The Bronze Garza

by S. Ann Cole

  Torin helps me down off the boat with a strong, firm hand, his handsome features bathed in the orange glow of the fast-fading sunset.

  “What are you so smiley about?”

  You. “It was just a really good day, that’s all,” I say. “I’m...happy.”

  He snakes an arm around my waist. “Glad I could be of service.” As we amble up the boardwalk, he jerks his chin to the marina restaurant ahead. “Think you’re up for a fish dinner?”

  I lean into him. “I could try.”

  When we’re exiting the boardwalk toward the restaurant, an embracing couple bumps into me as they’re stepping up onto the boardwalk.

  “Whoa, sorry,” the man mumbles sheepishly. “My girl’s had a little too much to drink.”

  Giant sunglasses cover his girlfriend’s face, but judging from her quasi-catatonic posture, she’s beyond “a little too much to drink.” She’s wasted.

  “Oh, no problem,” I say, shifting to give them better passage to the boardwalk. “Have a good evening.”

  “You, too.”

  “Ly!”

  The familiar voice has me glancing around. Beyond the weathered wooden railing of the deck of the marina restaurant, I spot a chaos of short, auburn curls and a frantically waving hand. Holly.

  Her curls bounce as she weaves around the tables and rushes out of the restaurant to meet us.

  With a squeal, she throws her arms around me.

  “Holly, hey.”

  “Ly—”

  We’re both abruptly pulled off to the side by Torin. “Stay here,” he orders in a tone that brooks no argument. “Don’t move.”

  Before I can inquire what his deal is, he strides off, casual and unhurried, hands slipped loosely into the pockets of his board-shorts.

  From my peripheral, I notice a man in black drifts close to us. Whipping my head in his direction, I’m about to ask him what the hell he wants, but then stop and sigh instead. Because I’d seen this same man outside the restaurant where Torin and I had dinner at last night.

  You won’t see my men, but they’ll be around.

  We’ve had security on us the entire time. Of course.

  Annoyed by this, I glower at the line-backer-built man. He’s unphased.

  “...are you doing here?” Holly is asking me. “And who’s that?”

  “We went sailing,” I answer distractedly, bringing my attention back to Torin, who’s now striding down the boardwalk behind the couple that bumped into us. “Oh, and that’s, um, a friend.”

  “The way he was holding you didn’t seem very ‘friendly’ to me,” she says with a giggle. “Ly, that man is fine. Are you dating or something?”

  A tall, muscled man, in all-black—just like the one shadowing us right now—appears out of nowhere and starts down the boardwalk behind Torin.

  “No, I—” I glance away from the boardwalk and give her my full attention. “What are you doing here, Holly?”

  “Did you forget we have a beach house here?” she replies. “Mom and I drove down for the weekend. I just came here to pick up food we ordered for dinner when I saw you.”

  “Oh, yeah, yeah, I forgot.” The Wilsons, her parents, have both a beach house and a fifty-foot yacht here. I’ve even spent several weekends here with them in my early teens. But I’d been so wrapped up in Torin I didn’t even remember that.

  “Ly, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for over a week now, but your phone’s been going straight to voicemail. What the hell happened that day on the phone?”

  “I got kidnapped.”

  Her eyes blow wide. “What? Are you seri—”

  Collective gasps from the patrons on the deck of the restaurant snags both our attention. When we glance up to the deck and see everyone gaping in the direction of the boardwalk, we jerk our attention there, too.

  Holly and I gasp at the same time.

  Torin is standing outside a docked yacht, along with the man who’d bumped into us earlier. And that man has a freaking gun trained at Torin’s head.

  Dread settles in my stomach, a scream trapped in my throat. Yet Torin’s stance is nonchalant, his hands still in his pockets. What the hell is he doing?!

  Tall Man In Black who’d been trailing Torin, stops halfway down the boardwalk, looking just as calm.

  The gun pointer is shouting something at Torin, but they’re too far off to make out the words.

  Torin says something back to him, then the man whips the gun skyward and a shot rings out.

  I jump.

  People scream.

  With that sliver of distraction, Torin lurches forward, seizes the man’s hand, and twists his wrist until he yelps and the gun falls to the ground. In one swift move, Torin sweeps the man’s feet from under him. The hard thud of his fall can be heard even from here.

  Twisting the man’s arm behind his back, Torin presses one knee down on his neck to keep him from moving.

  “Oh, my God!” Holly gasps out.

  Tall Man in Black runs down the boardwalk and hands Torin something. When Torin twists the man’s other hand around to his back, I realize it’s handcuffs.

  What on earth is going on?

  After cuffing the man, Torin jerks his head to the boat, then gets out his phone from his board-shorts and lifts it to his ear.

  Tall Man in Black climbs into the yacht, then emerges a few minutes later with the drunken girl in his arms, her limbs dangling, her head hanging.

  And it’s then that it hits me...

  That girl isn’t drunk.

  She’s drugged.

  And that man had been in the process of abducting her.

  ~

  BADGED, BLUE-SUITED officers amble up and down the yellow-taped boardwalk. Onlookers linger, questions circling in hushed voices.

  “What happened?” “Who is that girl?’“ “Is there a dead body on the boat?’“

  Holly and I have been sitting on the wooden steps to the deck of the restaurant for the past half an hour, while Torin talks with the men in blue on the other side of the yellow tape. They all seem quite familiar with him.

  Officers are crawling all over the yacht the girl—who’s since been carted off in an ambulance—had been on.

  “I don’t understand,” says Holly, “is your ‘friend’ a fed or something?”

  “Or something,” I mumble.

  Her phone bellows and she glances down at the screen. “Oh, shit, it’s Mom. She’s probably wondering where I am with the food.”

  Torin ducks under the tape and starts in my direction. As he nears, I push up from the steps and meet him.

  “Hey—”

  I chuck his chest. Hard. He doesn’t even budge.

  “What—”

  I shove him again. Harder.

  “Ly—”

  Another shove. This time it’s my own wrists that gets hurt. My puny strength is nothing up against this invulnerable bronze god, but in my mind, he’s crashing back into a wall with a blast.

  When I go to shove him again, he grabs my wrist. “The fuck, Lyra?”

  “You could’ve gotten shot,” I bite through clenched teeth. “You reckless, arrogant son of a bitch.”

  He blinks at me. “I’m fine, Lyra.”

  “I’ll call Monica and tell her you almost got yourself killed. See how you like getting yelled at.”

  A slight twitch of his lips. But I find no humor in this. “And I’ll tell her you just called her a bitch.”

  “She’s not your real mother.”

  “Ouch, an even bigger offense. Yeah, you won’t be getting any more exotic fruits after I tell her you said that.”

  A growl in my throat, I fight against his hold, but his grip is like metal cuffs.

  “You’d have rather me let him get away with that girl?”

  “You could have called the cops, Torin. Who the hell do you think you are to stand in front of a gun like that? Iron Man?”

  My wrists still clamped in his fists, he pulls me up against him and presses a ki
ss to my temple. “Sorry I scared you, babe.”

  Despite the tense atmosphere, his endearment sends warm fuzzies through me. “I’m still telling Monica.”

  “Is there any way I can bribe you to keep your mouth shut?”

  “I don’t take br—” I stop as something else rears its head. “Well, yes. There is something.”

  His eyes flash, almost as if he knows what I’m going to say.

  Tipping up on my toes, I whisper against his ear, “Eight.”

  “Deal,” he agrees without hesitation. He lowers my hands down to my sides, but he doesn’t let them go. “I’ve gotta head to the station for a bit. You wanna come with me or you wanna go back to the house?”

  I narrow my eyes. “You’re fine with me going back to the house by myself, huh? Why is that? Oh, I know, because you’ve had men on us the entire time.”

  “You’re priority,” he says simply. As if to remind me that although he’s fucking me ten ways from Sunday, at the end of the day, I’m still a job.

  “You can take me back to the house,” I say glumly.

  “Or you could come with me for the time being,” Holly buts in, reminding me that we’re not alone. “Mom would love to see you!”

  “You wanna do that?” Torin asks me. “Their house is just a couple blocks down the beach from us.”

  “It is?” I frown. “How do you even kn—never mind. Yeah, I’ll go with Holly.”

  He looks off to the side, no doubt to Mr. Linebacker who’s been shadowing me, and jerks his chin. When his attention comes back to me, he releases his vice grip on me, and tells me, “I’ll try not to be long.”

  “Do you think she’s okay?” I ask, wringing my fingers.

  “I’ll find out for you.”

  I’ve been trying not to dwell on the image of the girl’s unconscious body and dangling limbs as she was carried away. The entire thing is triggering at best, and I’ve spent the last half-hour channeling all my anxious energy into being angry at Torin instead of granting permission of entry to the feelings of fear and terror that have been pounding at my mind’s door.

  I never, ever want to feel like that again, so if I have to fight it with anger, or distancing myself from triggering incidents, then I will.

  My methods of coping vary.

  That said, this bit I can’t block out, because it might help keep that bastard behind bars. “There’s…something,” I wrestle out through the protective wall against my anxiety. “But I don’t want to go into the station and talk about this again, so please don’t make me.”

  Torin frowns. “What is it?”

  “I’m not going in,” I repeat. “This is...it’s hard. Triggering. I’m sorry but—”

  When his hands settle on my upper arms, it’s with warm reassurance, rubbing soothingly up and down. “It’s okay. You don’t have to go anywhere.”

  Jerkily, I nod. “When the cops were taking that scumbag away, his hoodie slid down his arms and...his tattoo. I’ve seen it before,” I say. “Things are all a little hazy in my mind, and I can’t say for sure that I’ve seen him before, but the tattoo I’m sure of. When I came to after being drugged that night, I saw that tattoo.”

  With a nod, he squeezes my arm. “Probably gang related. I’ll pass it on. Don’t worry, you don’t have to talk to anyone, I promise.”

  Expelling a breath of relief, I hang my head. Maybe I’m an asshole for not going in and doing what I can to help this girl’s case, but as tough as I think I am, I’m just not there yet.

  “Keep your phone on you,” he tells me. “I’ll come straight to Holly’s when I’m done.”

  “Okay.”

  Letting me go, he turns and starts to leave. But then he pivots, takes hold of my face between his palms, and kisses me. It’s deep and possessive, and so forceful I have to grab onto his biceps for support.

  Too soon, he parts, leaving me breathless. “Stay out of trouble,” he whispers. Then turns and leaves me staring after him.

  “Friend, huh?” Holly steps into my line of vision, arms crossed, a huge grin on her face. “Good thing you’re coming with me. Because you’re telling me everything, you dirty little sneak.”

  ~

  “IS YOUR MOM all right?” I ask Holly. “She seems a little...I don’t know, depressed?”

  Holly glances down at her bowl of ice-cream and offers a one-shoulder shrug. “She’s fine. Menopause, I guess.”

  Something is definitely up. But that’s family business, not mine.

  We’re lounging out on her balcony. Her with a bowl of chocolate ice-cream, and me with a bowl of cherry tomatoes and sliced avocados.

  Albeit mentally distracted, I spent the last hour telling her about the past couple of weeks—omitting a lot of details, of course.

  Somewhere along the way, our friendship lost its sacredness, and I just don’t feel as connected to her as before. She’d disappeared on me when I needed her the most, so her sudden eagerness to “bond” just doesn’t seem genuine. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t bothered to reach out to her with my new number after the kidnapping in Venice.

  Even now, updating her feels more obligatory than anything else. Because that’s what we used to do, tell each other everything. These are all things she would’ve known if she hadn’t ghosted me.

  Where I really want to be right now is with Torin. In his arms, against his chest, snuggled up in his warmth. Not here in this cold, salty air with someone I’ve grown detached from.

  “I don’t know how you’re still sane,” Holly says after scooping a mouthful of ice-cream in her mouth. “If I went through half the shit you have, I’d be on drugs by now.”

  “Well, I suppose it’s true what the Christians say: ‘God never gives anyone more than they can bear.’“ I squeeze a cherry tomato between my thumb and forefinger and watch its juice dribble over the avocado slices. “Maybe He’s been lobbing all this shit at me because He built me and knows what I can withstand.”

  But what about Kristie? He built her, too. Didn’t He know she wouldn’t be able to withstand the hand He dealt her?

  A forlorn downturn to her lips, Holly idly swirls the spoon around in her bowl of ice-cream. “I can only hope to have a tenth of the courage you do, Ly.”

  As I regard her, a sliver of suspicion slits me like a knick from a pocketknife. “The last time you called me, you told me you had something important to talk to me about. What was it?”

  Her slightly widened eyes tells me she hoped I’d forgotten. And I had, until now. Her mouth does that open and close fish thing for a few seconds, and then she waves her spoon with an obviously forced laugh. “Oh, it’s not important now. I just had a pregnancy scare and freaked out.”

  She’s lying. “What do you know, Holly?” I ask bluntly this time. “Why did you let go of me before I got hit that night? Why did you and Patrick leave me to look like I was crazy to the cops when you and I both know it wasn’t an accident?”

  I’d suppressed all my suspicions only because I didn’t want to believe the things my gut was telling me. But now I’m unlocking that door, because I’m certain she’s hiding something and I don’t feel like ignoring it anymore.

  She was there when I got abducted. She was there when I got ran over. She was on the phone when I got kidnapped, again. And she just so happened to be there when that girl almost got taken earlier.

  Is it all a coincidence that she always seems to be there when bad stuff happens?

  A nervous laugh leaves her. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Ly. I don’t—”

  “Lyra.”

  Warmth shivers through me at the sound of his voice.

  We both twist around in our chairs to see Torin standing just inside the balcony doors. His unreadable eyes on me. “Ready?”

  As happy as I am to see him, I’m more interested in what Holly has to say, so I bring my attention back to her.

  With a distressed sigh, she stands and tells me, “I love you, Lyra. Please believe that.”

&nbs
p; Before I can respond, she heads into the house, brushing past Torin.

  On a sigh of my own, I look up at Torin and shrug. “I guess I am.”

  I HUG Mrs. Wilson goodnight before leaving.

  After several minutes of reflective silence as Torin and I trek along the beach toward the house, I say, “I don’t know what’s going on, but Holly is definitely hiding something.”

  “She is.” Torin’s matter-of-fact delivery causes me to glance up at him. His arm is hung loosely around my shoulders, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he looks tired. Must be exhausting to be him. I feel almost guilty for bombing his vacation. Almost. Because I wouldn’t trade the past couple of days for anything.

  “You know what she knows, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do I want to know?”

  He looks down at me, features highlighted under the glow of the moonlight. “Do you?”

  Trusting him to guide me, I close my eyes and keep putting one foot in front of the other. Inhale deeply, then roll a weighty sigh off my chest. “I don’t think I do—at least, not yet.” I stop moving and look up at him. “Will you take care of it?”

  Even in the dark, his eyes flash with a fierce promise. “All of it.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper, then lean into him and resume walking.

  As the house comes into view, I ask, “Any updates on the girl?”

  “Her name is Jody,” he tells me. “She’s conscious. No injuries. Turns out she’s the daughter of a fed.”

  “Jody,” I repeat absently. “How did you even know that’s what was happening?”

  “Experience, I guess. Ever since I served…I’m never not aware. Assessing. Seeing what others don’t,” he says. “Wish I could turn it off sometimes, but I don’t know how.”

  “What you did today, Torin, was…right. Heroic.”

  “I’m not a hero,” he bites with distaste, as if the very word offends him.

  “So you keep saying. But didn’t you also fight for your country? Survived three tours?”

  A long pause, then in a less acerbic tone, he repeats, “I’m not a hero, Lyra.”

  Says every hero ever. “Okay,” I murmur, letting it go. “But I’m glad you stepped in and saved that girl—Jody, from suffering a fate like mine. Even though I’m still mad at you for almost getting shot.”