Jean-Luc: Once is Never Enough (Paris Intrigue 2)

By Vonnie Davis

Her daughter’s kidnapping. A metro bombing. Going undercover. Zoey Morningstar’s trip to Paris wasn’t to include any of these things. But it does. Although Jean-Luc LeFèvre rescues her little girl from the Red Hand, the threat to her child continues. Zoey is grateful to Jean-Luc, but her need to help capture the abductors must override any desire she feels for the handsome agent with his own brand of justice...and danger.

Jean-Luc is not pleased when Gwen, a crime scene photographer with just enough training to get them killed, is assigned to work with him in the French Counterterrorism Unit. Not only does she take too many risks, she drives him to distraction.

As Zoey and Jean-Luc track the terrorists, their feelings for each other grow as fast as the danger. Jean-Luc is determined to protect Zoey and her daughter, but the sinister grasp of the Red Hand is strong and far-reaching. It will take more than love to keep them all safe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vonnie Davis
• Release date: Jun 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370192977

Vonnie Davis

For years I’ve been a romance junkie, perhaps that’s why I adore writing about love and passion. I’d classify myself as a late bloomer. I started college in my late forties, met the love of my life in my mid-fifties and published my first book in my early sixties. My husband and I live in Southern Virginia. We enjoy spoiling the grandchildren and traveling. My deepest desire is to write saucy, often humorous romances you’ll cherish long after you’ve turned off the e-reader.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

It wasn’t the hardened man who eased his motorcycle to the curb that snagged Zoey Morningstar’s attention. Nor was it the wide spread of his shoulders or the way his black jeans hugged his muscled thighs like a pair of lover’s hands. For sure, it wasn’t the long scar on his right cheek or the small silver cross that dangled from his ear. No, it was his alabaster angel wings that dragged on the pavement.

Odd that Parisians hurried past without so much as a second glance. As if seeing a mountain of a man riding a Harley with angel wings flowing down his back was as common as citizens carrying unwrapped crusty loaves of bread in their hands. No one gawked as their feet tattooed a staccato beat on the busy pavements of the City of Light. Few things fazed Parisians, it seemed.

Mommy, look, it’s Jean-Luc. Her daughter, Taylor Ann, breathed in childhood hero worship before she exploded from her sidewalk café chair and rushed toward the man in angel wings.

I’m not quite sure how I feel about her attraction to him. Zoey watched over the rim of her demitasse, sipping the espresso’s strong brew and inhaling the richness of its aroma. Jean-Luc LeFèvre scooped Taylor Ann into his arms and slowly circled, laughing that deep rich laugh Zoey so enjoyed.

God, the man was glorious decked out in perilous black and angelic feathers.

Why? You’re certainly attracted. Her sister, Alyson, shifted in her chair, her hand over her swollen abdomen. You date him each time you come to Paris.

Yes, and we always end up rubbing each other the wrong way. Zoey set her cup on the saucer. Taylor Ann wants a father more than anything for her sixth birthday next month. She expelled a long sigh. I’m afraid she’s fostering hopes. I don’t like the idea of her being disappointed.

Aren’t you fostering hopes? Her sister laid her hand over Zoey’s and smiled her soft smile. I see how you look at him.

Jean-Luc removed his feathered wings, and evidenced by Taylor Ann’s bubbling excitement, he was going to let her try them on. Zoey tugged her camera from her bulky shoulder bag at her feet to snap pictures of her daughter in angel wings—not that her daughter wasn’t already an angel with her halo of blonde curls and adorable personality.

Hopes? She adjusted the shutter speed on her old camera and shook her head. No. I have no illusions where he’s concerned. This is my third trip to Paris to see you, and he gets more abrupt toward me with each visit.

Alyson gazed at the man for a second. He’s never been anything but polite toward me.

Yeah, well, not to me. Tell that husband of yours he needs friendlier agents working under him. She pressed the Nikon to her eye and snapped a few shots of Taylor Ann.

Yet you keep flirting in that bodacious way you have. Maybe if you toned it down a notch, he’d relax around you more.

Can’t do it. I enjoy rattling his he-man cage too much. He gets that twitch in his eye. Makes him twice as appealing. She winked at Alyson. Personally, my sister-the-matchmaker, I think you’re the one harboring hopes. You want Daddy married to your widowed mother-in-law and me married to Jean-Luc. One heck of a stretch since the man hasn’t spoken to me since we went dancing two nights ago. She clicked off a few shots of Taylor Ann.

Besides our lives are back in the States. My job. Taylor Ann’s school. Our home.

Mommy! Mommy, look, I’m an angel. Zoey’s attention pivoted to her daughter.

Indeed you are, Sugar Pie. She centered her angelic child in the frame and adjusted the lens before she snapped more shots while her daughter preened and turned, glowing that effervescent radiance her Taylor Ann possessed. How nice to take pictures of living beings and beautiful surroundings instead of the horrific scenes she recorded as a crime scene photographer.

If only that white van wasn’t parked there, she could get the unusual architecture of the Pompidou Museum in the background. Still, with her trained eye, she knew the pictures would be enchanting—an excited child, a pair of huge angel wings, and a smiling government agent.

If only he’d aim one of those smiles at me. Once, just once.

You’re mumbling again. Alyson shot her a gotcha look and laughed. Goodness, had she expressed her wish out loud?

After Jean-Luc reattached his wings and approached their table, he knelt in front of Alyson. How are you feeling? His large hands wrapped around her sister’s baby bump. How’s my goddaughter today?

Lord, just the sound of his deep voice and thick French accent made her stomach do twitchy things. Of course, he would pointedly ignore her—the jerk. He’d make over Taylor Ann, Alyson and the baby, but not one word for her.

She had a hunch as to why, too. She scared him. This was a man used to doing the chasing, not being chased. Not that she was determined in her pursuit, but she did enjoy his discomfort at her flirting.

Raising her demitasse again, she motioned at him with it. So, why the wings, handsome? Doing your impersonation of a Hell’s Angel?

Jean-Luc blinked twice as he regarded her with cold grey eyes. The thin scar that ran from his cheek to his jaw only added to the fierceness of this austere man. Red slowly crept up his thick neck. His eye twitched, which pleased her.

When one is undercover, one makes himself a part of his surroundings. He gave that arrogant French shrug Parisian men used as if it were a part of their DNA. Here in the land of the avant-garde, anything shocking works. Then, as if to indicate he was through with her, he directed his attention to Alyson once more. My sweet friend, where’s Niko?

He went for tickets to the museum so I wouldn’t have to stand in line. Oh, here he comes now.

Jean-Luc stood and turned. Somehow the angel wings running the length of his back to his calves made him look two degrees more lethal, which perplexed Zoey. What a strange paradox he was. Muscles and macho attitude blended with a fondness for children.

Alyson was right, Zoey was definitely attracted. Wasted dreams where he was concerned. Twelve more days and their trip would be over. She, Taylor Ann and her father would return to the States.

Taylor Ann sidled up to Jean-Luc and leaned against him. His arm wrapped around her narrow shoulders. A natural move on his part, but another endearing one for Taylor Ann who glanced up at him with worshipful eyes. Maybe she needed to squelch her desires for this man and focus on keeping an emotionally safe distance between her daughter and him.

Taylor Ann, come sit by Mommy and eat the rest of your pastry. The girl reluctantly obeyed.

Problems? Niko, Jean-Luc’s immediate supervisor at the French counterterrorism unit, asked before he bent to kiss his wife’s upturned face.

Yeah, we need to talk. I learned some things from the man I met at that café off Place Pigalle.

Niko nodded. You’ve got five minutes, and then I’m taking my ladies to the museum. The two men walked toward a quieter area down the street.

Zoey’s gaze followed them, their conversation obviously intense by their body posture. They certainly made the testosterone level in this artsy neighborhood rise, especially Jean-Luc’s very masculine bearing. Even those wings couldn’t detract from the man’s sexual aura.

You’re drooling. Alyson reached across the table and dabbed at Zoey’s chin.

Oh, I am not. She batted at Alyson’s hand and both of them laughed. Oh, honey, I miss you so much. Why did you have to fall in love with a Frenchman and move here?

Fifi! Fifi, come back! Little girl, grab his leash, please. A frantic dog owner ran toward them, pointing to her runaway poodle.

Taylor Ann scampered toward the dog, making clicking noises with her tongue to attract the dog’s attention just before snatching its leash.

Zoey tensed. Something was off. How did this woman know her daughter spoke English and not French? True, many Europeans spoke English, but she had this ominous feeling. Mother’s intuition.

Taylor Ann, stop. Come back. She stood, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

"Oh, merci beaucoup!" The dog’s owner stopped beside the van, one hand on it to steady herself and her other pressed to her chest, as if catching her breath. You are a dear child. Could you bring her to me, please? I’m so out of breath.

She didn’t sound out of breath.

A chill sprinted up her spine and Zoey started to run, intent on reaching her daughter. Taylor Ann, stop! In her haste, her foot got tangled in the strap of her bag and she tripped. Air whooshed out of her when she hit the sidewalk. She scraped her chin and bit her tongue. Her eyes watered in response.

To her horror, the side door of the white van flew open. Outstretched hands like evil tentacles from the vehicle’s dark interior grabbed her daughter and yanked her inside.

Mommy! Her child’s wail of fear tore at her soul.

Stop! That’s my child! Bile rose in Zoey’s throat. My God, this can’t be happening. No! Stop! Panic, searing hot, yet bitter cold, tornadoed through her system. Taylor Ann!

Alyson screamed for Niko.

Zoey scrambled to untangle her foot from her bag. No! Not my daughter! Stop them! They’ve taken my child! She flung the offending bag aside and dashed for the van as it sped away. The vehicle took aim at Jean-Luc’s motorcycle and crushed its back wheel in the process, then careened into the street.

Heavy footsteps pounded behind her. A blur of white feathers sprinted by. The vehicle, trying to weave through traffic on the two-lane street, slowed. Jean-Luc’s long legs ate up the distance. He leapt onto the back bumper and scrambled for the top. The van spun around the corner with an avenging angel clinging to its roof.

Niko was on the phone speaking rapid-fire French, no doubt alerting the police. His other hand gripped the arm of the struggling poodle owner, her hands cuffed behind her back. How had he subdued her so quickly? Alyson cried and held her abdomen. Parisians shouted questions and gestured with their hands. Everything was a blur.

Zoey took off running. No doubt a futile effort, yet she was loathe to resist. Gone. Gone. Taylor Ann, her sunshine, her very reason for living…gone. Abducted right in front of her. She ran faster. Legs pumping. Chest burning. No way. No way in hell. Someone would die for touching her baby.

****

Jean-Luc slid to the edge of the roof, his fingers clawed into the crevices where the doors met the body of the van. Traffic was heavy, thank God. Another fast turn like the last one and he might lose his grip. How had this abduction happened thirty feet from him? How had he missed the signs?

He slowly leaned his head down to peer into the passenger window. Not far, just low enough for his eyes to make an assessment.

Two men.

A driver and an armed passenger.

Taylor Ann was curled in a ball on the floor near the back doors.

He inched backwards onto the roof and slipped his gun from beneath the waistband of his jeans. He’d kill the bastards for taking her. Which one dies first?

The traffic stopped for a red light. Police sirens sounded from two directions. Niko’s instructions, no doubt. He could wait, but why risk Taylor Ann’s safety? If the driver made a sharp turn further up the street, and he fell off, they might get away with her.

No, he had to do something and do it now.

Traffic started moving again. With cold determination, Jean-Luc exhaled slowly and purposely steadied his nerves. If he failed, what would these men do to Taylor Ann? Rape her? Ship her to Taiwan where child trafficking was so prevalent? Over my damn dead body!

Jean-Luc inched toward the front of the van and over its edge. His mantra, the slogan of his old unit, the Maritime Commandos: "Honneur, Patrie, Valeur, Discipline."

Action around him slowed. His focus singular. Years of intensive training kicked in. Even though he was upside down when he fired, his aim was dead-on. The first shot hit the passenger between the eyes. The second struck the driver in the neck and sent the van into the back of the car in front of them.

Sounds of metal crunching against metal deafened the air.

Pedestrians screamed.

Jean-Luc flew across the hood of the van and smacked onto the trunk of the Peugeot in front of them. The car’s back window shattered. He spun, kicked his legs free from the fractured window and fell, hitting the pavement.

Horns blared.

Drivers cursed.

Momentum propelled him across the street and his shoulder slammed into a parked car. With his one good arm, he tore off his angel wings, partially destroyed and mangled in the accident.

Arm hanging at an unnatural angle, he gritted his teeth and swung his shoulder against a nearby tree to pop it back into place. For an instant, stars burst in his vision field. He sucked a deep breath, cursed, and willed himself to rise above the pain. Taylor Ann. I’ve got to rescue her.

Steam rose from the van’s crunched hood as he bolted toward it, focused on getting her out safely. He tugged on the sliding door. Locked. He pounded. "Taylor Ann, open the door. It’s Jean-Luc. Unlock the door, ma petite."

Sounds of the lock being popped drifted out before the door slid open, and the wild-eyed child leapt into his arms.

Jean-Luc, she hick-upped his name in a fit of crying. You saved me. I…I was so s-scared. Her thin arms tightened around his neck.

Are you hurt? He tried to examine her for cuts and bruises, but she clung to him.

No. Sobs shook her tiny frame.

Thank God. Tremors coursed through his body as the adrenaline rush ebbed. He slid down the side of the van to the ground, one arm wrapped around her, his other hanging at his side. He cursed both his weakness and this perverted world that placed an innocent child like this in danger. A child like Sasha. He blinked away a vision of his little sister. When Sasha was abducted, no one was around to rescue her and return her to her parents.

Jean-Luc closeted the memory of his younger sister. Blocked it as he’d done with so much loss and misery in his lifetime. He was here for Taylor Ann and he’d see she got back to her mother.

Pain throbbed and burned in his shoulder. This, too, he blocked. "Shh, ma petite, I’ve got you now. You’re fine. No one will hurt you." She burrowed her face against his neck and breached her way through the hard defense encasing his heart.

Taylor Ann! Taylor Ann!

Zoey rushed toward them, her eyes wide and her flushed face streaked with tears and mascara. Damn, even in her fear she looked indomitable. The woman scared the bejesus out of him. Had since the first time he laid eyes on her nearly nine months ago.

Baby, baby!

Taylor Ann pulled away and slid into her mother’s arms as if they were magnets. The two blonde heads nearly became one as kisses, tears, and words of love were exchanged. Jean-Luc ran a hand over his face and stood. To his surprise, the blondes wrapped themselves around him. What shocked him even more was he allowed the closeness and sensations as if he belonged to them, and they to him.

Kisses, mingled with tears, feathered across his face. Words of gratitude choked out amid sobs. Police cars converged on the scene. Officers accessed the situation and examined the bodies. One called for an ambulance. And still the three remained entwined. Jean-Luc answered police questions with the two blondes trembling and crying in his arms. At that moment he’d kill whoever tried to pry them apart. Are you freakin’ nuts, man? This woman and child do not belong to you.

A taxi careened to a stop on the sidewalk. Alyson scrambled out, her hands on her abdomen and her face pinched with concern. Niko yanked the woman involved in the abduction and her dog from the car. He barked orders for officers to take custody of the prisoner.

Jean-Luc stepped back so Alyson could join in the group hug. At that precise moment, her water broke. Jean-Luc took note of Niko’s expression of alarm. Priceless. Big man felled by one little pregnant woman. Never mind he’d been in much the same emotional state a few seconds earlier. Better to focus on his best friend’s discomfort than his own.

CHAPTER TWO

The pain in Jean-Luc’s shoulder increased during the taxi ride to the hospital, throbbing like a bass beat on a rap song. He rode shotgun with the driver while Taylor Ann and Zoey huddled in the backseat. Zoey rocked Taylor Ann and sang, her throaty voice comforting both the child and him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. I need to keep the hell away from Zoey.

His feelings for her confused him to the point of irritation. A definite attraction existed. What perplexed him was why. While she was physically appealing, she was also a control freak, which was the last thing he wanted or needed. One control freak in his life—the one who stared back at him from the mirror each morning—was enough.

Yet every time she came to Paris to see her sister, she pulled at him like a feminine magnet. He’d take her out. They’d spar for a few hours and a part of him would come alive again. Somehow she’d gotten under his skin like a tic and he had no clue how to pluck her out.

He forced his thoughts to Niko. No doubt the ambulance had both him and Alyson at the American Hospital by now. Nurses would have her settled in a labor room. Had his friend thought to call his mother? He slipped his cell from his pocket and speed-dialed.

When Viviana Reynard, a woman he regarded as his second mother, answered, he smiled. "Maman Viviana, have you heard the news?"

No. What news?

Alyson’s water broke. She and Niko should be at the hospital by now.

There was a gasp followed by a delighted giggle. "Comme c’est marveilleux. Pardon." Evidently someone was with her. She whispered the news in English, and a booming voice replied. Tony Tofolli—Alyson and Zoey’s father. "Tony is with me now. We’ll be on our way in a couple minutes. Merci, cherie."

He glanced over his shoulder at Zoey. Your dad’s at Viviana’s. They’re going to meet us at the hospital.

She nodded, her eyes depicting an emotion he couldn’t quite identify. Taylor Ann slept, obviously exhausted by the trauma, damp tendrils of golden hair framed her little face.

They were waiting. Zoey pierced him with a hard glare. She was still in momma bear protective mode.

Who? Unease crept up his spine. What had he missed?

The men who took her. She glanced at her daughter sleeping in her arms. I noticed the white van when I took pictures of you and Taylor Ann.

Are you sure it was the same van? Normally he would have noticed. After all, he was trained to be perceptive and on guard, but when he drove his bike in front of the café all he noticed was her. Zoey with her long silvery-blonde hair sparkling so brilliant in the sunlight. He was, for an instant, dumbstruck. His mouth went dry and the buzzing in his ears became so loud he couldn’t hear little Taylor Ann’s laughter as she ran toward him. Ignoring Zoey was getting harder with every trip she made to his city.

Zoey nodded. Oh, I’m sure. Two more things I noticed. The woman with the dog spoke to Taylor Ann in English. How did she know? Her eyebrows rose over those expressive eyes. How did she know Taylor Ann wasn’t French? Certainly not by her clothes. She’s dressed like most kids, in jeans and a T-shirt. No white sneakers to identify her as an American. So, how did she know?

Many French speak English.

We’re both in one form of law enforcement or another. We’re taught to trust our gut instincts. Right?

He nodded. His instincts had saved his hide many times.

She reached for the arm he had across the top of the front seat and wrapped icy fingers around his wrist. My gut instinct tells me my little girl was targeted. We were followed and watched like we were amoebas under a microscope until…until… Tears pooled in her turquoise eyes and her jaw worked while she tried to regain control.

He wanted to pull her to him and smooth away the tension and pain. Kiss her and transport her emotions to a higher plane, a sensual plane. Easy, man, focus on the facts. She’s not your type.

Better to focus on Taylor Ann. She was small for her age, but she possessed a huge heart and a way of making him smile. She buoyed his spirits. Yes, hell yes, he was vulnerable to her. His gaze slid to Zoey with her blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders in gentle waves and curls. Turquoise eyes beguiling. While he was vulnerable to Taylor Ann, he refused to dwell on his growing susceptibility to Zoey.

It won’t happen again. I’ll see to it.

How do you know? I’m in a foreign country. A country that’s supposed to be safe, by the way, and my baby was kidnapped right in front of my eyes. She shook her head, a tear tracing a path on her cheek. "I’ll never get over that. Never get over the horror that tumbled through my body like…like a waterfall of ice. Never." She swiped at falling tears and turned her head to gaze out the window.

What was the second thing? Her turquoise eyes swept to his, and he tried not to focus on them. You said there were two things you wanted to tell me.

Yes. The driver of the van purposely ran over your bike. Obviously, he knew who you were and that you’d try to chase them down, so he put your bike out of commission. What he didn’t count on was your determination—and bless you for that. You saved my daughter’s life. I’ll always be grateful. Tears flowed freely now.

She was moving into the next phase of shock. He’d seen it before in the villagers around the world he’d saved from the dictator de’jour. Always, Jean-Luc. I’ll always be grateful.

Ah, hell. He didn’t want to hear more of her gratitude. He was no hero. Certainly, no saint. You’ve thanked me already.

She’s all I have left of my husband. Darren’s gone and this adorable child is all that remains of the man I loved.

Hell, for damn sure he didn’t want to hear how much she loved her husband. A stab of red-hot jealousy pierced so swiftly, it took his breath for an instant. What kind of man was resentful of a dead man—and a fallen serviceman, at that? He needed to get a freaking grip.

The taxi made a turn onto Boulevard Victor-Hugo and pulled to the curb of the American Hospital entrance. Jean-Luc paid the driver and opened the door for Zoey. Let me carry her for you. Don’t wake her. He took the warm child from her mother’s arms, ignored the stabbing pain, and pressed her across his uninjured shoulder.

Jean-Luc, she murmured in her sleep.

"I’m here, ma petite. Sleep, baby. Her breathing deepened and she relaxed against him. He pointedly ignored the pain. Compared to other injuries he’d suffered on the job, it was minor. He turned to Zoey. Ready to go wait for my goddaughter?"

One of Zoey’s finely plucked eyebrows rose. She’s my goddaughter, too. Don’t get proprietary on me. She turned and hurried inside the hospital. Stepping to the information desk, she faltered when asked for Alyson’s married name. Alyson…ah…I can’t think. I can’t remember her married name. She turned those eyes on him as if asking for help.

He placed a hand at the small of Zoey’s back and spoke to Ana-Marie, the receptionist. Reynard. Alyson Reynard. Maternity.

Yes, of course, Jean-Luc. She batted her dark eyelashes at him. "How are you? I haven’t seen you in months. Perhaps you need some attention, too. Oui?"

Did he look that bad?

"Madame also appears as if she requires emergency care." Ana-Marie gestured toward Zoey.

Zoey’s cheeks were stained with mascara streaks. There was a nasty-looking scrape on her chin and her palms were skinned badly. Nothing major, but it had to sting. Maybe he should take her for treatment. Do you want to go to the emergency room and have a nurse tend to you?

No. Look, I came to this cesspool of crime and terrorists to be with my sister when she had her first baby…

"Paris is not a cesspool of anything." Jean-Luc had no use for fools who degraded his beloved city.

Zoey hiked her chin. So you say. Make no mistake about it, I’m going to be here for my sister. Once her baby is born, I’m taking Taylor Ann back home where she’ll be safe. She sighed and looked away for a second or two. Look, I don’t mean to be rude. I’m sorry. If you think you need a doctor, you go. Me, I’m going to see Alyson.

I’m fine. I was only thinking of you.

Ana-Marie reached out and touched his hand. Jean-Luc, I can tell you’re in pain. You have that expression. I know it well. She gave him that little possessive smile women used.

He didn’t want Zoey to know he was hurt and for damn sure didn’t want her to know he’d dated Ana-Marie for a few weeks last year. Why, he hadn’t a clue, but there it was. The truth—big and ugly—staring him down. Dammit.

Zoey pierced him with one raised eyebrow before turning to regard the receptionist. My sister’s room number please?

Ana-Marie blushed and tapped computer keys. Room three-seventeen. Here are your security badges. Please wear them at all times. She laid three badges on the counter, and Zoey scooped them up. The receptionist laid her hand over his. Jean-Luc, call me sometime.

After pinning her badge on her top and one on her daughter, Zoey slipped one on him and shot him an irritated glance as they headed toward the elevator. An old flame?

As his father used to say, sometimes a man was better off keeping his mouth shut.

****

Zoey fought to keep her anger to herself. After all, Jean-Luc meant nothing to her. He was merely a flirtation, man candy. Granted she owed him big time for saving Taylor Ann, but that gave her no right to be jealous over that little twit behind the desk. When the young French femme fatale batted her eyes at Jean-Luc, she literally wanted to scratch those eyes out of the girl’s perfectly made-up face. Her reaction, so swift and violent, surprised her. Get a grip, girl.

She glanced down at her shoes, the toes scuffed from her fall earlier, and blinked away tears. In a little over a week, she’d leave Paris and this magnetic man beside her. Maybe it was time she admitted her attraction to Jean-Luc was growing. How foolish was that? To yearn for a man living in Paris while her life was on the other side of the ocean? Where was her self-control? It seemed she had to dig deeper for it every time she was around him.

On the elevator ride to the third floor, Zoey sent Niko a text telling him they were here. Within seconds, her phone chimed with an incoming message. She glanced at the display. Niko says to go to the waiting room to the left of the elevator.

The elevator doors dinged open and they entered the waiting room and sat. Taylor Ann woke up and settled in a chair next to Zoey.

Jean-Luc knelt in front of Taylor Ann. "Would you like some water, ma petite?"

Yes, please. Her voice sounded so small.

He took her little hand in his big one and stroked her fingers. Before I get you some water, I want to tell you, you were very brave today. When I asked you to unlock the door to the van, you did it right away. I’m proud of you for that.

Taylor Ann straightened and smiled. Thank you.

"Three things I want you to remember. Are you listening, ma petite?"

Taylor Ann nodded, her blonde curls bouncing and her gaze fixed on Jean-Luc’s.

He held up one finger. Whenever you go out somewhere, always stay with your mommy or whoever you’ve gone out with, whether it’s your aunt Alyson or your grandpa or me. Stay with the adult.

I will. But…but I wanted to take the puppy back to its owner. Taylor Ann glanced at her and then back at Jean-Luc. "Did I