No Limits (14 page)

But the man…if he was Simon Baptiste,
Chelle
better understood Lorna’s nervous behavior of late. He was big and dark—his hair, his scowl—and in charge of whatever was going to happen. Chelle couldn’t even imagine Bear Landry standing up to this man. He wore an aura of authority as casually as he wore his T-shirt and jeans, and in a really twisted and psycho way, he made her think of King—which wasn’t so twisted and psycho when she thought about them being cousins.

“Good morning,” she finally said as the door closed behind them and the room filled with tense expectation. “Can I help you?”

The man stepped around the woman. She took in the small lobby, her scrutiny making
Chelle
wish she’d worn her Donna Karan knockoff today instead of her usual long skirt and tunic—the wardrobe she’d adopted since coming here, because it was as far removed as she could get from the leather and metal she’d worn during her other life in New Orleans.

“Simon Baptiste. I’m supposed to see Lorna Savoy. If you can tel
l
her—”

Chelle
held up one hand and reached for the phone with the other. “I’ll tel
l
her you’re here.”

Simon pressed a finger to the disconnect button. “No need. Just let her know something’s come up and I’ll have to get back with her later.”

And he couldn’t have called to let them know? Saved them all this stress? Chelle didn’t know what to say. She returned the receiver to its cradle, her gaze shifting from Simon to his companion.

She scrambled. Lorna would have her hide if she let him leave. “I’m sure Ms. Savoy would like to talk to you. At least to say hello personally.”

But he was shaking his head, on his way to the door, the woman with him fighting a smile. “There’s no need—”

The door to Lorna’s office opened and interrupted him. “Why, Simon Baptiste. Don’t tel
l
me you’re going to walk out of here without so much as a word. After all these years?”

Chelle
watched him stop, watched him turn, swore the temperature in the room turned from polite and cordial to a bitterly personal cold.

Now this was interesting. And oh, didn’t she wish she could turn on her cell phone’s video recorder and capture this fly-on-the-wall moment for King. Simon took in the hitch of Lorna’s hip where one hand rested, the other resting against the door frame head high. It didn’t matter how long it had been since the two had seen each other. There was no way he could miss the strain around her eyes. Quite frankly, Chelle didn’t think she’d ever seen Lorna look worse. As always, her outfit and body were killer. But her lips were tight, the wrinkles at the edges dry, her face too pale for her makeup—all of it making the worst sort of contrast to the woman standing in the corner by the door.

Lorna suddenly realized Simon wasn’t alone. She seemed to deflate where she stood, as if she’d put more stock in seeing him than in seeing him about business. But she was a pro, no matter her personal disappointment, so she walked closer to him and extended her hand. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Simon. Is this your wife you’ve brought with you?”

“She’s not his wife, Lorna,” Bear Landry said, following her into the lobby and standing in front of Chelle, blocking her view. “This is the woman I told you I met last night at Red’s. A friend of Lisa’s. Michelina Ferrer.”

Michelina Ferrer? As in Ferrer Fragrances?

Chelle
rolled her chair to the corner of her desk and peered around the bulk of the judge. Without her hair dressed in the wild mane she wore in the ads, and her face lacking the soft matte glow that showed off the vibrant colors her stylist used on her eyes, it was hard to tell that’s who she was, but Chelle wasn’t about to question the judge. Besides, he’d said she was a friend of Lisa’s, not a celebrity spokesmodel…except how many women could possibly be named Michelina Ferrer and look this amazing, even without the makeup and hair she was known for?

“It’s good to see you again,
chère
,” Bear told the Ferrer woman. “I wasn’t sure I would ever have the pleasure, or an opportunity to deliver the apology I owed you after speaking to you so rudely.”

“Any particular reason you weren’t sure, Bear?” Simon asked, stepping between the judge and Ms. Ferrer. He didn’t acknowledge Lorna at al
l
.

Bear inclined his head. “It’s good to see you, too, Simon. And no reason other than I assumed Miss Ferrer was already on her way home.”

Michelina lifted her chin, spoke softly. “I’m not ready to leave yet. Not until I learn what happened to Lisa.”

“Why don’t we all step into my office? We can sit and talk, catch up on old times.”

Lorna waved her hands as if directing traffic. “Chelle, make some fresh coffee, or would you all prefer iced tea?”

Simon put a stop to that. “We’re not staying, Lorna. Some things have come up that I have to deal with now. I’ll have to get back to you on the property and the maintenance fees. I figure the delay wil
l
give you time to fine-tune your story, seeing as how you’re going to need a good one to explain the condition of my place.”

“There’s nothing to fine-tune, Simon. And it won’t take but a minute to explain.” Bear moved closer to the door. “Surely you’ve got that much to spare.”

Chelle
could see the Ferrer woman’s face, and her expression as she looked at Bear was enough to make Chelle wish she’d left the room when they’d entered. The other woman might have been one of the most beautiful and wealthiest in the country, but there was nothing of privilege in her face.

She was furious, and she was frightened, and Chelle couldn’t help but wonder what Bear had said to her last night at Red’s, if it had been more than rude, if it had been somehow…threatening.

And then she wondered how the two of them had met, Michelina and Simon, if they knew one another away from Bayou Allain and had come here together, or if they’d met as strangers in the same place at the same time.

Chelle
tuned back in to what Bear was saying.

“I know you haven’t kept in touch with your cousin, but King hasn’t exactly been welcoming of the folks who’ve rented the house over the years. Learning they’re living next to a convicted felon has sent a lot of them running.” Bear let that slap in the face sink in, moved his cane to his other hand and leaned on it heavily. “Those who have stayed, well, they haven’t stayed long after finding out what happened in that house with your mother. It’s the sort of thing that gets around and keeps renters away.”

He reached for his handkerchief then and wiped it over his brow, pausing for a moment as if delivering such a blow had worn him down—or else pausing for effect and giving Simon time to take it al
l
in before conveying even more bad news. “Lorna and I discussed the situation and decided no one should hear such a report through the mail. Unfortunately, having no other way to reach you, we felt our chosen course of action the best.”

Wow.
Chelle
knew the judge could be a jerk, but that was just cold. And cruel. And a lot of it a big pack of lies. She’d lived here a while. She dealt with renters all the time. She’d never heard anything sordid about Simon’s mother. Not even from King. And Bear didn’t get involved in Lorna’s rental business anyway. What was that all about? They’d discussed? They’d decided? Their chosen course of action? Whatever was going on, she could tel
l
by the look on Simon’s face that she wasn’t the only one who didn’t think much of Bear’s speech.

“So…what now? You’re going to try to sell me a timeshare in the Everglades?” Simon asked, muttering some not-so-nice words under his breath. “No, wait. I’d rather bend over and take it on my own terms. And thanks, but I’l
l
show myself to the door.”

His hand was on the handle when Lorna reached him and placed her fingers over his.

“If you wait, I’ll cut you that check right now. It won’t take but a minute. I should’ve had it ready, but I wasn’t sure if you were going to want the money back, or want me to use it for repairs even though the place has been empty so long.”

His expression was priceless, just the right mixture of fury and disbelief and loathing.

“Oh, I want the money, chère. You’d damn wel
l
better believe it.”

Nodding, she looked down to where she held him, sighing as if the picture of her skin against his was a masterpiece. It made Chelle want to roll her eyes. “Putting a check that size in the mail just didn’t seem right. Not without you knowing to keep an eye out for it.”

Simon barked out a laugh. “Certified mail, Lorna. Return receipt requested. Ever hear of it?”

“I’m so sorry. I should have sent it. I should have been in touch about the problems with the place. Forgive me? Please?” Lorna’s plea was desperate, her skin gone ghostly and clammy looking.

Something was going on here that was way over Chelle’s head, something that had nothing to do with any amount of money Lorna might owe.

But Simon wasn’t swayed. He pushed open the door and held out a hand for Ms. Ferrer, ignoring Bear completely, looking at Lorna only long enough to say, “I won’t be needing your services any longer, but I will be by for my check in the morning. Have it ready.”

Chelle
watched him go, remembered the switchboard was set to voice mail, and managed to remove the forward before her boss noticed. Not that Lorna would have. Lorna was standing at the front door, her fingers wrapped around the metal crossbar, her gaze following her visitors’ departure through the window as if she were watching her dreams drive away.

Bear had already returned to Lorna’s office, and his voice was none too gentle when he cal
l
ed for her. Twice. The third time she finally let go of the door, wringing her hands at her waist as she crossed the lobby.

“Oh, Baby Bear. What are we going to do now?” was all Chelle heard before the office door closed. Chelle sat there for a minute, not moving, her heart racing as she tried to process what had just happened but failed.

Lorna was obviously disappointed, but
Chelle
couldn’t think of any reason for her to have dissolved into tears loud enough to rattle the office walls. She did, however, know one person who would love a rundown on this turn of events, and reached for the phone to dial Red’s so she could get a message to King.

Eighteen

“L et me get this straight,” Micky said, one hand flat at her hip on the truck seat, the other holding on to the armrest for dear life. “You’ve been paying that woman money to keep your house in livable condition, and she’s been doing nothing? Taking it and letting the place fall to the ground?”

“That’s about the size of it,” Simon bit off in answer.

“Why?” was the only question that came out when there were so many others swirling in her head…namely, what had Judge Landry been doing there, what was Simon’s connection to him, and why had he failed to mention it? “What was that cryptic stuff about the things that happened there with your mother? And about living near King? A convicted felon? What does he have to do with this?”

“He still lives there.”

What? “In that house?”

Simon shook his head. “He’s got a trailer about a mile away.”

A mile? “How big is your piece of property?”

“Four thousand acres, plus or minus,” he said, slowing the truck as they approached the first intersection past the real estate office.

Micky wasn’t sure what had just happened, but she knew it was big. Yes, she was viewing the incident with her recent history coloring her perceptions. But that was neither here nor there. As much as the others might think her an innocent bystander, she wasn’t. She might not know Lorna Savoy, but she knew enough about Judge Landry to know she didn’t care to ever learn more.

What she did want to know was, what in the world of soap operas had just happened?

Simon’s agitation was clear in the way he had driven out of there: backing from the office’s parking lot into the street without checking for on-coming traffic, slamming on the brakes before shifting gears and tearing forward in a squeal of burned rubber. He wasn’t the same driver who had gotten her safely from his house to the small medical clinic and then to the meeting without jarring her tender arm even once. Was it because of the judge’s remark about his mother? Hearing that bullshit story about getting in touch?

“When did you change your mind? About putting off the meeting?”

“Last night. After you’d gone to sleep. We never got your arm looked at yesterday, and that couldn’t wait,” he finally said, sitting at the stop sign long enough to make up for the other infractions. “The meeting could.”

She appreciated his concern. She would have appreciated it more if she believed that was al
l
of the story even knowing he didn’t owe her a thing. If anything, she owed him. He’d saved her life, after all.

“There’s a small clothing store next to the pharmacy,” he said. “Or there was when I was last here. They won’t have anything fancy. Blue jeans, sneakers, work boots. Oxford button-downs, T-shirts. Will that work, or do we keep driving and find a boutique more to your liking?”