Stephanie Tyler - Unbreakable

Gunner pushed himself up from the table. “Call me James,” he said before he walked out of the sliding glass door and back into the smoke.

Three minutes . Avery desperately tried to remain calm and was failing. Her hands shook and it was getting harder to hold on to the vase. None of this made sense.

Memories flashed in her mind, almost too quickly for her to hang on to any of them—Gunner, holding her while she’d cried. Gunner tattooing her. Gunner, in her bed . . .

She avoided talking about anything that could be construed as asking him to stay. Instead, she asked, “Why tattoos?”

“Tattoos are like a résumé,” he explained. “They’re where you’ve been, where you want to go. In some cultures, they tell everything about you, if you’ve been to prison. If you’ve killed.”

He went quiet then, and she asked, “What do yours say?”

“More than you want to know.”

But she did want to know. She thought on those final hours, about how Gunner had remained under her, how he hadn’t struggled or moved. How she’d been the one to finally roll off.

He hadn’t wanted to let her go. And she’d forced his hand, let him slide out of bed and dress and leave as casually as if he’d be back that night for dinner.

Now, two weeks later, she had more regrets than she could stand. And obviously, so did he.

She could believe the flowers were from him. But the bomb . . .

She wouldn’t stand here waiting for death. She was going to grab that bitch by the balls.

She raised her arms above her head, felt her body shift into gear as adrenaline raced. And then she read the note one last time before throwing the flowers into the air and letting go.

Avery was shaking so hard her teeth chattered. The only thing that kept her from falling apart completely and immediately was the thought of Billie Jean and her text, sent right before the knock on the door from the flower delivery.

Someone’s been here asking questions about you.

She raced out the door of the panic room that led into the garage, took the alley away from the street and headed to find Billie Jean.

She only hoped she was wrong about not being the only target, that she wasn’t too late. The fact that whoever did this to her tried to make her think Gunner did this to her made her angrier.

The door was locked. She banged on it, tried to see inside but it was dark.

“We’re not open.”

She whirled around to find Lenny getting out of his car.

“Please, I think Billie Jean’s in trouble.”

“She’s not supposed to come in until seven,” Lenny told her. She wanted to shake him, almost grabbed the keys from his hands as he jangled them, looking for the right one.

“Please. Someone tried to kill me. I think Billie’s in real trouble.”

She pushed past Lenny into the darkened bar, listened, heard a moan. Weapon drawn, she motioned for Lenny to stay outside as she cleared the room.

A light that escaped from the partially open kitchen door allowed her to see that there was no one in the main dining area.

She looked behind the bar. Nothing.

She peered into the kitchen. Saw the blood on the floor by the industrial stove. She kicked the door open, ready to take anyone out.

The only one there was Billie, lying on her side on the floor.

“Billie, I’m here. Lenny, call the ambulance and police now!” she yelled, and Lenny came rushing in.

“Shit,” he said, grabbed the cordless phone from its holder and began dialing as she opened the door to the alley. It was well lit and empty.

She closed and locked the door behind her and grabbed clean towels. She put some under Billie’s head, used the others to press the wound in her belly.

Billie’s eyes fluttered open and she laughed weakly. “Guess this ring’s not such good luck after all.”

“You’re still breathing, so I’d say it is.” Avery looked around. Where was the goddamned ambulance? “Billie Jean, help’s coming. You stay with me.”

“Trying.” She gave a short laugh. “Funny, but I thought it’d be you who’d do me in when I first met you.”

“You’re going to be fine,” Avery told her.

“You’re not,” Billie rasped, clutched Avery’s wrist. “Avery, something terrible’s going to happen to you.”

“It already did. I got away,” she quickly reassured the woman.

“Avery, there was a guy in here the other night asking about you. He wasn’t Cajun but he lives here. Has for years. I got the feeling he might know Gunner.”

Billie Jean’s mother had been psychic, and although Billie Jean told Avery she didn’t have skills anywhere close, she got strong feelings at times. It was how she’d known Gunner was in love with Avery. It was how she’d known Gunner loved her but wasn’t in love with her. “You concentrate on yourself.”

“Not . . . okay,” Billie persisted.

“You will be,” Avery reassured her.

“Man . . . looking for you.”

“Is he the one who did this?”

“Not sure. He left . . . then someone came up . . . from behind. It was dark.” Billie closed her eyes then, her breathing labored.

The ambulance came ten long minutes later, although the fire and police were already there, helping Billie, talking to Lenny and Avery. By that time, other staff had started to arrive and one of the other waitresses went with Billie in the ambulance.

She’d whispered to Lenny to say she was staff, and no one seemed to question that. Not yet, anyway. She owed Lenny, but he probably thought she just didn’t want trouble. He didn’t realize Avery was somehow the trouble.

Before he wandered off, because the man was in a daze, she asked, “Did anyone come in here over the past couple of days asking about me? Or asking Billie about me?”

He didn’t want to answer, she knew, but he finally wrote something down and handed it to her. “I didn’t see him talking to Billie at all. This was about a week ago he came to me. You didn’t hear shit from me, hear?”

“I hear.” She turned and found herself with a face full of Jem’s chest. He grabbed her, pulled her tight to him and she hugged him back. He kept her face tucked against him and she felt the change in the air as he brought her outside the restaurant, away from the chaos.

And then he pulled her away and asked, “What the hell, Avery? I heard the explosions when I was halfway to the shop. I wanted to surprise you and got the surprise of my goddamned life.” He looked shaken and she knew from experience how hard that was to do. He took her by the shoulders and stared at her. “Are you okay?”

“It’s not my blood. It’s Billie Jean’s—one of Gunner’s ex-wives.”

“And the shop?”

“Gunner sent me flowers.”

“Flowers don’t do that kind of damage.”

“There was a bomb.” If she said more, she’d break down. She pressed her lips together and let Jem lead her away.

Once in the privacy of the truck, she told him what Billie and Lenny told her, about the man asking questions about her.

“So we’re taking a trip into the bayou.” Jem sounded resigned. “First, you need a shower and new clothes.”

She didn’t argue. “If we can get into the panic room—”

“Forget it. Place is still crawling with cops and arson investigators. And the bomb squad.”

“I wonder what the new owner will do,” she murmured, and Jem pulled the truck over.

“New owner? Start from the beginning. Where’s Gunner?”

“He’s gone.”

“When?”

Twenty-four hours ago. “Three weeks ago,” she admitted, because it wasn’t a complete lie. “He left without saying anything. Left me the sale papers.”