Page 33 of Jethro

"Fifty thousand on the first," Missy said. "I'll sell the Steinway."

Dustin drained his glass, set it down on top of Carter's phone, and stood.

"Ninety days. That's what the bank gives her, and that's what I give you. After that, I handle it my way."

"None of us were ever here," Lawrence said, and followed him out through the revolving doors into the cold Nashville night.

When the Escalade and the Maserati had pulled away from the valet stand, Carter turned to find Missy bent over a sheet of hotel stationery from the front desk, writing in her careful, looping hand.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Writing to our daughter," she said without looking up. "Apologizing. Inviting her and Jethro to Thanksgiving. Family should be together for the holidays. And I want to get to know my new son-in-law. What he drinks. Which shifts he works. Where he likes to go fishing." She signed her name with a small flourish.

Carter looked down at the phone, at the bourbon streaked across the glass, at his daughter laughing beside a man who could not believe his luck. Her number was right there. He thought that he should pick it up and call her. He thought that he should get in the car tonight, drive the six hundred miles to New Orleans, knock on her door, and tell her everything. He thought about it while Missy folded the letter into thirds and addressed the envelope to Mr. and Mrs. Jethro Lyons.

He thought about it while the pianist played the last song of the night and the bourbon warmed untouched in his hand. He was still thinking about it when Missy slipped his phone into her purse and led him to the elevators, up to the suite Lawrence had given them for the night, with Aurora's face gone dark inside the leather.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Morning,” said Mike with a huge smile at breakfast.

“Morning, Mike. What has you looking so happy?” asked Ham.

“Well, I think I’m going to make your morning.”

“Okay. Intrigued,” said Gator.

“I just got a call from Carter Langley. He wants to meet me for breakfast. He’s very, very concerned for his daughter’s safety. Seems he heard a rumor that one of my firefighters, Jethro Lyons, has been stealing pain killers from my EMT truck.”

The entire room erupted in laughter.

“What are you going to do?” asked Ham.

“Have breakfast with him, of course. I thought I’d invite all of you to be there as well. After all, I need witnesses to whatever insanity he’s trying to pull. I’m going to let him bury himself and then watch him piss himself.”

“Oh, please, I have to see this,” smirked Kai.

“You’re all invited. One big party at the diner.”

“And me?” asked Jethro. “What about me?”

“You get to sit with your back to us while you listen to every word your father-in-law has to say,” said Mike. “When he’s done, I’ll make sure he never forgets who and what we are.”

“Carter Langley’s car just passed through the open road to the diner. Closing access to others now.”

Carter Langley had never liked living in Louisiana. When the money flowed freely, he made sure that he travelled more than he stayed home. It’s why he started to hate it. Coming home meant returning to Missy. He could bully her into some things but for the most part, she was the bigger bully.

On Monday he flew back to New Orleans alone, because Missy said a father's worry would play better without a wife at his elbow. Bill Harmon had grumbled, but he had called an old friend from his academy days, and the old friend, Mike, had agreed to lunch with Carter.

The diner sat across from the levee, all chrome and red vinyl. The crowd was the kind Carter had spent his life looking past. Two big men by the window. A wiry fellow in an LSU cap at the counter. A bearded giant in a booth by the jukebox, reading the sports page with two other giants who looked annoyed to be there. Three men in work shirts near the kitchen. At the far end of the counter, a broad-shouldered man in a gray T-shirt sat with his back to the room and a ball cap pulled low.

Mike Bennett was waiting in the back booth. The Belle Fleur fire chief was in his late forties, strands of silver at the temples, with a burn scar across the back of his right hand and calm blue eyes that reminded Carter of bank examiners.

"Mr. Langley. Mike Bennett. Have a seat."

"Carter, please." He slid into the booth across from him, the vinyl sighing beneath him.

"Bill said you were worried about your daughter." Bennett nodded to the waitress, Lorraine, who filled two mugs with coffee and walked away without a word.