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Authors: Bonnie Vanak
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pointed to his jeans and said in a small voice, “Gun.”
He squatted down. “Yes. It’s my pistol. I keep it close.”
“To hurt people?”
Damn, this was not the way he’d anticipated conversing with his ex’s daughter. He’d wanted to talk about playing games, what classes she liked, not firearms.
“Yes, but only bad people who want to hurt you and your mom.” Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder. “Go do as your mom says.”
Fleur gave him a shy smile then skipped away toward the house.
Do as your mom says.
How he’d dreamed of saying those words to their son or daughter. He fisted his hands and turned away from the house, staring at the distant fields. Then his gaze swung to the gate, that gate with the dead chicken.
He couldn’t return to the past and change things. But he could help Lacey now, and her daughter.
While waiting for the security detail to arrive, he went to the front gate and did a thorough check. The eight-foot gate was solid steel and required someone to open it by hand, like typical front gates in St. Marc that guarded private homes and businesses and schools. Effective, if you had the right person standing guard.
The man at the gate right now had a careworn face and gray hair. There was a spark to his dark gaze as he greeted Jarrett. He didn’t carry a firearm, but the sun glinted off the polished steel machete he held in a firm grip.
“Afternoon,” Jarrett greeted him in French. “I’m Jarrett Adler, friend of Lacey’s.”
“Joseph.” The man shifted the machete to his left hand and shook Jarrett’s outstretched palm. “I work in the fields for Miss Lacey. She asked me to take over guard duty for now.”
He nodded at the gleaming blade. “Know how to use that thing for something other than cutting corn?”
White teeth flashed at him in a knowing grin. Joseph picked up a coconut fallen from a nearby palm tree and placed it near him. The machete whistled through the air and two halves of the nut spilled to the ground as he cut it.
“Don’t you worry, Mr. Jarrett. Anyone try to hang dead chickens on this gate I go chop chop with my big knife,” Joseph told him. “I’m not that young fool Pierre. He had no respect for the job. Miss Lacey’s good people. She deserves better.”
He liked him. Joseph had years on him, and the kind of wisdom and experience that indicated he wasn’t about to put up with anything.
They made small talk for a few minutes. Joseph was a wealth of information. Most of the locals liked Lacey and were grateful she saved the coffee factory from closing—news to him—and gave the community much-needed jobs. And many were appreciative of her charity.
A few “big talkers” dissed Lacey and didn’t like her because they saw her as a rich American, but those were the men she’d fired for laziness.
A car honked at the gate and he and Joseph stepped through the door at the side of the gate. It was the security detail Ace had recommended. Joseph let the car through. They parked inside and all four men got out. Marcus, the leader, was all muscled bulk, tall and dressed in neatly pressed trousers and a tan shirt with the firm’s logo on it.
Jarrett talked with him, liking his quiet intelligence, and his alertness. He really liked the M45C handgun he carried. “Nice piece,” he told Marcus.
“Gift from Ace from the last job we did together,” Marcus replied in his singsong accent. “I have a suppressor, but for jobs like this I need to make loud bang bang to let intruders know I mean business.”
Between Marcus and his security detail, and Joseph, any perp trying to get through the front gate would be toast.
Marcus knew the area, too, and had been born and raised here, which was an additional bonus. If trouble flared in town, he’d hear about it.
After extensive interviewing of Marcus and his men, with additional questions by a sharp-eyed Joseph, Jarrett agreed to let them to work out details of guarding the gate around the clock.
Of
He squatted down. “Yes. It’s my pistol. I keep it close.”
“To hurt people?”
Damn, this was not the way he’d anticipated conversing with his ex’s daughter. He’d wanted to talk about playing games, what classes she liked, not firearms.
“Yes, but only bad people who want to hurt you and your mom.” Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder. “Go do as your mom says.”
Fleur gave him a shy smile then skipped away toward the house.
Do as your mom says.
How he’d dreamed of saying those words to their son or daughter. He fisted his hands and turned away from the house, staring at the distant fields. Then his gaze swung to the gate, that gate with the dead chicken.
He couldn’t return to the past and change things. But he could help Lacey now, and her daughter.
While waiting for the security detail to arrive, he went to the front gate and did a thorough check. The eight-foot gate was solid steel and required someone to open it by hand, like typical front gates in St. Marc that guarded private homes and businesses and schools. Effective, if you had the right person standing guard.
The man at the gate right now had a careworn face and gray hair. There was a spark to his dark gaze as he greeted Jarrett. He didn’t carry a firearm, but the sun glinted off the polished steel machete he held in a firm grip.
“Afternoon,” Jarrett greeted him in French. “I’m Jarrett Adler, friend of Lacey’s.”
“Joseph.” The man shifted the machete to his left hand and shook Jarrett’s outstretched palm. “I work in the fields for Miss Lacey. She asked me to take over guard duty for now.”
He nodded at the gleaming blade. “Know how to use that thing for something other than cutting corn?”
White teeth flashed at him in a knowing grin. Joseph picked up a coconut fallen from a nearby palm tree and placed it near him. The machete whistled through the air and two halves of the nut spilled to the ground as he cut it.
“Don’t you worry, Mr. Jarrett. Anyone try to hang dead chickens on this gate I go chop chop with my big knife,” Joseph told him. “I’m not that young fool Pierre. He had no respect for the job. Miss Lacey’s good people. She deserves better.”
He liked him. Joseph had years on him, and the kind of wisdom and experience that indicated he wasn’t about to put up with anything.
They made small talk for a few minutes. Joseph was a wealth of information. Most of the locals liked Lacey and were grateful she saved the coffee factory from closing—news to him—and gave the community much-needed jobs. And many were appreciative of her charity.
A few “big talkers” dissed Lacey and didn’t like her because they saw her as a rich American, but those were the men she’d fired for laziness.
A car honked at the gate and he and Joseph stepped through the door at the side of the gate. It was the security detail Ace had recommended. Joseph let the car through. They parked inside and all four men got out. Marcus, the leader, was all muscled bulk, tall and dressed in neatly pressed trousers and a tan shirt with the firm’s logo on it.
Jarrett talked with him, liking his quiet intelligence, and his alertness. He really liked the M45C handgun he carried. “Nice piece,” he told Marcus.
“Gift from Ace from the last job we did together,” Marcus replied in his singsong accent. “I have a suppressor, but for jobs like this I need to make loud bang bang to let intruders know I mean business.”
Between Marcus and his security detail, and Joseph, any perp trying to get through the front gate would be toast.
Marcus knew the area, too, and had been born and raised here, which was an additional bonus. If trouble flared in town, he’d hear about it.
After extensive interviewing of Marcus and his men, with additional questions by a sharp-eyed Joseph, Jarrett agreed to let them to work out details of guarding the gate around the clock.
Of
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