Page 3 of Illicit

I pick up my water and take a sip before turning back to my phone when the conversation starts to play out behind me.

“Jules Robichaux?”

I freeze, not seeing anything scrolling across my screen.

Fuck.

“That’s me,” Jules grunts. “You Stella Hayes?”

“Yes, Stella,” the female confirms. “Thank you for meeting me.”

Stella Hayes.

I exhale.

I have no fucking clue what triggered it, but my mind is fucking with me.

I type the name into my phone … not that I’d forget. I have the memory of bad screenshots that live forever and haunt the worst of nightmares.

“I don’t normally take meets like this, but your email caught my eye. You’re five minutes late, by the way. That usually pisses me off. Get to it, cher.”

Interesting. Robichaux’s tone doesn’t match his words. He doesn’t sound at all pissed. He sounds exactly like a man who’s talking about a hot piece, just not to her face.

There’s an awkward pause before the woman clears her throat. “I’m here about my grandfather. I’m trying to find him. One of his last forms of communication was with you.”

I ignore the uncomfortable feeling that settles in my gut as my phone vibrates with a text.

Taylor – What I wouldn’t do to be listening to this play out live. I’d be surprised if this chick is even twenty.

Fuck that. I’d give anything to have eyes on what’s going on. It shouldn’t matter, but I need to see the face that voice is coming from.

“Who’s your pawpaw?” Jules demands.

“Heath. Heath Hayes,” the woman says. “Surely you remember. You and he had a business meeting. We haven’t heard from him since.”

“I know Hayes. How old’re you, cher?” Jules drawls in his deep Cajun accent. “That old man looked old enough to be your great-granddaddy.”

“I’m older than I look. My aunt and I are so worried. My grandfather basically raised me. I’ve read through his emails from you. My aunt and I know he accepted your proposition, got on an international flight, and the last we heard from him was when he touched down in Spain. His itinerary said he was supposed to travel through to Africa, but we have no idea if he got there. We don’t even know why he left to begin with. He’s never traveled outside of the south. I need your help. My family needs to find him.”

There’s nothing I want more in life than to turn around and get a look at the woman who just admitted she’s willing to do anything for fucking Jules Robichaux. And that’s saying something because I want a shit ton out of life.

My blood pumps way too fast for my age, my physique, and my mental well-being.

I need to know who she is.

Hell, I need to know who she isn’t.

My mind is playing tricks on me. This is like a sick fucking joke or cruel and unusual punishment.

This is a nightmare playing out in the light of day.

I glance down at my phone.

Taylor – What the fuck is going on with this woman?

That’s what I’d like to know, but for a much different reason.

“You don’t look like you belong anywhere near old-man Hayes,” Jules mutters. “In fact, you look like you’re from a whole different world.”

---