Blush(62)

Cruz watched her engage the safety switch without comment, then noted, “Bond’s gun was a Walther PPK.”

She slid the magazine into the well and heard the click indicating it was locked into the weapon. “After he had the Beretta—”

Someone leaned on the doorbell. It was old, and sounded like a car horn. Very annoying. Mia made a mental note to replace it as she grasped the serrated area of the slide, then pulled it to the rear and released it, chambering the round. The safety was still on, but the weapon was ready to fire. “Okay, okay, we’re coming!”

Cruz held out his hand at the top of the stairs and yelled over the doorbell, “Give me that thing.”

Mia hesitated. She’d had years of target practice experience. “Do you know how to use it?”

“Military, remember?” He wiggled his fingers. “I’ve shot one a time or two.”

Mia handed it over, then ran down the stairs. At the bottom she told him, “Do not shoot off any of your own body parts. In fact, try not to shoot at anything. It’s probably a neighbor wanting a cup of sugar.”

The front door was completely boarded up, so visitors had to use the back door on the bayou side to enter the house. A new front door was on the house to-do list. She waited for a break in the raucous ringing, then shouted, “Who is it?”

She glanced at Cruz when there was silence. “Hey,” she yelled. “What do you want?”

“I’m— It’s me. Ch-Charlie, Miss Mia.”

Mia exchanged a look with Cruz, who stuck her gun in the back of his jeans and motioned that he was going outside and around the house. “I can’t open this door, honey. Cruz will come and get you and bring you in the back, okay?”

“Okay.” His voice sounded small and scared. Mia’s stomach instantly went into a knot. “Are you hurt, sweetheart?”

“A little bit—” His voice shook as he started to cry, great tearing sobs that broke Mia’s heart. “Can you go help my mama? Plea—” He broke off with a high-pitched scream.

Mia almost ripped the plywood off with her bare hands, and it was only the deep sound of Cruz’s voice murmuring to the child on the other side of the door that made her sag with relief.

“I’ve got him. Stay put until we assess the situation.”

Mia nodded, her heart pounding with the spike of pure adrenaline racing through her body.

“Mia?”

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” She raced down the hall. Daisy needed help. Medical for sure. Mia yanked open a cupboard and took down the small first aid kit from the shelf. How bad? More than a Band-Aid bad? Hospital bad? The police?

God. Her blood chilled.

Had Marcel killed her?

Cruz came into the kitchen with Charlie wrapped around him like a little monkey. Skinny arms clutched around Cruz’s neck, and twig-like legs wrapped around his waist. Other than tiny Superman underpants and one filthy sock, the child was naked and crying hysterically.

Cruz rubbed a large, soothing hand up and down Charlie’s narrow, bruised back. When he looked at her she saw the same horror she felt reflected in Cruz’s eyes. The most unguarded emotion she’d seen from him since they’d met.

“Grab your shoes, purse, and whatever cash you have, and haul ass.” The calm in his voice was in direct contrast to the fury in his eyes. His hand didn’t stop soothing the child while he talked. “We’ll be in the truck.”

Mia flew up the stairs, gathered shoes—hers and his—the bundles of cash she kept in a small safe under the carpet in the closet, and, just in case, the full box of ammunition for the Beretta.

She hoped to God they wouldn’t have to shoot anyone tonight.

• • •

Nothing incensed Cruz more than someone abusing a child or a woman. There was absolutely no excuse for anyone to hurt someone smaller and defenseless. Hurting someone big and mean was another matter entirely. Icy anger made him revel in exacting payback from Latour for his wife and son—and for himself. He took the assault personally. His damn fault. He should’ve listened to Mia and this would never have happened. Either Latour would’ve met with an accident, or Daisy and Charlie would have been out of his reach.

Marcel Latour was in for an unpleasant surprise.

After passing Charlie to Mia, Cruz backed the truck from under the carport and swung into the street. “Do you know how to get home?” he asked a now sniffling Charlie, who sat on Mia’s lap even though there was plenty of space, and a backseat, in the large vehicle.

Mia wrapped him in a large black-and-white scarf, then snuggled him up under her chin, rubbing his back as Cruz had done.