“It’s not her—it’s me,” I say.

Everyone stops eating at the same time and stares at me.

My face flames red. “Actually, it’s my purse, not me. Felix peed in it earlier.”

The girl stares at me for a couple seconds, her expression one of disgust. “Oh. That’s much better than it being you.”

My jaw drops open. I’m not sure if she’s trying to be funny or completely rude.

The Cajun guy solves the mystery for me. “Don’t be such a bitch, Toni. She’s a little shell-shocked. Wouldn’t you be?” He shakes his head, maybe in disappointment, and goes back to his soup. A loud slurping follows as the liquid is drawn up from his spoon into his mouth.

Toni doesn’t say anything. She just bites into her bread like she didn’t just beg me to whack her with my pee-purse.

Since I’m vastly outnumbered by the brawn around the table that I can only assume is her quasi-family, I decide to at least enjoy my meal. Who knows? It could be my last.

My first bite makes it perfectly clear why Lucky would be willing to take out his grandmother for another bowl of it.

“Wow.” I say, savoring a chunk of spicy sausage. “This is amazing soup.”

“Told ya.” Dev smiles at me. “Wait ’til you have his jambalaya. Out of this world.”

The Cajun rolls his eyes heavenward. “Oh là là, I’m going to make a special request for next week—you can count on that.” He winks at me. “It’s my birthday.”

I nod, going back to my soup. Three bites and I’m even more in love with the man who cooked this meal. “So where is Ozzie, anyway?” I ask. “Isn’t he going to eat?” I’m not looking forward to seeing that beard again anytime soon, but I would like to thank him. So far he hasn’t killed me, and now he’s saved me from a stalker and fed me. That deserves some gratitude at the very least.

“He probably already did. He doesn’t eat with the group that much,” says Lucky.

“How come?” I keep staring at his bread, wondering if he’s going to eat it. I should have gotten a piece from the oven when I had a chance.

Dev gets up and goes over to the stove. I can hear him spooning out more soup behind me.

“He’s got a lot of admin to do,” Lucky says.

“He’s a loner,” says Toni. “Big time.”

“Huh.” I have nothing to say to that. All I know is, he’s a great cook. I hope there aren’t any beard hairs in here, though.

Dev drops a piece of toasted garlic bread on the table by my bowl. “Saw you eyeing Lucky’s piece. Didn’t want you to get your fingers bitten off.”

“Shut up, dick, I’m hungry. You would be too, tailing that dirtbag for twelve hours.” Dev opens his mouth to answer but is stopped by an angry voice from the doorway.

“Not a word,” he says. “She’s not staying.”

I look up and see the man who threw the kitchen towel standing at the entrance to the room.

“Oh, come on, Oz, don’t be such a hard-ass,” says the Cajun. “She can stay for a little while. You said yourself she might be at risk.”

It’s then that I put it all together. This gorgeous hunk of man-meat standing there lording his muscles all over us is not Ozzie’s brother. He’s Ozzie. He’s The Beard. He’s the guy who told me to leave my car alone and then guided me here when I didn’t listen. And he’s the one looking hotter than a man should be allowed to look, with muscles bulging out of his shirt and his jaw twitching in annoyance as he glares at me. He looks totally and completely different.

“What happened to your horrible beard?” I ask, before I think to stop myself.

CHAPTER NINE

The Cajun laughs but says nothing, staring down into his soup as he swirls his spoon around in it.

Ozzie doesn’t answer me. Instead, he walks across the room, grabs a bowl, and fills it to the top. I look around the table as he comes over to take his seat. No one seems to be in any hurry to explain this complete body makeover Ozzie has somehow accomplished in less than an hour.

“Good stuff, Oz,” says Lucky, referencing the meal. “Outdid yourself again.”

Ozzie grunts, taking a bite of some bread. He makes eye contact with no one.

“Listen, man, about tonight . . .” says Dev.

Ozzie drops his spoon with a clang into the bowl. “Let it go for now.” He’s staring at the middle of the table, clearly making an effort to contain his temper.

“I just wanted you to know I meant to be there.”

“Sure you did,” says Lucky. I can’t tell if he’s disgusted or amused. “Just like you meant to be at Roscoe’s last week and Beat Street the week before.”

“Hey, you guys know I have responsibilities.”

Ozzie finally lifts his gaze. “We all have responsibilities, Dev. All of us. It’s just that yours get in the way of you doing your job way more often than they should.”

The stress floating over the table is too much. I can’t take it.

“So what exactly is your job, anyway?” I’m shooting for a casual tone, but not quite getting there. My voice is too high, too strained.

Everyone looks at me, including Ozzie, forcing me to explain myself.

“I mean, I saw your business card, so obviously you’re not murderers. Or I hope you aren’t. I mean, would you feed me if you were?”

No one answers. They just stare at me.

“You’re not the Mafia, I hope. Not that I’m any threat, okay? I won’t say a word to anyone about your lair.”

“Our lair?” Toni asks.

I look around. “Yeah. The Batcave or whatever you call this place.”

The Cajun laughs quietly.

“Shut up, Thibault.” Ozzie’s cranky again, I guess.

I sigh. “Seriously, could someone please just tell me what this place is? Who you are? Because my imagination is running wild, and that’s not a good thing.”

“What do you think we are?” Lucky asks, putting his spoon down and sitting back to focus on me.

I look around the table. The emblem on Ozzie’s shirt catches my eye again. “I guess, if I were to take the serial-group-murderer idea off the table, I’d say you’re either some sort of private security company or a fan of one.” Or they’re drug dealers and they use those T-shirts and business cards to throw people off. I’m not going to say that thought aloud, though.

Lucky winks at me. “Good eye.” He gives me a quick chin lift. “What else do you see?”

I feel like I’ve entered a televised trivia game. Putting down my spoon, I take a closer look at my surroundings, using my photographer’s eye to soak up the details. It’s easier now that I don’t feel quite as threatened. So far, no one’s pointed a gun or a knife at me, and it seems like there’re probably plenty of those available around here.

“Well, I see a group of people who act like family but who aren’t. Except maybe for you two.” I point at Toni and the Cajun—Thibault I guess his name is. He nods, confirming my suspicion. “Obviously you’re . . . uh . . . a health-conscious group. I suppose if you’re into doing security things, that’s important.” I look down at the dog. “You have a guard dog who’s supposed to be very scary but really isn’t so much. She seems like a big softie to me.” Felix stretches out, and she doesn’t move a single hair on her body other than to blink.

A couple of people snicker, but when I look up to see who it was, no one’s taking ownership. Ozzie looks like he’s about to explode, his face is so red.

“There are cameras in all the corners, here and downstairs, so either you have something valuable in this place or you worry about someone getting in and coming after you. I saw lockers that could have something valuable in them. Maybe weapons, since I noticed that one looked like a gun safe, and you seem to have a collection going upstairs here too.” I realize that I’m describing both a security company and a drug gang’s lair with equal accuracy.