“You think?” Spencer seemed to actually be pondering that.
“Oh for sure. She knows how they think. She can blend in with them. And she’s got this thirst for justice. She needs to do more than what she’s doing. She needs a real job. Where she can feel truly rewarded and fulfilled.” Max turned to Zander. “Don’t you think?” She stared at him as if daring him to disagree.
He didn’t. Max was absolutely right.
“Let’s go.” He started for the townhouse. And this time Spencer didn’t stop him.
“Hi, honey, I’m home!” Max called out as she let them in.
“Oh, hey.”
Zander heard Caroline greet Max. Then he climbed the steps far enough to see her. She was sitting on the sofa, right next to Brantley. Looking so…happy. Proud. Excited.
“Hey, everyone,” Caroline said brightly. “Great news! We have a plan! You’re all invited to our re-engagement party!”
Zander stopped. Son of a bitch.
“What do you mean your re-engagement party?” Max asked.
But Zander already knew.
“We’re going to pretend that we’ve gotten back together so our families can throw a big party and invite our usual circle…including the men from the restaurant. We’ll put out the word we want to buy another lion cub and this time, I’ll be in on any contacts we get from potential sellers,” Caroline said.
Yeah. That was pretty much exactly what he’d expected she’d say.
Goddammit.
His chest felt tight and he couldn’t draw in a deep breath.
She had literally left the safety of Trahan’s, where she’d been surrounded by good people and friendship and laughter and entertainment, where he’d been able to provide her protection and a barrier from all of this corruption and depravity and darkness, to seek out Brantley and jump right into the middle of all of…this. She’d walked down an actual dark street, making a plan with a confessed criminal to get even further, directly involved in this case. She had made a plan with that criminal instead of waiting to consult with him—a goddamned law enforcement officer—or even Spencer, the FBI agent who had been right there.
And, worst of all, she was excited about it.
No, maybe what was worse was that it would very likely work. It was a pretty good plan.
Which meant, she’d want to do something like this again. And that would work. It would work the next time too. And the next time.
Because she was smart, and bold, and passionate, and, quite frankly, would be an amazing FBI agent. Just like Max had said.
There was no way she was ever going to be happy settling down in Autre with him keeping her away from all the darkness and danger.
So, he turned. And headed right back out the door.
He was almost an entire block away when she caught up to him.
“Zander!”
He didn’t stop.
“Zander! Dammit! Running in heels sucks!”
He stopped and turned as she stumbled to a halt. “What?” he demanded.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“But…” She glanced back at Max’s townhouse. “Okay, I’m sorry. That wasn’t funny. You’re right. Let me explain.”
“Funny?” He suddenly crowded close. His heart was thundering and every muscle in his body was taut. “No, Caroline, nothing about any of this whole thing”—He practically spat—“was funny. What the hell?”
“I had to make this work.” She reached out and grabbed his arm. “We had to come away with something we could use tonight. I knew if we didn’t, there was a really good chance that Spencer would be assigned to something else that would have to take priority over this case. More animals would get hurt. More assholes would get away with crimes. This was a Hail Mary, but when Max told me you were getting nowhere at Octavia’s, I texted my brother about the list and he said it was all Brantley’s and he needed it back and the idea came to me and…I just went with it.”
“Well, I don’t like it.”
“Why?” She dropped her hold on him, frowned, and set her hands on her hips. “Because it was a bad plan? Or just because it wasn’t what you were expecting? Because Brantley’s agreed to talk to Spencer. He’s going to tell him everything. He does know those guys at the restaurant, obviously. And he expects we’ll be contacted by several sellers within twenty-four hours of the party. He’ll go from middleman to buyer and we’ll get actual intel that Spencer can do something with.”
Zander just stared at her. He’d left her at Trahan’s to keep her out of this. Because she was the girl who just picked up on the little bits, the hints, the threads. She started things but she didn’t finish them. She didn’t get involved. And…he’d actually started to think that something could work between them because of that. She could understand him and what he did. She could be there. He could share things with her. But she’d be…safe.
And now…well, she’d fucking solved this entire thing. He’d been sitting in the restaurant, doing nothing, getting nowhere. And she’d walked in, got them evidence, a confession, and an informant.
Which shouldn’t surprise him, he realized. He wanted her to sit safely on the sidelines but…Caroline Holland wasn’t a sidelines kind of person.
She’d come to Autre and supposedly turned this whole mess over to him…but she’d stayed and reminded him every damned day that she expected results. She could have just given Leo and Ellie a throwaway suggestion for the bar, but not only had she given them a truly meaningful idea...she’d picked up a paintbrush and a hammer and helped them do it. She hadn’t just stayed at the fence and watched the lion cub in his new enclosure…she’d gone inside and gotten grass stains on her pants helping Donovan get the cub and his new dog mom comfortable with one another.
“It’s all…great,” he finally said. “I’m sure it’s going to work.” Then he told her the further truth that she deserved to hear. And that almost killed him to admit. “It was a great idea and you pulled it off perfectly. You’re bold and smart and gutsy and you have a huge heart and all of that turns me on as much as your gorgeous eyes and your sassy mouth and this body that I will, forever, lose sleep dreaming about.”
Her expression went from surprise to touched to turned on.
But as she started to lean in, he said what also had to be said. “And now, I’m going home.”
She stopped, frowned, and then her mouth formed a little “o” as understanding dawned.
“Because you can’t wrap me in bubble wrap and take care of me with just Cajun tall tales and crawfish boils and life in a town and a house that’s been in your family, yard and all, for generations,” she said softly.
The words stabbed him in the heart as she repeated them almost word for word.
“Because you won’t stay in that house and yard.” Okay, that sounded bad, but she knew what he meant. “Because those tall tales and crawfish boils won’t be enough.”
She nodded. “That’s true.”
He felt the same painful jab in his gut then. He’d wanted her to deny it, he realized. He’d wanted her to say that no, if she could have all of that, she’d give up this idea of double-crossing rich pricks and saving exotic animals and exposing criminal activities of the wealthy and privileged.