by K. A. Tucker
“Six years ago, the Feds thought they finally had an in. A guy by the name of Dominic was ready to turn. But he disappeared before they got any concrete information. Showed up dead a few months later. After that, this Sam guy buckled down even more.”
Picking up the stack, I begin flipping through the pages. Mostly candid shots of a large, graying man in slacks and a leather jacket. “So, he’s small-time mob, basically?”
Dan gives a half-nod, half-shrug. “Except I wouldn’t say small-time. Not anymore, by the sounds of it.”
I keep flipping, looking for something of value to me. “And how is Charlie involved in this? Are you saying she’s—” My words die as I land on a picture of the same man with his arm around a young blond girl as they walk down the sidewalk. She can’t be more than ten, and she’s smiling wide up at the man, an ice-cream cone in her hand.
Dan pulls out a second stack of papers from the folder. “Sam Arnoni married a woman by the name of Jamie Miller twelve years ago. The picture on the top is her. She used to work at The Playhouse in Vegas.”
The small hairs lift at the back of my head. That’s where Charlie said she had worked. I study the picture of the woman in a skimpy silver dress and instantly see the resemblance—same blond curls, same wide mouth, same doll face, hidden by layers of heavy makeup.
Dan keeps talking, but I already know where this is going. “Jamie Miller died two years later giving birth to Sam’s son, who also died. She had a daughter.” I flip through picture after picture of Sam and the young girl. The two of them eating fries at a diner, him pushing her on a swing, him cheering her on as a medal is slipped over her neck, as she bows on a stage.
And Charlie is smiling in each and every one of them. As if she’s genuinely happy.
“So, this Sam Arnoni guy raised Charlie as his own daughter.”
Dan’s mouth twists in a grimace as he pulls out the last stack of papers, handing it to me. “Her name’s not really Charlie, Cain.”
“I know.” How many times had I cried her name out as I came? Did she even care that it wasn’t hers?
My admission earns a high-browed stare but I don’t elaborate, accepting the paperwork from Dan with a deep inhale.
What am I about to find out?
My hand falters on the first page—a candid color photo of Charlie coming out of the gym, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her face clear of makeup, her eyes shining like a meadow of violets in the sunlight. Just like she looked coming back from the gym in my building every morning, right before we showered together.
The painful lump in my throat that I removed earlier with physical violence and copious amounts of cognac is back with a vengeance. I’m about to ask Dan if I can keep this file when I see the copy of her driver’s license.
The request dies on my lips.
“Is this real?” I close my eyes tightly and reopen them, hoping for a different outcome.
Fuck.
He sighs. “At least you know she’s legal, Cain.”
“Barely.” I’m eleven years older than her? “What does this mean? That she just graduated high school a few months ago?” I don’t remember high school; it was a lifetime ago. I don’t know which shock is hitting me harder, though: the fact that she’s only eighteen or . . .
“She was a good student. Quiet, smart. Focused on gymnastics and acting. She was accepted to Tisch to start in the fall. Obviously the Feds had their eye on her but she was a minor, so tailing her was difficult. They mostly wanted to use her to gather information.” Dan is watching me carefully as he continues. “It wasn’t until the spring, after she turned eighteen, that they first suspected Sam of using her to deliver drugs. And then she just left. Apparently she had applied for a one-year deferral so she could travel to Europe. Her passport turned up being used at hotels in France, Italy, Germany . . . It looked legit. It seems Sam has really gone out of his way to hide her presence down here.”
Someone must have tipped him off. He’d have to have an in with the FBI for that to happen. “So, someone is traveling around Europe under her identity, while she’s down here, going by Charlie Rourke and . . .” I lock eyes with Dan, waiting for him to confirm my suspicions.
“She didn’t admit to anything in the note, so I don’t know her culpability. But she did explain how the drops are made, with fairly specific details.” There’s a long pause, and then I sense the air in my office shift. “How much did you know, Cain?” Dan asks slowly. “Did you know what she was doing when you brought her with you to my home? To my wife and unborn child and—”
“No!” I temper my tone quickly, because I have no right to yell at Dan. He, on the other hand, has every right to punch me. Repeatedly. “I didn’t know.” I sigh. “I started suspecting it the day before she left. And then last night—” I stop, deciding whether I want to share all of this with Dan. After what he’s shared with me, though, I owe him this much. “There’s a guy by the name of Ronald Sullivan who may be of help to you. With enough pressure, he’ll talk. I have his address.” It took a dozen hits and a few broken ribs to get him to tell me what happened the night I ran into Charlie in the café. How some asshole named Manny held a gun to her head, threatening to kill her, and how Ronald told her to run because she was going to get herself killed. Even thinking about it now sets fire to my blood.
“So, she’s really gone? She never mentioned where she was going?”
I throw down the stacks of paper, hearing the accusation between his words. “I’m not hiding her, Dan! I wish I could find her, but she’s gone. And do you blame her for running? She’s probably given you all that she knows and you’re looking to drag her in to interrogate her.”
“Hey!” Dan barks as he jumps off the couch. “I’m on your side here. I haven’t said a word about Charlie to anyone. No one knows she was working here, that she was dating you. If I had said anything, your life would be a circus right now.” Clearing his throat, he adds, “I could lose my job over withholding this kind of information.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, pushing my hands through my hair. “I just can’t believe she was doing this the entire time I was with her.”
“You’re not the only one. I can’t believe I had a drug trafficker in my own home and I didn’t have a damn clue.” He exhales. “Who uses their sweet little eighteen-year-old daughter like that? And who knows how long he’s been doing it! Things go wrong all the time with these transactions. Throw in a girl who looks like Charlie and it’s guaranteed that they end up raped or dead. Or both.”
Cold dread slides through my body. Had Charlie ever been raped?
“I wish I could help her, Cain,” Dan says with genuine concern in his voice, his righteous anger fading. “But I can’t if she’s gone. If I don’t know how much she really has on him. And if it’s enough.”
I tap the stack of information. “And if it is? Is there really any protecting her against someone like this? If he’s what you say he is, if he likely killed his own best friend, what’s to stop him from killing her? He obviously doesn’t value her life. As long as this guy is in the picture, she’s never going to be safe, is she?”
“Look, Cain, I know you haven’t had the best experience with it, but you have to trust in the justice system. We don’t know—”
“If it were Storm instead of Charlie, would you say the same thing?”
Dan hangs his head in response. That’s all the answer I need.
And Charlie knows how much danger she’s in. She’s known all along, from the first day we met to the night she left.
I’m probably never going to see her again.
“This is serious shit, Cain. If this is the guy we’ve been hearing about around the city, he’s moving some major quantities and he’s pissing the cartel off. Anyone willing to do that is either really stupid or really dangerous. We already know he isn’t stupid. You need to keep an eye out,” Dan warn
s. “I don’t know what she told him about you. I hope to God nothing.”
Maybe not. But I did. I gave him my fucking name. And that “uncle” of hers got a pretty good description of me. For all I know, he also got a picture.
I’m not stupid enough to think they can’t find me.
Or that they won’t.
chapter forty-four
■ ■ ■
CHARLIE
“Love, do you mind bringing table seven an extra order of gravy on your way by?” Berta asks in that heavy southern accent of hers that I could listen to all afternoon. Especially when she addresses me with one of a myriad of pet names. My shift just started an hour ago and I’ve already been called “Honey,” “Darling,” “Sugar,” and “Sweetie.”
Some people might find it annoying, but I absorb each one of them like a flower yearning for sunshine.
Because none of them sounds anything like my old pet name.
“Sure thing!” I wink at Herald the cook as I scoop up the food-laden plates from the counter.
“Oh, Katie, you’re such an angel,” the heavyset brunette croons, patting my shoulder as she grabs three plates. “I knew my instincts about you were right.”
Flashing my stage-perfect smile, I saunter over to the tables to deliver their orders. It was only two weeks ago that I sat at one of these very tables for hours, reading through paper after paper, hungry for any news coming out of Miami, wondering all kinds of things.
Was Sam there?
Was he looking for me?
Was he looking for Cain?
I hoped that the information I left for Dan on his doorstep, just hours before I got on the bus, was enough. It wasn’t much, but it was really all that I had. If I had been smarter, if I had ever believed that I’d be stabbing Sam in the back, I would have saved the pictures of Bob and Eddie before they vanished from the draft folder.
After my third cup of coffee, the middle-aged waitress with a long braid reaching down to her ass and a name tag labeling her as “Berta” had asked me what a pretty girl like me was doing all alone.
I wasn’t in the mood for idle chitchat or making up lies, so I very bluntly announced that I needed a job and a place to live. She asked where I was staying and, when I told her, her face pinched up with disgust. “Oh, that just won’t do.”
Now here I am, serving tables at Becker’s Diner and renting out a room above Berta’s garage, one block away.
It was almost too easy.
The room is small, but it’s clean and safe and comfortable. Most of all, it’s private enough that no one hears me cry myself to sleep every night.
Berta is sweet. She’s a thirty-eight-year-old single woman who inherited the family diner and has been struggling to find good evening-shift help after a string of disastrous attempts. I don’t completely trust her not to snoop, but my gun and my knapsack are hidden inside a vent, so I figure I’m fine.
And now I’m twenty-one-year-old Katie Ford from Ohio. I have a golden-brown chin-length bob, violet eyes, and I wear only light makeup. I have an ordinary family back home who is proud of me for graduating with a Humanities degree from Ohio State and who fully supports me while I experience life in the South. And I had my wallet stolen. That’s why I have no social security number or other identification. Temporarily, of course.
I even went to church with Berta last Sunday morning.
I’m a new person. A good person who does good things.
Who hides her silent agony well.
“Here’s your Philly steak sandwich, Stanley. Careful, it’s hot.” I set the plate down on the table in front of the regular—a forty-something-year-old hog farmer with orange hair and green suspenders who comes in at six forty-five every night and orders the exact same thing. I think he has a thing for Berta.
A lot of the customers here are regulars. It’s nice. They make a point of saying hello, and that makes me feel not quite so alone.
“Hey, Katie!”
I turn around to find Will, Berta’s nephew, hovering behind me with that goofy grin of his. “What are you doing after work tonight?”
“Oh, probably just heading home. I’m tired.” I fake a yawn, knowing I can’t make up an elaborate story with Berta on guard. She’s hopeful that we’ll start dating, promising that he may act like a hooligan but he’s a good boy who could use a girl like me in his life, instead of those “floozies” he keeps bringing in here.
There’s nothing wrong with him, honestly.
Other than the fact that he’s not him.
Just the thought now brings a painful lump to my throat.
“All right. Well, if you change your mind, my friend is having a party tonight out on Copper Mill Road. Live band . . . kegs . . . You should come.” His eyes shift down to my chest—only accentuated by the fitted “Becker’s” T-shirt—before meeting my gaze and knowing he got caught. At least he has the decency to blush.
“Thanks, Will. I’ll keep that in mind.” I watch him as he makes his way over to join a group of his college friends at a booth. And it reminds me that I’m supposed to be in New York right now, attending Tisch, living my dream. Not serving burgers and sodas at a diner in Alabama.
Pining over a man I unintentionally fell in love with.
With a deep, calming exhale, I begin clearing a table of its dishes. Katie Ford from Ohio never enrolled at Tisch. She never stripped for a living. She never met a man named Cain.
And she also never dealt drugs, nor will she ever. I can’t let that silver lining disappear within the suffocating black cloud.
A round of laughter erupts from Will’s table as one of the girls playfully flicks his ear, the movement revealing a purple streak on the underside of her hair.
I smile at the bittersweet memory it triggers.
I wonder how Ginger’s doing. I wonder if Katie Ford has any hope of ever making a friend like her. I’ve already reconciled myself to the fact that she’ll never find a man like Cain.
I wonder what he’s doing at this very moment. If he’s out in the club or hidden in his office.
If he’s thinking about me.
If he misses me.
Or if he has already moved on.
chapter forty-five
■ ■ ■
CAIN
It took Sam Arnoni exactly twenty-five days to find me.
“He’s asking for you,” Nate announces from my office entrance as John and I watch the tall man in a charcoal-colored suit over the monitor. I knew it was him the second I laid eyes on him. Dan left his files for me with the requirement that they stay locked in my safe at all times. I gladly followed instruction, except for that one picture of Charlie, of course. That one, I folded up and tucked into my pocket, to pull out whenever I felt the need.
Turns out I feel the need at least forty times a day.
I memorized every detail about the man who turned his own stepdaughter into a drug trafficker. I know all about his many businesses. I know his approximate weight, height, birth city. I could describe the family crest tattooed to his chest if I had to.
Yes, Sam Arnoni is my enemy and I like to know everything about my enemy.
“Okay, I’m on my way,” I tell Nate, adding, “Keep the girls away from him.” I turn to John, who decided to extend his stay in Miami and turn it into a vacation. Apparently his vacation means watching from the shadows to see if anyone’s tailing me.
“You want me to call Dan?”
“No,” I answer quickly. Not until I decide what to do. “I need to know where I can find this guy at all times.”
“I’m on it.” Wheeling up the extra chair to the computer, he pans to the video feeds from the parking lot and begins rewinding. I assume it’s to locate Sam’s car. “You go wine and dine that scumbag.”
“Thanks, John. And be careful.”
“You
too, Cain.” There’s a hint of something in John’s voice now that I can’t decipher. I wonder if he’s thinking about the last time he got involved in one of these situations with me. He must be wondering what I’m planning now. How far I’m willing to go to protect Charlie.
I’m wondering the same thing.
I take my time, strolling out of my office with a glass in hand. Let the fucker stew. I know that Sam’s not armed and I’m not worried about him physically overtaking me. I’m not afraid of him, period. Most people would have been waiting with trepidation for this moment. I’m actually quite happy that he finally found me. Now I just have to keep from killing him in my own club.
His large frame fills the wing chair at his table. I don’t know who sat him in the V.I.P. section. If I had my way, the fifty-eight-year-old would be in the back corner, near the can. I watch as Mercy strolls by, her wide blue eyes flashing at the sight of him, but Nate quickly moves in to redirect her. I guess I can understand the appeal. The guy reeks of money and, with his natural gray streaks running through his dark hair, most women would consider him distinguished. Attractive, even.
All I see is a hungry snake among mice.
Intent on watching Cherry’s performance, he doesn’t notice my arrival. Or he wants me to think that he doesn’t.
“You were asking for me?”
Steely eyes turn to settle on me. When he smiles, the mirth doesn’t touch them. “Hello, Cain.” I can hear the New York accent roll off his tongue with those two words. He sticks his hand out and I take it. I take it and I fight the urge to break the bones within it.