Patrice didn’t flinch and Blackheart was oddly proud of her. He knew he was scary and nine out of ten times he used that “intimidation factor” to get people to do what he wanted. The other 1% of the time, he used his charm, but he didn’t have as much faith in that, especially where this little girl was concerned. “I don’t care how you play your games in your little clubhouse,” she said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gabe swallow hard. It was almost funny seeing the kid be so uncomfortable. Blackheart wondered for just about half a second, if he made him choose right then and there, which side Gabe would take. “I won’t get in your way,” she said. “I asked for your help, sort of, by telling you about all of this. But I won’t be left out of the loop either.”
Blackheart sighed as he caught sight of a car driving up in front of the real estate firm. The man who stepped out of the black BMW was tall and had light brown hair with gray at the temples. He was dressed in a nice suit and wearing sunglasses so Blackheart couldn’t see his eyes...but he looked like he could be Paul Grossman from the old DMV picture he’d seen of the man. Focusing on Gabe then he said, “Take your girlfriend in the restaurant there and buy her some breakfast...” She started to speak and that time a look from Blackheart did shut her down. Back to Gabe he said, “I’m going into that building across the street, and I’m saying this in front of your girlfriend so she understands what’s at stake here. If she follows me or in any way interferes with what I need to do in there, you’ll be handing me that kutte.” Gabe swallowed again, hard. But instead of acknowledging what Blackheart had just said, he looked at Patrice. For the first time, Blackheart paid attention to the look that passed between them. Long ago, when his sisters came of age, he’d warned every man in the club off them, and he’d ran off a few others. His youngest sister constantly blamed him for none of them being married or even making a long-term relationship last. He could see that Patrice cared a great deal about Gabe just by that one look, and it suddenly dawned on him that his little cub was having sex with...his daughter, maybe. He felt a roll of his stomach, the same one he got when he thought about any of the guys messing with his sisters, and he had to tell himself he had enough problems without worrying about who a woman he wasn’t even sure was his daughter was sleeping with.
“Fine,” Patrice said, causing the tension to almost dissolve from Gabe’s muscles. “I’ll stay out of it, for now. But you promise you’ll keep me in the loop, right? Tell me what you want in that office, or who?”
He chuckled again, looked at Gabe, and said, “Buy her the lobster and make sure her coffee is decaf.”
Blackheart left Lowlife and Le Pirate outside. He pulled off his skullcap before walking into the small office, but apparently that hadn’t done much to tone down how scary he could look. The young woman behind the desk in the empty front room let her eyes go wide as she looked up at him, swallowed hard, and lost a little bit of the color in her cheeks. “Hi,” she said, in a shaky voice. “How can I help you?” Blackheart smiled at her and that seemed to put her somewhat at ease.
“I was hoping to speak to Mr. Grossman.”
She glanced over at the closed door and then back at Blackheart. “Okay, do you have an appointment?”
“No, ma’am,” he said. “Just in town for one day and really need to speak with him.” She’d cocked her head to one side as he spoke and it dawned on him that she was having a hard time understanding him. Making sure to enunciate each word he repeated himself and she looked relieved and said:
“What’s your name sir?”
“Evan Babineaux.”
“And can I tell Mr. Grossman what this is in reference to?”
“No,” he said, adding, “Thank you,” with a smile.
“Please, have a seat.” Blackheart nodded at her and took a seat in one of the plastic chairs along the wall in front of her desk. She gave him a wide berth moving over to the closed office door and without knocking, she let herself in and closed the door behind her. Blackheart listened closely and could hear hushed voices, but not what they were saying. Finally, after a full five minutes had passed, the woman came out of the office, this time followed by the man he’d seen out front. Without his glasses on, Blackheart could see that it was, without a doubt, the Paul Grossman he’d seen a photo of. He was much older, but other than the gray hair and a few fine lines around his eyes, he looked the same. His smile looked forced as he came toward Blackheart with his hand out. Blackheart stood up and took it.
“Mr. Babineaux?”
“Yes. I assume you’re Paul Grossman?”
A slight tic appeared in the man’s left eye. “Yes, sir. Sounds like you traveled a ways to get here.”
Blackheart grinned. “I don’t sound like an East Coaster to you?”
Paul chuckled nervously. “No, sir, you sure don’t. I’d say maybe Mississippi or Florida?”
“Louisiana,” Blackheart said. “But you’re close. Can we talk privately?”
“Well, sir, I have quite a few appointments out of the office today. Would you mind telling me what this is about?”
“Kasey Cormier,” Blackheart said, watching the man’s face, closely. The man was good, Blackheart had to give him that much. His expression didn’t change and recognition didn’t show in his eyes. But the color was instantly gone from his face. He was as white as a sheet and Blackheart knew there was something the man either did, or didn’t, want to tell him.
“I’m sorry, I don’t...”
“You don’t remember the woman and the baby who lived with you for six months while you were in your twenties?”
With a nervous glance in the secretary’s direction, Paul said, “Maybe we should talk about this in my office.”
Blackheart smiled. “Yes, sir. Maybe we should.”
16
As soon as they were both seated in the surprisingly posh office for such a small town, Grossman said, “I haven’t heard that name in a long time. Are you a relative of hers or...?”
Blackheart thought about that for a few seconds and then said, “Patrice is my daughter.” It was the first time he’d said it aloud without saying “maybe” or “supposedly” and he realized, as he said it, he believed it. The girl wasn’t looking for anything from him. The pages of her mother’s diary he’d read had described him, and the tattoos he’d had at that time, perfectly...and there was the fact that his twin was sitting across the street just then. She didn’t only look exactly like him, he was finding out more and more that she’d inherited a lot more than that.
Grossman’s eyebrows went up. “Oh...Kasey did say he was a biker...how did Patrice find you?”
“That’s not what’s important right now,” he said, still working hard to enunciate as now Grossman was cocking his head to one side like a dog listening for the mailman. He thought his English was fine, but if he ventured too far from Louisiana, he found out differently. “I need to know about Kasey...specifically, her death.”