Friends and Lovers Trilogy 02 - Charmed (25 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Jean-Pierre winced as the nurse applied antiseptic to a gash on his forehead, one of three abrasions on his face. “That Lulu was in trouble. I know Murphy said to wait. But I couldn’t.” He glanced sideways at Jake. “Would you have waited?”

“No. But I’m a trained professional.” Jake folded his arms over his chest and regarded his gentle friend with new found admiration. Guilt also flowed in abundance. “I’m sorry, JP. If I would’ve dragged Lulu along with me like my gut advised, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Do not fret,” the man said with a shaky smile. “Everything happens for a reason.”

Jake’s mouth curved. “You sound like Rudy.”

Jean-Pierre broke eye contact and thanked the nurse when she stepped away.

“He sustained some nasty bruises on his arms and legs. He’ll be sore for a few days,” she told Jake. “But he’s fine. You’re free to go Mr. Legrand,” she said, while backing out of the partitioned area, “although you do need to handle some paperwork at the administrative desk.”

“I’ll come with you,” Jake said, when Jean-Pierre slid off the table. “I’m getting ready to sign out Afia. Can we give you a lift home?”

“I am not going home. But
oui,
a ride would be appreciated.” He crinkled his brow, winced, and touched the bandage above his right eye. “What do you mean sign out Afia?”

Jake frowned. “What do you mean, you’re not going home?”

Just then the curtain parted and Rudy stepped in. He took one look at Jean-Pierre and paled.

“I am fine, Rudy.”

Rudy? Not, Bunny? Jake noted the strain in Jean-Pierre’s voice. He also noted that Rudy, the caretaker, kept his distance. No emotional hug, no tender caress. He eyed the tense pair, his stomach sinking.

“Murphy told me what you did,” Rudy said.

“Ah,
oui,
and he told me what you did.” Jean-Pierre avoided eye contact, while buttoning his shirt. “Superhero fairies.” He laughed without mirth. “Who knew?”

“At the risk of sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong,” Jake said. “What the hell is going on?”

Rudy stroked his goatee and sighed. “Jean-Pierre is moving to LA.”

Jake regarded the couple with shock. “You’re breaking up?”

Rudy glanced at his partner with a pitiful look that made Jake extremely uncomfortable. What the hell had he confessed?

Jean-Pierre met Rudy’s gaze, his voice gentle yet firm. “We are taking a break.”

“Ah, Christ.” Jake jammed his hand through his hair. “You can’t tell Afia.”

They turned to him in tandem. “Why?”

“She’s pregnant.”

Rudy palmed his forehead and smiled. “Wow. That’s … wonderful.”

Jean-Pierre nodded, smiled. “Congratulations, Jake. Is that why she is in the hospital?”

Rudy frowned, shifted his weight. “What’s wrong?”

“She almost miscarried,” Jake said, voice gruff. “Stress.” He met Rudy’s gaze, telegraphing the reason, without verbally laying blame.

Rudy licked his lips, glanced at Jean-Pierre. “We can’t tell her.”

“We are going to lie?”

“Damn straight,” Jake said. With any luck they’d work things out. Maybe they just needed a shove. “At least until she’s out of danger.”

Jean-Pierre raked his hand through his shaggy hair. “I already committed to Luc.” He winced. “I mean to the film.”

Jake tried to fit pieces of the puzzle together while Rudy and Jean-Pierre faced off in a silent battle. He was sorry for their troubles, he
was,
but Afia and their baby came first. He pointed to Jean-Pierre. “You’re moving to LA
temporarily
to work on a film. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” he said, using Rudy’s words from earlier this morning. He turned to Rudy. “You are going to fly out there to spend quality time whenever your schedule allows.” In his heart, Jake was convinced that these two were meant to be. Like he and Afia. Like Murphy and Lulu. “You are not
taking a break.
You’re … maintaining a long-distance relationship.”

The boys traded an uncomfortable look. “Agreed.”

“Good.” He whipped aside the curtain, desperate for a breath of non-charged air. “Afia’s waiting downstairs. She’ll sleep better if she sees you two are safe and … together.” He glanced over to make sure they were following, frustrated when he noted their awkward body language. “For chrissakes, could you at least hold hands?” He shook his head, punched the elevator button. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

To say that he was baffled was an understatement. Somewhere between their emotional reunion, the hospital, and the police station, Murphy’s relationship with Lulu unraveled.

“What do you mean, you can’t do this?”

“Us,”
she’d squeaked through a new flood of tears.
“I can’t go home with you. I can’t move in.”

“Talk to me, Luciana. What’s the problem?”

“Me.”

That was four days ago.

Every minute seemed like a year.

Murphy sat at Charlie’s Pub nursing a drink. Better than sitting at home feeling sorry for himself. He couldn’t walk into his kitchen without having visions of Lulu juggling food products. Couldn’t listen to his Motown collection without hearing her butchered lyrics. Forget about sleeping in his bed. He’d opted for the couch three nights running.

His back ached. His head ached. His heart was fucking roadkill.

“Hey.” Bogie slid in on the stool next to him.

Murphy noted his brother’s appearance with a raised brow. He’d chucked his South Philly duds the day after the sting in favor of a dark suit and tie—stereotypical special agent attire. Today he wore Levis and a long-sleeved flannel shirt. His standard autumn fare … when he was off duty. The ponytail was an interesting look. If you were a rock star or one of those Fabio dudes. “When are you going to lose the cheesy moustache and whatever’s growing under your lip?”

Bogie scratched his jaw. “Actually, I’m thinking of growing a full beard.”

“That’ll go down well with your people.”

“They don’t give a shit what I look like when I’m on vacation.”

“You’re taking a vacation?” He was relatively sure his brother’s name was listed in the dictionary under workaholic.

Bogie shrugged. “Sounds better than mandatory leave.” He signaled the bartender for a drink. “Whiskey, neat.”

“Psych evaluation didn’t go so well, huh?”

“Damned shrink.”

Murphy waved off Bogie’s money when Thomas, his most valued employee, served the drink. “On the house.”

“You’ll be sorry you said that, bro.” Bogie downed the whiskey and slid the glass back to Thomas. “Keep ‘em coming.”

Operation Candy Jar had been a success. Given the FBI’s extensive evidence, Paulie and his minions would be serving serious prison time. Sal, the psychotic woman-beater, hadn’t survived his gunshot wound. Bogie, aka Columbo, had rid the streets of a dangerous stalker and millions of dollars worth of Ecstasy. Along with the rest of his team, he’d effectively crippled the Falcone organization.

Still, his brother mourned the one thing he couldn’t fix. Julietta Marcella. Learning of his deception, she’d sought solace in Vincent Falcone’s home, no doubt drowning her misery in drugs and alcohol. Bogie couldn’t help her if he wanted too, which he did. “Maybe this …
vacation
is a good thing,” Murphy said, acknowledging the waves of pent-up frustration rolling off his brother. “A person can only dwell in the underworld so long before he starts to lose himself.”

“Like you don’t dwell.”

“Not lately,” Murphy said. “I’ve been sleeping pretty well.” He massaged a stiff neck muscle. “Or at least I was when Lulu was in my life.”

“So what’s up with the Princess?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Have you tried to talk to her?”

Murphy smirked. “What do you think?” He traced his finger along the rim of his glass. “I know she’s busy with the house restoration. The damage was pretty much contained to her bedroom and Sofie’s. She asked her grandmother to let her handle the preliminaries. Didn’t want to interrupt her honeymoon. Can you believe that? According to Sofie, Viv wasn’t crazy about the idea. Wanted to be there for her girls. But Lulu wouldn’t hear of it.”

Bogie grinned. “Stubborn little cuss.”

Murphy grunted. “She won’t take my calls. Any info I’ve gotten has come from Sofie. I asked her if she knew why Lulu had pulled away. She said, ‘yes.’”

“But she didn’t feel right betraying her sister’s confidence.”

“You got it.”

Bogie slid his glass away, signaling for a refill. “Do you even have a clue?”

“I think that showdown with Sal Falcone freaked her out.”

“Understandable. That guy was whacked. The best-kept secret in the Falcone family. His brother and uncle have been covering up his
purifications
for years. I still can’t believe I didn’t catch on.”

Murphy squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “You gotta let that go, man. You’re good, but you’re not a mind reader.” He shook his head, his thoughts on Lulu. “I’m pretty sure her troubles run deeper than the stalker angle. She’s a peace activist and she stabbed a man. Then you killed the bastard in front of her eyes.”

“He deserved it.”

“Am I arguing? The point is, I don’t think she can deal with my world. The intrigue. The ugliness.”

Bogie stroked his moustache. “What would you give up for this woman?”

Murphy’s chest ached with longing. What wouldn’t he give up?

“You’ve got a nest egg. You’ve got Charlie’s Pub.” He glanced around the crowded bar. “This place is turning a profit, right?”

“Steady and climbing.” Another investment. If Murphy had learned anything from his birth father, it was to invest in his future. It had seemed only fitting to name the pub after his Da.

Bogie spread his hands. “So walk away from the team. Look for your adrenaline highs somewhere else.”

“I don’t have to look. I know what rocks my world.” A curly-haired sprite who skipped through life sporting pink high-top sneakers and a poodle purse. Sadly, both of those belongings had gone up in smoke.

“Then why the hell are you sitting here nursing that watered down scotch? Since when do you avoid confrontation? Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

He wasn’t avoiding confrontation. He was giving her time to come around. Although he had to admit his patience had run its course. Murphy cracked his first smile in days. “Did you come in here for a specific reason? Or just to drink my liquor and bust my balls?”

“Although I did enjoy the whisky and ball-busting, there is an additional reason for this visit.” He downed his third drink, angled his body toward Murphy. “I came to say good-bye. I’ll fly back when the trial kicks in, but until then I’ll be communing with nature.”

“The cabin in the Pocono Mountains?” The Bogart family retreat. Bogie dug the seclusion, always had.

“Actually, I made an investment of my own. A home in the Superstition Mountains.”

“You’re moving to Arizona?” He was stunned and concerned. Bogie was tight with their parents, and Arizona was a freaking long haul from Pennsylvania. True, the Bureau had temporarily relocated Manny and Rosa under assumed names as a precautionary measure. And he understood Bogie separating himself from family until the Falcone fervor died down, but this sounded permanent.

“Time for a change,” he said, while rising. “Listen, I’m driving to Philly to tie up some loose ends. I’m flying out tomorrow. Sofia and Legrand are flying out today. From Atlantic City International on a 4:00 p.m. flight. Seems I’m not the only one in need of change.”

Murphy knew of Sofie’s plans to move to Los Angeles with Jean-Pierre. He didn’t know they were scheduled to leave today. He stood and walked his brother to the door. “How is it you know Sofie’s itinerary?”

“The Bureau needed to know the whereabouts of all those connected to the case in the event they’re needed for the trial.”

Murphy lifted a brow. “So, it’s not like you have a personal interest.”

Bogie paused on the threshold, dipped his chin. “Let’s not go there.”

“Whatever you say.” They’d make an interesting pair to say the least. Although, both struck him as being in a dark place just now. Probably not the best time to explore an infatuation.

“Safe to assume Lulu will be at the airport saying her good-byes to her sister and close friend.” Bogie rolled a stick of gum into his mouth, slid on his sunglasses. “Might be nice if someone was there to ease the sting.”

Murphy smiled. “Subtle.” He caught his brother up in a hug, holding the embrace a little longer than usual. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, bro.”

Bogie gave him a quick squeeze, slapped his back. “Ditto.”

Murphy watched him slide into his car and drive off, told himself to check in with the man at least once a week. He wasn’t entirely convinced that seclusion was the answer to Bogie’s problems. Then again every man conquered his demons in his own way.

Murphy had his own battle to fight. And he didn’t intend to lose. He glanced at his watch. It was 1400 hours. Perfect. He had some shopping to do.