by Tara Brown
“How do you know it all?”
“I don't.” He kissed my cheek. “But I still know people.”
He slipped something like a business card into my hand. “If you get stuck, call this number. But don’t call unless you want to be gone forever.”
“Okay. Thanks, Uncle.” I kissed his weathered face and left through the front door of the store, making my way along the cold sidewalk until it turned up an alley. When I was far enough away from the door, I pulled on my boots and tucked the card into my wristlet.
The phone vibrated.
Done with your uncle then?
My heart hurt. I phoned the number to the shop. Fitz answered, “You missing me already?”
“RUN, FITZ, DON’T WAIT! WAKE THEM AND RUN NOW!”
He hung up before I had a chance to explain. I started to run. I pressed the number that had called repeatedly.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this midnight call?”
“Don't hurt them.” I ran to a corner and stopped there, pressing my back into the concrete wall as I spoke softly, “I will do whatever you want, if you help me and spare them.”
“You do know how to play hardball. Whatever I want?”
I bit my lip, wanting to call him a perverted degenerate but I didn’t. “Whatever you want. But you can’t hurt anyone. Not my uncle, not the team helping me, and not my family.”
The sentence had barely left my lips when a large black SUV pulled up to the corner of the street. The window lowered. “We can negotiate in the car.”
“Okay.” I lowered the phone.
How had he done it? No one should’ve known about Fitz. There was no way we were followed, unless one of us was a mole. And yet, there in front of me was Servario with a look that could skin a cat.
Checking both ways, I hurried across the road, moving softly. I began to regret my decision and expected a bullet to strike me in the back as he inched over and I climbed in.
The new-car smell struck me. “Did you buy this today?”
Servario seemed angry as he nodded, and I noted his eyes had none of the green hints in them. I closed the door and my eyes went to the floor. “Please, don’t hurt them,” I whispered.
He tapped the glass in front of us and the SUV drove away. As we rounded the corner, I caught a glimpse of Coop racing after us.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” he said and sipped from his glass. “Last time it was me running, desperate for you to stay with me, and it was young Cooper driving away with you in his car.” He leaned over, taking a good look at Coop. “I have to say, I think he has a bit of a thing for you.”
“No.” I watched Coop from the window. “No, he doesn’t. He’s like that with everyone. He’s flirty and funny with everyone." It was a shit lie.”
His tone changed to angry. “I dare say you have a thing for him as well.”
“I don't.” Servario’s face was stoic. “I’m sorry I ran.” I needed the subject changed.
“Are you?”
“Yes.” I swallowed. “I am.”
“We’ll see.” He made me shiver.
He didn’t speak to me as we rode in the car. I continued to watch him to catch a glimpse of how he was feeling or what he was thinking.
We arrived at the airport and the door was opened for us. We climbed out and walked to the plane. Roxy was startled to see me. She gazed downward as I boarded. I assumed that was bad.
My heart was in my throat as I sat in my seat from before and fought the nervous tears that threatened. I was cooler than that, a better spy than to cry from his possible anger. I’d take what he dished out and he would help me.
He didn’t sit beside me like before. He went to the cockpit.
Roxy brought me a glass of wine and quickly left again. Her eyes never met mine.
Steve nodded at me as he took his seat.
Exhausted, I laid the seat back and closed my eyes. If he was going to beat or torture me, I’d have to take it. I needed answers; they were worth whatever happened to me.
Closing my eyes, I saw my kids’ faces. Jules smiling at me and looking so much like her father it was painful, and Mitch trying so hard to be grown-up.
At least they had a ninja granny to protect them. I made it out of childhood unscathed, they would too.
“We’re about to take off. You should at least hold the wine.” Servario’s voice was detached as he took his seat.
I sat up quickly and held the glass as the jet started and began to taxi to the runway.
Nervously, I glanced in his direction. I sipped the wine at first and then finished in a gulp. “Why are you so angry?”
He focused on the laptop in front of him. “I’m not.”
“You are. I was married, remember? I can tell when a man is angry.” I almost laughed at him.
A smile played with his lips momentarily before his expression was back to stoic. “I was crossing the line before. It was wrong. I was taking liberties I shouldn’t have and that won’t happen again.”
“Okay. Thank you.” The words left my lips robotically as I unbuckled the seat belt and went to the bathroom. I closed the door and sat on the closed toilet lid. He always had me in knots whenever he was around. I was walking on thin ice, constantly. And if he wasn't going to "take liberties" that meant my ability to manipulate him was gone. He would have the upper hand.
The jet took off, slamming my side into the sink. I tried to grab ahold of the bar next to me but the force was too great. I gave in and let it squish me into the counter.
I wanted answers and details from him, but he was no longer interested in me sexually. Why was he so interested before, or at all? Nothing was making much sense, and without the womanly wiles to get him talking, I didn’t know what else to do. I could try to spin it around in my favor, do what I did to James and act like I was the angry one. He hated that.
It was an idea. When the plane reached cruising altitude, I stripped naked and cleaned myself in the sink with the hand towels, which was awkwardly familiar. I opened the door and looked down the hall. He was no longer in the chair. I tiptoed to the very back of the plane to the dressing closet. I dropped my clothes to the floor and browsed through the racks.
It was a sea of designer labels and soft fabrics. I pulled on a white lacy bra and matching underwear that still had tags, making it slightly less weird. Settling on Armani, I went with the most coverage I could get. I was comfortable in the long black side-slit maxi skirt and mocha sleeveless tie-waist tunic. I turned around to get sandals. Instead, I found a pair of black suede Manolo Blahnik mules with a pointed toe. It was an elegant choice and made me appear more like a wife.
Finishing up, I slipped on a couple of bracelets and pulled my long dark hair up into a bun.
“That tan tunic compliments your dark skin,” Roxy said with a soft smile.
“Thanks. My dad was half Black Irish and half Icelandic. Dark hair and golden skin. It was a good thing to inherit.”
She grabbed my hand and whispered, “You’re insane for coming back.”
“I need him.”
“Seriously?” She rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, if you knew how many times I’d heard that from girls about him. He’s a bigot and a player. You need to run.”
“Roxy”—I paused and forced the fake smile to remain on my lips—“it’s not like that, I assure you.”
She gave me the up-down. “Really?”
“I wanted to look professional, not the other kind of professional. All your clothes are more the ‘twenty-three and hitting the clubs’ style. This suits me, and my other clothes were covered in garden dirt.”
She waved her hands. “This is exactly what he bought for you. He brought it on board yesterday. Jesus, you played right into his hands, calling him. I lost ten bucks in the bet we placed on you showing up and putting this on.”
“What?” I folded my arms. “What? He knew I was coming back? He bought this?” Was I that predictable? “What is he—psychic?”
“Yeah.
” She shrugged. “Sometimes I think he is.”
“Shit.” I pursed my lips. “You sure it was for me?”
“Dude.” She sighed. “Does it look like it belongs to me?”
“Shit.”
She pressed her lips together. “Yeah, dumbass.”
I spotted the tags I’d removed and winced. “He’s gonna know I took the tags off.”
“Yeah, he is.” She pulled back the curtain. “You owe me ten bucks and a new pair of Christian Louboutin ankle boots.”
“Fair enough.” I sauntered out of the room to the seats out front. I almost sat in a different one until I remembered I was the one who was angry but I needed a reason. I sat down to a plate of prawns and sauce in front of me. My stomach gurgled. I rubbed it and picked up a prawn by its tail, dragging it through the still warm sauce and moaning at the first bite. “This is good, Roxy.”
She grinned as she passed me. “You like it?”
“I do.”
She winked and went to the front of the plane.
I ignored his existence and enjoyed my meal as I broke off a piece of bread and dragged it through the sauce on the plate. The crusty bread was still warm.
She came back and cleared it and placed down a plate of seared white fish with a creamy sauce and roasted vegetables. From the smell, I guessed the sauce was a lime and cilantro aioli.
“When was the last time you ate a proper meal?” he finally spoke.
“I don't know.” I shrugged and drank from my wine glass. I knew when it was, but I wasn’t in the mood to admit the last thing I’d eaten was picks and nibbles of fruit salad. I wished I’d eaten the entire bowl at Fitz’s.
Thinking about them all made me feel sick again. I hoped they were okay.
Glancing at my wristlet on the table, I reminded myself I’d need to call when we landed.
“You should take better care of yourself.”
“I used to take excellent care of myself. I need the stability back in my life. That means you and the CI, and CIA, and James have to leave me alone. I was eating regularly before. I was drinking water and eating five meals a day and going to yoga. Now I’m hopping on planes and eating food from convenience stores, and I’m still not sure my kids and mom are safe, or if my husband is really dead.”
“You look lovely. I knew you’d be breathtaking in that outfit.”
“Stop.” I turned to my plate of food, gulping back the last of my second glass of wine.
“Why are you angry with me? You think I caused all this?”
Giving him my death stare before letting it slide into indifference, I spoke as if I didn't care, “I don’t know what to believe. There are too many versions of you to possibly know. One minute you’re the surveillance, the bad man who deals drugs and traffics girls. Then you’re feeding me this and telling me I’m pretty. Then you’re making me kill fat men from Havana, but you ensure they’re bad men so I don't feel guilty. I don't get you.”
“You know me—you just don’t want to admit you like what you see.”
“I don't like it.” I laughed bitterly and turned back to my dinner. We landed just after Roxy cleared our food.
As we deplaned, I hugged her. “I’ll get you those shoes.”
She pinched me lightly. “You better not but I want my ten bucks.”
I laughed and kissed her cheek. “Another magnificent meal. I don’t even know how you can get the fish so perfect on a plane.”
“Stop.” She rolled her eyes. “You flatter me and then I have to make sure it’s out of the park next time too.” She eyeballed Servario nervously. He was stoic, which I decided should be his new name.
“I doubt that will be an issue,” I muttered and followed Steve.
His broad shoulders and thick back made me wonder how he remained so fit. He seemed somewhat lazy. He was probably one of those guys who stayed fit no matter what they did.
We walked to the SUV waiting for us. I noticed we weren’t back in Boston. We’d flown into San Diego.
My stomach was a ball of nerves. I turned to Servario. “I thought we were going home.”
“No.” His face remained expressionless. “When did I say that?”
“I need to call my cat sitter and get her to drop by and feed the cat. I’ve been gone for days.”
“The cat?” He watched my face for a second. “Fine. Make it fast and speakerphone.”
I pulled out the cell phone he had given me and called her, praying Coop was tracing my calls. I wanted him close in case this was a huge mistake and I needed an evac.
“Hello?” she answered on the first ring.
“Beth, how are you? It’s Evie.”
“Evie, how are you doing? Are you okay?” She still sounded sad.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine.”
“How are the kids?”
“They’re good. Sad, but good. Anyway, the reason for my call is I need you to stop over and check on Ralph and make sure he’s okay. I’m in San Diego for a couple of days. We’re in San Diego. We decided to take a trip and in all the chaos I forgot to call you. I left him enough food for a few days but I'm going to be longer than I thought.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll see him once a day and check on the house.”
I nodded at Servario. “That should be great. You still have a key, right?”
“Yes, I do. Have a great trip out West.”
“Great.” I smiled, forgetting what I was doing. “Thanks, sweetie. Say hello to your mom.” I hung up the phone. “So weird. Her world is normal and mine is destroyed,” I mumbled before I could stop myself.
He said nothing.
When the truck stopped, the door was opened and I climbed out, ignoring everything around me. The strangest feeling I’d had since my husband died or ran away overwhelmed me.
I was lost. Had we gone north or south or east or west? I couldn't say.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me through a doorway. I caught a warm breeze loaded with the smell of the ocean. “Are we at the beach?”
He pulled me inside and closed the door. “Don’t try anything. They will hurt you if you try to leave.” He pressed his lips against my forehead and strode away.
“Where are you going?” I asked as though I had a right to know.
He waved and answered back, “Out for the night,” and vanished down a long wide corridor.
Gulping, I took in the splendor of the room and wondered why he’d brought me here and left.
Everything of his was beautiful. My home was amazingly comfortable, whereas his was all luxury. Luxury I was not in the mood to enjoy.
Slightly annoyed, I turned and walked into the large sitting area off the front room. A bottle of Apothic original blend was already opened and poured into the carafe next to the empty bottle and a glass that was more of a goblet.
Not sure what else to do, I poured a glass and sat.
The walls were covered in art. It was a rich and warm Spanish-style home. It suited the sexy version of him.
I ran my hands along the burnt-orange leather sofa and drank.
“Out for the night?” I muttered and pulled out my phone, tapping it against my palm.
My head game of being the one who was pissed off hadn’t worked. He hadn’t come crawling and begging to know why or brought me flowers. Of course seeing it now, the reason for James’ constant worry about my moods was obvious. He had a guilty conscience.
I stood and grabbed the carafe and walked down the other hallway. I clicked on light switches, only to discover an array of stunning rooms. Finally, I reached a room with a large fireplace and fabric couches. I curled up on one with my wine and pressed 911.
Luce answered the FaceTime, “Hey?” She seemed worried.
I put a finger to my lips. “Hey.”
She frowned. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I just need answers. Did Fitz get away?”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah. He woke us up and dragged us to some safe house. We stayed for two hours, then got i
n a helicopter, and then a private jet. He dropped us in Boston.”
“Jet?” I was lost.
She nodded. “Yeah. Jet.”
In the background I heard Coop yelling. He was savage when he got on the phone. “What did I say, Evie?”
“I need answers, Coop.”
“Don’t give me that shit. Fitz filled in a lot of blanks. We were getting somewhere. You fucking bailed because you wanted to see him again and don’t bullshit me.” He pointed at me.
“No.” I was almost telling the truth. “No, I swear. Fitz was never going to tell us anything useful. What more do we know? We know what the Burrow is and that’s it. We don’t know where it is or who’s there, or what to do with the information. We still don’t have any resources.” I exhaled deeply, shaking my head. “And where the hell did Fitz get a jet?”
Coop’s look matched mine. “He hasn’t always had that?”
“Hah.” I snorted. “Uh no. The buyout for people like us is about half the value of a pension.”
He paused. “Weird. He seemed pretty comfy in it. The pilot knew him.”
“Hmmmm.” I wriggled my nose. “Was the pilot gay?”
Coop scoffed. “How the hell should I know?”
“Ask Luce.” I rolled my eyes.
“Yo, was that pilot gay?” he asked as he turned his face away from me.
“Almost as gay as you.” She laughed.
“I don't know what that means.” He frowned.
“It means he was gay and she’s also calling you gay.” I ignored their childish banter and replied, “Fitz might be dating the owner. Gay people hire gay people so they don’t get fired for being gay.”
He frowned harder. “Gays don’t get fired for being gay. It’s not the fifties, Evie.”
“Seriously?” I raised my eyebrows. “Coop, a teacher got fired in Idaho last week because her dead mother’s obituary had her partner’s name in it. She’s a lesbian.”
“No.” His jaw dropped. “Are you for real?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s sick. Okay, but back to brass tacks. I’m coming to get you.”
“Not yet.” I winked. “Stay close. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to get picked up.”
“Soon.” He scowled. “Try not to have too much fun.”