Tyler O’Neill’s Redemption (4 page)

The gossips had turned it into a domestic abuse case before Mr. Paterson’s bandages were on.

“Boy said he fell down the stairs,” Dr. Roberts said, his voice indicating he didn’t believe it for a moment.

“That’s what he told me, too.” Juliette looked him right in the face and lied, knowing that if she told Dr. Roberts, he’d have no choice but to call in the social workers. Hell, she was supposed to be calling them in herself.

“Chief Tremblant,” he whispered, and she knew he was on to her. “What are you doing with this kid?”

His brown eyes were soft and sympathetic and for a moment she was tempted to tell him the jam she was in. They were friends. Sort of. And Greg was smart. Maybe he had an idea, something. Because right now, she had zip.

But Miguel, nearly passed out in the chair outside Greg’s office, shifted and moaned slightly in his doze and Juliette shook her head.

“My job,” she told Greg. “I’m doing my job.”

“He’s what, sixteen? The boy should be in foster care.”

“You want to call Office of Community Services? Do it.”

“I don’t want to fight with you,” he said. He stepped closer, the warmth from his body making her slightly claustrophobic. He was a young guy, and occasionally she got the vibe that he was interested. Why she couldn’t relax and just go with it was a mystery. “If this kid needs help, I’m on your side.”

The man was handsome, and sincere, she had to give him that. But she still wasn’t about to let him in.

“I appreciate that, Greg. I do. But I know what I’m doing. There are…circumstances,” she whispered.

Greg watched her for a long moment and then held up his hands, indicating he’d back off.

He took a small handful of packaged pills out of his lab coat. “I’ve given him two. He’ll need another two in six hours.”

He dumped the samples in her hands, his fingers brushing hers.

Feel something,
she willed her nerve endings,
come on, just a little zing.

But there was nothing.

Of course, because she was an idiot, Tyler O’Neill and his broken-down face and heartless grin popped into her mind, and just the thought of him electrified her, put the hair on her arms on end.

That’s what you want?
she asked herself ruthlessly. The answer, of course, was no, the by-product of all that fire had been third-degree burns, a life-altering pain.

“Come on, Miguel,” she murmured, giving the boy’s shoulder a shake. Miguel flinched, then came to, clearly disoriented and drowsy, and she helped him to his feet.

Fifteen minutes later, Juliette stopped in front of The Manor, stared through her window at the red door and took a few deep breaths.

“Hey, Ty,” she whispered, practicing her cheerful approach. “You’ll never guess, it’s funny really, but your car almost got stolen last night.”

She pressed her fist to her forehead. “Okay—” she tried straightforward “—look, Ty, we’ve got a situation. Your car is fine and I need you to work with me. I need you—”

I need you.

Her stomach rolled and her skull pounded. Ten years later and she needed him. Frankly, she’d rather take out her gun and blow off her left toe than face Tyler, but Miguel needed her.

She glanced in the rearview mirror to where Miguel slept, his head pressed to the backseat window, his black hair flat against the glass.

“Please, you son of a bitch,” she whispered, “please be reasonable.”

“I’m telling you,” Dad said, scrambling eggs without his shirt on. Sunlight coming in through the kitchen window hit his chest hair and put a halo around him.

Ironic. So. Ironic.

“I was staying in Malibu and I grew this beard and everyone thought I was George Clooney. I didn’t pay for a meal for three whole weeks.”

Tyler listened with half an ear, distracted by the fire ants.

“You listening to me, Tyler?”

“Can’t you put on a shirt?” Tyler asked, more concerned about those eggs and his father’s copious chest hair.

Richard dropped the spatula. “What is with you? Ty? You didn’t say two words to me last night.”

“I let you in, didn’t I?”

“Yes, and then you slammed the door to your room like a teenager. What happened to your face?”

“It got punched.”

“Don’t be cute.”

“Fine, then you don’t pretend that arriving here, of all places, is just business as usual.”

Richard crossed his arms over his big chest. Pushing sixty and he still looked good. He could pass for Clooney.

One more scam to add to his repertoire.

“That’s what’s bothering you?”

“I haven’t seen you in eight months! One minute you’re living on my couch the next you’re gone without a word. I didn’t know if you were alive or dead, Dad.”

“I told you I was going to L.A.—”

“No, you didn’t. You said, ‘I miss the ocean.’” Tyler held out his arms in exasperation. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“Okay.” Richard nodded, like some kind of grief counselor or something. “I get that you are upset.”

Oh, it was hard not to laugh. Dad
got
that he was upset. Hilarious.

“But,” Richard continued, “we have things to talk about, son. Things—”

“Gems?” he asked, cutting through the half hour of bullshit his father was ready to shovel out before getting to the point.

Richard gaped, for just a moment, which was akin to anyone else in the world falling down in a dead faint.

“You know about them?” Richard asked, slowly turning the flame off under the eggs.

“I had a little conversation with local law enforcement last night. Apparently Mom was snooping around here last month looking for some stolen gems. The cop said there’d been some suspicious activity around the house lately. Windowsills damaged, bushes trampled.”

Richard pursed his lips. “I’ve lost my touch.”

“Apparently. Why don’t you tell me what you know about these gems?” he asked.

“Seven years ago I was hired to steal the Pacific Diamond, Ruby and Emerald from the Ancient Treasures collection at the Bellagio.”

Tyler whistled through his teeth and Dad smiled, cock of the walk.

“Right, not easy. Luckily, I had a friend who knew the Bellagio like the back of his hand. He’d been sleeping with one of the pit bosses. Joel Woods—”

“Woods? Why do I know that name?”

“Your sister is traveling the world with Joel’s son, Matthew.”

Christ. Tyler put his head in his hands and the fire ants went berserk. Could this get any more complicated?

“Where was I during all of this?” Tyler asked. It seemed hard to believe Dad would have been planning a crime of this magnitude while they’d been living together.

“You were shacked up with that dancer,” Dad said. “With the legs—”

“Jill. Right.” Those had been some heady days. Dad could have joined the monastery and Tyler probably wouldn’t have noticed.

“Who hired you?”

“No idea who the big guy was. I did all my business with a Chinese woman who delivered takeout. They gave me a 60–40 split and bankrolled the supplies.”

“How did Mom get involved?”

“That’s the thing.” Dad spun one of the kitchen chairs around and sat, looking like a wild-eyed sea captain about to tell some tales and Tyler felt that familiar tug-of-war between love and hate.

There was still a part of him that wanted to sit here, listen to every word, applaud every caper and con.

The other part of him was so damn tired of it all.

Ten years ago, Tyler had left Bonne Terre to go find Richard and despite having lived with him off and on for the last ten years, Tyler felt as though he’d never really found him.

Richard Bonavie, nomad, thief, con man extraordinaire, sure. Anybody could follow that guy’s trail of broken hearts and cons gone bad across the country.

But Tyler’s father? Still missing.

“Seven years ago,” Richard said, “when Joel and I got to the drop-off, your mother was there.” He shook his head. “I hadn’t seen the woman in something like fifteen years and she’s sitting in that ratty Henderson bar like she owns the place.”

“That must have been a surprise.”

“You can imagine. Anyway, I left. If Vanessa was there, I figured the whole thing was sour in a big way.”

“What happened to the gems? To Joel?”

“He got pinched, but he only had one gem on him. The emerald. The diamond and ruby are still loose.”

“And you think they’re here?”

“There was a rumor that the diamond had surfaced in Beijing, but nothing came of it. I think Vanessa picked them off Joel and hid them here. It’s why she came back after all these years.”

Twenty, to be exact, and Dad was probably right—she sure as hell didn’t come back for her kids. Just like Dad, it would take something shiny and very, very valuable to get her coming around.

“So,” he said, “you’re here for the gems?”

“Of course!” Richard cried, spreading his arms. “There’s a fortune hidden in this house, Ty. A fortune that could be ours.”

A fortune.

Of course.

“I would think a fortune in gems might warrant some enthusiasm,” Richard said, arching an eyebrow.

Luckily, a pounding at the door saved Tyler from having to answer and he stood.

“I’m not here,” Dad said and Tyler shot him a look.

“You never are,” he muttered and headed to the front door, ready to take off the head of whatever salesperson or Jehovah’s Witness might be unfortunate enough to be standing there.

Not bothering with a shirt he swung open the bright red door only to find Juliette Tremblant standing there, straight and tall, her hazel eyes set into that perfect face.

His stomach dipped, his skin tightened at just the sight of her. Her perfume, something clean and minty, hit him on a breeze and his poor, battered body responded with a growl.

“Chief Tremblant,” he said, propping his arm up on the door frame.

Oh, the fire ants sat up and cheered when she watched his chest, her eyes practically sticking to his arms. His hands.

Well, looky, looky,
he thought, glad he hadn’t bothered with a shirt yet.

“Something I can do for you?” he asked, hooking a thumb in the low waist of his jeans.

Juliette sighed, looking up at the sky as if praying for strength.

“Once again, Jules, I say spit it out.”

“Someone tried to steal your car last night.” Fire. Ants.

“Suzy?”

“Who?”

“My car. Where is it?”

“You named your car?”

“Where is my car?”

“It’s fine.” She put out her hands, and even though she was inches from contact he could feel the heat of her fingers against the bare skin of his chest. Like ghosts. Like memories.

For a second his head spun.

“Your car is fine,” she repeated, and he snapped back into clarity. “It’s in impound down at the station.”

“And who tried to steal it?” he asked, ready, seriously ready to take out every ounce of anger he had about his father and Juliette and being back in this backwater town on the car thief.

Juliette turned and pointed to the sedan in front of the house. A person’s head was pressed against the glass of the backseat window, where he’d clearly passed out.

“He did,” she said.

“A drunk?” he asked. Just the thought of what could have happened to Suzy at the hands of a drunk made him nauseous.

“A kid,” she said. “He’s just a kid.”

“A drunk kid?”

His stomach was never going to be the same.

“No,” she said. “You’ve got it wrong. Come on, Tyler, get dressed and I’ll explain it on the way to the station.”

Tyler watched her, sensing something else at work. Her aggression was banked, and she wasn’t just being civil. No, she was apprehensive. And mad about it. And the longer he stared at her, the worse it got, until finally her hazel eyes were shooting out sparks.

“Please,” she said through clenched teeth and Tyler smiled.

A supplicant Juliette. The fire ants went home and his day just got a whole lot better.

“Well.” He grinned and he could hear her grinding her teeth. “Since you asked so nice, Chief Tremblant, I would be delighted to head on down to the station to get my car and press charges against the juvenile delinquent who had the balls to try and steal Suzy.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “Get dressed.”

Tyler ducked back inside to grab a shirt.

“Who’s the girl?” Dad asked, standing at the living room window, lifting the curtains an inch so he could stare at the porch.

“No one,” Tyler said, grabbing his shirt from the counter where he’d thrown it last night. It stank of blood and dirt and smoke and there was no way he was putting it back on and getting in a car with Juliette Tremblant. Bad enough his face looked like hamburger.

But all of his clothes were in Suzy.

“Give me a shirt,” he said, stepping into the living room.

Dad pointed to his open duffel on the couch, still looking through the window. “She looks like police.”

“She is,” Tyler said, slinging through Dad’s shirts. There were a bunch of them, which made Tyler nervous about his father’s travel plans. Or lack thereof. “Do you even play golf?” he asked, finally picking a gray shirt from the golf-themed collection.

“What are police doing here?” Dad asked, tight-faced and still.

“Calm down,” Tyler said. “It’s got nothing to do with you.”

Dad cocked his head and pursed his lips, his eyes getting a little too speculative. “I’d almost say too bad. Shame for a woman like that to be wasted on a badge.”

Something red and boiling bubbled through him, making his hands twitch. His eye pound.

“Well, don’t worry about it. I’ll handle her.”

Dad whistled low through his teeth and Tyler wanted to put his fist through something.

“Later,” Tyler said, shoving his feet into his worn down boots. “Try and stay out of trouble.”

“No guarantees, son,” Dad said, a big grin across his face. “No guarantees.”

“So,” Tyler said as they approached the sedan and the passed-out would-be car thief in the backseat. “How much trouble will this kid be in?”

Juliette stopped at the curb. “You didn’t have any luggage last night. Where’d you get that shirt?”

Crap. Didn’t think that through. Chief Tremblant was no dummy, clearly.

Tyler shrugged. “It was in The Manor,” he said, pushing at the too-big gray golf shirt. “That Matt guy must have left it.”

Juliette nodded, her jaw tight under the aviator sunglasses she wore. “You see anything strange around the house?”

“Strange?” Tyler asked, painfully aware that he was lying to police already, much less Juliette.

I’m back in town less than a day,
he thought, bitter and tired.
And I’m already down this road with her.

Thanks, Dad.

“Broken windows?” Juliette asked. “Any sign of entry at all?”

Nothing except a sixty-year-old thief looking for a fortune in gems.

He shook his head. “Nothing as far as I could see,” he lied, the words uncommonly thick in his mouth. Part of being a Notorious O’Neill was the ability to lie like it was poetry, and he’d forgotten Juliette’s effect on that particular family trait. She made him sound as practiced as a choir boy lying to the Holy Father.

Something about her eyes, the way she looked at him as if she expected the worst but hoped for better—it was like static electricity. It made him want, so badly, to be a different man. And so the lies—they just curled up and quivered in his mouth.

Complicated. Complicated. Complicated.

“So,” he said, easing into the passenger seat, turning to look in the backseat. “About the kid—”

Bright sunlight splashed across the mess that was the boy’s face. Burns. Bruises. Stitches at his lip and eye. Somebody had gone to town on the boy, with fury. Hate, even.

Made his stomach turn just looking at it.

Juliette started the car, the sound of the engine ripping through his head.

“What happened to him?” Tyler asked through a dry throat. He turned back around to stare out the windshield at the trees and sunlight, birds and foxes at the side of the road, everything normal and right in the world.