m going to go out the back. You keep walking. I’ll circle around and try to come at him from behind.”
“Let’s go.” She turned and, hand-in-hand, they strolled down the street.
He stared down at her dark head for a moment, still a little in awe of her resilience. It stirred more than just desire in his chest. Respect. He wanted her to know more about him as well, and not just the pretty parts. She should be aware of his baggage. He didn’t come with the best connections.
“My parents are residents of the state pen. Last I heard, my older brother was petitioning for a room there on grounds of running drugs up the bayou, and my sister is trying to single-handedly populate Louisiana. I was raised by my mamère . She kept me out of trouble, pointed me toward
“Sounds exciting. Are there handcuffs involved?” Rosie’s brow arched.
“Shut up. I’ll see you.”
Odalia crossed to Jacques’ side and offered him a cup of coffee. His gaze was too intent on the street to be people-watching.
“What is it?” she murmured.
“Blue car’s following us. I think it’s the same one from yesterday, but the plates are different.” He sipped the coffee and nodded toward the door. “Let’s see if it’s us they’re after.”
Odalia didn’t like the idea of being bait. It was like allowing herself to be a victim, but sometimes you had to stick your neck out there.
“Let’s do this.”
* *
Jacques paused in front of a shop displaying antique silver pieces and a large mirror. The blue sedan had moved closer, again. Each time they walked another block, the car followed but kept at least twenty or thirty yards between them.
“I hate this,” Odalia muttered.
He resisted the urge to chuckle. She was all action and energy. If it weren’t directed at a crooked cop, he’d be enchanted by it.
“Tell me about yourself.” He took her hand, now free from the coffee cups they’d discarded a block back, and threaded their fingers together. It felt right, this organic connection lacing them together.
Odalia blinked at him a few times, her brow furrowed. “What to tell… born and raised in New Orleans. I’m a cop. End of story.”
Jacques snorted. “Unlikely, bébé .”
He could almost hear her teeth grinding together.
“Fine, I was born here, Mom left Dad and me when I was a little girl, and I grew up with him working night shifts, odd jobs and taking charity when we could get it. I got through school, wasn’t doing much with myself,” she took a deep breath, as if preparing herself for something, “and then Katrina happened. Dad died. It was the worst time in my life, trapped in our house with my dad needing to be rescued, and we couldn’t get out.”
Jacques stopped walking and pulled them into a sheltered doorway, out of the foot traffic. He’d expected some rough knocks in her past, but he remembered paddling from house to house searching for people. How many scenes like hers had he stumbled across?
Was this also the source of the darkness he’d sensed from her last night? There was a story there he doubted she was ready to tell him, and he wouldn’t press her. In her own time, if he was lucky, she’d trust him with it.
Odalia shook her head and scratched Creature. “I know the police get shit on a lot for what happened after Katrina, but they did right by us, and I joined the academy first chance I got.” She tipped her head back and stared him in the eye. “Anything else?”
You’re amazing, strong, courageous, beautiful . The string of words rattled off in his head, and what he wouldn’t give for a camera to capture the raw emotion on her face. The stark honesty.
He dipped his head and brushed his lips across hers.
Did she know how inspiring she was?
“Where’s the car?” she whispered against his lips.
He grinned and glanced past her. Smart, bébé. “Still a block and a half back. I’m thinking there’s a café down the street. I’m going to go out the back. You keep walking. I’ll circle around and try to come at him from behind.”
“Let’s go.” She turned and, hand-in-hand, they strolled down the street.
He stared down at her dark head for a moment, still a little in awe of her resilience. It stirred more than just desire in his chest. Respect. He wanted her to know more about him as well, and not just the pretty parts. She should be aware of his baggage. He didn’t come with the best connections.
“My parents are residents of the state pen. Last I heard, my older brother was petitioning for a room there on grounds of running drugs up the bayou, and my sister is trying to single-handedly populate Louisiana. I was raised by my mamère . She kept me out of trouble, pointed me toward
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