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He’d donated it to a local gallery that showcased Creole art.
My shoulders sagged. It definitely hadn’t been used for money laundering. I rapped my fingers on the table. Then I went back to the list, and underlined any other names that jumped out at me. Mostly local businesspeople.
Businesspeople or criminals?
I would find out.
8
KAVNER
“Hello,” I called out as I let myself into the converted warehouse.
My brothers and I had renovated the building, and made it a central home for all of us. Our housekeeper, Lola, lived there, as did Colt’s daughter, Daisy. This warehouse connected to his, next door. We had our family meals here, which was good, because Lola was an exceptional cook.
I heard voices, followed by the peal of childish laughter. I smiled. My niece was thoroughly spoiled by her father and uncles. She was the light of our lives.
None of us had had anything close to a good childhood. We sure as hell were making sure Daisy grew up lacking for nothing—financially or emotionally.
“Uncle Kav!”
As I entered the open plan kitchen and living area, seven-year-old Daisy hit me like a rocket. I scooped her up and turned her upside down. She giggled.
Macy was smiling at us from a stool at the large kitchen island. She was a good addition to our gang. She loved grumpy Colt, and adored this little girl. Colt stood behind Macy, toying with one of her blonde curls.
The surly grouch was besotted.
“Beer?” Beau called from the kitchen.
“Hell, no. I left a good bottle of Australian SSB in the fridge last time I was here.”
“SS what?” Beau grumped.
“Semillon Sauvignon Blanc. White wine, you savage.”
With a grunt, Beau searched the fridge.
“Where’s Lola?” I asked.
“She’s out on a Bayou tour with friends,” Colt said. “She made lasagna. It’s in the oven.”
“Oh.” Macy bit her lip. “I may have had some of that wine, Kav. But there was still some left.”
“You have good taste—” I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek “—except for your questionable action of shacking up with my brother, but despite that, you can drink my wine anytime.”
“Found it.” Beau pulled the wine bottle out of the fridge, and nabbed a wine glass from the cupboard. It looked ridiculously delicate in his large hand. I noticed some swelling around one of his eyes.
“Someone clocked you?” I raised a brow. That happened…never.
“Lucky hit.” He grunted. “I’m helping out Shea, doing some self-defense classes.”
Shea was a woman who worked at Hard Burn and offered self-defense courses for women. Mila had been taking them when she’d been on the run.
“His opponent was seventy-nine,” Colt said, his lips twitching.
“It was a lucky hit,” Beau repeated. “And I didn’t want to hurt her.”
“Beaten up by the elderly, huh?” I added.
