Wrong Question, Right Answer (The Bourbon Street Boys #3) - Elle Casey Page 0,121
over to the window. “Show me.”
I point through a pane of glass while I rest my free hand on my aching ribs. “There. Black suit. Red tie.” Thankfully Doucet’s attention is on the wedding guests and not the house.
I look at Thibault and watch as recognition dawns. “Who else is here?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Could be anyone. Caterers? I have no idea. He’s the only one I recognize from our surveillance photos and video, though. He could be flying solo. Most of his guys are in jail right now.”
“Who’s he after?” Thibault asks. He might be thinking out loud, but I answer anyway.
“May. It’s gotta be May. Maybe the chief, too.”
We both look at the gray-haired man sitting in the front row. Knowing Marc, he’d be happy to take down the five people sitting next to the chief of police, too, in his bid for revenge.
Thibault’s expression hardens. “We need to take him out.”
“Yes, I agree. How?”
Thibault looks at me, his jaw pulsing. “You feel like doing a little bit of acting?”
I grin, glad to be involved in ending this bullshit. “Hell, yeah.”
“What’re you guys doing?” May asks, coming up behind us. Her voice is trembling. “Is he really here?”
I nod.
“How did he know about my wedding? How did he find Jenny’s house?”
My mind is going a thousand miles an hour. May has butt-dialed me several times, leaving me inane recordings of conversations that go on for ten minutes or more. “Maybe you left him a voicemail when you butt-dialed him. All you’ve been talking about for weeks is the wedding. You called me eight times yesterday about it.”
Thibault interrupts. “Doesn’t matter right now; we’ll figure that out later. Right now we need to get this taken care of without risking the lives of the guests.” Thibault pulls his phone from his pocket and taps out a text to the team.
We watch through the window as every single one of them ignores it.
“Send it over and over until they answer,” I say.
Thibault re-sends the message five times before everyone on the team takes a look at it. They lift their heads and nod in our direction.
Good to go.
“I need to get out there,” I say. “The guests are getting restless. It’s going to make Marc nervous if we delay any longer.”
Thibault nods. “You’re right. So what’s the plan?”
It comes to me so clearly it’s as if I’m watching a movie play out in my head. As far as I can see, this plan is the only way to shut Marc down and avoid any collateral damage. I’m also holding out hope that the wedding will still happen and I won’t have to wear this dress twice.
I speak quickly. “Here’s what we need to do . . .”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
I wait until Thibault has sent out another text to the team before walking over to the door and picking up my discarded flowers on the way. I try to put them back in order, yanking out a few that are too far gone.
“What do I do?” May asks, breathing heavily down my neck from behind.
I turn and point at Jenny’s hallway. “Get your piece, hide it in your flowers, and shoot his ass if he gets too close.”
“My piece? I left my piece at work!” She looks around desperately. “I don’t have my piece!”
I point at my bag. “My Taser’s in there. Get it. It’s fully loaded.” Not that a Taser is going to help her at this point, but I need her to stay calm and not freak out. Having a weapon will make her feel more secure.
She runs over to retrieve the weapon, getting buried in her veil on the way, and I steady myself on the threshold. I can’t concern myself with her; I have to worry about the plan and making sure I get my part right. I take a deep breath in and out, smoothing my dress over my baby bump. Prepare and execute. Come on, Milli and Vanilli. It’s up to us now.
“You got this,” Thibault says, kissing me on the cheek.
“You know it.”
“Don’t get hurt,” he growls.
“I’ll do my best.”
I take a step out into the sun and make my way down the aisle, acting like I don’t have a care in the world.
The sun is gorgeous, warm as it filters through leaves of a great oak that shades most of the guests. The scent of roses floats past me, riding a light breeze that teases small hairs away from my sweaty forehead.