Page 80 of Man of Honor
“Like I went ten rounds with a baseball bat and lost,” I said, deadpan. “But I’ll live.”
“Good.” Langford’s lips twitched like he was suppressing a smile. “You’re going to need your strength. Things are about to get interesting.”
That gave me pause. I arched an eyebrow and leaned forward slightly, ignoring the twinge in my side. “Care to elaborate, Counselor?”
Langford didn’t answer right away. He turned his face to the sky as if basking in the sun, but I knew he was turning over exactly how much he could say. Weighing it. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be light.
“You’ve seen firsthand what corruption can do in this parish,” he said solemnly. “Vanderhoff kept his word and forwarded charges on Paulie Tibbs to the DA, but whether they decide to prosecute isn’t up to him. He’s playing ball with us for now, but we both know it’s not out of the goodness of his heart. Someone with access to the evidence lockup planted your print on Ben’smurder weapon. The crime lab’s inconsistencies cleared you, but that just means we’re back at square one.”
Langford wasn’t telling me anything new, but hearing it put so plainly unsettled me. Devil’s Garden was broken, and fixing it would take more than a handful of arrests and good intentions.
“That’s fine,” I replied calmly. “Ivy’s safe. Even if Paulie gets back on the street, Gage and I won’t let anything happen to her.”
Langford’s expression didn’t waver, but a flicker of approval crossed his face. “I figured you’d say that. You’re a good man, Brooks. Your role as a confidential informant might be over, but we still need you on the task force. This time, you’ll be a visible part of the effort to clean up this parish. That’ll earn you enemies. A lot of them. That’s dangerous in a place like this, where everyone knows everyone.”
If he thought that would shake me, he didn’t know me. “For a long time, Boone Beaufort fought for Devil’s Garden alone. His boys won’t stop until they make good on the promise they made him. They don’t know how to give up.”
Langford’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.
“The way I see it,” I continued, “the least I can do is stand beside them. I may not have a badge anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten why I put it on in the first place. If there’s a fight worth having, this is it.”
He examined me with narrow eyes, weighing my resolve and judging for himself how serious I was. Then he nodded and stood, brushing an invisible speck of dirt from his sleeve. “Glad to hear it. I’ll let you get back to resting, but don’t get too comfortable. The hard part’s just beginning.”
“Isn’t it always?” I asked wryly.
His chuckle lingered as he strode down the gravel path in his polished Italian loafers, following Ben toward the front of the house until they both disappeared from view.
I settled on my bench, inhaling deeply, filling my lungs with flowers and greenery. Slowly, my knotted shoulders eased, and for the first time in weeks, I felt perfectly content. It wasn’t the peace of a problem-free life. God knew we had plenty of problems. But I’d discovered that when a man stops carrying the world on his own shoulders, a strange relief follows.
Across the garden, Gage straightened, dusting his hands on the seat of his jeans. Our eyes met, and for a moment, the rest of the world melted away. His lips curved in a crooked, knowing smile, and I saw that old, devilish glint in his eyes. That look had always undone me. It always would.
“You good over there, or do you need me to carry you back to bed again?” he called, masking his concern with a teasing lilt.
“Don’t push your luck, Beaufort,” I retorted, huffing a laugh.
He winked and turned back to his task, all lanky, unhurried grace. He looked…happy. Exhausted, sure, but unmistakably happy. The kind of happiness that washed over me, brighter than sunlight.
I wanted to stay in that light forever.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
GAGE
This was probably a mistake,but it might just be the best idea I’d ever had.
The sun was just dragging its lazy ass over the horizon, splashing the garden in pale pink and peach. It was the kind of light that made Eden look like a castle from a storybook, with its white pillars, steepled roof, and sprawling green lawns. The air was warm and damp and scented with the lingering perfume of night-blooming jasmine. Dew clung to the leaves of each freshly planted tree and flower, glistening and magical in the early morning light.
If my stomach stopped doing cartwheels, I might have even enjoyed it.
I’d been second guessing my timing all week, wondering if I should have chosen sunset or even the full dark of night. I could’ve set up some candles, made it real nice, but the full heat of summer had flattened the South. Even the most romantic scenario would be ruined by standing in a puddle of sweat. So, I’d chosen dawn…but I was sweating anyway.
If he noticed my clammy palms, Wyatt didn’t mention it. His hand was rough and warm in mine, a steady grip I’d leaned on more times than I could count. Even though he was the one wearing a blindfold, it felt like his support was the only thing holding me up.
I glanced over my shoulder and was struck dumb by how handsome he looked. I’d diverted him on his way to work, so he was dressed for business in slacks and a crisp white button-down. A gold badge was clipped to his leather belt. Just last night, I’d laid in bed with him, tracing the blue letters on the metal shield with one fingertip:Investigator, State Attorney.After an agonizing month of healing and paperwork, he was a sworn law officer again. The job didn’t make the man, but Wyatt was absolutely the best man for this job.
He was wearing a bemused smile as he followed, but his free hand kept twitching at his side like he half-expected me to walk him straight into a tree. Sure, he trusted me, but he must’ve picked up on how close I was to losing it right now.
I was clutching his hand so fiercely his knuckles shifted in my grip. I hadn’t felt so unsteady since I was a kid, first getting my bearings in the strange new world outside the bayou. But this was different. This wasn’t fear of losing something; it was fear of offering it. Nothing was more frightening than laying it all out there to be rejected.