Wrong Question, Right Answer (The Bourbon Street Boys #3) - Elle Casey Page 0,15

to do?”

“We don’t have all the details yet, but it sounds like one of the groups over there is getting a little more sophisticated. Using a lot of social media for their transactions and linking in through private chat groups. They want Lucky and Jenny in on this one, but they also need us to do some old-school surveillance.”

I nod. “Cool.” This is exactly what I need to get my mind off Lucky. Work. Danger. Adrenaline. Yeah, buddy.

I get out two bowls and pour the cereal, grabbing spoons out of the drawer on my way back to the table.

“You sure you don’t remember Lucky coming over here?” Thibault is staring at me again.

I can’t meet his eyes. I set the bowls down on the breakfast table with a bang and drop into my seat. I jab at the sugar-frosted flakes with my spoon. “I already told you, no. Quit asking me. Jesus, I feel like I’m in an interrogation right now.” I look up at him and glare. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shrugs. “You got really drunk. You weren’t there when Ozzie got the call, so you couldn’t be part of the meeting.”

I throw my free hand up. “As far as I knew, we were there to celebrate, not work. And when I celebrate, I drink tea. End of story.” I take a big bite of my cereal, crunching it and letting an errant drop of milk fall from my lips to the bowl.

“Maybe next time you should drink just one and stop there.”

I talk with my mouth full. “Maybe next time you should mind your own damn business.” I throw my spoon down, get up, and leave the kitchen, afraid I’m going to blow up at him more than I already have. Thibault is used to it, but normally I have a good reason to go off, so it’s cool. Right now, though, I don’t exactly know what’s fueling my anger. Am I embarrassed? Ashamed? Worried? I can’t make any sense of it. I hate it when I don’t even know my own mind.

I go upstairs to my room, shutting and locking the door behind me. Grabbing my phone off the table, I send out a quick text.

Me: Where are you? What’s going on?

I wasn’t going to talk to Lucky. I had planned to let this thing fade into the background for us and move on with my life like nothing ever happened, but his disappearance changes things. If he left some strange, mysterious note for Thibault after leaving my house, I have a responsibility to look into that. No one on the team is allowed to go off the range. We watch out for each other. It’s dangerous being out in the weeds without backup.

I wait for an answer that doesn’t come. It pisses me off. We had sex less than twelve hours ago. He owes me a response at least.

Me: Listen, asshole. You need to answer me.

My hands are shaking. I don’t know if it’s from anger, worry, or something else.

I try one more time.

Me: If you don’t answer me I’m going to tell everybody what you did.

The answer comes quicker than I expect.

Lucky: What WE did, you mean.

I can’t stop the smile that comes over my face. I am such a sucker for a bad boy. Lucky’s no bad boy, but he sure knows how to act like one sometimes.

Me: I was drunk.

Lucky: So was I.

His reaction makes me more than a little sad. Damn it all.

Me: Where are you?

Lucky: Don’t worry about it.

I want to throw my phone across the room, but I don’t; the screen’s already cracked and almost falling off the damn thing. I send another small message.

Me: Tell me.

Nothing comes, and I’m not going to beg. If he wants to be a jerk and make everybody worry about him, fine. I know he’s alive. He’ll come back when he’s done with whatever it is he’s doing. He’s probably nursing his wounds. I know I will be for a while. I put the phone back on my side table and go downstairs.

“He’s fine.”

Thibault fixes me with a stare from across the room where he’s waiting on the coffee to finish. “Lucky? You talked to him?”

“Yes. Like I said, he’s fine. He’s just going to lie low for a little while.” I sit down at my spot, pick up my spoon. “I don’t know why.” No way can I tell my brother what Lucky and I did or how I was able to