Once again, she had found herself begging the stalwart, giant United States Marshal to save her husband's life. She'd believed her passionate pleas had fallen on deaf ears. Her imploring had left her with misery, an ache in her throat, heated tears on her face, and a headache after her long bout of weeping.
"Matt…you have to help him."
"I am helping him, Kitty."
"Please, Matt. He doesn't know what he's up against. He's not like you. He's not used to gettin' shot at…he doesn't go after outlaws. You have to help him."
"He asked me to stay here with you and the twins, and that's what I'm gonna do."
"He promised me he'd be back. Make sure my husband comes back to me. Please, Matt."
"I'm staying here. You three," he paused for a moment, nodding toward her belly, "you four need to be protected."
Kitty turned over, clutching her husband's tailored button-up shirt to her chest, burying her nose into the forest green cotton, breathing in the lingering scents of vanilla and tobacco. Her tears slowly welled up as she buried her face into the fabric. She sniffled as she felt the mattress dip with his weight.
He spoke her name softly, trusting he'd given her enough time to calm down. Matt had walked away from her crying, unable to bear it. Each tear had been a testament to the heaviness of her heart. He despised being part of the reason for her despair, but his lack of action was a mere sliver adding to her pain. "Look at me, please, Honey," he requested.
"Go away."
"Not until you look at me."
Sluggishly, she rolled onto her back, leaving the tears on her cheeks.
Matt saw nothing but resentment in her bleary, red rimmed orbs. He exhaled heavily, deliberating on how he could make her understand his reasons for not getting on a train bound for New Orleans.
"You want my husband to die," she rasped.
He indignantly stared at her, smoldering from the absurdity of her remark. "Kitty, that's not true," he disputed. "I asked Henri if he wanted my help. He told me it was his business to handle. And I quote, 'A man takes care of his home, family, and lady.'"
Kitty closed her eyes, momentarily hating Henri's conviction. She inhaled the traces of her husband on the shirt, desperately hoping to find comfort. She wouldn't have solace until he returned to her.
"Sometimes, a man has to handle things himself, Honey. You have to understand that. You know how men are better than anyone." He shuddered at his unintentional insult and held his breath, anticipating retaliation from her.
She rolled over, turning her back to him. "If he dies, I won't ever forgive you," Kitty vowed in a low pitch, staring at her spouse's pillow.
Matt raked his hand through his hair. He glanced over his shoulder, catching the retired physician's eyes, silently persuading the man to intervene.
Doc rose from his seat in the corner, ambling to the walnut sleigh bed. He dropped onto the firm mattress and took the redhead's slender hand, lacing his fingers with hers. "Kitty, deep down, you know Matt's right. Men have to do things on their own," he said, noticing the purse of her lips. "Women too," he added to placate her displeasure. "You know better than anyone that a man or a woman can do anything when he or she has to," he told her, stroking his thumb along her index finger. "You know the man Henri is. You have to have faith that he will do what he has to do to keep his family safe. Can you have faith? Can you do that for him? He'll need you, Kitty."
She sniffled, nodding her head.
"Good girl," Doc soothed. "Now, I'm going to get this overgrown civil servant out of your room, so you can have some peace. I want you to dry those eyes and pull yourself together. I'm going to have Delia bring you a bowl of soup and hot tea then I'm going to send Alexandre and Vivienne in here to you after a while. Those two little ones are the best prescription I can offer."
"All right, Doc," Kitty murmured as he leaned over, pressing his lips to her forehead.
He slipped off the bed and walked to the door, glaring at the back of Matt's head. He noisily cleared his throat as he opened the door, thinking he might just shoot the big man himself if he spoke one more word to the distraught redhead.
Matt shuffled to the elderly man, following him out into the hall, whispering, "Doc, you said the same damn thing I said to her, but she listened to you."
He scrubbed his fingers over his mustache, peering up at the big man. "I suppose you can't figure out why."
"No. No, I can't."
"It's simple. I'm not in love with her like you are. Kitty didn't doubt my intentions."
Matt looked behind him, fixing his eyes on the wooden door. "Doc, she can't think that I'd…" he breathed out a sigh, "She knows me better than that."
"Leave her be, Matt," he advised, wandering to the stairs.
Matt rested his hands over his belt and leaned against the wall, pondering taking the old man's words to heart.
He knocked on the office door, entering the room a moment later. Yves studied the man he'd known since he was a lanky, timid boy. He recalled when Henri had returned from Southern France after his father had sent him away to avoid fighting in the Civil War. He understood Alexandre Broussard's reasons for sending Henri away. The man hadn't wanted to lose another son, and the youth had returned as a confident, well-rounded man from the strenuous work in the vineyards under his grandparents' guidance. Yves reflected on how Henri had gone on and on about the auburn-haired girl he'd met on his seventeenth birthday, how he'd marry her one day, and how he'd be more successful than his father. The young Henri had always shared his aspirations, and Yves had seen him accomplish every goal throughout the years.
The loyal butler softly cleared his throat, breaking Henri's concentration from his wife's portrait. Yves knew the man had too much on his mind, especially after news of Philippe Fontenot's suicide. "Monsieur, the message was delivered."
Henri picked up The Daily Picayune. Eliza's journalist had done a superb job with the article naming Manon as a suspect in Helena Fontenot's murder. The reporter had spun a tale of a scandalous lover's triangle, mentioning that the entirety of the New Orleans police force was looking for Manon Durand. "Into Birdie's hands?"
"Yes."
"Bien," Henri replied, sipping his cognac. He was certain Birdie King would know where Manon was hiding in the city and that she would deliver the letter to her. After all, Henri had offered Manon an escape. The old woman was Manon's only familial tie to the city. The former slave had been tasked with Manon's care when she was a child, and Henri sometimes believed Birdie was the only person Manon had ever truly loved.
"Monsieur," Yves hesitated.
Henri set the empty glass on his desk, glancing at his faithful servant as he rifled through his desk to retrieve his Derringer. "Yves, if I don't return, please stay on and be as faithful to Kathleen as you have been to me," he asked, tucking the small handgun in his vest.
"Of course, Monsieur."
The Frenchman gathered the papers atop his desk, folding them neatly and placing them into his inner jacket pocket. He'd secured the funds to get Manon out of the country on a steamboat bound for Cuba. He picked up the valise he'd packed with men's clothing in her measurements. "I'll be in Algiers at my office in the shipyard…waiting," he said, hoping the ruse wouldn't fail.
With his hands in his pockets, Henri pensively stood in front of the bay window, appreciating the view of the mighty Mississippi River. He could see the haze of the lamp-lit streets of the city in the distance. The shipyard was simply lit by the full moon hanging in the sky. He glanced at the pendulum wall clock, wondering if his beloved wife was able to sleep without him. He hoped she'd understand his reasons for helping the police. Henri bit into his bottom lip and blew out a steadying breath as he noticed a cloaked figure hurriedly walking toward the building.
"David," he alerted, signaling the police chief to step into the armoire.
"Go gcuire Dia an t-ádh ort."
Henri furrowed his brow.
"May God put luck upon you," Hennessy translated as he stepped into the large piece of furniture.
"Merci. Bon courage, mon ami," he replied, closing the armoire's door. Henri walked to the liquor cart at the sound of Manon's footsteps ascending the stairs. He boldly kept his back to her as the door creaked open. "I'd hoped Birdie would deliver my message to you," he said, turning to face her, offering her the scotch. "Forgive me, Manon."
Her green eyes bored into his chocolate brown ones while she knocked back the hood of her cloak. Manon stepped closer to him, taking the crystal cut tumbler from his hands, lingering as she stared into his eyes. "Have you sinned, Henri?" she asked, studying him. Manon noticed her former favored lover was a bit grayer around the edges, but he was more handsome than the night she'd met him years ago. The brunette seductively touched the tip of her tongue to her top lip, speculating how the stubble on his cheeks would feel against her soft skin.
"Avec toi, Amoureuse," he murmured with a sly, charming grin lining his mouth. "Tu m'as manqué."
Manon smiled at him, brushing her fingertips across his cheek, pondering how rapidly the light would go out of his eyes if she killed him. "I was disappointed to learn you were away," she confessed, wandering around the room as she sipped from the glass. Her nose scrunched in disgust at the smoky, malty flavor of the scotch. "Kathleen, too."
Henri set his glass onto the desk and lifted the valise from the chair. "You have passage to Cuba."
"Cuba?" she scowled.
"It's all I could manage on short notice. You'll have to disguise yourself as a man."
"It's all so much easier as a man," she mused, "except for Philippe. He didn't have an easy time at all. I wonder if you'd have cried and sniveled as much as Phillipe if I'd taken your rousse bien-aimée."
He drew in a quivering breath, ignoring her remark as he opened the satchel. "I've given you more than enough to allow you to go wherever you wish if Cuba does not please you, Manon," he told her, recovering the stacks of bills from the bag, setting them on the desktop.
The murderer drifted to the executive desk, surveying the heap of cash. She ran her tongue along her lower lip, dipping her head in appreciation. Slowly, she removed her bracelet from her left wrist, tugging off one of her long blue gloves.
"You've always been mon préféré in all of Louisiana," she thrust her gloved hand at him, scrutinizing his handsome features while he removed her silk glove. "But you didn't come to me last time. I sent for you twice. You stayed with your salope enceinte," she spat, loosely controlling her envy over the redhead's fertile womb. Manon's palm momentarily lingered on her barren middle until she undid the belt of her cherry-printed sleeveless overdress. "Do you know how much your insolence angered me?" She dragged her sharp fingernail along his jaw, drifting to his throat. "I had such a hard decision to make because of you, Henri…whether to hurt you or Kathleen."
He swallowed hard as she turned to allow him to unbutton the back of the summer dress. The Frenchman held his breath, watching her step out of the garment. He exhaled slowly, grateful to realize she wasn't armed. But deep down he knew she was still dangerous without a weapon.
"But I forgive you," Manon professed, turning to face him.
"Manon, you don't have much time."
"We don't have much time, Amoureux." She slipped her arms around his neck, pressing her body into his, "You know what I'll always wonder more than anything…"
He arched a brow.
"I'll always wonder how you would have looked if I'd put that bullet into Kathleen's cœur," she whispered, covering her mouth over his, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.
Henri pulled away from her, licking his assaulted lip.
A wicked smile graced her crimson lacquered lips while she stood in front of him, toying with the collar of his shirt, hearing the low growl come from his throat. Her eyes widened with surprise as he grabbed her, roughly pulling her to him. Manon moaned from his aggressive kiss, relishing how she'd fueled his anger. Her knees buckled from desire settling between her legs.
Henri seized the moment as soon as her arms came around his neck, positioning her closer to the armoire. His foot bumped against the oak wood, signaling his friend to make his move. He stumbled backward as David sprang out.
Her eyes flew open at the sensation of cold metal slapping around her wrist. She groaned as the unknown gentleman slammed her onto the desk. Manon bucked wildly, wrenching her hand free. Her fingers wrapped around a letter opener. She stomped the heel of her boot onto the man's foot. "Salaud!" she screamed furiously, hurling herself at her betrayer, stabbing the silver into Henri's shoulder.
The police chief watched his friend drop to his knees, clutching his injury as blood seeped in-between the Frenchman's knuckles. He pulled his revolver, swearing in Gaelic when the pistol failed to fire.
Manon heard the misfire, spinning around on her heels, laughing madly at the misfortune. "Oh, David," she menacingly whispered, tightening her grip on the letter opener. She flung herself at him, smiling at the sound of the handgun skidding across the floor. Manon struggled against the policeman, wincing in pain at his strong grasp on her wrists. She gritted her teeth, using all of her strength to overpower him.
David flinched from the unexpected gunshot.
Henri watched her collapse onto his friend. Her blood poured onto the pine floor, and he found himself wishing he'd put the bullet into her skull instead of her shoulder. He sluggishly ambled to his chair, dropping onto the leather while David successfully cuffed Manon's hands behind her back. Henri ignored her threats as he gazed out the window, clutching his wounded flesh, wishing he could rush home to his beloved family.
Author's Note: I appreciate everyone continuing to review! I do hope the issue with reviews will be fixed soon. Yesterday, I emailed support and haven't heard anything back. Please keep the reviews coming!