Molly O'Keefe - Tyler O'Neill's Redemption

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.