He pushed a hand through his hair. “Believe me, I think I’ve figured that out by now.” He nodded to her hand, deliberately misunderstanding her. She climbed off the couch, snatched up the ice pack, and stalked into the kitchen.
He needed a few minutes. Hell, he needed to get out of there, before he took something from her she wasn’t ready to give. Need for her was spiraling out of control, and he’d always prided himself on his extraordinary hold.
“Do you want to take some of the food with you?”
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her silhouetted in the entryway to the kitchen. “Yeah.” He pushed to his feet and followed her in, picking up the containers of moo-shu pork and the last of the egg rolls. The plastic bag crinkled as he tied the handles shut.
She looked a lot better than when he’d shown up. Stronger. Whatever had thrown her, she was handling it. It was one less thing for him to worry about. He lifted her injured hand and studied it. “Swelling’s gone down some, though I seriously doubt you’ll be able to use it tomorrow.”
The face she made had him smiling. “I’ll worry about it then. Go. I need to lock up behind you.”
He’d noticed the sophisticated alarm system and sturdy deadbolts on her front and kitchen doors. She was definitely not going to let anything scare her off.
The kiss he gave her as he left was torture. He wasn’t all together pleased with the prospect of going home to a cold, lonely bed. Shaking it off, he pulled out his phone and blocked his outgoing number. The gesture was useless — Tony could get his hands on his phone number, address, place of employment, bank records, whatever he thought would be useful. But it made Taylor feel slightly less impotent as he input Tony’s number from memory.
Even with the late hour, Tony answered on the third ring. “Tony Flaherty.”
“It’s Taylor. I’m told you’ve been trying to track me down.”
“How’s my favorite shadow these days? It’s been some time. You never come back to visit.”
That’s because he wanted to stay away from the Pretty Boys. “Things are fine.”
“Always so succinct. You’re on the West Coast these days, correct?” Taylor grunted in the affirmative. Denying it would be pointless. Tony likely already knew. “I’m in need of some information, and I’m hoping you’d be able to get it for me.”
Absolutely not. “What are you looking for?”
“We’re interested in some product out of Mexico. Fans out through the Midwest. We’ve been offered a share and an open market in Boston. No one else in the city has this product yet, but we need to know if it’s worth the trouble transporting it all the way across the country.”
This would be highly illegal. “Can’t help you, Tony. I’ve been out of the loop since I left Charlestown.” The light ahead of him turned red, and he slowed to a stop.
Tony chuckled. “That’s what you’re good at, though. Finding the source without any clues. I’ve got a starting point for you, though, so you wouldn’t be flying blind.”
“No.” His hand tightened on the steering wheel. He imagined it breaking beneath them, cracking into tiny pieces. “Honestly, from what little you’ve given me it sounds like this enterprise, whatever it is, is shakier than anything you’ve tried before. Do you really want to risk it?” The Pretty Boys had never gone in for narcotics, and if it was coming up from Mexico, that’s most likely what it was. They ran the standard protection rackets and hookers. Heists. If they were considering drugs of any kind, they were hard up for cash.
“I hope you’ll take some time to consider my offer, Taylor.” Tony’s friendly voice went hard. “I’d prefer to use you, because the information you’ve provided in the past has been beyond valuable. Think of the benefit to your family. Your parents just took out a second mortgage, didn’t they? And after your pop got laid off.”
Taylor gritted his teeth and focused on the road in front of him. The threat was clear: do as we tell you, and no one gets hurt. His parents were in a difficult enough situation as it was, even with Taylor and his brothers chipping in. Tony had the ability to make it worse. Much worse, to the point of pain.
“I’ll give you a few days to think it over. I expect an answer by next Wednesday.”
He pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex. “I don’t need to. The answer’s no, Tony. I haven’t done anything like what you need in over ten years. Even with a starting point, I doubt I could get what you’re after.” Leave my family alone, asshole.
“Ah, now that’s too bad. I’m giving you until Wednesday in case you change your mind. Have a good evening, m’boy.” The line went dead.
Tony Flaherty was not going anywhere near his family. He grabbed the bag with the Chinese food and headed for his apartment.
Inside, he booted up his laptop and shot off a quick email to his parents. Ma would throw a fit. He hoped Pop would be able to talk her down. His youngest brother, Matt, had left the neighborhood a while ago, relocating to Milwaukee, but he emailed him as well. After a quick check of the time, he called Jamie instead of emailing him, since Jamie had been the go between so far.
“’Sup.”
“Tony’s up to something. Drugs, most likely. Wants me to check out a route from Mexico up through the Midwest. How bad has it gotten?”
Jamie whistled. “Damn bad, if they’re considering that. They’re losing a lot of ground, man. A lot. Their presence is running toward obsolete, and I’d heard Tony was pissed.”
“He threatened Ma and Pop. Financial stuff for now, although I don’t doubt he’ll go full bore when he realizes I’m not changing my mind.”
“Shit.” Taylor stared out his kitchen window at the darkened parking lot while he waited for Jamie’s answer. “I’ll talk to them.”
“Do that. Stay away from Tony.” Jamie had been smarter than him, avoiding the traps and pitfalls a lot of their classmates had fallen prey to, getting himself hired on with the utility company, buying a condo nearby so he was around to help their folks out if they needed it. But he could be hotheaded at times, and Taylor didn’t want his brother taking on trouble he couldn’t handle.
“You know he’s got a sneaky way of finding you when you don’t want to be found.” Taylor hung up after Jamie said good night and tossed the phone on the counter.
If Tony came for him, or sent one of his cronies, they’d target Sara. He’d known it was a possibility even when he’d started his pursuit of her. Staying away from Sara was the safest option. His only option.
She’d felt so fucking perfect in his arms.
Fuck it. Fuck Tony and his guys. He didn’t have any guarantee Tony would come after him for his refusal, and he couldn’t live his life waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sara would be fine. He’d make sure of it.
Chapter Eleven
Sara winced. Her hand was stiffer than yesterday, swollen and bruised. She’d have to remember this for next time: punching walls was not a good outlet for anger. Taylor was right, too. She couldn’t use the hand.
Thank God she didn’t need two hands to dial a phone. And thank God Larry wasn’t in his office. She left him a voicemail that she wouldn’t be in today, hoping there wouldn’t be any crises to deal with.
Her parents were next. They deserved to know Sam was out. Steeling herself, she dialed home.
Her dad answered on the fourth ring. “Sara, honey, you just caught me.”
The words froze in her throat. She coughed, dislodging the gathering lump. “Sam’s been paroled.” Silence. “Dad?”
“I’m here.” More silence. It wasn’t the good kind, the kind she shared with Taylor. “Your mother’s already left for work. I’ll tell her when she gets home tonight.”
Her mom would flip, leave work for no reason, and probably hop on the next plane out of Phoenix. “Please stop her before she heads to the airport, okay? I’m fine. You and Krista are the only ones who know how to reach me. I’ve been careful, and I’ll continue being careful.”
He sighed. “I know
you are. Your mother worries too much. Do you need anything? Need us to talk to anyone?”
“No, I think I’ve got everything covered. Detective Milan called to inform me last night, and I’m going to call him back in a moment. I have the protection order, and I’ll make sure the police here know about it as well. Sam can’t leave town. He does that, he violates parole, and he goes right back to prison. If he’s doing as well as the parole board thinks, he’ll stay down there and I’ll never hear from him again.”
“If you’re sure.” Doubt colored his tone.
She made a face at the phone. “I am. Everything will be fine.”
“I believe you. I’ll talk to your mother tonight. Be prepared. She will call you.” Sara stifled a groan. Her mother would, indeed, call her. And she’d spend an hour or more convincing her to stay in Phoenix. “I love you, munchkin.”
A lump grew in her throat, making it hard to swallow. “Love you too, Dad.”
She checked the time. Krista kept odd hours so she might not be awake yet. But she needed her best friend, so she dialed, relieved when Krista picked up on the third ring. “Hey. Got a minute?”
Krista swore, and something crashed in a tinkle of broken glass. “I do now. What’s up?”
“Sam’s been paroled.”
“Fuck me with a pogo stick. The bastard! How the hell did that happen? Wasn’t he supposed to serve fifteen years? It’s been, what? Five?”
“Six.” Almost. “I guess you get time off for good behavior and shit. Detective Milan called me last night and gave me the news.”
“Oh, sweetie, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Shocked, a little scared. A friend came over, though, so I wasn’t dealing with it alone.”
Sara could practically hear Krista’s ears perking up. “Oooh, do tell. ‘Cause this is something. I know it. It’s a guy, right? A hot guy?”
She laughed. She’d never considered Taylor hot before she’d seen his tattoo. Amazing what a little ink could do for an impression. “His name’s Taylor. We work together, and we’re…friends.”
“You are so not friends with him. C’mon. There’s nookie in there somewhere. Give.”
She wandered over to her living room windows, pushing the sheers aside to watch the activity on the street, what there was of it. “Nothing to give, m’dear. He’s different. Doesn’t go in for labels and shit. Quiet, too, which I have to tell you, I never knew how nice it was to sit with another person and not talk. It’s totally not awkward, either. He gets it, you know? There’s nothing he absolutely has to know right now. He’ll wait, or he’ll pick up on it, because he’s scarily observant.”
Krista snorted. “Get to the good stuff. What’s he look like?”
“Tall. He’s got to be close to a foot taller than me. Brown hair that’s almost red in certain lights. Hazel eyes. He’s got this lean muscle thing goin’ on.” She kept the tattoo to herself. She’d known from her first look it was an intensely personal piece of art, and she was going to make sure it stayed that way.
“That’s it. I’m coming to meet him. Give me two weeks.”
The thought of introducing Taylor to her oldest and closest friend brought on an attack of nerves. “Krista—”
“Stop. Breathe. This guy, this Taylor, he’s a good thing, right? He sounds like he’s good for you. Excellent for you, really. It’s only natural I want to meet the man who’s managed to get you to go out after almost seven years. Not to mention I haven’t seen you in a few months, mommas. I need a trip out of LA. We can catch up, and you can introduce me to Taylor if you want. It’s up to you, okay?”
Sara stepped away from the window, letting the curtain fall back into place. “I know.” It was hard to speak around the tightness in her throat. “Come up. I’ll get the guest room set up for you. You’ll have to sleep on an air mattress, most likely. I haven’t had time to go shopping for a lot of furniture.”
Krista squealed, and Sara pulled the phone away from her ear. “You were saving the shopping for when I could come up, right? Right? You are not decorating that house without me.”
“Fine,” she laughed. She’d needed this, needed this call to Krista, to her dad. It told her no matter what happened, she wasn’t going to be buried again. “Love you, girly.”
“Love you, too. I’ll email you my flight info as soon as I’ve got it.” She hung up.
Sara dropped the phone on the couch and flopped down beside it. She needed to shower. Get dressed. Since she was taking the day off, she might as well do something productive and pick her paint colors once and for all.
She got up and wandered through the house. Something light for the living room. Yellow for the kitchen. She’d always wanted a yellow kitchen. Butter yellow. Baby chick yellow. She stood in the doorway of what would be her guest room and stared at the walls. Blue? Green? Maybe red? Red. Definitely red. She wanted bold, and this was the perfect place for it.
Her meandering path took her past the tiny office (sage green walls) and the three quarter bath off the hall (white or seafoam). Reaching her bedroom, she tried to picture what Taylor might like, then abruptly shook herself. She was painting this for her. It didn’t matter what he liked.
Gray. Gray with a blue undertone, to give it depth.
Satisfied with her choices, she headed for the shower and took her time, hissing every now and then when she had to close her injured hand around her loofah. The swelling had better go down by tomorrow. She might not want to go back to work, but with her luck, there’d be half a dozen phone calls and twice as many emails to handle.
Clean and dressed in jeans and a dark purple sweater, she gathered her purse and plucked her phone off the couch. The blank screen taunted her. She had to know for certain what the terms of Sam’s release were. If she knew, she’d be better prepared, better able to fend off her mother’s worry. Sitting on the arm of the couch, she pulled up her incoming calls. There’d been two the night before. One from a 916 area code, the other a blocked number.
It was probably a wrong number, someone hearing her name on the voicemail and catching their mistake. She ignored the wiggle of doubt. That was the fear talking, and the fear could shut the hell up.
She hit redial on the 916 number and held her breath as it rang through.
“Detective Milan.”
“Detective Milan, it’s Sara. Sara Andrews? I’m sorry I wasn’t more with it last night.” She slid off the arm and onto the couch below, wrapping her free arm around her middle.
“Understandable, Ms. Andrews. What can I do for you?” The white noise in the background had her imagining a huge room full of desks, like she’d seen on cop shows, phones ringing, detectives springing up from their desks to stalk authoritatively to and fro.
“What are the terms of Sam’s release? They wouldn’t have let him out and said, hey, see ya, have a nice life, right?”
He chuckled. “No, that wouldn’t happen. He’ll have to report in to his parole officer on a regular basis. He has to continue therapy for at least another year, at which time his progress will be reevaluated. And in accordance with the protection order, he’s not to contact you or your parents in any way. No phone calls, no email, he can’t even friend you on Facebook.”
That didn’t mean he couldn’t use other ways to find her. She drew in a breath, willing her lungs to expand. “Um. If Sam breaks any of the conditions, he’ll be sent back to prison, right?”
“Correct. I’m not going to tell you not to worry about it, Ms. Andrews. But don’t be afraid to go on about your daily routines, either. Please don’t hesitate to call if you have any more concerns. Take care of yourself, okay?” She promised to keep his number in her phone and ended the call.
The light in the living room shifted like there were clouds skittering across the sun. She stared at the patch of sunlight closest to her until her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten yet. Glancing down at it, then at her phone, she scooped it up and threw it into her purse. He’d done it again. He’d do
ne it without coming anywhere near her. Her nightmares were coming back to life, and it wasn’t fair.
She surged to her feet and stalked over to the door. Taking a minute to set the alarm, she slammed the door behind her, the deadbolt shooting home with a satisfying click.
Her Taurus roared to life, and she pointed it toward the nearest fast food joint. After a quick trip through the drive through, she scarfed down a grease-laden egg and sausage biscuit thing. She washed it down with soda and bit into the hash brown patty next.
The big box store wasn’t busy in the middle of the day, and she took her time walking up and down the aisles, looking at horribly ostentatious fixtures that made her snort with laughter. She wished Krista were with her. Her girl loved this kind of stuff, and they’d spent a lot of time at the local hardware store when they were in college, debating between the faux crystal chandelier and the outrageously ornate candelabra before deciding both would go in their McMansions.
Most women would hang out at Saks for entertainment. Krista had preferred decorating her imaginary home when she needed a break from the study grind.
She hated this physical distance between herself and her best friend. Her friends here, as fun as they were, were no match for Krista. Guh. She gave herself a stern mental shake. She’d see her soon. No need to get all weepy about it.
She headed for the paint department, and smiled at the wall of paint chips. Perfect. She walked back and forth, picking one, putting it back, placing two side by side to study the differences. Her house. She was going to get it right the first time, because she damn well didn’t feel like repainting.
The sales boy was overeager and bright eyed, and she watched with some amusement as he went on and on about the differences in the paint. It took her a while, but she found what she thought were the exact matches to the colors she saw in her head. Paint mixed, Overeager Sales Boy followed her around like a lost puppy, darting past her every so often to grab what he deemed essential to her painting needs. She was surprised he didn’t offer to come over and help cut in around the trim or paint the ceiling.
Hidden Scars Page 9