As a child, I was diagnosed with extra auditory perception, earning me the nickname "Sonar." Like an owl with asymmetrically placed ears, my senses could triangulate the faintest noises, isolating them from the chaos: a creak in the floorboard from the farthest corner of a building, a hand sliding across a paper in the next room, even the soft thud of a car door closing two blocks away.
Fast-forward to the Army Rangers, where I earned my commission. After several tours in Afghanistan, I returned to Louisiana and opened the Bianca “Sonar” Love Detective Agency. Transitioning from military life to civilian wasn't easy, but being a detective gave me a purpose. After a year, I'm still chasing infidelity cases and assisting the Houma Police with minor investigations.
I grabbed the mail from the box and went inside, tearing open an envelope. The parchment was heavy and cream-colored, its edges delicately gilded. At the center of the card, Jackson "Bayou" Guidry's name was written in elegant, looping calligraphy—a 24-karat gold leaf that burned into my heart. "Join us for dinner, dancing, and preservation at Twelve Oaks Plantation."
Bayou and I were inseparable growing up, wrapped like the mossy tendrils around hundred-year-old Oaks. Jackson asked me to marry him, and when I turned him down, he was angry and hurt. He accused me of going off half-cocked to join the Army. Seven years away from home only deepened my longing for what once was. Now, he runs a powerful environmental advocacy group, the Bayou Preservation Society, and his family's fishery.
I hesitated, taking in the scent, then dropped the fancy social summons onto my desk. The envelope smelled of vetiver and oakmoss, his cologne. It was too painful, but I had to attend. Every important person in town would be there, and staying relevant in this backwater bayou meant facing the past. The ache in my chest deepened at the thought of Jackson—my love, who never forgave me for leaving.
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La Vie en Rose played hauntingly by a string quartet on the lawn of Twelve Oaks Plantation. I watched as a soldier on sentry duty by the entrance steps hovered on the perimeter of the party. I was never comfortable in high society, which is why I left. Suddenly, I heard footsteps approaching in the dark alley behind me, their hurried heels clicking, betraying their urgency.
A few minutes later, a woman's voice, thick with a Cajun drawl, carried through the upstairs window: "Be ready after dinner, during his speech. Bayou won't be able to stop us when he's six feet under."
Her man companion responded coolly: "It'll only take a second to take him out."
My heels had to go, so I kicked them off, picking up my gown to run upstairs. When I got to the room, they were gone; there was no trace.
Jackson's laughter carried over the crowd, and his black hair was longer, brushing his shoulders in the moonlight. He didn't see me, caught up in his guests, but his expression shifted from surprise to recognition when our eyes met.
"Well, do my eyes deceive me? Is that Bianca Love who left me for the Army at my humble affair?"
"I didn't leave you, Bayou. I just left."
His hands caught mine, a familiar warmth flooding my chest. "You look as beautiful as ever, Sonar."
"Jackson, someone's trying to kill you tonight. I know it sounds unbelievable, but I overheard a conversation. They plan to do it during your speech."
His face looked incredulous. "What are you talking about?"
I explained what I'd heard, and his eyes narrowed in thought. "I think I know who."
"Let's go somewhere private." He led me to the quiet space of the library, and the party seemed miles away.
"Tell me exactly what you'll say during your speech."
"The Bayou Preservation Society filed a lawsuit to stop a casino project. I can't let them ruin our home with another gambling riverboat. Marcy Mason's casino development company is likely behind it."
"If you delay or cancel, it will look suspicious. But if we get ahead of it, we can call the police, lock down the area, and obtain the evidence.”
"Can we pull this off?"
"I know we can; that's what I do."
“This feels like deja vu, like that summer when the oak branch cracked over my head and you tackled me."
“I'll never forget that day; it made me want to be a soldier.”
"Bianca, you have to promise me that if things go south, you won't stick around trying to be a hero. Get the hell out and let the police handle it.”
"I'm not going anywhere; I'm an Army Ranger. What about the security? Can we trust them?"
Jackson's face darkened. "I don't have a good feeling about them. One of the guards, Rick, used to work for Marcy's company before I brought him on."
"So, we have a potential mole inside our security?"
"He'll be stationed at the entrance, so if anything goes wrong, we'll have to handle it quietly."
"When you start your speech, we'll be ready to move." I gave him a thumbs-up and forced smile; my soldiers' instincts were on high alert.
"Before we go, I have to ask: Are you still the girl I loved with supersonic hearing?" He raised an eyebrow, half-smiling.
I nodded, "Always."
"Even if I whisper things you'd rather not hear?"
"Especially then. You know me—curiosity's too strong to resist."
"That's dangerous. I could be telling you all sorts of things… things you'd never want to know.”
"Like what?" I crossed my arms in a mock challenge.
"Like how much I'm thinking about kissing you right now."
My pulse quickened, "You think I don't already know that?"
He stepped closer, "I guess that means you're just as dangerous as I am, huh?"
I met his gaze, unblinking. "I suppose we're both a little reckless."
His expression softened into something more intimate, "Reckless or in love?"
I didn't hesitate to reply. "In love."
By 8 p.m., Jackson delivered his speech near the marshy shore in a white tuxedo against the dusky sky—a distinct "whir click" of a sniper rifle's safety registered from a hundred yards away. Then, there it was—the red dot blooming on Jackson's chest, the target.
I hurled myself toward him, pushing him into the muddy Bayou as the bullet tore through my side. Pain exploded, searing my ribs, and my vision faded. All I heard was Jackson's frantic reaction. "Bianca, oh God, no!"
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When I returned to consciousness in the hospital, Jackson sat beside me. His warm hand cradled mine. Two years ago, I hallucinated that he was there in Kandahar when I woke up after being shot. Now it was real—he's flesh and blood.
"You saved my life," he whispered. "Again."
I met his gaze, "I never stopped loving you, Jackson. I never stopped thinking about what we could've had."
He leaned in; his lips pressed to mine in a lingering kiss that spoke of everything unsaid. "Let's not waste any more time, Sonar."
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Laurie B. Spellman is a romance writer whose work blends drama, magical realism, comedy, and historical fiction, often infused with the culture of her New Orleans hometown. Her stories explore themes of love, heritage, and the resilience of women. A passionate participant in flash fiction competitions, Laurie regularly submits to Writing Battle, where her story A Final Bargain reached the Sensational 64. She also earned an Honorable Mention at New York City Midnight for her unique rhyming tale, Not Tested on Animals.
I love strong female leads . I love the idea of Sonar being capable of listening to the sounds that others can't.
By the way the writer is so gorgeous.
So fun! When I owned an art gallery for about 20 years, I used my supersonic hearing to get a leg up on trying to selling art. It really did help me get an understanding of the potential client as they whispered three rooms over. (If I was absolutely certain they weren’t potential buyers I would use it to entertain myself at their expense and pretend to be a psychic.) But this is the first thing I’ve ever read that included super hearing in an ordinary human, being such as myself.