Dream Maker

by Kristen Ashley

  Cisco looked at me and then he leaned back, opened his jacket and pulled out his phone.

  He ran his thumb over the screen then handed the phone to the free guy.

  I heard it ringing.

  He had it on speaker.

  I took in a very deep breath as that guy handed it off to me.

  “Man,” I heard my father’s voice coming over the phone, and for a second, I was shocked silent, because he was using a tone I’d never heard.

  Brisk. Bold. Strong.

  Deep in the role of player.

  I could assume a role too.

  Or at least I hoped I could.

  Dad kept speaking in that tone.

  “I don’t wanna be talkin’ to you unless you got my money. You got twenty-four more hours before I hand this thing over to the cops.”

  “Dad!” I cried, all panicky. “Dad!”

  Silence.

  “Dad!” I exclaimed. “Cisco…Cis-Cis-Cisco! He has me! He has me and my girls! He kidnapped us from Cherry Creek mall.”

  “Evie?” Dad called.

  “Dad! Please, just please. You gotta get him that gun! You gotta bring that gun to him where he tells you.” I whimpered, then, “Please…No!” I shrieked. “God, no! Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me again! Don’t touch her! Get off her! I’m doing what you told me to do!” I blew a harsh breath at the phone. “Dad! Please! Help me! Give Cisco that gun! They’re hurting me! Us! Help! Plea—”

  I cut myself off and jerked the phone toward Cisco.

  The guy walked it to a grinning-again Cisco, and Cisco took it.

  “You heard her,” he said to my dad.

  But he said no more since I screwed myself up and screamed bloody murder.

  Cisco was out-and-out smiling at me when I went quiet, but the girls started making a ruckus.

  “Yeah, motherfucker,” Cisco was talking loud to be heard over the fake shouting and pleading for help. “An hour. That gun. Glazed and Confused. Broadway Market. I’ll have the girls. You have that gun.”

  He paused a second.

  Then he said, “You better,” before he disconnected.

  All the noise instantly stopped.

  Cisco started smiling big again.

  I curled my hand over my phone at my thigh.

  “That was phenomenal,” he shared.

  “Glad you approve.”

  “Totally like you,” he declared.

  “If you really liked me, you’d take the gun away from Pepper’s head.”

  “Oh, right,” he muttered, then jerked up his chin at the guy on Pepper.

  The guy stepped away and dropped his gun hand.

  I heard Pepper’s sigh of relief just as I had my own.

  I was running my thumb over my screen in hopes of disconnecting from Mag before they took it away from me.

  Thus, I was holding my breath when the guy by me reached in and took it away.

  “I was kinda hoping I could keep that,” I said quickly, so if Mag was still on the line, he’d hear, know I no longer had my phone, and he’d disconnect.

  “You were hoping wrong,” the guy grunted.

  I shrugged and looked back to Cisco.

  When I caught his eye, he asked, “Feel like donuts?”

  I always felt like donuts.

  Who didn’t always feel the need for a donut?

  Except now.

  Now the thought of a donut made me feel queasy.

  He’d ruined my day.

  He’d ruined the girls’ days.

  And now he was ruining donuts.

  Shit.

  Nevertheless, I forced a grin that even felt like it was a grimace.

  And I replied, “Sure.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Smarty Pants

  Evie

  We were driving into the city and I didn’t like it.

  I didn’t like it because I’d been separated from the Dream Team.

  The girls were all in different cars.

  I was sitting in the back of a shiny black Lincoln town car with Cisco, and we were in the lead.

  “So, you have a new boyfriend,” Cisco broke the silence we shared where I was tense and he seemed tense too, drumming his meaty fingers on his knee. “Hawk’s boy.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered to the window.

  “You two solid?”

  Oh God.

  Apparently, this guy really liked me.

  Gulk.

  “Absolutely, one hundred percent solid,” I told him.

  He made no response.

  Then he asked, “What about that one, the one who was sitting next to you?”

  Wait.

  What?

  Seriously?

  I turned my head his way.

  “The one you had your guy turn his gun on?” I asked.

  He gave me a “you know how it is” tick of his head and a crooked grin.

  Bluh.

  He also said, “Yeah, that one.”

  “Well, first, you kidnapped her and then you had one of your men hold a gun to her head. And second, she has a kid, and no offense, but she really loves her kid, so I don’t think she’d be big on exposing her to bad influences.”

  “No offense taken,” he assured.

  Well, thank God for that.

  “And I can’t be dealin’ with no other man’s kid,” he declared.

  And the utter coolness, and true, real-man-ness of Auggie was all of a sudden proven.

  “How about the one you were tied to?” he kept on.

  “Ryn’s a ballbuster. She’d put up with your stuff for a nanosecond.”

  His expression turned contemplative as he muttered, “Not big on nags.”

  I sighed.

  Then I cut him off on his next pass.

  “And before you ask, no on Hattie as well. She had an abusive father. I think she’s had enough violence in her life.”

  At that, his expression turned inquisitive and focused.

  And his voice went soft when he noted, “You don’t have a very high opinion of me.”

  Was he insane?

  “You had one of your men hold a gun to one of my friends’ heads,” I reminded him. “And you had us all kidnapped. Your guys shot at our friend. And you threatened to torture us.”

  And you’re a cop killer, I did not say out loud.

  “We weren’t gonna torture you.”

  “So when you said you were gonna do not-nice things to us, what did you mean?”

  “I was losin’ steam on that the minute I walked in,” he shared. “Goes against the grain to mess up a hot chick.”

  “But a chick you consider not hot is fair game?”

  His dark, heavy brows jumped together. “Shit, you a feminist?”

  “Yes,” I retorted. “But it isn’t just feminists who aren’t fond of dudes messing up chicks of any persuasion.”

  He twisted toward me.

  Fabulous.

  Now we were having a full-on conversation.

  “Why aren’t you scared of me?” he asked.

  “I am scared. But at this juncture, I’m more scared my dad is gonna do something stupid, screw things up, and put me and my girls back in danger.”

  “You probably shouldn’t have told me that,” he warned quietly.

  “You know my dad. You’re preparing for the same thing.”

  “Yeah,” he admitted, still quietly.

  I drew a sharp breath into my nose and looked out the window.

  And to the window, I asked, “Can we make another deal?”

  “Say it and I’ll consider,” he offered.

  I looked back to him. “If Dad fucks this up, do whatever you intend to do to me. But let the girls go.”

  “Hate to say it, Evan, but I got more leverage with all of you. Hawk’ll cave. Nightingale will too. Chaos would hand deliver that gun to me, tied with a bow if I asked, if it got a woman out of deep shit. Definitely four of them.”

  Evidence was suggesting I totally had the wrong end of the s
tick in my thoughts about dudes in motorcycle clubs.

  “Right, then, let Pepper go so she can get home to Juno.”

  I hated making a deal that might keep Hattie and Ryn in deep shit.

  But…

  Juno.

  When he didn’t respond, I begged, “Please.”

  His eyes moved over my face.

  I let him do this and I managed it without squirming.

  He then whispered, “You really are not shit like your dad and brother.”

  “No, I’m not,” I whispered back.

  We stared at each other.

  Then finally, he said, “I’ll let the hot mom go.”

  My shoulders slumped and I said with feeling, “Thank you.”

  “Nerd girl,” he murmured pensively, his eyes roaming my face. “Smart girl. Ballsy girl. Who’da thought?”

  Okay, I’d successfully held it back, twice.

  But I was thinking now, I was going to hurl.

  He slid a few inches across the seat my way and I braced to stay strong.

  “I got a lotta money, baby,” he cajoled softly. “And I wouldn’t let anything touch you. That life would be that life and you wouldn’t even know it was happening. I’d take good care of you. I guarantee you that.”

  “In a way, I’ve had someone in my life who lives that life, I didn’t know it, and look where I am, Cisco.”

  “My name is Brett.”

  How weird this guy had a normal name and his parents didn’t name him Butch or Ebenezer or Boris or something.

  He slid back. “And I take your point.”

  I released another breath and looked again out the window.

  “Just to say, life happens, and it molds you into who you are.”

  He was defending his path to evil villainy.

  I did not think so.

  “Just to say,” I told the window, “the same life happened to me and my brother and my brother chose who he is, and I chose something different.”

  There was a moment of silence before he muttered, “Girl like you could make me see the error of my ways.”

  I turned back to him at that.

  “A girl like me has spent her whole life trying to guide people to the right path. She’s failed. Repeatedly. And seriously, she’s goddamned, fucking tired, Brett.”

  “You’re breaking my heart, baby,” he murmured, and honest to God, he looked like the words he spoke were true.

  I turned fully to him and slid a bit his way this time, and I did it to say, “You know, when you find a woman who holds a piece of that heart, remember this conversation, and don’t tire her out.”

  We stared into each other’s eyes for long beats before he nodded.

  I slid away, righted myself in the seat, crossed my arms on my chest and watched out the front window.

  I heard his movements and knew he was on his phone, but as far as I was concerned, our conversation was over.

  I had other things to occupy my mind.

  I was assuming Mag had heard our conversation, so he, and the guys, were going to have something planned for Glazed & Confused. And I knew they knew what they were doing, but I was still worried because I didn’t know if Cisco’s guys knew the same.

  I could almost guarantee my dad was going to be at Glazed & Confused and he was going to pull something.

  Further, there was little doubt there would be a number of customers at Glazed & Confused. Innocent bystanders who had no idea the perpetrators behind the firefight played out in Cherry Creek mall earlier that day were going to show and, very likely, obliterate their happy, donut good times.

  And my life, and the lives of my friends, were in the hands of a bad guy who killed a cop who clearly really liked me.

  He finished doing whatever he was doing on his phone and called, “Evan?”

  I was noting the town car was slowing to a stop.

  But we weren’t at Glazed & Confused.

  We were on Fifteenth Street close to Larimer Square.

  Oh shit.

  I looked to Cisco. “Why are we stopping?”

  “This guy, your man, he’s good to you?”

  “Yes,” I said swiftly. “Yes. Mag. My guy. My boyfriend. He…he’s the best. The best boyfriend ever. Numero uno. I’ve never…he makes me really, really happy.”

  Cisco leaned deep and I sat solid and stared, feeling my eyes get big and my heart thump in my chest.

  And a chill raced up my spine at the way he said his next.

  “You tell him to stay good to you, Evan.”

  I didn’t speak or move.

  “Now get out, baby. That building,” he tipped his chin. “Nightingale Investigations is in that building. Get you and your girls up there. They’ll take care of you.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  “You…you’re letting us go?”

  His gaze slid down my torso then back up.

  “Don’t give me a chance to change my mind, because straight up, I got a strong urge to keep you.”

  I turned so fast, I opened the door and tried to get out without releasing my seatbelt.

  I heard his chuckle, reached, released, and shot out of the car.

  The girls were all out of their own cars, looking at me, each other, confused, but I reached my hand their way and shouted, “Come with me!”

  They came with me, Hattie getting to me first.

  She took my hand.

  Pepper took Hattie’s hand.

  Ryn took Pepper’s hand.

  And we raced to the door of the office building.

  I yanked it open and dashed in, only to slam into something solid, and I did it four times. The time I hit it. The time Hattie slammed into my back, Pepper into hers and Ryn into hers.

  In a sandwich, I looked up at a tall, gorgeous, Hispanic guy who looked so much like Eddie Chavez, for a second I thought he was Eddie Chavez.

  I didn’t get to say hi or ask if he knew he looked just like this hot police officer I knew before he took my hand and dragged us all into the building.

  He did not hit the elevators.

  I was considering breaking my vow never to own workout clothes so I could take kickboxing classes by the time we raced up four flights of steps and we got to the floor where he pushed through the door.

  Through my wheezing, I saw right away Shirleen standing in the hall outside a door.

  She got a load of us and said, “Well, shit.”

  She then disappeared through the door that hadn’t quite closed before the guy dragging our snake of strippers got to it.

  He shoved it open, pulled us in and didn’t stop pulling once we were inside.

  I just had time to glance at Shirleen where she was standing behind an impressive, gleaming blond wood receptionist desk as he pulled us through and I saw she was on the phone, saying, “Our eyes weren’t deceiving us. They’re here. Hector’s locking them down now.”

  This while I heard a buzz, and the guy, obviously named Hector, dragged us in another door, into a hall, down it, and then shuffled us into a small room that had a bed, a recliner, a bookshelf full of books and DVDs, a TV and that was it.

  “You’re safe,” he declared. “And your men will get you after they deal with Cisco.”

  On that, he walked out the door and closed it behind him.

  I stared at it.

  And Pepper murmured a repeat of Shirleen’s “Well, shit.”

  “Unh-hunh,” Hattie mumbled.

  Ryn stepped in front of all of us, put her hands on her hips, and remarked, “I’m pretty sure the Rock Chicks had a ton more drama. Am I crazy to think that was anticlimactic and be disappointed there wasn’t more drama?”

  This from the one of us who’d survived a gunfight in a mall parking lot that day.

  In unison, we all answered…

  “Yes.”

  The door to the room opened and Shirleen stood there.

  We all looked to her.

  I suspected we all also expected jubilation that we we
re alive and breathing. Congratulations we’d kept our shit together through another kidnapping. And news about what was going down.

  We all had forgotten she’d lived through the Rock Chicks.

  So we did not get any of that.

  She asked, bizarrely, “Have all you all seen the movie 300?”

  “Greatest…movie…ever,” Pepper decreed breathily.

  “Right, I’ll get the popcorn,” Shirleen declared. “Be right back.”

  And then she was gone.

  “Tex! Don’t thump on it! It’s already broken! It doesn’t need to be wrecked beyond repair!” Indy shouted over Tex assaulting the cash register.

  “I can’t work under these conditions!” Tex boomed back, jabbing an irate finger at the till. “I’m on strike until that fucking thing is fucking fixed!”

  “I’m sorry, I think I calculated that wrong. Hang on. Let me go again,” Jet said to a customer, then she bent back over the calculator she was using.

  “Fucking fuck! See! It’s taking years just to get a goddamned order!” Tex bellowed.

  “For the last time!” Indy screeched. “Stop saying fuck in front of the customers.”

  I was sitting on the couch in front of the window at Fortnum’s, my fingers curled around the dregs of a Textual, my eyes aimed unseeing at the coffee table in front of me, listening to pandemonium at a used bookstore and coffee emporium.

  Here’s the catch-up:

  I’d now met Vance Crowe and again witnessed all that was Luke Stark.

  The latter had opened the door to the room right when King Leonidas bit into the apple.

  We were all lying about the bed, piled on top of each other (though Shirleen was in the recliner), waiting for word (okay, maybe desperate for word), so we all jumped when the door opened.

  And although I thought I might have heard Hattie sigh at the sight of the big, built, dark-haired man in the doorway, I just wanted to know how Mag was.

  “It’s all cool,” Luke Stark announced. “Boys are at the cop shop, givin’ a report. Time for coffee.”

  That was it.

  He did not go into detail.

  And he did not look like a dude you pressed for details.

  Therefore, none of us pressed him for details.

  Vance Crowe seemed slightly more approachable, but totally more impatient.

  “One of his boys has the flu, he’s hankerin’ to get home,” Shirleen told me.