Page 35 of Xavier

Lissette shook her head. “It was worse than I’d imagined. Tombstones have been toppled, the doors to vaults and crypts have been bashed in, or the locks cut and the reliquary boxes or urns taken.” Once again, she hooked her hand through the crook of Xavier’s arm, absorbing the strength of his muscles beneath her fingertips.

“Is that when you found out your reliquary had been taken?”

She nodded. “I was so angry and rattled, I called the one person I knew who might know where I could find it.”

“Nub?” Xavier guessed.

“Yes.” She drew in a breath, her brow creasing. “He said he’d check on the whereabouts of the stolen items, my family reliquary in particular, and get back to me. He called back within an hour to say he’d found mine and would drop it behind the trash bin in the alley behind the yoga studio after midnight.”

His hand covered hers on his arm and squeezed slightly. “Where I found you last night with your two admirers.”

Lissette snorted. “Admirers, my ass.” She glanced up at him. “Thanks for coming to my rescue. There aren’t many who would.”

They entered the cemetery through a wrought-iron gate.

Lissette took more time to study the damage the vandals had left behind. Her chest tightened. She’d done some stupid, sometimes despicable things, but she’d never desecrated holy ground. It made her sad to see the tombstones toppled, a couple of them broken into pieces. The doors that had been pried open on the crypts hung open, their locks broken or cut.

As she walked, she checked the list on her phone against what she was seeing in front of her. “I need to warn the families who haven’t experienced bad juju yet to be careful. Until their protection reliquaries are returned, they’re in danger.”

“With a hurricane heading this direction, the entire community is in danger,” Xavier reminded her.

Lissette nodded. “All the more reason to get those items back to where they belong.”

“Even if you manage that, there’s no guarantee the hurricane will change course and miss Bayou Mambaloa.”

“Maybe not, but people might stand a better chance of surviving.” She stopped at the end of a row of tombs and stared at a house-shaped concrete structure with the name Gautier carved above the door. “This is our family tomb.” She turned on her phone’s flashlight and reached for the door, which hung slightly ajar. She pushed it open and stepped inside. Each side was lined with shelves and chambers. At the far end stood an empty pedestal.

“The reliquary box stood here,” Lissette said. “Every year on the Day of the Dead, my grandmother brought us here.” Her lips twisted. “I didn’t appreciate those visits. I wasn’t a very pleasant child.”

“What about your parents? Did they go with you on the Day of the Dead?”

Lissette snorted. “My father bugged out shortly after I was born. My mother would rather take drugs than raise a daughter. One day, she left me alone in our Baton Rouge apartment when I was ten. I haven’t seen her since.” She kept her back to him, not wanting to see pity in his eyes. She didn’t deserve it. Not after all she’d done.

“She just left you?” Xavier closed the distance and turned her gently to face him. His brow creased in a frown. “What did you do?”

She stared at his shirt instead of meeting his gaze. “My mother hadn’t paid the rent either. When the landlord came to collect, I told him she was at work. I stayed in the apartment until I ran out of food. The landlord caught me sneaking out, and the jig was up. He turned me over to Child Protective Services. I spent a couple of nights in a foster home, then they turned me over to my grandmother.”

“Madame Gautier seems to be a stable sort. I would think you’d have been better off with her.”

“I was, but I didn’t make it easy on her.” She touched her hand to his chest. I didn’t want to rely on anyone.”

“You didn’t trust anyone,” he said.

She made the mistake of looking up into his gaze. Instead of pity, she saw something else. Empathy? Compassion? Understanding?

As her heart swelled, she quickly locked it down and stepped back. Her hand fell to her side, her back stiffened and she reminded herself that the only person she could count on was herself. She couldn’t love. Wouldn’t. The people who were supposed to love her had left her.

“No,” she said. “I didn’t trust anyone. I ran away several times. My grandmother had too many rules. When I lived with my mother, there were no rules. She was never around. The third time I ran away, CPS told my grandmother I’d be placed in a juvenile detention home the next time. By then, I was seventeen and behind in school. I asked my grandmother for the study materials to take the GED. I studied and found I wasn’t as dumb as everyone thought. I took the GED, passed and never went back to public school.” She walked toward the door. “Enough of my boring life. We need to swing by my grandmother’s island, pick up whatever medicines she has ready for delivery and get started.”

Xavier followed her out of the tomb, turned, shifted the damaged door into place and jammed a stick between the door and the doorjamb to hold it closed.

Lissette watched the man, admiring how his muscles flexed and strained the fabric of his T-shirt.

If she wanted, she could have him. Her core heated at the thought. It had been more than a year since she’d had sex. He’d only be around for six more days, not nearly enough time to form an emotional attachment—on his part. She’d never formed an emotional attachment to any man she’d slept with—or anyone, for that matter. Love only ever hurt. Her mother had taught her that lesson.

Sex with the former Navy SEAL. Hmmm. What could it hurt? He’d be gone soon.

An odd feeling tugged at her heart.