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Danny straightened. “Hopefully, we’ll find out who was driving.”
“He might not be the person who broke into your apartment,” the deputy warned.
“I know, but it’s a place to start.” She turned to Jacques. “I’d like to get into my apartment.”
He nodded. “We can do that.”
Gisele rose and hugged Danny. “I’m sorry this happened to you. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
Danny nodded, her eyes suspiciously shiny. “Thanks. You already have.”
She walked with them through to the front of the store.
As they passed Johnny, he called out.
You break it, you buy it, asshole!
Danny laughed. “Does he offend your customers?”
Gisele shrugged. “If they’re offended, that’s their problem. Johnny’s part of the family. We almost lost him in the hurricane.” She smiled at the bird. “As obnoxious as he can be, I’m glad he found his way home.”
“Me, too,” Danny said. “He’s part of what makes Bayou Mambaloa special.”
Jacques and Danny emerged from the store into sunshine and humidity.
Yaya waved at them from inside her yoga studio, leading a class in the Warrior pose.
Jacques shook his head. Danny was right about Johnny. But it wasn’t just Johnny. It was Gisele and her Voodoo grandmother, Yaya and her yoga studio, Sheriff Bergeron and all the people who made up the community. They made it a special place to live.
He hated that someone was threatening Danny and potentially other town folk. If her attacker had come to find her, he could potentially attack someone else.
Jacques followed Danny up the steps to her apartment and waited for her to unlock the door. When she went to push the door inward, he caught the edge. “Let me go first.”
She nodded and let him.
As he entered the apartment, she called out.
“You know, I was trained to clear a building.”
“I know,” he said as he flipped on lights and checked corners, closets and under the bed.
Danny stood in the entrance, her eyebrow cocked, the sun glinting off her hair, turning loose curls into a coppery halo around her face. “Clear?”
“Clear.” He shook his head, smiling.
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Not at all.” He moved aside so she could enter.
She stepped inside. “Then what were you grinning about?”
“The sunlight glinting off your hair,” he answered truthfully.
Her hand rose to touch her hair, a frown creasing her brow. “It’s red,” she said flatly.
He tilted his head and stared at her. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”
Her cheeks flushed a bright pink. “I’m a tomboy with orange hair and freckles. There’s nothing beautiful about that.”
