The Bronze Garza

by S. Ann Cole

  Both women’s attention come to me, confusion creasing their faces.

  “You’re going out?” Monica asks.

  I nod as I go to the kitchen for a drink of water.

  “Let me rephrase. Should you be going out? I thought you came here to lay low. Whatever that means for you.”

  “Maybe not,” I say, filling a glass under the tap. “But it’s Torin who invited me out, so I think I’ll be fine.”

  Monica and Tillie exchange looks.

  Careful not to smudge my lipstick, I sip the water.

  “Torin?” Monica asks as though she doesn’t believe me. “As in my son Torin?”

  “My brother Torin?” Tillie chimes in, also with disbelief.

  It’s hard not to take umbrage to their tones and expressions. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to become part of your family or anything. I’m aware I’m no Lexi. I’m just a job and he’s taking pity on me.”

  “Oh, no, no, that’s not what—” Monica starts, but a key turning in the lock cuts her off. We all look to the side door as it sweeps open and Torin walks in.

  My heart skips a beat and I gulp down a sigh. He’s so stinking handsome it hurts to look at him.

  He’s semi-casual, in black jeans and a black button-down with the arms folded up to his elbows, first three buttons undone, the neckline of a white tank peeking out.

  His attention comes straight to me. Roves over me, slow and dawdling.

  The dress he bought me fits like a glove. No idea how he got down to even my bust-line right, but he did.

  “Hi,” he says quietly.

  I rest the glass of water onto the kitchen counter. “Hi.”

  “You look...beautiful.”

  With a pout, I idly snap and unsnap the latch on my clutch. “I guess you’ll have to give me a few minutes to run upstairs and change then.”

  He frowns. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to look ‘beautiful’. I want to look smoking hot.”

  At that, an almost imperceptible smile settles on his lips, and he shakes his head. “You’re something else.”

  I dramatically stick my chest out, suck my cheeks in, and droop my eyelids. “Would that ‘something else’ be irresistibly hot?”

  A giggle from Tillie snags his attention. And he blinks, as if he’d forgotten there are other people in the house. “Mon. Sis.”

  “Are you, like, going on a date?” Tillie asks, as if the entire concept of him dating is preposterous.

  “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” he tells her dully, then holds his hand out to me.

  I accept it and let him lead me out.

  As we round to the front, I tell him, “They think I’m trying to use my feminine wiles to steal you away.”

  “Hm.” He guides me to his jeep and opens the door for me. “Are you?”

  I pause from climbing in. “I’m sorry, who invited who out again?”

  He prods me. “Get in.”

  I fix a hand on my hip. “Ask me nicely. Just so we’re both clear who wants who with them tonight.”

  “Why you always gotta be like this?”

  “Be like what?”

  He sighs. “Can you please get in the car?”

  I cup my hand around my ear. “Why?”

  “Because I want you with me tonight.”

  “Well, since you sound so pathetically desperate...” I smile and climb into the jeep. “It’s the least I can do.”

  He shakes his head, as if questioning why he thought it was a good idea to invite me out, then closes the door.

  “How far is this ‘thing’?” I ask once he’s rounded to his side and is behind the wheel.

  “Not far.”

  His scent levitates on the air like smoke. It’s divine. It’s seduction. It’s push and pull. Hot and cold. Sexy and forceful, blistering arousal.

  I inhale it like cocaine. Like it’s elixir.

  When we’re off the property and on the go, because I can’t help myself, I ask, “Why did you cheat on Lexi?”

  From my peripheral vision, I watch for a reaction from him. But there’s none. He’s relaxed. Indifferent. One hand on the steering wheel, the other rested on his thigh.

  “Are you surprised that I did?” he responds after several beats. “Doesn’t that fit perfectly in the ‘despicable’ image you have of me?”

  “I suppose.” I snap and unsnap the latch on my clutch. “Does it bother you that ‘the one that got away’ is engaged to your brother?”

  “The one that got away,” he muses under his breath. “That’s a new one.”

  “Isn’t she?”

  “She’s the love of my brother’s life and my sister-in-law.”

  “But you loved her, didn’t you?”

  “I still do, just in a different way.” He throws me a quick glance. “What’s your obsession with Lexi?”

  “I’m not obsessed,” I defend with a pfft. I totally am. “I’m just amazed that you’re actually capable of loving.”

  “Barely.”

  ~

  HALF AN HOUR later, we arrive at our destination. A grandiose residence in Beverly Hills.

  There’s valet service, a complaisant youth in an oversized jacket taking the keys to the jeep.

  The front of the residence is quiet, but as Torin guides me through the house—his fingers splayed at my back, sending shivers up my spine—sounds of music, chatter, and clinking glasses can be heard.

  “How long will we be here for?” I ask Torin. “These things have never really been my favorite. So many posers and pompous asshats.”

  “About an hour,” he replies. “Just need to show my face and shake a few hands.”

  As we draw closer to the back of the house, people, tea-lights, shiny outfits, glitzy jewels, and the glinting blue of a pool come into view.

  We’re not even two steps out the terrace doors when a man intercepts us, arms out wide. “Torin Garza. The man, the myth, the legend.”

  “Howard,” Torin greets, voice flat and dry as always. “Thanks for the invite.”

  “I’ve invited you to many, Torin. This is just the first one you showed up to,” the man replies with a chuckle. “I’ve got people for you to meet. I’ve been singing your praises. Without your service...man, I don’t even know...” He trails off and his attention jerks to me, as if he’s only just realized I’m there. “And who is this stunning beauty?”

  “This is my date. Lyra,” Torin says. “Lyra, Howard Bailey.”

  “Nice to meet you, Howard.” I hold my hand out for a shake, but he takes it and lifts it to his lips instead, brushing a kiss across my knuckles.

  “No, no. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” As inoffensively as I can, I pull my hand back. “Torin, I’m jealous. Your date is hotter than mine.”

  At that, I look up at Torin with an expression I hope conveys, ‘See? I’m hot.’

  Torin’s hand shifts from my lower back to around my waist, gently pulling me closer to him. It’s a possessive pull, a statement, and I like it. Something tells me he didn’t like Howard kissing my hand.

  A spirited, eager Howard all but whisks us off into the crowd, submerging us into an arching wave of introductions. He’s quite fond of Torin, it seems. So fond it borderlines on creepy.

  As lights glisten off the surface of the pool, and music pulses lightly around rhythmless chatter, one minute bleeds into the next, and the next, and the next. Business cards are exchanged and family members are asked about with inflections that relay simulated interest.

  Torin clings to me the entire time, as though I’m his raft in this sea of sharks. He’s not a people person. Intensely assessing everyone who crosses his path. His handshakes are firm, his exchanges apathetic, his smiles nonexistent. He intimidates. He impresses. He piques interests.

  An hour in the life of Torin Garza.

  Make that two hours.

  We’d tried to extricate ourselves around the ninety-minute mark, but as cold and dry as my date is, everyone seems to want a
piece of him, like he’s the guest of honor or something.

  I’m on my second glass of champagne, have taken at least three bathroom breaks, and my feet are starting to hurt. Torin must feel the restlessness vibrating off me, because he dips his mouth to my ear and whispers, “I’m trying.”

  “Try harder,” I whisper back. “By the way, you suck at schmoozing.”

  “If I’m so bad at it, then why’s it so hard for me to leave?”

  “Because people like mystery, you dumb dumb,” I say, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “They’re intrigued by your zero-fucks-given attitude.”

  “I ever tell you you’re sexy when you swear?”

  “See, most men would tell me not to swear.”

  “I’m not most men.”

  “No shit.”

  “Yep. Sexy.”

  I roll my eyes in an attempt to hide my blush. “Just hurry up and get us out of here.”

  It takes another half hour before we’re able to successfully peel away, and only because I started to feign lightheadedness. One man follows us all the way out, and talks incessantly as we wait for the valet, despite Torin’s monosyllabic responses.

  “Who are you?” I ask Torin once we’ve finally made it into the jeep and are on the go.

  “What?”

  “Aren’t you just a commando type P.I.?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I don’t understand. What about that makes you so revered in the one-percenter crowd?”

  His gaze narrows on the road as he navigates the vehicle off the property, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. He’s thinking.

  After several long minutes, he says, “Ray—my step-dad—didn’t die in an accident like I told you. He was murdered.”

  “What? Why did you—”

  “Just listen, ‘cause I’ve never talked about this and won’t ever again,” he talks over me. “His death was made to look like an accident, but it wasn’t. After giving half his life to serving in the military, he was recruited into working for a secret government organization. He did dangerous work. Handled extremely sensitive information. Using his P.I. business as a front.

  “When he was leaving for that last job, he told me, ‘You know everything. I’ve given you everything. They’re watching you. And when you’re ready, they’ll come to you.’ I’d no idea what he meant, but I was used to him speaking in cryptics. It was as if he knew he wouldn’t be coming back. He was killed on that job.

  “Fast forward several years later after doing three tours, I’d just bought the building to start up Red Cage…that’s when they came to me. Can’t divulge more, but to answer your question: I do more than ‘commando-type P.I.’ work. In exchange for certain...’services’, I’m able to make things…happen. Within reason.

  “The organization I’m with, it’s not a choice for me. They pick you. Inherited in some cases. It’s either be a part of it or cease to exist.” He slides me a side glance. “Don’t tell me you believe any random ‘P.I.’ would be able to set up shop in Russia, of all places, and assume a fake-legit identity for that long.”

  “I’ve always wondered…”

  “After finding your location, I’d told Henderson I wouldn’t be able to get you out only because I didn’t want to turn to the organization for help. But Henderson was determined. He had no other options. The organization doesn’t just hand over favors. It’s always something for something. I had to do three separate jobs in Russia for them as ‘Marvin Marino’ before they fulfilled their end of the bargain. That’s why it took so long to get you out.”

  Wow. I was not expecting any of that. But now that I think about it, it all makes sense, doesn’t it? Why all those powerful rich men would be yipping at his heels. And my rescue in Russia—fake identities, fake deaths, men at his command, a waiting jet... Nope, that’s definitely not the work of any old P.I.

  “So, um, these services you exchange are dangerous? Like, what happened with Ray could happen to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that why you’re so detached?” I take the risk to ask. “No emotional attachments, no wife, no kids. Nothing tethering you to life. So you can take the risks of the job without—”

  “No one knows about this,” he cuts me off, voice hard. “Not even my brothers. Think about repeating any of what I told you to anyone and you’ll regret it.”

  No one knows? Not even Reuben, who I’ve deduced is his right-hand man? I’m confused. “So, why did you tell me?”

  “Of all people,” he mutters under his breath. As if frustrated with himself, he grips the steering wheel, jaw locked tight. “I...I don’t know.”

  I’ve no clue what to make of this. That he can barely even stand me, yet he just divulged that kind of information to me. Not that I would ever repeat it to anyone. I barely even understand what any of it means, except that it’s dangerous and he has deathly powerful connections. When I jokingly asked, “who are you?” earlier, I’d really expected him to reply to me with nothing but a grunt or one of his usual irritable answers.

  I can’t even attribute his unexpected candor to alcohol, because he’d not even so much as sipped a glass of champagne tonight.

  Now his mood has gone dark on me.

  I knew asking those personal questions about him being detached was digging too deep, but I’m desperate to understand him. To know him. And after divulging what he did, I just couldn’t resist risking the chance to go deeper.

  With how aggravated he is right now, and how quick he’d been to cut me off, I’m guessing I was on to something. He’s detached because he believes it’s better that way. Maybe he’s convinced that a fate like Ray’s awaits him, so he’s taken preemptive measures and disarmed death.

  No fear.

  When nothing but tense silence ensues for longer than I can endure, I crack it. “Anyway, it’s time to uphold your end of the bargain.”

  “What bargain?”

  “You forgot already?” I harrumph. “The deal you made to get me to accompany you tonight.”

  He groans as if in pain. “Oh, that.”

  “Were you seriously not expecting me to cash in?”

  A long-suffering sigh. “What childish nonsense do you wanna do?”

  “Ice skating.”

  “No.”

  “You can’t say no!” I’m rightfully indignant. “That’s not how it works. I did my part and now it’s time to do yours.”

  “I’m saying no to ice-skating because we might be out, but I’m still working. The minute I put those skates on, I’m vulnerable,” he tells me. “I can’t very well protect you with ice skates on, can I?”

  “Don’t you realize by now that I don’t care about being protected?”

  “Lyra.”

  “Ugh. Okay, the amusement park then. Ferris wheels and cotton candy.”

  “No. Too much crowd. Not much control. Would have to call extra security.”

  “Extra security?” I glance in the rearview mirror. “Is there security on us right now?”

  “Pick something else.”

  I drum my fingers on my thigh as I run through all possible activities that would fall under “childish.” Not because I actually want to do something childish, but because it would be so much fun watching him hate-participate.

  Everything that I can think of, however, would require us being out in open public letting our guard down, which he would never agree to. I’m starting to think I got hoodwinked.

  “How about this?” I say with a dramatically defeated sigh. “Since there’s nothing we can really do tonight that wouldn’t put you in a ‘vulnerable’ position, let’s just move this under the ‘You owe me a favor’ column.”

  “Not sure I wanna owe you a favor.”

  “Tough luck.”

  “Fine,” he grumpily acquiesces. “It’s not like you could eat cotton candy anyway.”

  “I can.” I smile. “You’d just have to hold my hair while I hurl it back up.”

  “What, exa
ctly, about me gives you the impression that I’m the type to hold your hair up while you puke?”

  “You might not do it because you like me, tough guy. But you’d do it because—”—I reach over and pat his thigh—“I’m your job.”

  I’m pulling back my hand from his thigh when he reaches down and wraps his fingers around mine, keeping my hand there.

  I pause, forgetting to breathe. Waiting. For him to say something. Explain why he’s holding my hand captive. But he doesn’t. He just continues driving, casual and relaxed, as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening here. His thumb brushing back and forth over my knuckles.

  Eventually, I release the breath I’m holding, slow and steady, and let my hand go lax. Even as his skin on mine ignites me. Spins me dizzy.

  I don’t know what it means, but God, I hope he never lets go.

  ~

  “I APPRECIATE YOU coming with me tonight.”

  He’s walked me to the condo.

  Keyed open the door for me.

  And now he’s crowding me inside its frame. His intense gaze all over my face.

  “Lamest date ever,” I say, concealing my nerves with a laugh.

  “Wasn’t a date.”

  “Right.” I jab a finger at his abs. It almost breaks. “Not a date. A ‘favor’.”

  “Right.”

  “For a favor.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  I fidget under his penetrating stare. His green irises darkening around the edges.

  Take me. You want me. Take me. I won’t throw myself at you, but I’ll let you have me anyway you want me as long as you make the first move.

  The air crackles between us. Our breaths thick. Brown eyes to green.

  Take.

  Me.

  A distant laughter breaks through the moment. A guest from across the B&B maybe.

  Torin clears his throat and takes a step back from me. “Night, Lyra.”

  Disappointment drips down my chest. “Good night.”

  I close the door in his face.

  The house is quiet. Tillie is usually up late making a mess of a kitchen—she’s in culinary school—but considering it’s a Saturday night, she’s probably out clubbing. I’ve only known her a couple of days, but I’ve had enough interactions with her to know that if there’s one thing that girl is going to do, it’s live her life. We’re just a few years apart, and where I’m always in, she’s always out.