Hidden Scars

by Amanda K. Byrne

  Her suspicions were confirmed when Taylor strode back through the bar a few minutes later, aloof expression firmly in place. That answered two questions. It was definitely family, and Sara was the only one he’d talked to about what was going on. She hoped everyone was okay.

  “Sorry, but I’ve got to take care of this. Paul, can you get them home when you’re done?” Paul nodded, then went back to the game, the break fanning out across the table. Taylor said goodbye to Krista, gave Sara a hard kiss, and stalked out the door, phone already at his ear.

  “Let me guess. That’s how he rolls.” Krista’s tone was bone dry.

  “Pretty much,” she replied. The panic fluttered back to life, for an entirely different reason. Her gut said whatever was happening in Boston was bad. Very bad.

  * * *

  Slamming the car door did nothing to calm Taylor’s anger. He set the phone on the passenger seat and curled his hands around the steering wheel, imagining it was Tony’s neck. He’d squeeze slow and soft to start, the pressure mounting, turning his face red, eyes bugging out.

  The picture was even less satisfying than slamming the door.

  Fuck it. He wasn’t going to get any calmer at the moment. He picked up the phone and dialed his mother.

  She answered on the first ring. “Taylor?” The hysteria in her voice had him cringing.

  “Yeah, Ma, it’s me. How’s Pop?”

  “The doctors say he’ll be fine. They don’t know him like I know him. Your father’s been beaten, Taylor. Those men won’t leave us alone, and he’s going crazy trying to keep them away.” She broke down, sobbing loudly into the phone.

  His hand tightened on the phone, jaw clenched. For once he wished she’d make it less about her and more about the other person. Dramatic waterworks aside, though, he knew his mom was scared shitless. She was being tormented in her own home, and she didn’t feel safe anywhere anymore. It took him another fifteen minutes to get her calm enough that she’d hang up and go back to her husband.

  He called Jamie next, sure his brother would be able to tell him what had happened. His grip on the phone grew tighter and tighter as Jamie relayed the events of the night.

  Tony had sent some of his men around to put the hurt on his dad, a new tactic to get Taylor to cooperate. Jamie had met their parents at the hospital and gotten the details between gasping sobs from their mother. Pop had a dislocated right shoulder, multiple contusions, three cracked ribs, and a broken wrist. His jaw, according to Jamie, had started to swell by the time he’d gotten there, and his nose was broken. He’d been passed out cold in the hospital bed, so he wasn’t able to speak with him. “Frankly, he looks like shit, bro. It’s bad. Ma’s heading for some kind of breakdown, ranting about how the police aren’t doin’ their job if they’re letting Tony get away with this kind of shit.”

  “Getting away with it” was Tony’s stock in trade. The muscle knew the game; whatever you do, don’t give up the man, and you’ll be rewarded. Those men knew who they were working for, even though their orders came from someone else, who got them from another man, and on down the line. Layers stood between Tony and the end result. His territory might have been small, but he ran it with a gut deep paranoia.

  “You been to the house?”

  “Yeah. They busted through the front door. Splintered it right off the hinges. Threw some of the furniture around, broke things, took the TV and the computer, some of Ma’s jewelry. Tried to make it look like a robbery.

  “We can’t take much more of this.” Jamie’s voice took on a load of steel. “Get this man to back off, Taylor.”

  He punched the steering wheel. “Or get them out of the neighborhood.”

  His brother’s laugh was bitter. “And how’s that gonna go? Not quick. Moving away for college is a hell of a lot different than packing up a life. Ma might go for it now. It’d still take a while to get them out. Nothing moves quick these days.”

  Jamie was right.

  They talked a few minutes more, and Jamie promised to get their parents into a hotel room until they could get the front door repaired.

  Hanging up, he tossed the phone on the seat and stared out at the street. A perfectly normal evening, fucked up by a power-crazed mob man three thousand miles away. Tony was going to pay for fucking with his normal. And if he came anywhere near Sara, he’d happily slit the man’s throat.

  The car’s engine roared to life, and he pulled away from the curb. He’d been hoping he wouldn’t have to talk to Tony again. How naive of him. Of course he’d have to.

  The ride home didn’t take nearly as long as he wanted it to, and he almost detoured by Sara’s. He wanted to wrap himself around her, draw in her warmth, her generosity. But he didn’t want to bring the blackness of his life to her doorstep. She had enough to worry about already. And though he had no doubt she’d welcome him in with open arms, she deserved a full, drama-free weekend with her friend.

  His apartment was dark and cold when he let himself in, and he left it that way, walking straight back to the kitchen and retrieving a beer from the fridge. He’d drunk down half the bottle before he picked up his phone again, blocked his outgoing number, and called Tony.

  Despite the late hour, the man sounded like he’d been waiting for his call. Maybe he had. “Taylor. Good to hear from you again. I hope the extra time has given you a new perspective on my request.”

  “The answer’s no. It was no the first time, and the second. It’s always been no.” He’d given up too much to secure his freedom. He was selfish enough he wanted to hang on to it. “What’s leaning on my parents going to accomplish, Tony? Other than drive them out of the neighborhood? You’re losing your leverage, old man.”

  He tsked, the small sound insincere to Taylor’s ears. “I heard about what happened. I hope your father makes a speedy recovery.” Taylor stayed quiet. “If there’s nothing else, my boy, it’s late. Best be getting some sleep.”

  “Why?” he asked quietly.

  Tony didn’t play innocent, his response immediate. “You’ve good skills, Taylor. Be a shame to waste them. Think of it as a favor for an old friend.” He hung up.

  For long, long moments, Taylor stood in the dark, phone clenched in his hand. Plastic cracked on tile as he slammed it into the counter. He picked up the bottle and threw it at the wall, glass raining onto the floor as the yeasty tang of beer scented the air.

  How much time did he have before he went after Matt again? Or Sara? A week? A month? A few days? He flipped on the light and bent to pick up the broken glass, angry with himself that he’d lost control. He was tired of waiting and reacting. He needed to figure out a way to get Tony off his back for good. Maybe going back to the neighborhood would buy him some time.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  The red suit was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Sara tried not to squirm as the recruiter covered a sneer with a professional frown, skimming her resume. For her part, she made her face bright and expectant. There was no way the recruiter would be able to tell she was cussing her out and hurling sharp, tiny pins at her face.

  That was a glorious mental picture.

  The other woman laid the sheet of paper on the desk and folded her hands on top of it. Jesus, it was like she’d watched every bad YouTube video on how to be intimidating in interviews. Sara wasn’t cowed, though she was sorely tempted to walk out before she was asked the first question. This was so not going to go well.

  “You’ve been a sales executive with Jones, Madison, and Compton for over five years. Why leave now?”

  Sara resisted the urge to shrug. “It’s time for a new challenge. While I love my clients and enjoy helping them and solving their problems, the products no longer excite me. And while I’ve handled a heavy workload for the last year, I feel as though I haven’t been getting the support I need, and I’d like a less stressful environment.”

  The interview went on, and she gamely kept up, lying and answering honestly by turns.

  They reached the question Sar
a had been dreading, the one that comes up in every interview. “Have you ever had to work with someone you don’t get along with? If so, how did you handle the situation?”

  Did you memorize these questions from a cue card? She considered her choices. She could lie, not point fingers, and say professional conduct wouldn’t allow personal preferences to get in the way. And the recruiter would see right through the lie. She thought of a thousand different answers and discarded them one by one. When she opened her mouth, she was surprised by the truth that came tumbling out.

  “I had some issues with a coworker of mine. Because of the team oriented atmosphere of my current position, it meant there were two execs assigned to each client, with a few exceptions. The executive I was paired with most often wasn’t pulling his weight. I went to my supervisor several times. Each time he dismissed my concerns. It went on for almost a year, until my co-worker decided to hit on me and I filed a complaint with human resources. He was fired not too long ago.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. That was the one question you never answered truthfully. She’d broken the unspoken rule, and now there was no way she was going to get this job. Not that she was sure she wanted it anymore. But it would have been nice to have the option.

  The recruiter blinked several times, then dropped her gaze to her desk top. She cleared her throat. “That must have been a difficult decision to make.”

  “It was.” No, no, absolutely not, the asshat deserved it and then some. Did I mention I punched the wall repeatedly, imagining it was his face, the last time he screwed up? Sara bit down on her tongue. Letting the snark loose would damage the interview further. Bad idea. Terrible idea.

  The recruiter nodded once. “Do you have any questions for me?”

  All she wanted was for the interview to be over. She trotted out her standard questions, why would she want to work here, what sort of working environment could they offer, blah blah blah. The interview wrapped up shortly after an awkward silence, and she left as quickly as she could without looking like she was running away.

  Rain hit her bare legs like tiny ice shards, her feet going numb within a block as she headed for the bus stop. It was really too bad. The position had seemed like a good fit, but damn, the woman was impossible. If she was any kind of indicator of the other employees, maybe Sara was better off.

  Her phone buzzed in the depths of her bag, and she fished it out. An alert flashed across the screen. Something had tripped the alarm again. Hands trembling, she managed to locate the number for the security company and called in.

  The motion sensors in addition to the door alarm had gone off; someone had tried to break in. “Police are already responding.” The calm, efficient female voice on the other end of the line took the edge off her fear, giving her the space to think through her next steps. She needed to get home, make sure everything was secure, talk to the police. She didn’t want to do it alone.

  Her fingers shook so bad she almost couldn’t pull up Taylor’s number. He answered on the third ring. “Sara? You on your way in?”

  The words got stuck in her throat, and she tried to swallow against the jagged lump forming. “I need you,” she blurted. “Something tripped the alarm, and I have to go home and I don’t want to do it alone.” She edged further into the corner of the doorway she’d sought shelter in, peering out at the rain. Someone had tried to break into her house. Someone who wasn’t Sam.

  “I’ll come get you. Text me the address.”

  * * *

  “Have you noticed any unusual activity lately? Anyone hanging around that isn’t familiar?”

  Taylor shifted closer to Sara on the couch, her hand flexing in his. When he’d picked her up, she’d been pale, constant shudders wracking her body. The walkthrough and a cup of tea had brought some of the color back to her cheeks, fire and determination sparking in her eyes. She shot him a quick look, and the guilt flashing across her face surprised him. “A couple of days ago there was a car parked in front of my house that I’d never seen before. The driver’s side window was rolled down. I think the driver was watching me.”

  A couple of days ago. And she hadn’t told him. Was it right before Krista’s visit?

  As if she’d read his mind, she turned to him. “I didn’t want to worry you,” she said softly. “You’ve got enough to handle already.”

  The officer jotted something in his notebook. “Did you notify the police?”

  She shook her head, and Taylor’s simmering anger kicked up a notch. “He pulled away before I could call, and afterward it didn’t seem worth it. He didn’t actually do anything other than sit in his car and stare at me for a few minutes.”

  She should have told him.

  “You said he wasn’t on the property?” The officer — Taylor hadn’t bothered to note his name — flipped back through the pages of his notepad.

  “No, just at the curb.”

  “You reported a separate incident a few weeks ago.”

  She huddled closer, and Taylor let go of her hand to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “The motion sensors were tripped and I heard footsteps on my driveway. At the time I was concerned my ex-boyfriend had violated parole and was stalking me, but the police checked in with him and he was in Sacramento, like he was supposed to be.”

  It had to be one of Tony’s guys. It was the only explanation. Trying to figure out a way to exploit her if beating up Pop didn’t do the job and turn him. He’d done this. He’d put Sara in danger, and though his confidence in the authorities’ ability to do anything about it was low, there was still a slim possibility they could help. At the very least they could look out for her while he was in Boston. “It’s possible whoever was outside Sara’s house the other day may be connected to Tony Flaherty.”

  The officer’s face didn’t show a hint of recognition. “Who is Tony Flaherty?”

  “Organized crime. He’s from Boston, lives in my old neighborhood. I used to hang around his gang when I was a teenager, and he’s been threatening my family lately.”

  The other man straightened and lowered his notepad slowly. “What would he want from you?”

  Fuck. He’d opened this door. Hadn’t wanted to, but he wanted Sara safe more. Now he’d have to go through it. “I believe he’s trying to recruit me. He may be looking to expand his dealings and thinks I’d be of some use.”

  He had the officer’s full attention now. Over the next half hour, he gave him a rundown on his previous dealings with the Pretty Boys and ended by reiterating his suspicions. Sara pressed herself closer, her hand closing around his free one. The quiet show of support, so quick on the heels of her own fear, humbled him.

  “You’re incredible,” he said after the police had left with a promise to be in touch soon.

  She blew out a shaky breath. “I frequently am. How am I incredible this time?” She reached up and cradled his head in her hands. “Scratch that. Why did you tell him about Tony?”

  He turned his face into one of her hands, pressed a kiss to her palm. “It was time.” Grasping her wrists, he tugged her hands down and clasped them between his own. “Tony sent a couple of guys to beat up my dad the other night.”

  A soft cry of alarm sounded in the back of her throat. “Is he okay?”

  “He will be. I’m flying home this afternoon for a couple of days. I’ve got a meeting with the FBI agent in charge of the investigation. They’ve managed to piece together some evidence, but they want testimony. You still have my spare key, right?” She nodded. “Good. I’d like you to stay at my place while I’m gone.”

  She pulled her hands free. “No.”

  “Sara—“

  “No. If Tony’s managed to figure out who I am to you and where I live, he’s smart enough to know where you live, too. I’m safer here. I’ve got the alarm system and the police know about the men now. And I’m not going to let someone chase me out of my own home.”

  “I’ve yet to see anyone hanging around m
y place, though.” She glared at him and got to her feet, pacing away from the couch. “He doesn’t know I’m coming. I had Paul buy the ticket for me. Unless Tony’s monitoring the passenger lists, I’ll be able to surprise him.”

  “How is staying at your place safer for me?”

  “I haven’t seen anyone outside my apartment,” he repeated. “The police didn’t find anyone here, right?”

  “No. The sensor gives me a twenty second window to shut it off. If I don’t, it automatically sends an alert to the police. The officer said he was here within a minute of the alert.” She smiled now, a fierce, sharp thing. “I got lucky. He was already in the area. Normal response time is longer.”

  Enough time someone could have planted a listening device or small camera in the living room, possibly the kitchen, but not enough time to do it and get completely out of sight. Leaning forward, he ran his hands on the underside of the coffee table, then got up and repeated the process on the other flat surfaces in the room, scanning the corners and checking the edges of her TV for good measure. “Looks like your decorating procrastination worked for you.”

  Her brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

  “Whoever broke in could have planted a device if he’d been quick, but he’d have been limited to this room. There’s nothing here.” He drew her into his arms. “Let me take you back to my apartment. You use my car while I’m gone, stay in my apartment, it might work as a diversion until I get back. You see anything that looks remotely suspicious, any sort of ‘off’ feeling, you check into a hotel. Please don’t come back here.”

  He kissed away her frown, let himself sink into the kiss, steep himself in her response. “Please,” he murmured against her lips. “Do this for me.”

  She cupped the back of his neck, keeping him close. “Okay.”

  Chapter Twenty Four