Aaron talked a good game when it came to sex, and, hell, yes, he was a player. In the past. This night with Fleur was a whole new ball game for him, though. The goal—or the trophy—was Fleur herself.
And that would be better than a Heisman Trophy any old day, ha, ha, ha.
Have I mentioned, I’m losing it here?
But seriously, winning Fleur would require new rules, new strategies, and maybe a Hail Mary pass or two. Bottom line: There was no playbook.
Please, God, help me do this right, he prayed. St. Jude, you suited up yet? Okay, that has to be a new low for me. Praying for sex.
Well, why not? the voice in his head said.
There was a time when he would have laughed at any person who said they talked to voices in their head. Looney Tunes, for sure. But that was before he’d moved to Louisiana and was introduced to the saint channeler, aka Tante Lulu. All the LeDeuxs experienced it at one time or another.
Families pray before meals. Soldiers pray before battle, El Voice-o continued. God created sex. He wants people to do it, for heaven’s sake. Within the confines of the Holy Sacrament, of course.
I would marry Fleur in a heartbeat, if she would have me.
We’ll hold you to that.
“Are you talking to yourself?” Fleur asked.
“No, I’m praying.”
Instead of laughing, she said, “Me, too.”
Aaron picked Fleur up and carried her, Rhett-style, into the bedroom. He hoped he wouldn’t trip over his jeans. Somehow, Fleur had managed to unsnap and unzip him without his embarrassing himself. But, no, his pants were in no danger of falling down. They were being held up by his mondo erection, hereafter to be referred to as Super Dick.
How embarrassing!
On the other hand, how amazing!
He tossed her on the bed, a queen-size, not the king-size which he was accustomed to, but one of those would never fit in this small space. There were no lamps, but there was enough light from all the candles that he could see the glow of her eyes.
“It smells like a rose garden in here,” she murmured.
“Or else a frickin’ funeral parlor,” he countered with a self-deprecating grimace.
“Are you nervous?”
“No. My hands shake like this all the time.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Shh.” He put up a halting hand. “No talking. I need to concentrate.” And he did, studying the “treat” spread out before him, wondering where to start.
Even though she wore a plain white bra and bikini underpants, nothing Victoria’s Secret extreme, she looked sexy to him. In fact, he liked that she hadn’t gone out of her way to sex herself up, like many females did on a date. If he never saw another set of silk tap pants, and, yes, he knew what they were, or a push-up bra that raised boobs to impossible heights, it wouldn’t bother him a bit.
She looked dazed now, as she lay where he’d placed her, unmoving, just staring up at him as he undressed, almost falling over as he stood on one foot, then another, trying to get out of his damn boots. He loved his cowboy boots, usually, but at times like this, they were . . . inconvenient.
When he was full commando, she continued to study him. No “ooh baby, you are so big,” or anything phony like that. But she didn’t look unhappy, either. Aaron had a good body, and knew it, but he imagined that she’d seen . . .
No, no, no! I am not going there.
He went to the foot of the bed and removed her high heels, then tugged down her panties, exposing a patch of pretty dark curls. Again, no special effort made to entice. No female grooming, like a runway strip. Or glitter, which was the trend for some women today. Vajazzling, they called it. Which he personally considered a bit silly. A waste of crystals. And, man, they were a pain in the ass to get out of the sheets afterward. It was like sleeping on pebbles.
Kneeling on the edge of the mattress, he spread her legs, then moved between them, but not too high. He was still looking. A man liked to look at what he was doing. With an expertise learned as an adolescent on the dress form owned by the grandmother of his friend, Freddie Mack, he flicked his fingers just so, and voilà! The bra was off.
“You are so pretty, Fleur,” he said, feasting on her breasts, in fact, all of her body.
“So are you.”
He tried to smile, but he was in agony. “Fleur, honey, I can’t wait.” He moved up and over her, touching her between her legs. She was thankfully damp. So, without preamble, he rolled on a condom, took himself in hand, and placed the tip of Super Dick at her opening. Then, bracing himself on straightened arms, he eased inside.
She was tight, but there were no welcoming spasms from her inner folds. Damn! She was not as turned on as he’d thought she was. Either that, or her mind might be aroused, but her body was not.
He slid out and then back in again, to satisfy his own need. But then he forced himself to freeze.
She must have sensed his disappointment because she said, “I’m sorry. My body has learned to shut down. It probably can’t respond anymore, not like you want.” Tears filled her eyes.
“Oh, Fleur! I love you. Whatever you give me is enough.” He began to kiss her then. Slow, drugging kisses that went on and on. It felt like starting over again, which was fine. He would do what he had to do to win Fleur.
She put her arms around his shoulders, which he took for a good sign. She was trying.
Still embedded in her, still kissing her, alternating with murmurs of encouragement, he played with her breasts, remembering how sensitive they’d been before. He played with her ears, too. Slowly, he was learning about her body’s erotic spots. His fingers also traveled lower and gently flicked her clit.
She squirmed under his hands, and he felt a quivering spasm against his cock.
His body’s inclination then was to begin the long thrusts that would bring him to completion. But he sensed they would be too soon for her.
With sweat beading his forehead, he rolled over onto his back, taking her with him so that now she sat astride his erection which he could swear was pulsing like a heartbeat. “You call the shots here, darlin’. Move or not. Touch me or not.” Or just sit there like a female Buddha, torturing me to death.
Leaning forward, she explored his face and neck and shoulders with her fingertips.
Little did she know that her position, moving forward, gave him even greater pleasure, and in fact should be putting pressure on that bud of hers that he’d already stimulated.
She moved back to sit her rump on his thighs, and once again the movement gave his cock a jolt of pleasure. “Tell me what you want me to do,” she said.
“It’s not what I want. It’s what you want.”
“I don’t want anything.”
Oh, great! He closed his eyes and tried not to panic. “Does nothing with me please you, Fleur?”
“I like touching you and seeing your response. I like your kisses and I liked when you touched my breasts, but the rest . . .” She shrugged.
Man, oh, man! This was bad. Very bad. With infinite care, he withdrew his swollen cock from her, then rolled over onto his side, tucking her face onto his chest. He kissed the top of her hair. “Do you trust me, Fleur?” he asked.
She nodded against his chest. Even her breath against his nipple was sheer agony.
“Then just let me love you,” he husked out, “and I do love you, Fleur.”
“But—”
“No buts. We’ll work through this.”
And for the next hour, they did work. Well, he did, harder than he’d ever worked in his life, to arouse his love. Maybe she wouldn’t come from intercourse the first time, but he was going to try his best to make sex at least enjoyable for her.
If he’d been thinking clearly, he would have gone into the bathroom and taken care of business before starting on this venture into unknown territory. But he hadn’t and now . . . pure torture!
He kissed, he stroked, he fluttered, he whispered soft words, he groaned and sighed. He used his mouth, his breath, his fingers and palms, even his hairy legs to excite Fleur’s deadened nerves. Well, not totally deadened or she wouldn’t have climaxed those two other times for him.
After an hour of this torment, more for him than her, obviously, Fleur thrashed her head from side to side and moaned, “Oh . . . please . . . now . . . oh . . .”
That was his cue.
This time when he entered her, his overstimulated cock was met with soft spasms. Thank you, Jesus! he thought, then immediately amended, Oops, sorry, that was not appropriate.
It didn’t last long. How could it, the condition he was in?
He began the long, slow strokes which almost immediately became short and hard. Not too hard, he kept telling himself, when he was able to focus even a little through the fog of his overarousal. Hard might equate to force or assault with Fleur. And God help him, he never wanted her to think of that during sex again.
Still, she seemed to welcome him. Staring up at him in wide-eyed wonder, or surprise, she tried so hard to be accommodating—to please him—when the goal was to please her.
But he couldn’t keep his eyes open. When he could no longer forestall his climax, he squeezed his lids shut, arched his back till the cords in his neck about popped, and came with a wild, hot, ecstatic rush.
Fleur moaned, then cried out as her back bowed in her attempt to meet him in a mutual climax. And she did come! Not in wildly convulsing squeezes of her inner muscles, but gentle waves of spasms.
For a long moment, he lay flat on top of her, unable to breathe. A quick glance at the bedside clock showed him that it had been an hour and a half since he’d brought Fleur to the houseboat. He almost chuckled as he recalled that old song “Sixty Minute Man.” Yep, Aaron had finally joined the club.
When he was able to raise his head, he saw that she was looking up at him with a shy smile on her face. “That was nice,” she said.
Nice? NICE? Whaaat? Is there a man in the world who wants his bedroom skills to be called nice?
Oooh, that was a challenge if he ever heard one.
Rubber duckie, you’re the one . . .
Fleur knew that Aaron was disappointed. She was disappointed. In herself. Not him. He’d been wonderful. Patient. Kind. Teasing. Loving. But she was less than a woman, and it showed. No matter how much she’d tried, Fleur couldn’t be normal. Parts of her were too scarred over to have feelings anymore.
Not that she hadn’t enjoyed his lovemaking. She had. In a mildly pleasant way. But it was not the way women should respond to expert sex play. Not the way Aaron’s partners behaved, she was sure of that.
She’d warned him, but did he listen? No. He thought that love conquered all. Even her broken body. He thought he could work a miracle.
Well, now he knew.
No sense trying to slither out of bed. He had her pinned with a knee over her thighs and his head on her breast as he took a breather. Or maybe he was asleep. But no, the second she tried to push him off, he was alert and looking down at her.
“Um . . . I think you should take me back to Bayou Rose now.”
“Huh? We have a good six to seven hours yet.”
Since he’d raised his head, she managed to push his knee off her legs and was about to roll away from him.
He caught her with a hand on her hip and turned her on her side to face him. Which was even worse because now her body parts—her nude body parts—were aligned with his nude and growing (Again!) body parts.
“Aaron!” she chided. “I should return while everyone is asleep.”
Nuzzling her neck, he murmured, “I figure if I take you back around three a.m., everyone will still be asleep. Not that we’re fooling anyone, but still we can try to be discreet.”
“Six to seven hours! What would we be doing for all that time?” She realized her mistake immediately. She grabbed at that hand which was wandering where it shouldn’t and arched her head back to glare at him.
He grinned and tried to pull her into his embrace again. “Making love, darlin’. That’s what we’ll be doing.”
She sighed at the hopelessness of arguing with a horny man, but still she tried. “Don’t pretend that I was anything but a dud, Aaron.”
“What? Are you kidding? Do you hear me complaining?”
“That’s because you’re too nice.”
“Nice again? We have got to wipe that word from your vocabulary. I am not nice. I am a lean, mean . . . ouch! Stop squirming.”
“Stop putting your hand there.”
“Whatever you say, honey,” he said, batting his eyelashes with innocence. “Fleur, I loved making love to you, and if that was only nice for you, I promise I can do better. With practice.” Now he was not only batting his eyelashes, but waggling his eyebrows at her. “Besides, that was just the appetizer. And speaking of food, maybe we should refuel.” He got up off the bed and disposed of the used condom in a waste basket. “But first, I have something to show you.”
She rolled her eyes and attempted to pull a sheet up to cover her nudity. “I’ve seen it, and it’s very nice.”
“Nice again. I swear, you are going to eat those words.” He yanked the sheet back down and stared at her body with deliberate intensity. “No, this is something else. Sex toys.”
That was her cue to exit, fast. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she lied.
“Good. We’ll go together.”
“We will not!”
He took her hand and yanked her off the bed, forcing her to follow him.
“Are you crazy? I do not share a bathroom. And sex toys are the last thing I—”
He opened the bathroom door and she had to laugh. Even though the room wasn’t large, there was a big shower stall with a dozen or more faucets that would hit the body at different angles.
“I got the idea for the rainforest shower at Bayou Rose from this,” he told her, shoving her into the stall and stepping in after her. After the door was closed, he turned on one of the faucets, and a warm spray hit her square in the face. It was probably a deliberate hit.
“So, a shower is a sex toy?” she sputtered out.
“It can be, but here’s the best sex toy of all.” He handed her a bar of soap. “You can play with me all you want.”
Which she did.
And then he did.
At one point she remarked, “Soap as a sex toy? What next? A rubber duckie?”
“How did you know? That’s one of my nicknames for . . .” He glanced downward at his erection. “When we were kids, and took baths together, Dan and I used to see these little things bobbing in the water and we called them rubber duckies.”
She laughed. “So you name your . . . um, body part? Honestly, I never know when you’re teasing or not.”
“Swear to God,” he said, making the sign of the cross on his wet chest. “He also answers to Super Dick, or just ‘Hey, you!’”
“He?”
“Of course, he!” he answered indignantly.
Afterward, as she ate voraciously of the meal he set before her and drank the wine he continued to replenish in her glass, she began to feel a little more relaxed and womanly. He’d wanted her to sit on his lap while they ate, which she’d declined. But then, he might have been teasing again. Instead, they sat across from each other in the kitchen booth, which was cozy in the candlelight.
He was wearing only boxer shorts, and she wore his blue dress shirt, but she didn’t mind too much. It was either that, or eat naked, which would be way out of her comfort zone.
Barry Manilow music played softly in the background, and to her amazement, she was becoming a fan. As they ate and listened to the music, they talked. Aaron told her of life in Alaska while his mother was still alive and how he and Daniel came to live in Louisiana. Tante Lulu, of course, had a hand in that. Fleur laughed a lot, or smiled as he told stories of the antics he and his twin indulged in growing up, and then as adults. The overly serious Daniel and the wild Aaron.
She found herself talking about her past, too. Some of it. Growing up in poverty with eight siblings in a small stilted cottage on the bayou, but somehow she was recalling some good parts. Catching crawfish, or mudbugs as they called them, with nothing but a leafy branch and a bushel basket. Playing barefoot in the pudding-like mud. Rowing a pirogue through the swamps with her older sister Gloria searching for wild Indians (her brothers Joe Lee and Eustace). Singing in the church choir.
He smiled as she talked and took one of her hands in his, as if sensing that she was giving him a rare gift. A peek into a painful past. He never asked about the day she was kidnapped or the months and years afterward. Nor did he ask what happened when she tried to go home after being rescued.
He didn’t say the words, but she saw them in his eyes. The eyes did not lie. He loved her.
And she was pretty sure she was falling in love, too.
When they went back to the bedroom, they continued their soft conversation and finished off the bottle of wine. She let him caress her body, everywhere, while they continued to exchange memories. She knew that it was a deliberate ploy to distract her while he attempted to arouse her body for more lovemaking, but she allowed it. At first, she allowed it because she owed him. Later, she allowed it because it felt so good to go from mellow to a thrumming awareness of her skin and heightened senses. Still later, she turned the tables and worked diligently to examine his body, which was so different from hers, and remarkably alike in its erotic spots.
To her surprise, Fleur didn’t find these things she did with Aaron as repugnant as she’d imagined they would be. They didn’t trigger memories of other things she’d done with men because there were no similarities. This was lovemaking.
When Aaron entered her this time, it was still not wild, screaming sex, but it was good. Very good. And when she whispered, at the end, “I think I love you,” there were tears in Aaron’s eyes.
Family ties . . .
Aaron had no time the next day to be with Fleur, in private. Just a look exchanged, or a passing touch. Fleur had told him last night that she thought she loved him. That was enough. For now.
Soon after dawn, the Brothers Jake and Snake said Mass in the library for all those currently at Bayou Rose, including a bevy of miraculously quiet and well-behaved animals in front of the altar/library table. When it was time for Communion, Snake arched a brow at Aaron and Fleur as if questioning whether they were in a state of grace to receive the host, but he gave it to them anyway.
For some reason, Aaron couldn’t think of what they’d done as sinful. Aaron knew what sex-as-sin was, the kind that made the parish priest blush and inflict a humongous penance on a randy youth. This wasn’t it.
Another breakfast feast followed the services. Aaron would have to resume his jogging routine soon. They all would if they continued to eat like this.
After that, it was nothing but organized mayhem at Bayou Rose. Ed drove Mother Jacinta to the airport and took Lily Beth and the kids to one of her friends, just to keep them out of the way. A physician’s assistant arrived and was up at one of the cottages setting up a makeshift examining room for the girls when they arrived.
Aaron helped Aunt Mel carry a folding table and chairs up to another cottage, along with a laptop, a phone and its charger, and some office supplies so she could work with the social worker when he arrived in processing the girl’s histories.
“You seem happy,” Aunt Mel commented.
“I am.” I’ve got to stop grinning, or everyone will know . . . if they don’t already.
“Your dinner went well?”
And what came before and after. “Perfect.”
“Should I be making plans?”
If I’m lucky. But wait, I better cross my fingers, knock on wood, toss salt over my shoulder, and all that crap, just in case. “Not yet.” Changing the subject, he said, “I’m sorry to have mixed you up in all this mess. And the danger.”
“Pfff! What else would I be doing back in Alaska? I never was much for knitting. At least I feel useful here. And I still say you should have let me fly tonight. I keep my license up to date.”
Oh, Lord! “Maybe some other time. If you decide to stick around here.” The last he said with a question in his voice.
“It all depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether I’m needed.”
He noticed that she hadn’t said “wanted.” That went without saying. “We will always need you.”
She nodded, with tears in her eyes.
He hugged her, and might have had a tear in his eye, too.
“Of course I could always join one of those Internet dating sites. But, no. I tried eLesbo.com one time and what showed up at my door was a sixty-year-old woman with purple hair on a Harley with so many piercings she probably ran like a sieve whenever she took a drink of water. Not that she drank water. Oh, no! She asked me if I had any vodka in the house. She liked it straight up. Preferably Smirnoff.”
“You’re kidding!” Aaron said, aghast.
“Of course I’m kidding,” Aunt Mel said, giving him a playful punch on the arm.
Oh, Lord!
Between Aunt Mel and Tante Lulu—who was dressed today all in black, commando-style, including a black kerchief wrapped around her head and tied in the back and a kitchen knife strapped to her belt—he might very well have a heart attack . . . or attack the supply of bourbon hidden in the library closet. When he’d questioned her attire, she’d given him one of her dirty looks, aka “the stink eye,” and said, “Someone’s gotta protect the home front while the rest of you are gallavantin’ off ta fight the tangos.” She must have picked up that term from Brother Jake.
Oh, Lord!
Back in the dining room of the mansion, the two Brothers and Sister Mary Michael were busy tying up last-minute details for the mission. More maps on the wall!
Oh, Lord!
As for Fleur, last he saw her, she was in the kitchen whipping up masses of food with Tante Lulu. Unlike Tante Lulu, Fleur was dressed for the weather, another steamy late August day coming up. Demure Daisy Dukes—demure as in short, cut-off denim shorts, but not so short that her butt cheeks showed. Shucks! A stretchy-necked peasant blouse that begged a snap from a male finger. Mine, in particular. And a ponytail that bared her neck. Wonder what she’d do if I snuck up and blew in her ear?
She blushed whenever he looked at her. Which was often. He was about to go to the kitchen to see if he could make her blush some more when he saw Dan driving up. He met him in the front hall. “I wasn’t expecting you this morning.”
“Just came by to drop off laundry and pick up some clean clothes.” He motioned for Aaron to follow him upstairs.
Just then, Emily came out of the bathroom (Don’t ask!) and Dan brightened. “Hey, Em! How’s my girl?”
The miniature pig, who was not so mini anymore, barely gave Dan a look as she passed them by. Aaron could tell that his brother was a little miffed, especially when he called out, “I can always give Miss Piggy a call, you know.”
Emily just raised her snout and continued trotting down the hall toward her new BFF, the Irish priest.
“Is it my breath?” Dan asked with a laugh.
“Could be. Did you have bacon for breakfast?”
They headed upstairs to the master bedroom where Dan opened an empty suitcase on the king-size bed and started to pile underwear and socks (always dark blue or dark brown depending on his pants), folded shirts still in their laundry cardboards, two pairs of khakis with perfect creases (no doubt due to Aunt Mel’s ironing), and a half-dozen ties from the closet rack that held another dozen. Aaron wasn’t sure if he even owned six ties, probably two, maybe three max.
“How’s Samantha?” Aaron asked as he arranged himself on the bed, propped on two pillows, with his hands folded at his nape.
“I’m worried.”
Uh-oh! Aaron sat up. “What?”
“It doesn’t look like she’ll be able to carry to term.”
“Oh, my God! What happened?”
“Nothing happened. It’s just that one of the babies is in the wrong position for a vaginal delivery. That on top of her age for a first baby. And some other minor complications.” He shrugged. “They’ll probably have to do a C-section.”
Aaron didn’t know much about childbirth, but he seemed to recall that a C-section was considered major surgery and a last resort. “When?”
“I don’t know. We’re playing it by ear.”
“Soon?”
“Possibly.”
“Oh, man! Please don’t let it be tonight.”
“Tell me about it!” Dan said, clicking the suitcase shut and sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I’m coming back here tonight to help with the rescued girls.”
“You don’t have to do that. There will be a doctor here, coming from Alabama, I think.”
“Yeah, but I have local hospital privileges. If something critical comes up with one of the girls, I could get her admitted with the least amount of trouble.”
“Well, then, you just better tell Sonny and Cher to hold on, at least until tomorrow. Better yet, next week. I have plans for tomorrow.”
“Oh? Do I sense a certain glow about you today? Dare I hope you got lucky, finally?”
First, grinning. Now, glowing. I give up. “Super lucky!”
“I actually knew that. I got a tingly feeling last night.”
“You did not.” Twins did get the odd sharing of emotions, even pain, across wide distances at times, but he wasn’t so sure about communal sex.
“Yeah, I did. Right here.” Dan pointed at his crotch. “And believe me, I haven’t been getting any tingles of my own for the past two months. So, bring ’em on.”
“You are so full of it.”
“Seriously, though, Aaron, I hope it all works out the way you want it to.” But then he grinned. “Do I need to have Aunt Mel pull out my tux?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I don’t want to jinx anything.”
“Okay. Just one thing.” He paused. “I better be the best man.”
“You already are.”
Mission Impossible . . . or Mission Possible? . . .
Finally, it was eight p.m., time to head out for the mission, and Fleur was more than ready for it all to be over. Brother Jake and Brother Brian wore uniforms with logos for a cable company and a plumbing contractor, while Aaron wore farmer bib coveralls. Fleur and Sisters Mary Michael and Carlotta were dressed in full-length, black nun habits, complete with wimples. Luckily, Mother Jacinta had left behind outfits in several different sizes just in case they might be needed. It wasn’t the first time they’d used religious costumes as disguises, both the men and women.
The five of them were all packed into Mel’s rental car and Aaron’s truck with its newly installed side door logo and fake license plate.
Aaron kept glancing her way with dismay. He was probably worried that she would grow to like this nunly attire way too much. Not a chance. It was hot and itchy and very uncomfortable.
Fleur and Sister Carlotta would be coming back here in the bus, hopefully carrying a dozen girls from Mexico, and Sister Mary Michael would follow in the rental car. The two commercial vehicles driven by Aaron and Brother Brian would take six girls each to the airport. While the pilots were gone, Brother Jake, with some help from Street Apostles on hand, would clear the site. Then, Brother Jake would drive Aaron’s truck to the airport and wait for the pilots to come back from their flights to Dallas and Mexico. The three of them would return to Bayou Rose together in Aaron’s truck, by then minus the farm decals and produce and fake license plate.
John LeDeux and Tank Woodrow, a fellow police officer, would take the new girls from New Orleans directly to their Lafayette police station, claiming they learned of the kidnapped girls at the last minute. They would not be transporting into custody any of the bad guys they could catch. Police would be called to the scene after they were all gone to make the necessary arrests. Luc was on standby back in Houma with Remy, who could fly him there on a moment’s notice, in case they needed legal help with their superiors.
Originally, they had planned to have more of the Street Apostles at the depot to help, but it was decided that fewer was better. And, besides, they were all experienced professionals in one form or another. Fleur herself had been on at least forty missions for the Magdas over the years.
So, that was the plan. Fleur only hoped that everything went as prearranged. It never did.
Before they left, the priests gathered everyone into a circle and they prayed for safety and success, God willing. Then, Aaron pulled her aside and gave her disguise an exaggerated survey.
Despite his obvious panic over seeing her as a nun, Aaron commented, “Don’t you look hot, sugar!”
“You consider this hot?”
“Oh, yeah. It will be added to my bucket list of sexual fantasies.”
She laughed. “That’s okay. I have a sudden attraction to farm boys.”
“I aim to please, darlin’.” He put his thumbs under the straps of his bib overalls and waggled his eyebrows at her. Then he kissed her, in front of everyone. “Don’t take any chances. Be careful. I love you.”
Fleur didn’t have time to say anything in return. She wasn’t sure what she would say, if she did. She was still confused. She did call after him, though, “You be careful, too.”
“Always,” he replied. “Especially now.”
She wasn’t sure what that meant.
“Remember, lads and lassies, caution is the key. Don’t show all your teeth until you have the bone in your mouth,” Brother Brian advised.
“Roger that,” Brother Jake concurred. “Time to engage the enemy! Is everyone good to go?”
Frankly, Fleur thought they were both full of it, and Aaron must have shared her sentiment because he glanced her way and winked.
“Yes,” they all said.
Aaron drove the truck with Brother Brian and Sister Mary Michael as passengers. Fleur went into the rental car with Brother Jake and Sister Carlotta.
On the way, Brother Jake communicated with his spotters on the highways from New Orleans and from the Mexican border crossing. All appeared to be running as expected. Adrenaline was running high for all of them.
They got to the truck depot at ten on the dot and drove to the far, darker end. There was an office with a light on inside and probably a night watchman. A small clapboard building held a restaurant that catered to truckers who brought their big rigs here for long-term parking when not on cross-country runs. It had just closed for the night a half hour ago, and people were leaving the building, calling out good-nights to each other, getting in cars and driving away.
Aaron squeezed Fleur’s hand just before she went over to the school bus. She used her key to open the door and then made sure it remained open. Although she didn’t turn on the engine, which might attract attention, she did put the key in the ignition, just in case she might drop it if all hell broke loose, as it sometimes did.
The two priests approached the commercial vehicles parked and ready for the trip to the airport—a red Dick’s Plumbing cargo van, and a yellow Bayou Cable Company box truck. Sister Mary Michael and Sister Carlotta remained in the rental car, for now. Hopefully, John and Tank were here somewhere, waiting to come out at just the right moment. First off, the cops needed to take care of the guard. Which they must have done right now, because the light went out, then back on, and out again. A signal that all was well.
After twenty minutes, which seemed like twenty hours of waiting, a long, white, shuttle-type van, the type used by hotels and airports, pulled into the parking lot. This would be the one carrying the one dozen newly kidnapped girls from New Orleans. They’d learned last night that it would be only girls, no boys. The van drove to the far end of the lot, where they were, and just sat, its engine idling.
She saw John and Tank run at a low crouch up behind the van. While Tank remained unseen near the rear, John moved forward and rapped on the driver’s window. Speaking rapidly, he claimed to be one of the advance men from Mexico for this exchange. The driver—a black man wearing a backward baseball cap, put down his electric window, but he didn’t get out. The two of them exchanged angry strings of words and expletives. Something about idiots arranging a job for Friday night when they’d rather be with their women. The girls in the van could be heard crying and screaming until the man in the passenger seat yelled, telling them to shut up or he’d give them something to cry about.
Time for step two of the plan.
Sister Mary Michael and Sister Carlotta wheeled supermarket carts, which had been conveniently left in the lot for them, over to Farmer Bob’s truck where the farmer, aka Aaron, and two black-clad men she recognized from the Apostles, began unloading potatoes and melons. Loudly, they discussed the donations for the convent and day camp, in case anyone was listening.
Immediately, the nuns headed toward the shuttle van, Sister Carlotta crossing in front of the headlights, Sister Mary Michael toward the passenger door.
“Hey, hey, hey!” John hollered. “Watch where yer goin’, Sister.”
The driver was also shouting. “What’re nuns doin’ in a truck parking lot late at night?”
“Yeah, what you doin’ here, Sister?” John demanded of Sister Carlotta, who was about a head shorter than John and looked very frail and helpless, in comparison.
Sister Mary Michael was being berated at the same time by the guy in the passenger seat because she’d managed to ram her cart into his door, which he was unable to open.
“We’re just picking up some donations from a farmer,” Sister Carlotta said, her voice quivering as she pointed to her and Sister Mary Michael’s overflowing carts and the farm truck parked some distance away, then pointed to the Sisters of Mercy bus, where Fleur waved at them.
“Three nuns!” the driver complained. “This lot was supposed to be empty this time of night. You ladies better get the hell outta Dodge or someone’s gonna get hurt.” He was waving a gun in the air, inside the van.
“That’s no way to talk to a holy woman,” John told the driver. Then he turned to Sister Carlotta. “But he’s right. You shouldn’t be here, Sister. Why are you here so late, anyhow?”
“We got lost, and arrived three hours late. The farmer must have left, and so we are unloading the truck ourselves,” Sister Carlotta said, and went wide-eyed at the weapon she’d just noticed holstered at John’s hip. She began to back up, tripped, and overturned the cart, as planned. There were potatoes and melons rolling everywhere, some of the melons cracking open and making a slippery mess.
“Sonofabitch!” John cursed and began to help Sister Carlotta raise the cart and pick up the produce that wasn’t damaged. Also cursing was the driver who yelled, “Holy fucking hell!” and got out of the van to help John clear the space in front of his vehicle.
All the time this was going on, the girls in the vehicle were screaming and crying for help. Fleur would have liked to go in and assure them that they were the good guys, but no time for that yet.
The passenger guy finally managed to shove his door open, causing Sister Mary Michael to go chasing after the cart which was rolling away in the other direction. And Tank came up behind him, knocking him over the head with a melon, which caused the man’s legs to fold. He dropped to his knees, and his rifle slipped from his fingers.
“What the fuck!” the driver said, looking toward his fallen buddy and Tank, who was using police plastic cuffs to immobilize the guy, finishing with a potato stuffed in his mouth as a gag.
John used that opportunity to grab for the driver’s gun and put him in a stranglehold.
It had all happened so fast, it had been hard to follow who did what. But then, Aaron and Brother Jake and Brother Brian rushed forward with ropes and gags. They quickly tied up and gagged the driver, then dragged both men off to the bushes. Meanwhile, John got into the driver’s seat and Tank in the passenger seat. They would be pretending to be members of the Dixie Mafia making the exchange.
The girls in the back seats continued to scream and pound on the windows. Perhaps that wouldn’t be a bad thing. It would be expected. If they were quiet and unafraid, the bad guys would be suspicious.
The rest of them worked quickly to clean up the scene until there were no carts or fallen produce about. Aaron gave her arm a quick squeeze to assure himself that she was all right, but no words were spoken. She and the two nuns went to the bus to wait, while the others returned to their assigned vehicles. She noticed the two black-clad Street Apostles leap over the tailgate of Aaron’s truck and burrow under the remaining potatoes and melons.
It seemed like forever that Fleur and the two nuns were in the bus together, remaining silent. Praying. Fleur’s heart was beating so hard she could scarcely breathe. The waiting was almost painful. But then, with a swoosh of air brakes, a tractor trailer turned into the lot, followed by a dark-windowed SUV. Which meant there would probably be at least four men to deal with. Maybe more.
The driver got out of the truck and stretched, looking around. His cohort got out of the other side and went back to talk to the driver of the SUV. Two other men got out of the SUV. Okay, that meant six men had been sent to handle this mission—the two from New Orleans who had been driving the shuttle van, and the four from Mexico. Not a lot, considering the numbers on this side, but they were armed. A decided advantage.
Wait. Wait. Wait. As Brother Brian had warned, timing was everything. One of the men began walking toward the white van, and John yelled out something in Spanish. It must have sounded all right because the man continued to approach at a leisurely pace. Meanwhile, one of the men from the SUV proceeded to pee, right out in the open, and the other walked over to the semi, unlocking the back door.
The exchange had been planned so that the girls would remain in the vehicles they arrived in. Except the drivers would change, and they would be heading toward opposite destinations.
It appeared as if some final arrangements were being discussed by John and the other guy, perhaps some money changing hands. When some of the men moved to join their compadre at the shuttle van, Fleur turned on the ignition of the bus, which prompted all the men out in the open to become immediately alert, and turn her way. She drove the vehicle slowly forward, as planned, until she was right beside them. When the passenger door whooshed open, Sister Carlotta stepped down and said, “Could you gentlemen please help us? We’re lost.”
She was clearly visible in the headlights of the shuttle van, the SUV, and the eighteen-wheeler.
Fleur put the bus in Park and got out, too, pretending to weep. “Mother Superior is going to be so angry. We were supposed to pick up some parcels for her at the Truck 88 Shipping Depot two hours ago, but we must have made a wrong turn.”
One of the men said, “Piss off! We’re busy here.”
Another man slapped that man on the back and chastised him, “You don’t speak to a nun that way, brother. What would Mama say to you, disrespectin’ one of the sisters?”
A third man volunteered, “This is the Truck 88 Repair Depot, not the Shipping Depot. Where you comin’ from?”
“Baton Rouge,” Sister Mary Michael said, stepping out of the bus, which caused the men’s eyes to widen, whether it was at her size or yet another nun on the site, Fleur wasn’t sure.
“How many of you holy wimmen in that bus?” yet a fourth man asked.
“Just us three,” Fleur said.
The men were all dark-skinned and spoke with Mexican accents, including the first man who told Sister Carlotta with much politeness, “You’re about five miles off course, Sister.”
“Can you help us find our way?” Sister Carlotta asked.
“We don’t have time for this shit!” someone said. Another slap, followed by, “Sorry, Sister.”
But then, engines of three vehicles suddenly came to life and moved quickly to block the exit, the two commercial vans and the farm truck. At first, the bad guys were frozen with shock. A melee ensued in which the priests and Aaron were yelling, “Drop your guns! Drop your guns!”
At the same time, the white shuttle van driven by John LeDeux with his partner Tank in the catbird seat peeled out, up and over a berm, and out of the parking lot.
In the midst of the chaos that followed. Running, punching, random gunshots fired, someone coming up behind Fleur, yanking off her veil and wimple and putting a knife to the front of her neck. “I should have known you would be involved in this, puta,” Miguel said against her ear in heavily accented English. In surprise, she tried to turn, but he had a pistol pressed against her back with his other hand.
He began to frog march her away from the others, right past Sister Mary Michael, who was not yet aware of what was happening, busy as she was with hog-tying another of the Mexicans with his hands tied behind his back and then roped to his bound ankles. The whole time the man was crying out long streams of curses in Mexican. “Shush! No taking the Lord’s name in vain,” the nun said, and none-too-gently stuffed a huge watermelon rind in the man’s mouth.
The others were busy, too, engaging and incapacitating the enemy. Luckily, none of the gunshots fired a few moments ago had hit anyone, far as she could tell. But unluckily, Miguel had already maneuvered her into a somewhat darker area, heading toward the open driver’s door of the semi.
But then, Aaron noticed her. He handed off to Brother Jake the guy he had pinned to the ground with a knee in his back and rose, slowly.
“Take it easy. Don’t give the tango an excuse to do something stupid,” Brother Jake cautioned. “Let me handle this.”
“Fuck off,” Aaron told the priest. “Let her go,” Aaron said to Miguel in a voice cold as arctic ice.
“I don’t think so, gringo. Me and Fleur here have a long history, don’t we, baby?” He pressed the knife tighter to her neck, drawing blood.
Aaron inhaled sharply.
She wanted to tell Aaron to be careful, that Miguel also had a gun, which he might not have seen yet, but she couldn’t speak with the knife pressed against her neck.
“This sweet piece of ass is gonna take a little ride with me. In that big old semi there. Any objections, fuckface?”
“Actually, yes, and that’s Mister Fuckface to you. Miguel Vascone, I take it,” Aaron said, inching closer. “You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting to meet you.”
As if sensing the connection between her and Aaron, Miguel laughed and said, “This one, she has been trouble for me ever since I first fucked her lily-white ass. But the men liked her, especially those with a taste for—”
Aaron suddenly pulled a sharp knife from his back pocket and flicked it at Miguel’s crotch. A direct hit. Miguel screamed and his leg buckled. His gun and knife fell to the concrete where they both bounced away. Fleur managed to slip out of his grasp.
The danger was not over, though.
The hit must not have been as direct as she’d thought because Miguel quickly yanked it out, righted himself, and managed to tackle Aaron. He still had Aaron’s knife in his hand.
The two men rolled on the ground, first one on top, then the other. Fists flying. But then, Miguel was on top, and he had his knife poised to attack.
Fleur didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the gun off the concrete and raised it. At the same time, Aaron managed to grasp Miguel’s wrist and, with sheer strength, pushed the hand with the blade up from his chest. In that split second, Fleur pressed the trigger, aiming for Miguel’s back, and, simultaneously, the knife twisted in Miguel’s hand and somehow landed in his own neck. Miguel slumped, blood gushing from both wounds.
Fleur was shaking as she walked closer. Aaron shoved Miguel off him and took Fleur into his arms. He was also shaking, but she suspected it was more from his fear for her than himself. In any case, it was clear that Miguel was dead, or close to it. What was unclear was who was responsible, her or Aaron. At this moment, it didn’t matter.
Brother Brian knelt over Miguel and murmured some words, making the sign of the cross. If he was still alive, now would be the time for the sinner to repent. But, no. Miguel was gone, and Fleur had a good idea of his final destination.
“Let’s get this show on the road, folks,” Brother Jake yelled. “Go, go, go!”
First off, they had to get the two dozen women off the truck and into the small bus and two vans. Most were under eighteen. They’d been drugged and the truck reeked of vomit and urine. Who knows when they’d been put in the vehicle? Maybe this morning. Some were crying, but most of them were hardened after years of the life, and they probably figured they were being shuffled into some other brothel.
They randomly separated the group into three parts. A dozen in the short bus, and six each in the two vans. The bodies of the four men lay on the ground, at least one of them dead. They would be left for police to dispose of.
Just then, there was the loud honking of a horn and the screech of brakes. Another of Miguel’s gang? Or some of the Dixie Mafia alerted to the aborted exchange?
But, no, it was a big lavender convertible which swerved to avoid hitting the semi, shot over the berm which John had used earlier as an exit, and then came to a screeching stop in front of Fleur, Aaron, Brothers Brian and Jake, and the two nuns, all of whom had mouths gaping open.
Inside the convertible sat two nuns, the tall one in the passenger seat clutching the dashboard with whitened fingers, and the shorter one who could barely see over the steering wheel.
Aaron released Fleur from his embrace and went over to help his Aunt Mel free her fingerhold and step out of the car on wobbly knees. “I’m sorry, Aaron. But I couldn’t let her come alone.”
Sister Lulu, on the other hand, wasn’t at all repentant. “Oh, heck, did we get here too late?” She was carrying a rifle. The kind used by big game hunters.
“Old lady, didn’t you hear me say that we’re a nonviolent group,” Brother Jake sputtered out. “I must have said it a hundred times.”
“Pff! I dint know you were talkin’ ta me. Everyone knows us Cajuns doan listen to no one when it comes ta our guns.”
Brother Brian burst out laughing then, and they all joined in. The perfect stress reliever to a successful mission, although the two dozen rescued girls probably thought they were all crazy.
They were. Cajun crazy.