Dangerous To Love
Page 204
Marissa throws a pillow at Morty.
Mark looks like he’s trying to figure out how to kill him with a paper clip.
Chase walks up behind him and crosses his arms over his chest. “That ranks in the top three of the stupidest things you’ve ever said. And I’ve been living here for long enough to hear plenty.”
Chase and Allie moved in with her sister and Morty after we all learned Galt wasn’t really trying to kill Chase. I know from text messages with Allie that they’re all happy. Morty’s not really a jerk. He just has a size fourteen foot and shoves it in his own mouth a lot.
Anyone Allie likes can’t be that bad.
I yawn, suddenly exhausted. Mark’s assured me that the way we got here means the media has no idea where we are. Allie and Chase aren’t even on the lease, and the government officials at various agencies covered up the truth about what really happened in that storage space. Everyone thinks I killed El Brujo. Not Allie.
And Mark gets credit for killing Frenchie.
I still have so many questions swirling in my mind. Who does Galt work for? How could he lie to his kids for their entire lives? When Chase’s mom was murdered in front of him, why didn’t Galt get out then? What drove Mark to go deep undercover like his dad?
My phone buzzes. Reaching into my back pocket these days requires about as much effort as doing a backflip, so I just let it buzz.
“Your ass is calling,” Mark says into my ear. “Need a hand?”
I laugh, then yawn. “That only worked the first time.” I can’t really move easily, though, so I wait. It’s not a call. Just a text.
“We need to get you some shirts with a front pocket for your phone,” Allie says with a smile.
“At least until this heals.” I start to shrug, forgetting my arm is immobilized. You’d think my body would have acclimated by now, but not.
I stand, carefully. Mark reaches into my back pocket, pulling out the phone but also taking a chance to cup my ass. I sigh.
“Is it always going to be like this?” I ask him with a smile.
He just smiles back.
My phone has a text. Effie Cummings.
Please let Carrie know I am so sorry for everything she has been through. When she is ready, I have coffee and gin and chocolate, the three best forms of medicine to cure nearly everything.
“Effie,” I tell Mark, who frowns.
“Why’s Effie texting you?”
“She likes me.”
“She doesn’t like anyone,” he grumbles.
“Except for me. She gave me all those documents and the blueprints,” I correct him.
“True,” he concedes. “And without those, Drew and I couldn’t have found that extra pipe, and without Brian I couldn’t have accessed the pipe, and couldn’t have stabbed Frenchie in time.”
Morty’s eyes get bigger than they already are.
“You guys have all seen some serious shit,” he says. “The worst thing I’ve lived through is a cougar with five-inch fingernails treating my nut sac like it’s an Etch-a-Sketch and her finger’s the dial.”
Mark and Chase shudder.
“Effie’s a good egg,” I say. “And you told me the chief has nothing to do with El Brujo after all?” I ask Mark.
He nods, turning away from Morty and back to me. “Right. El Brujo had plenty of townies in his network, and plenty of people at the university, but Chief Cummings wasn’t one of them.”
“What about that professor they found dead in your house, Mark?” Allie asks. Her face is troubled. “The news people kind of just dropped that part of the whole story.”
Mark sighs. I tuck my phone between the couch arm and my thigh. “Eric Horner?”
At the mention of his name my skin does a little tingly. And not in a romantic way.
Allie nods.
“He was part of El Brujo’s network,” Mark says reluctantly. I know this because he explained it to me a while ago. I still can’t quite believe it. “We don’t think he was heavily involved, but he certainly did something at the university to help with the drug shipments.”
“I thought he was a sex slave trafficker. El Brujo, I mean,” Morty asks.
“Both. Drugs and women. The guy was a multitasking evil piece of work,” I explain.
“So El Brujo meant to set you up. Eric Horner was just a pawn in a bad game of bloody chess,” Chase says, his face twisted with concentration.
“Right. Like the dog he pretended to want from the animal shelter when Carrie was volunteering. That was a ruse to set her up as some deranged employee with a vendetta,” Mark offers.
“Jesus,” Marissa says softly. I’ve forgotten she’s even there. She’s quiet, and listening intently. She turns to Allie. “And you willingly crawled into an underground pipe and went into this fucker’s nest where he hid women?” Her face turns red with frustration.
Allie juts her chin up in defiance. “I would do it again, too. And you’d do the same.”
Marissa’s eyes fill with uncertainty. “I don’t know, Allie. That takes a special kind of courage.”
Chase lets out a long, emotion-filled sigh. “And a certain stubbornness. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. And trust me, if anyone knows how to say no to Allie being in danger, it’s me.”
Allie’s throat works double time. I can see she’s fighting tears. She looks at me, then Mark. “I couldn’t face the idea that I would have to tell Mark that Carrie died at the hands of El Brujo because the pipe was too small for Chase or Drew to fit. No way I was letting El Brujo win.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Mark gives Allie a meaningful look.
Tap tap tap.
Chase jumps to the door and opens it.
To find Galt Halloway standing there.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
“Hey,” Galt grunts.
“Hey,” Chase grunts back.
“Hey,” Mark adds, looking at his biological father.
Morty shrugs and says, “Hey” into his coffee.
I catch his eye. He tilts his head and rolls his eyes. “All the other guys were doing it…”
Even though I know Galt’s a good guy, a shiver runs through me. Allie looks like she might throw up. Chase’s jaw clenches just like Mark’s does when he’s stressed out.
I guess his real name is Galt Ellison, right? Same with Chase and Mark. Ellison. I don’t know if Galt’s supposed to know I know his real last name. Galt can’t be his real first name, anyhow.
My mind won’t stop racing through thoughts like this.
Big, bald Loogie walks in right behind Galt, followed by a woman who looks like Allie, twenty years from now. Is that—
“Mom!” Allie says, her voice warm and happy. She hugs the woman, who fawns over her and Marissa. Marissa must look like their dad, because she doesn’t look much like this lady.
Aha. The missing mother. Mark filled me in on Allie’s crazy story. Her stepfather faked her mother’s death and actually made her go live with a motorcycle club to pay off a drug debt. Gave her to the president of the Mephists, who happened to be Loogie Hausen.
Who is standing here, looking like a walrus wearing clothing.
And who is, like Galt and Mark, a deep undercover agent.
I am getting to the point where I need a flow chart. And wine. Lots and lots of wine.
“Hi!” says the older woman, bending down to offer her hand to me. “I’m Helen. Allie and Marissa’s mom.”
“Carrie,” I say, shaking her hand.
Mark stands. She grabs him in an enormous hug that he clearly wasn’t expecting.
“And I know who you are,” she says with a laugh. Then I barely hear her whisper in his ear, “And now you know who they really are.”
Huh.
She gives him a conspirator’s grin and Morty goes into the kitchen. He comes out with three more mugs of coffee, a little pitcher of cream, and a sugar bowl.
It’s kind of weird seeing a guy who looks like a redwood tree offerin
g coffee service, but hey—it’s a surreal kind of day.
“Coffee?” Morty asks. He’s clearly cowed by the presence of Galt and Loogie, who look like they could tear the entire apartment to shreds in three seconds. Tatted up, covered in old leather, and grizzled with age and sun, they are the epitome of finely-aged badass.
“Coffee? Coffee?” Loogie growls. “What’s this shit? Coffee?”
Galt grins and reaches into his back pocket.
Morty flinches.
He pulls out a silver flask and pours a generous amount of liquor into all three mugs.
“Much better,” Loogie says with a sigh, settling down into the chair Morty had just been in. He sips the hot coffee and smiles.
Helen laughs.
“You would like Effie,” I mutter under my breath.
Mark laughs, too.
“So this whole reunion thing is cute and all,” Chase interrupts. His eyes are calculated, like a hawk’s. “But me and Allie have some questions.”
“Some questions? How about all the questions in the world,” she adds.
“I can only answer some,” Galt replies in a voice filled with jagged rocks.
Chase’s face deepens into a frown.
“He’s right,” Mark says reluctantly. “He can’t answer everything.”
“You’re taking his side?” Chase practically shouts.
“I mean that literally, Chase,” Mark says calmly. “He can’t. Not won’t.”
“There is no fucking side, Chase,” Galt says. His jaw, too, is tight. “It’s just the limit of what I can say.”
“Because you—”
Helen interrupts Allie, then looks at Marissa. Something passes between the women and Marissa stands abruptly, pulling on Morty’s arm. The coffee tray is still in his hands. He’s standing there, speechless.
“Me and Morty have an appointment we need to get to. So sorry,” she explains.
“We do?” Morty looks at her, flummoxed. “What are we doing?”
“Getting your butthole waxed,” Chase says.
“I didn’t sign up for that!” Morty protests as Marissa grabs her purse, then drags him to the door. He slides his feet into flip-flops just as she yanks him into the hall. “I don’t understand why we’re—”
SLAM!
Helen gives me an apologetic look. “Loogie and Galt just can’t say anything in front of them, you know?”
“But it’s okay in front of the rest of us?”
“You’re all materially involved. Plus, I know you’ll keep your trap shut,” Galt says. “That Carrottop guy is a loose cannon.”
“Morty wouldn’t say anything,” Allie protests. She’s looking at Galt like he’s a stray raccoon she found playing in her garbage.
“Even better to have them both gone,” Mark says. It’s as if he’s jumping to Galt’s defense.
Chase blows air out his nose.
The tension level just rose up above my chin.
“Look,” Loogie says. “This is easy. There’s only so much we can say. You all know Mark’s with the DEA. Me and Galt are from different alphabet soup. That’s all you need to know.”
Allie’s face morphs into a mask of fury. “That’s all? That’s all? You keep my mother away from me for two years and we think Galt’s out to kill Chase for the past year and we’re supposed to take your few sentences and say that’s enough?”
Mark gives her a look of appraisal. Like he’s underestimated her.
I think they all have.
“And you, Mom!” Allie whirls around to face Helen. She’s breathing hard. “You never told me! Marissa and I couldn’t figure out why you stayed with Loogie.”
“Hey,” Loogie argues. “I am the complete package.” He pats his paunch and smirks.
Helen elbows him. “I didn’t know anything about Loogie until Mark rescued Allie and I was terrified Galt would try to kill her. Then Loogie finally told me just enough that I didn’t worry.”
“But for a year Chase and I did worry! And Mark helped us this entire time. Gave us money to help.”
Chase reddens at that statement.
“Money you didn’t have to give!” she says to Mark.
“I’m fine,” he assures her.
“No, really. You’ve bought us a car, you paid for Chase’s tuition, you made it so we could get by so Chase could do his nursing program. You’ve sacrificed so much, and you didn’t have to!” she continues.
All eyes are suddenly on Mark.
“You did that?” Galt asks.
Chase jumps in. “More than you ever did, Old Man.” His eyes are cold and dead, directed at Galt. “Nice to know you weren’t actually trying to kill me for the past year. Means you deserve a fucking Happy Father’s Day Card. Maybe a gift. How about a nice striped tie?”
And the tension level just went above my head. I’m drowning in it.
“Chase,” Allie pleads.
“Don’t ‘Chase’ him. I deserve that,” Galt says to Allie. His voice is a mixture of gentle and gruff.
“You deserve a fuck of a lot more,” Chase hisses. Allie’s gaze bounces between the two, then settles on Mark. Her eyes beg him to do something.
But Mark’s just watching Galt. He’s a conflicted son, too. The weight of the world has been on his shoulders for far too long. He gets to have his own feelings about all this.
“Thank you,” Galt says, his eyes lasered in on Mark. “Thank you for taking care of him.”
“Them,” Helen adds in a breathy voice. “Them.”
Galt just purses his lips and nods. He slugs back his entire cup of coffee.
“Well,” Loogie announces, slapping the tops of his thighs as he stands. “That about covers everything. Let’s roll, Galt.”
“That’s it?” Chase shouts, his voice slipping octaves via outrage.
“You’re staying in?” My words are aimed at Galt, who, until now, has ignored me.
His eyes shift. He doesn’t quite meet mine. “In?”
“Now that you know about Mark and the DEA. About Chase and Allie. About your sons and what their lives are like. You’re just going back to the way you’ve been living all these decades deep undercover?”
Helen squeezes Loogie’s elbow. I’m guessing they’ve had a similar conversation.
“Look, ah…Carrie,” Galt says, suddenly uncomfortable. His eyes take me in. I can only imagine what I seem like to him. Mostly bald. Bruised. My arm in a sling. I’m nothing to look at and certainly don’t inspire confidence in the future daughter-in-law department.
Then again, it’s not like the Halloway…er, Paulson….er, Ellison men get together for Easter and Christmas dinners every year, right?
“Uh…if I was getting out of this line of business, I’d have done it long ago. Way long ago. Back when Mark’s grandfather blackmailed me.”
Mark’s head whips around like he’s been stung by a bee.
“WHAT?” he thunders. “Don’t you start talking smack about my grandfather—”
“I AM TALKING TRUTH about your grandfather, Mark. You want the story? You shut up and listen.”
Oh, yeah. No holiday family dinners here. Or, um, ever.
Mark looks like he’s ready to kill Galt.
Chase is the one who gentles him.
“Let him speak,” Chase says in a hoarse voice. Mark crosses his arms over his chest and says nothing.
Galt’s eyes roll to me. “I had to pretend I was a cop on the take. Mob dealings. Senator Thornberg—” he says the name like he has a mouth full of dog poop in it—“knew that. Knew I was deep in. Hated the fact that I learned some pretty shady things about him.”
Loogie glares at Mark. “You know how it is. You’ve learned some pretty fucked up truths about people in D.C.”
Marks mouth twists into a grimace but he says nothing.
“Thornberg set me up. Made it so your mom thought I was all bad. Lawyered up and got custody of you. What could I do? With a guy like Thornberg setting you up, it was like—”
Mark’s eyes flash with emotion.
“Right.” Galt gives me a look that might—just might—involve a shred of gratitude. “So I went in deeper. Deep undercover. Met a woman.” He looks down at his empty coffee cup, reaches in his back pocket, and pours liquor in it. Drinks it down.
Silence floats in the air like a spirit that isn’t ready to move on to the next world.
And then:
“Oh, fuck,” Chase whispers. His eyes widen and he tilts his head, looking at Galt. “My mom? My mom was an agent?”
Galt’s mouth sets firmly. He says nothing.
“Holy fuck,” Chase grunts. Allie told me Chase’s mom was raped and murdered by a bunch of men who were out for vengeance against Galt. Chase killed one of the guys during the act, but couldn’t save his own mother. He was fifteen when it happened, and after that, Galt made him ride with the Atlas motorcycle gang.
It was all coming out in a new light now.
“That fucker killed her. You did well, offing him. Especially under the circumstances,” Galt adds.
Chase is breathing so hard I’m worried he’ll pass out. Allie is rubbing his back and looking like she might make Galt shut up if Chase can’t handle this.
“So,” Mark finally asks, his frown deep. “Chase’s mom was an agent, she died in the field, and you just took him into the heart of all the danger?”
“That’s where I stop talking,” Galt announces. He sets his coffee cup down and stands.
“That’s it?” Chase groans, shoving his fingers through his dark hair. His eyes look like caramel on fire. “You give us that much and then you pull the plug? Jesus, Dad!”
Dad.
The word makes Mark, Chase and Galt all flinch. Uncertainty fills the older man’s face, swirling like a cloud of smoke in a tornado.
And then he is a mask again.
“Yep. Sorry, son,” he says, sauntering to the door. Loogie offers his hand to Helen, who takes it. She whispers something in his ear and his brow lowers. He’s not happy.