by Freya Barker
“Trinny, he’s dangerous.”
“I can’t believe you’d say that about your brother,” her daughter shoots back.
“Can I point out, the FBI doesn’t show up at your front door for nothing?” The girl looks at me, before turning her eyes down to the floor, and I use the momentum to keep going. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Mafia, Trinny?”
That information clearly shocks her. The next ten minutes Ollie and I alternate filling Trinny in, her eyes getting bigger and bigger all the time, until she finally bursts out in tears when her mom tells her the truth about how she lost her leg.
“I’m so sorry,” she sobs, throwing herself in her mother’s arms. “I never told him where we live. I promise.”
“What’s wrong?” Mason’s head pops up from the basement stairs.
“Nothing, Bud,” I reassure him, and rush over to block his view of the kitchen. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there, but I don’t want my twelve-year-old worrying, and if I want to make the meeting at the FBI offices, I have to get going. “I have to run out for a bit, but Ollie’s gonna stay here with you guys as well. Behave, okay? I shouldn’t be too long. Maybe we’ll order pizza when I get back?”
“Pizza!” Mason pumps his fist, the scene behind me already forgotten as he thunders back down the stairs to share the good news with his brother.
Trinny slips by me when I return to the kitchen, darting into the bathroom. Ollie leans against the counter, her own eyes glistening with tears, but holding it together.
“Are you gonna be okay here?”
“We’re fine.”
“Good. Like I mentioned, I probably won’t be long. We just need to coordinate a few things to make sure you stay fine.”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t believe my brother would do anything purposely to hurt us.” She folds her arms over her chest and tilts her chin almost defiantly. I reach out and hook my hand behind her neck, pulling her a little closer.
“I realize he may not mean to, but by contacting Trinny, he may have already put a target on your back. Livingston wouldn’t have shown up here otherwise. Let me see how we can keep both of you safe.”
When I lean my forehead to hers, one of her hands clasps the front of my shirt. “I’m sorry we dragged you into this.”
“I’m not. Who better than the police chief? I have the resources to help you.” I lift my head and without thinking, put my lips on her forehead. The friendly kiss feels unexpectedly intimate, and I have a sudden urge to taste her lips.
“I’ve gotta run. Lock up behind me.”
Without a glance back, I hurry out of there as if the devil is at my heels.
Ollie
I watch him rush out the door.
He surprised me.
For a man I barely know, who barely knows me, he sure acts—and feels—familiar.
The moment he leaves I feel almost bereft. Before I’m even aware, my feet start moving toward the door and I quickly turn the deadbolt. When I head back to the kitchen to get a refill of coffee—I have a feeling this might be a long night—Trinny comes out of the bathroom, her face washed clean but still a bit blotchy.
“Do you want to get the boys up here to do their homework?” I ask her, eager to move on to something more mundane. “I’ll find something for them for an after-school snack.”
She nods and sticks her head down the stairwell. “Hey, butt pimples!! Last one up is a stinky fart!” I look at my daughter with my mouth hanging open. She just grins and a second later it sounds like a herd of elephants coming up the stairs.
The boys don’t grumble once when Trinny tells them to grab their bags and sit down at the dining table. She joins them and starts pulling her own books out of her tote, glancing up and sending me a tentative smile. A peace offering. I send a full one back and turn to the fridge.
A block of cheese the size of a brick, a bulk bag of beef sticks, a couple of apples, and a gallon jug of milk. I haul it all out on the counter and go in search of plates and glasses I find conveniently located in the cupboard next to the fridge. In minutes, I have three after-school snacks ready to go.
The boys stare at the plates and glasses of milk I slide in front of them. I guess that’s not something they’re used to? I hand Trinny hers, and she pointedly takes a slice of apple and starts munching while scribbling on her notepad. One by one the boys follow suit. I can see my daughter has made an impact here.
I end up taking my coffee and sitting down on the comfortable sectional in the living room. The massive U-shaped thing is the only place to sit in the room, but offers enough space to comfortably house the whole family. One Benedetti male on each section. I can easily imagine them lazing in front of the large TV screen, watching a movie together. Our TV is not even half the size, and I can’t remember the last time Trinny and I watched a movie together.
I pull my phone from my pocket and open my Kindle app. I just started a book by a new-to-me author and I’m loving the balance of suspense and romance in this one. I’m not one for flowery declarations and long poetic descriptions, but this Susan Stoker knows how to write characters with a bite. She also has a substantial backlist, so I’ll have reading material for a while.
I quickly get engrossed in the story and don’t even notice time passing until Joe’s youngest, Ryder, sidles up to me on the couch.
“Hey, buddy. You done already?”
He nods his head and snuggles closer. I’m not used to a kid this demonstrative—Trinny was never a huggy kid—but I put my arm around him and tuck him to my side.
“When’s Daddy coming home?”
I glance at the large clock I noticed over the doorway to the small front hall. It’s already five thirty. “I’m not sure. He said he wouldn’t be too long.”
“Mase says he would order pizza.”
“That’s right.”
“I’m hungry.”
I look over at the dining table where the other two are still bent over their homework—the plates and glasses are empty. “Already?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Have you done all your homework?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay, well your brother and Trinny are still working, but why don’t you go play for a bit, and as soon as they’re done, I’ll order us some pizza.”
“M-kay.”
The little boy flings his arms around my neck, giving me a quick, surprise hug before he jumps up and pounds downstairs. I swallow down an unexpected surge of emotion and check on the kids at the table. Mason’s head is up and he throws me a curious look before bending over his homework again
The moment I open my Kindle app back up, my phone buzzes in my hand.
“Ollie.” His deep gentle voice saying my name sends a shiver down my back.
“Hi.” I sound out of breath.
“Everything okay there?”
“Yeah. Kids are doing homework. Well, the two oldest are, Ryder is done and back downstairs. He’s hungry.” The deep responding chuckle has goosebumps rise on my skin.
“He’s always hungry. I shouldn’t be too much longer, but if you want to go ahead and order pizza. The old coffee tin on top of the fridge is an emergency piggy bank. There should be enough—”
“I can pay,” I interrupt.
“And you’re more than welcome to at your house,” he calmly responds. “But at my house, I pay. Old coffee tin, top of the fridge. See you soon.”
Without giving me a chance to even argue, he hangs up. Well then.
Trinny and I are on our second piece of spinach and roasted red pepper pie while the boys have already scarfed down half the large, plain, pepperoni pizza—their choice—when a key sounds in the lock. Ryder jumps up immediately and runs to the front, jumping in his father’s arms before he even has a chance to close the door.
“Hey, kiddo.” Seeing the large man catch the boy in his arms and kissing the top of his messy mop of hair does something to my insides.
A loving father. I remember mine, growing
up. He was always affectionate with me, but not so much with my brother. I look over at Trinny, who is observing the scene with longing in her eyes. She’s never had that experience. Guilt sours in the back of my throat.
“Hey, Bud.” Joe walks in, Ryder still hanging off him as he ruffles Mason’s hair. Then he smiles at my daughter and gives her neck a little squeeze. “Girl.”
“Hey, Mr. B.”
“Boys been good?” he asks her, dropping Ryder on his chair.
“Yup.”
“Good. Gonna borrow your mom for a bit. You guys can watch some TV when you’re done. Put your plates in the kitchen, yeah?”
He grabs the plate I set out for him, loads it up with three slices of pizza and reaches out a hand for me. He hasn’t even said hello to me yet, but still I grab my plate, put my hand in his, and follow him through the sliding doors out on the deck.
The sun is starting to disappear behind the mountains and I shiver at the cool air.
“Shit, hang on.” Joe darts back inside and returns a minute later, carrying a quilt he drapes around my shoulders. “Come sit.” He points at the outdoor sitting area, which I note, is not visible from inside unless you stand at the kitchen sink.
I sit at one end of the small couch, but instead of taking the opposite side, Joe plops down right beside me.
“Hi.” He grins big before stuffing half a slice in his mouth. “Starving,” he mumbles around his pizza.
I’ve suddenly lost my appetite and set my plate on the small table in front of us. “So what’s happening?”
“Right,” he says, dropping the other half back on his plate. He twists his body toward me, pulling one knee up on the seat between us. “First thing tomorrow, you’ll have a security system installed at your house. Motion activated lights and cameras on the outside, all entry points armed with an electronic alarm that will go to your phone, my phone, and the La Plata County FBI office. Cruz postponed his flight back and will come by in the morning, as well, to talk to you.”
“Wait.” I hold up my hand stopping the flow of information. “How much is all this going to cost?”
“Nothing.”
I glare at him. “You’re not paying for this. I’m not some charity case. I can pay, I just need to…shift a few things around.” He chuckles and I squint my eyes a little more.
“Relax. No one has to pay anything, which is why FBI agents Barnes and Greene are installing it. It’s considered surveillance equipment. The Bureau is paying; they want your brother that bad. He’s pivotal to their case against Montenegro. Cruz wants to make sure it’s all set up and working before he heads back.”
“Oh.”
“Right. I know you work from home and life has to go on, which is why this gets done first thing tomorrow, but for tonight, you and Trinny will crash here. You two can take my room and I’ll crash on the couch.”
I shoot up straight in my seat. “Absolutely not. I’ll be fine in my own bed.”
Joe leans in and puts a hand on the side of my neck. “I know you believe Christian won’t harm you, and you may be right, but are you willing to take a chance? What about Trinny? It’s just for one night, Ollie. Tomorrow you’ll be snug and safe in your own bed again, but for tonight, do me a favor, sleep here?”
His eyes up close are gorgeous and soulful, showing the worry he has for my daughter and me. If not for Grace, I probably would have forgotten what caring is supposed to look like, but I recognize it in this man. Why?
“You care,” I blurt out.
Humor glimmers in his eyes when he answers, “I do, and it’s a surprise to me too.”
Chapter 9
Joe
A thud followed by soft swearing wakes me up.
The only light on is over the stove—I leave it on in case the boys need something during the night—but it’s enough to see Ollie crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. Shit. Flinging the quilt off me, I’m beside her in a flash, crouching down and pushing Bugsy, who’s come to investigate, back.
“You okay?”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“I’m guessing that’s a no. Hang on, let me check you out.” I reach up to flick on the lights and look down at her. The sleep shirt she’s wearing is tangled around her hips and she’s tugging at it to cover herself.
“I’m fine,” she mumbles through gritted teeth, pushing herself into a sitting position.
“Sure y’are.”
Her right leg is partially folded under her and I carefully pull it straight, running my hands along it. She hisses when I get to her ankle.
“I rolled it.”
“We’ll get some ice.” I turn to her other leg, but she bats at my hands when I run my fingers over her stump. It doesn’t stop me. “May wanna strap on your leg next time you decide to go for a midnight stroll.”
I notice her sharp intake of breath and lift my eyes to hers. Her mouth is hanging open in disbelief. “Did you just make fun of my leg?”
“Wasn’t meant to be funny.” I shrug, getting to my feet and holding out my hand to her. “Let’s try standing.” Her hair is a wild tangle around her upturned face and her nightshirt does little to hide her curves. I try hard not to notice. Finally she reaches up, but the moment she sets her foot flat on the ground and tries to push off with it, she grimaces. “New plan,” I announce, before bending down and scooting an arm under her knees and one around her waist, lifting her up before the first protest falls from her lips.
I walk her over to the couch and lay her down before heading for the kitchen. The dog follows and is whining by the back door, so I quickly let him out. Armed with a bag of frozen peas and a tea towel I return to the couch.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” She looks a little sheepish. “I just wanted to get a glass of milk to take my meds.”
“You take meds in the middle of the night?”
“When I can’t sleep.”
“Why can’t you sleep?”
“Restless leg syndrome.” When I look at her incredulously, she nods. “It’s like phantom pain—the brain is firing off signals as if the leg is still there. It’s enough to drive you insane.”
“I can imagine. The medication works?”
She snorts. “If I take it. I forgot last night.”
“Where is it?”
“I had a pill in my hand, so unless your dog ate it, it’s probably somewhere on the floor.”
I go look and find it on the bottom step, grab a glass of milk from the kitchen, and hand her both.
“I’m sorry. I’m usually pretty good at moving around, but I guess I misjudged your stairs.”
I don’t say anything but take the half glass of milk from her hand and put it on the table. Grabbing one of the pillows I was sleeping on, I stuff it under her head and pull the quilt over her legs. “Think you can sleep now?”
“I should go upstairs,” she mumbles, but I can see her snuggling in already. I leave her on the couch, fetch another blanket from the wardrobe closet in the hallway, flip off the lights, and settle in on the other side of couch.
“Joe?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Go to sleep, Sweets.”
-
I’d planned to be at Ollie’s place for the installation of the security system, but I’m held up at the station.
Waking up this morning had been a bit of a surreal experience. It had taken me a second to put things in perspective considering the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Ollie’s sleeping face. Her eyes had shot open the moment I sat up, and we stared at each other for what felt like a long time, but was probably no more than a minute or two. Long enough for me to notice the sleep lines on her cheek from the pillow, the soft look in her eyes, and the fact her lips looked even poutier first thing in the morning. I had to rip my gaze away.
I’d snuck into my bedroom where Trinny was still asleep, grabbed Ollie’s prosthesis and the sock she had draped over top, and brought them down to her before ret
urning upstairs for a shower in the kids’ bathroom. By the time I’d woken up the boys and came downstairs, there was a fresh pot of coffee brewed. The bag of peas and tea towel were sitting on the counter, the blankets were folded and stacked with the pillows in the corner of the couch, and there was no sign of Ollie.
I’ve been a little off my game all morning. Unable to keep focus for very long before my thoughts would drift back to the woman I left to get my boys, and her daughter, off to school. She’d offered, and given I’d left the office in the middle of the day yesterday; I could use the extra hour or so catching up. Not that there’d been much catching up, just more problems piling up.
Powers had arrived for his shift, reeking of alcohol. Mike tagged it the moment he walked in and had him in his office doing a breathalyzer. I heard them arguing all the way down the fucking hall. He was legally drunk and I immediately put him on suspension, sending him home. That was cause for another shouting match.
Two out of the four officers out with the flu were back, but with the fifth one on vacation this week, and Powers suspended, that didn’t put me ahead any. The roster is still thin, and I had planned to add a regular drive-by Ollie’s place to the schedule.
“You summoned?” Tony Ramirez opens the door and sticks his head in.
“Yeah. Close the door?”
“You look like shit, Joe,” my friend observes, slouching down in the chair on the other side of my desk.
“Thanks. It matches how I feel.”
I feel like crap and not just from lack of a proper night’s sleep. My head feels like it’s going to explode and my eyes are burning. Fucking flu.
“Shit. Just what we need.”
“You’re telling me. And I have another problem to add to the already fucking long list.”
I proceed to fill him in on the FBI visit to my neighbor and the reason for that.
“That’s fucked up, bro,” he says when I tell him about the car bomb. “So the kid is a Montenegro?”
“I’m guessing, although Ollie hasn’t confirmed.”
“That could spell a whole new set of issues for her.”