Tyler O'Neill's Redemption. Molly O'Keefe

hands and the fire ants went berserk. Could this get any more complicated?

      “Where was I during all of this?” Tyler asked. It seemed hard to believe Dad would have been planning a crime of this magnitude while they’d been living together.

      “You were shacked up with that dancer,” Dad said. “With the legs—”

      “Jill. Right.” Those had been some heady days. Dad could have joined the monastery and Tyler probably wouldn’t have noticed.

      “Who hired you?”

      “No idea who the big guy was. I did all my business with a Chinese woman who delivered takeout. They gave me a 60–40 split and bankrolled the supplies.”

      “How did Mom get involved?”

      “That’s the thing.” Dad spun one of the kitchen chairs around and sat, looking like a wild-eyed sea captain about to tell some tales and Tyler felt that familiar tug-of-war between love and hate.

      There was still a part of him that wanted to sit here, listen to every word, applaud every caper and con.

      The other part of him was so damn tired of it all.

      Ten years ago, Tyler had left Bonne Terre to go find Richard and despite having lived with him off and on for the last ten years, Tyler felt as though he’d never really found him.

      Richard Bonavie, nomad, thief, con man extraordinaire, sure. Anybody could follow that guy’s trail of broken hearts and cons gone bad across the country.

      But Tyler’s father? Still missing.

      “Seven years ago,” Richard said, “when Joel and I got to the drop-off, your mother was there.” He shook his head. “I hadn’t seen the woman in something like fifteen years and she’s sitting in that ratty Henderson bar like she owns the place.”

      “That must have been a surprise.”

      “You can imagine. Anyway, I left. If Vanessa was there, I figured the whole thing was sour in a big way.”

      “What happened to the gems? To Joel?”

      “He got pinched, but he only had one gem on him. The emerald. The diamond and ruby are still loose.”

      “And you think they’re here?”

      “There was a rumor that the diamond had surfaced in Beijing, but nothing came of it. I think Vanessa picked them off Joel and hid them here. It’s why she came back after all these years.”

      Twenty, to be exact, and Dad was probably right—she sure as hell didn’t come back for her kids. Just like Dad, it would take something shiny and very, very valuable to get her coming around.

      “So,” he said, “you’re here for the gems?”

      “Of course!” Richard cried, spreading his arms. “There’s a fortune hidden in this house, Ty. A fortune that could be ours.”

      A fortune.

      Of course.

      “I would think a fortune in gems might warrant some enthusiasm,” Richard said, arching an eyebrow.

      Luckily, a pounding at the door saved Tyler from having to answer and he stood.

      “I’m not here,” Dad said and Tyler shot him a look.

      “You never are,” he muttered and headed to the front door, ready to take off the head of whatever salesperson or Jehovah’s Witness might be unfortunate enough to be standing there.

      Not bothering with a shirt he swung open the bright red door only to find Juliette Tremblant standing there, straight and tall, her hazel eyes set into that perfect face.

      His stomach dipped, his skin tightened at just the sight of her. Her perfume, something clean and minty, hit him on a breeze and his poor, battered body responded with a growl.

      “Chief Tremblant,” he said, propping his arm up on the door frame.

      Oh, the fire ants sat up and cheered when she watched his chest, her eyes practically sticking to his arms. His hands.

      Well, looky, looky, he thought, glad he hadn’t bothered with a shirt yet.

      “Something I can do for you?” he asked, hooking a thumb in the low waist of his jeans.

      Juliette sighed, looking up at the sky as if praying for strength.

      “Once again, Jules, I say spit it out.”

      “Someone tried to steal your car last night.” Fire. Ants.

      “Suzy?”

      “Who?”

      “My car. Where is it?”

      “You named your car?”

      “Where is my car?”

      “It’s fine.” She put out her hands, and even though she was inches from contact he could feel the heat of her fingers against the bare skin of his chest. Like ghosts. Like memories.

      For a second his head spun.

      “Your car is fine,” she repeated, and he snapped back into clarity. “It’s in impound down at the station.”

      “And who tried to steal it?” he asked, ready, seriously ready to take out every ounce of anger he had about his father and Juliette and being back in this backwater town on the car thief.

      Juliette turned and pointed to the sedan in front of the house. A person’s head was pressed against the glass of the backseat window, where he’d clearly passed out.

      “He did,” she said.

      “A drunk?” he asked. Just the thought of what could have happened to Suzy at the hands of a drunk made him nauseous.

      “A kid,” she said. “He’s just a kid.”

      “A drunk kid?”

      His stomach was never going to be the same.

      “No,” she said. “You’ve got it wrong. Come on, Tyler, get dressed and I’ll explain it on the way to the station.”

      Tyler watched her, sensing something else at work. Her aggression was banked, and she wasn’t just being civil. No, she was apprehensive. And mad about it. And the longer he stared at her, the worse it got, until finally her hazel eyes were shooting out sparks.

      “Please,” she said through clenched teeth and Tyler smiled.

      A supplicant Juliette. The fire ants went home and his day just got a whole lot better.

      “Well.” He grinned and he could hear her grinding her teeth. “Since you asked so nice, Chief Tremblant, I would be delighted to head on down to the station to get my car and press charges against the juvenile delinquent who had the balls to try and steal Suzy.”

      “Fine,” she snapped. “Get dressed.”

      Tyler ducked back inside to grab a shirt.

      “Who’s the girl?” Dad asked, standing at the living room window, lifting the curtains an inch so he could stare at the porch.

      “No one,” Tyler said, grabbing his shirt from the counter where he’d thrown it last night. It stank of blood and dirt and smoke and there was no way he was putting it back on and getting in a car with Juliette Tremblant. Bad enough his face looked like hamburger.

      But all of his clothes were in Suzy.

      “Give me a shirt,” he said, stepping into the living room.

      Dad pointed to his open duffel on the couch, still looking through the window. “She looks like police.”

      “She is,” Tyler said, slinging through Dad’s shirts. There were a bunch of them, which made Tyler nervous about his father’s travel plans. Or lack thereof. “Do you even play golf?” he asked,