Eleven

Vale

"Okay, but now, in English," I told my student, Lucian, over our Zoom session.

"Je ne sais pas comment le dis-le," he complained. For the past month, I'd been helping him to improve his English skills at the behest of his parents, who'd hired me as his ESL tutor. But the preteen had no interest, though he'd be living in he US within the next few month when his father started his job in Atlanta.

"Essayer. C'est pourquoi nous sommes ici," I chided, telling him to try, before I switched back to English. "Translate the sentence, please."

"When is la fête? J'ai faim."

"Lucian…" I warned, when he said half the words he was supposed to translating in his native language instead.

"This is stupid," he replied.

"See. You can speak in English."

The boy grimaced. "I have to leave for practice. Are we almost fini?"

"We are. On Wednesday, we'll be talking together about weather. Make sure you review unit eighteen before then."

"Oui, oui," he sighed.

"Passe une bonne nuit, Lucian. Rendez-vous mercredi," I told him, barely getting out the words, telling him to have a good night and I'd see him Wednesday, before he disconnected.

"It's so weird hearing you speak in another language," a deep voice said behind me, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Kale," I gasped, spinning in my desk chair toward where he stood leaned against the doorjamb of my office.

"That wasn't Spanish."

"No. French."

"I didn't know you even spoke Spanish before the accident, and now you speak French, too?"

I shrugged. "What can I say? Languages are my thing."

"They never used to be. Neither was baking. You used to love art and playing the piano."

We'd had this conversation before, yet a tingle went up my spine as he strayed far too close to the truth about me. What would he do if he found out I wasn't the Vale he'd known since the womb?

"Well, I mean, I could stop baking if it makes you feel better—"

"No," he cut in quickly. "You want the guys to kill me? C'mon, sis."

I stood, meeting him at the doorway. Taking the silent hint, he turned and walked into the living room where he sank onto the couch. I settled into the chair opposite him.

"So… Another day, another club member turning up at my house. When do you think you'll be satisfied I'm just fine out here on my own?"

"Never."

"Kale. The accident was a fluke. You don't have to—"

"It wasn't," he interrupted. "I'm sure it wasn't. You know the club has enemies."

"And I'm sure you and the guys decimated them." My brow lifted as I challenged him. Kale kicked at the coffee table leg with the toe of his boot, avoiding my gaze.

"Woulda if we coulda," he muttered.

"You didn't?" More prickles scraped up my spine at the possibility I could have two people out to get me—or one person and a possible second group. The person who'd murdered Melonie Windsor wouldn't let me live if they realized I knew their identity. And now, I had Kale's faceless enemies to worry about?

"We won't let anything happen to you," he told me as panic tried to bubble up in my chest. "So… It's still weird to hear you speaking another language. When did you learn French?"

I shrugged. "While ago. So…" I echoed, changing the subject as he had. "You're just letting yourself into my place now? No even knocking?"

"You mad?"

"No," I conceded. "So what's up? Why're you today's sentry? You usually send one of your men. Biter, mostly." Was the theoretical danger he alluded to closer than he let on? And gah! Now, I was obsessing about one more dang thing when I was already looking over my shoulder all the time.

"Today's sentry?" he laughed.

"Are you seriously going to pretend you haven't been keeping tabs on me when your guys aren't here?"

"You had a party last night," he answered, confirming my suspicion without as many words.

"I didn't have a party." I rolled my eyes, even as warm feelings filtered through me. Last night had been a huge step forward after waiting five long years to get back into Dayton's orbit. "I had my neighbors over for dinner."

"The same neighbors you made cookies for?"

Biter had such a big mouth. I knew he wouldn't keep my secrets.

"Kale…"

"He's a cop," my brother continued, ignoring my warning tone.

"Kale! You went snooping around about him? What?"

"Of course, I did." His toe prodded at the table leg again, and he didn't meet my eyes, his jaw working. "He won't like your association with the club. If you really want someone to date—"

"I'm not dating one of the guys from your club. And I'm sure Dayton won't care about the MC. We're just friends." At least, that's all we were as far as Kale needed to know.

"Uh-huh. Do you know his wife died a few years ago? It's messy, Vale."

Closing my eyes, I shook my head. "Again… We're just friends, Nosy Nelly."

"Nosy Nelly?" he laughed.

"Yeah, I think it should be your new club name. It's much better than Spear. Fits you," I challenged.

"Uh-huh…no. Just be careful, okay? I don't want you to be hurt by some asshole cop who's still stuck on his dead wife. You deserve better than that."

Looking over his shoulder, I stared at the house where I used to live, the place where I'd known Dayton better than anyone else in the world. "He's not an asshole."

"Whatever you say," Kale snorted, slapping his hand to his thighs then standing. "You got some cake around here?"

I rolled my eyes. "Middle shelf of the fridge. Help yourself."

"You coming to the club for dinner tonight?"

"No. I didn't even know there was a dinner."

"Now you do."

"I have a date."

Kale sighed. "He's a cop, sis."

"That, I did know. And he's a detective, not just a cop. Stop stereotyping."

"They're all the same," he retorted, confirming my point about his attitude. "And I'm not stereotyping. It's a fact."

"No. It's not. You'll see."

"So where is this date?"

"Don't know, and I definitely wouldn't tell you if I did. I don't need you—or Biter or whoever you send—shadowing me all night long."

He didn't even look abashed by my accusation as he chuckled and headed into the kitchen. Curling my legs under me, I stayed where I was, still looking at the house across the street. Dayton wasn't there. Though it was Sunday, he had to work today. Brennan had said something about sleeping over at a friend's last night after the movies—a teammate apparently, since Brennan planned to go straight to practice from there.

My eyes narrowed as a car that was neither Dayton nor Brennan's slowed in front of their house then turned into the drive. Sinking low in my chair, I watched it park, saw the person with unruly blond hair as they got out and looked around then went to the door.

Lifting up one hip, I pulled my cell phone from my back pocket then rushed to the window, snapping a couple pictures while, much to my horror, the person let themselves into Dayton's house.

I stared at the empty porch, deciding what to do. I couldn't call the police, because the person I saw… They were most definitely a cop.

Just not the one who lived there.