“He’s not due back for another two days. He’s meeting with some lobbyists from Washington D.C. They’re a big deal. Going to help him with his campaign. But it’s hush-hush, just between us family. Can’t tell no one, cause there’s some local fellas that’d be pretty pissed off if they found out that Daddy was planning on doing an end-run around them.”
Armond made a motion to zip his lips and throw away the key.
Jesus, am I back in elementary school?
Goddammit, he’d left a message with the old man that he’d be here today, but did he bother to be around? Fuck no. It was just another mind game, another way to show how important Lazar Durand was.
Sebastian turned around and started out the door.
“Where are you going?” Armand whined.
“The kitchen.”
“You’re not going to stay here, are you?”
“Yep.”
Sebastian wasn’t all that surprised that by the time he was opening the refrigerator, Armand was staggering into the kitchen. “What do you mean you’re staying? You don’t live here.”
“No I don’t, thank God.” Sebastian pulled out some fried chicken that Ophelia must have left, as well as some potato salad. Now, this was living. When he went to grab a beer he grimaced when he saw his only choice was Old Dixie Beer. That had always been the beer of choice in the Durand household. It was brewed in New Orleans, and Lazar loved anything that allowed him to cling to the old South. In his years away from home, Sebastian’s tastes had changed, preferring IPAs to lagers, so he grabbed Ophelia’s pitcher of lemonade.
“What, our beer isn’t good enough for you?” Armand slurred. “Daddy bought up all the old cases of Dixie Beer they had before they changed the name to some Yankee name.”
“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” Sebastian muttered. He went about fixing himself a plate of food. He wished Ophelia were here; thinking about her was the only thing about coming home worthwhile. He plunked his plate down on the kitchen table and used his foot to pull out a chair and sat down.
“We eat in the dining room,” Armand tried to tutor him.
Once again Sebastian ignored the man, concentrating instead on herbs and spices that exploded in his mouth as he chewed the chicken.
“Are you listening to me?”
Sebastian’s head shot up as wind and rain burst into the kitchen as the back door flew open and hit one of the cabinets. He was across the room, gun in his hand as the small figure shoved back the hood of her yellow rain slicker and took in the sight of the gun before turning to run back out the door.
Sebastian holstered his gun and caught her around her waist and hauled her back into the kitchen before she got more than one foot onto the back porch. She got in a good elbow to his ribs that made him grin.
Good for her.
“Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you,” he said soothingly. Then he turned to his uncle who was standing in the middle of the kitchen looking like a dumbass.
“Armand, shut the damned door,” Sebastian ordered.
Sebastian reared backwards as soon as he felt the woman in his arms get ready to headbutt him. “Whoa there, honey,” he chuckled. He moved her to the middle of the kitchen and set her on her feet. She took a step backwards and looked between Sebastian and Armand.
“Armand, he hasn’t hurt you has he?” Her voice was breathy, as if she had just run a marathon.
“Don’t mind my uncle, he’s only staggering because he’s drunk,” Sebastian said as he looked over the woman standing in front of him. Despite the yellow rain jacket, her hair was still plastered to her head. All he could really tell about her was that she was short and her eyes were as stormy gray as the clouds outside.
She lifted an eyebrow as her gaze shifted toward Armand. “I thought we agreed you were going to go easy on the brandy, Armand?” It was a gentle reprimand.
Why does this woman, who’s half the age of my drunken uncle, give a shit about him?
“Gee, it was just a little bit to help me sleep,” he whined.
Sebastian’s lip curled.
Gee’s gaze turned to him.
“Gee?” Sebastian asked.
“Gianna Prentiss,” she clarified as she began to unbutton her raincoat. “I’m renting the carriage house out back.” As she removed her coat she smiled up at Sebastian then walked over to the cubby near the laundry room and hung up her jacket. She walked back to stand in front of him.
“So Armand is your uncle, huh? I’ve been here for six weeks now and nobody’s mentioned you. What’s your name?” Her smile was thoughtful.
Sebastian shook his head at his uncle in disgust. So much for Southern hospitality; all he was doing was eating up Gianna with his eyes, but hadn’t bothered to even do any kind of basic introduction.
Asshat.
“It’s nice to meet you, Gianna,” Sebastian held out his hand. “I’m Sebastian Durand. I’m sorry I scared you.”
“That’s kind of an over-the-top reaction to somebody coming inside, isn’t it? Are you a cop or something?” There was no fear in her voice, only curiosity, which piqued his. After greeting her with a gun and towering over her, Sebastian would have thought that Gianna would have had a little more trepidation when interacting with him, but she seemed fine in his presence.
Interesting.
It was also interesting that his grandfather was renting out the carriage house. Yeah, the old man might always be looking to line his coffers for the next election, but he sure as hell didn’t need to be renting out the carriage house for cash. What the hell was up with this?
“Sebastian here is a war hero,” Armand said in a sing-song voice, and Sebastian winced.
Gianna gave Sebastian a sideways look. “You’re a veteran?” she asked.
“I’m active duty,” he answered. “Navy.”
She did a quick sweep of the kitchen and spied the plate on the table. “I’m assuming that’s your dinner I’m interrupting, right?” she asked with a kind smile. “I came up here to remind Armand to eat; without Lazar here he sometimes loses track of time and forgets to eat dinner.”
Armand stepped forward and put his arm around Gianna’s shoulder. She stiffened, and a quick flash of distaste crossed her face before it morphed into a smile. “Gee here keeps me in line.”
What the fuck?
Sebastian reached out and pulled Gianna’s hand so that she was forced out of his Uncle’s hold. “Why don’t all three of us sit down and enjoy some of Ophelia’s fried chicken?” he suggested. He tugged her with him toward the fridge. Satisfaction ran through his veins when he noted that she didn’t stiffen up when she followed him. Still, what kind of game is she playing?
This is one fucked-up place.
3
Gianna studied the prodigal grandson from beneath her lashes as she took a bite of Ophelia’s heavenly ambrosia salad. She knew that he’d left home to join the Navy when he was eighteen, and later became a Navy SEAL, but all of her research had said that he wasn’t a part of the family anymore. She was going to have to call Jada and have her get some information on him…STAT.
“I can’t pinpoint your accent, Gianna, where are you from?” Sebastian asked.