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“No, he’s fucking burning what belongs to me. Not pushing a damn button.” His gaze remained on the closed bedroom door. “No one fucks with what’s mine.”
And the door opened. Soundlessly. It swung open.
Avalon stood there, with the sheet wrapped around her. Her tousled hair fell over her shoulders. Her eyes locked on him.
You touch what belongs to me, and I will annihilate you. “Got to go, Royal. We’ll talk again soon. And, remember, no extracurriculars until I’m back at your side.” He hung up the phone. Dropped it on a nearby table and walked to Avalon.
She yawned. Sleepy. Sexy. “What extracurriculars?”
“Community service work.” He scooped her into his arms. “Royal just loves cleaning up this town. He’s a Boy Scout like that.”
Chapter Twelve
It wasn’t Beau’s first trip inside a maximum-security prison. Not his first, not his second. Hell, he really wasn’t sure how many visits he’d paid.
The first time he’d ever stepped foot in one? That visit he distinctly recalled. He’d been eight years old. He’d come visiting with his mother because she wanted him to meet his father. The bastard hadn’t given two shits about his scrawny kid, though. Tattoos had covered his father’s arms. His fingers.
And tear drops had been carefully etched just beneath his cold, dark eyes.
Beau had told his mother that he never wanted to go back to that place.
And, yet, he had. Not to see his father. He’d never seen that man again. But, other times, he’d returned. To see other people. Sometimes, he’d gone to help. Sometimes, he’d gone to terrify.
Of course, the cops had even worked to get him locked up a few times.
Beau hated the sound of a cell door closing. He never wanted to be locked in a cage again.
The DA side-eyed him as Beau stood near the back wall in the room. Beau just sent him a wide grin determined to show none of the emotions rocketing through him. He knew that Douglas Baptiste was not happy to see him, and that was putting it very, very mildly. Understatement of the century. Not like Beau didn’t remember the guy. Douglas had been an up-and-coming prosecutor when their paths had first crossed.
Douglas had wanted to send Beau away for murder.
Beau hadn’t felt like being convicted of the crime. Especially because he hadn’t been guilty. Had he beat the shit out of the guy when the prick got rough with one of his waitresses? Hell, yes. Done. Had Beau murdered the man? No, someone else had finished the job. A killer who had never been caught.
Luckily, Beau had been cleared. Thanks to Ophelia. The woman truly was one hell of a PI. And, now that she’d paired up with Lane Lawson, the two were pretty unstoppable. One of the reasons Beau had gotten them involved with Avalon’s arson case weeks ago.
Long before she strolled into my club.
“Tell me again why he has to be here,” Douglas muttered. He jerked on his tie. The blue and gray tie was wrinkled to hell and back because of his nervous jerks.
Two silent guards remained in position near the lone door in the room. The prisoner hadn’t been brought in yet. But Everett Thomas was on his way.
“He’s here because he’s with me,” Avalon replied. She sounded all casual and calm, but he knew she was just hiding her real emotions, too. He’d seen her nerves back at the hotel suite as she prepared for this nightmare of a meeting.
Douglas glowered.
Beau winked at him.
The glower got worse.
“You agreed to let him be here.” A crisp reminder from Avalon. “You’re aware there was an attack at my house—I told you about it yesterday during our very long phone conversation.” Avalon did not look up from the papers in front of her. “Beau is acting as my bodyguard.”
“Bodyguard,” Beau repeated. “My eyes are on her.” That was certainly true. He’d been watching that sweet ass of Avalon’s for quite a while.
“Where I go, he goes,” she continued after flickering a glance in Beau’s direction. “And considering that one of our suspicions is that Everett Thomas might have ordered someone to torch my place, I needed to be here in order to interview him again.”
Douglas stopped tugging on his tie and pointed at Beau. “Your place got torched, too. I heard all about it from some cops and an arson investigator. What’s the theory, bodyguard? You going to tell me that you think Everett hired someone to torch LeBlanc’s, too?”
He didn’t respond.
