by J. R. Ward
Seeing no one. Talking to no one.
Just sitting on the ratty couch across from his concave-screened paradise, breaking only to re-beer and re-chip.
His apartment was a one-bedroom, one-bath in a converted triplex just five blocks down from the 617. He was on the middle floor, over an old couple who had the ground level, and the seventy-two-year-old owner who was on the top. It was a quiet place, and he helped everyone take their garbage to the curb, and shoveled snow, and fixed all manner of minor problems around the building.
He kept his more . . . hardcore . . . pursuits well away from his home. Then again, he didn’t want his identity or his address known.
That was why he always wore masks.
With a groan, he lowered himself down on Old Faithful and extended his stiff leg out onto the beat-to-shit coffee table. Turning on the TV, he was ready to watch the LSU/Bama game from the day before that he’d DVR’d and then transition to the Pats game—
The knock on his door was loud, a single pounder that clearly came courtesy of a big set of knuckles.
Putting the recording on pause, Vic reached under the cushion next to him and palmed his nine. “Who is it.”
Not a question. More like a warning.
“It’s your boss.”
“Tom?” Vic released his hold on the gun and sat up. “What the hell?”
He groaned as he got to his feet, although that was a function of not just his bad shoulder and the sore leg, but because his vibe was being ruined.
When he opened the door, he frowned. Chief Ashburn looked like he’d been pulled through a thorn bush backward, his face weary and drawn, his mouth a tight line—as if he didn’t want to be here any more than Vic wanted to welcome anybody into his crib.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Vic demanded.
“You got a second.”
“For what?”
“I need to talk to someone.”
Vic stepped back. “I’m not a good listener, I give shitty advice, and I have all the compassion of a hunting knife, but sure, by all means, let me be your therapist.”
The chief brushed by him. “You got a real way with charm, Rizzo.”
“Call me Hallmark.” He shut the door. “I’m a giver like that.”
Tom looked around. “I see you used the same decorator we did back at the old stationhouse. Cheap meets fraternity. Good call.”
“No reason to mess with perfection.” Vic limped back across to the couch. “Have a seat with me.”
Tom parked it on the sofa, then got back up and took the gun out from under the pillow. “Your security system got a registration?”
“Nope.” Vic extended his legs once more. “And no serial numbers, either. You gonna write me up.”
“Nah.” The chief handed the weapon over. “Paperwork bores me. Just don’t shoot anybody while I’m here.”
“Roger that.” Vic tucked the gun under where he was sitting. “Let me guess, this is about Damnit. What’s he done now? Is Chuckie P. quitting? Or did the asshole pick on Wedgie again?”
Tom focused on the TV. “This the Pats game from yesterday?”
“Don’t tell me who wins.”
“I didn’t see it, either.”
As the chief fell silent, Vic hit Play because the quiet was grating. “So what’s on your mind.”
It was much better with the chatter of the commentators, the distraction making whatever was going on less intense.
Kinda.
“I need your assessment of the department,” Tom said in a low voice. “Like, how we’re functioning both within our units and as a cohesive whole.”
A commercial for Buffalo Wild Wings came on and made Vic hungry.
“I think we’re good,” he said. “I mean, we do fine.”
Tom glanced over. “How do you think I am at my job as chief. That’s what I’m really asking you.”
Vic didn’t bother to hide his surprise. Probably couldn’t have anyway. “In what way?”
“How I handle personnel issues. People. Problems.”
See, this was why he liked to spend his Sundays by himself, Rizzo thought. No, wait, that didn’t go far enough. This was why he liked to be alone, period.
“What do you want me to say?” he muttered. “You’re great.”
“Don’t throw bullshit.”
Vic rubbed his face and wished he had a drink. But it was a little early for beers.
And as the chief waited for a real answer, he knew there was only one way out of this conversation.
“The guys all look up to you.” Vic put his hand into his chief’s face. “You asked me what I think so I’m going to tell you. You are respected greatly. You’re a natural leader. I mean, come on, you’re responsible for the biggest bunch of crackpot adrenaline junkies on the planet, and you manage to keep us all alive and focused and mostly in line.”
“Do you think people feel like they can’t come to me with their shit?”
“Yeah, I do. But you can’t be friends with people you manage, and you want to try to keep Damnit on an even keel without screaming at him? Unless you’re hitting that idiot upside the head with a frying pan, I don’t think you’re gonna get far.”
“But maybe there’s another way.” Tom rubbed his eyes like he had a migraine. “I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.”
“Where’s this coming from?”
“I had a come-to-Jesus meeting with the mayor.”
“A one-on-one with Mahoney?” An image of the tall, authoritative woman came to mind. “She’s something else.”
“She served my ass to me on a plate.”
“That’s hot.” As Tom shot a look over, Vic shrugged. “What. It’s the truth.”
“She’s an elected official.”
“So I’m not allowed to notice her as a woman?”
“No. You’re not.”
Ahhhh, so it’s like that, Vic thought with a smirk.
“Lemme get this straight, Chief,” he said. “You have one conversation with Mahoney and now you’re thinking we’ve got to wipe each other’s asses or some shit? Come on. We’re firemen, not in community theater. Besides, do you want to get into the ins and outs of disputes over parking spaces, shit left in the refrigerators, and who used whose towel in the shower? Hell no. And ’scuse me for mentioning this, but remember last year, when you gave up yelling for Lent? You lasted three days and had to go to confession because you called Damnit a cunt loud enough for his dead grandmother to hear it in her grave.” He looked over at the guy. “You got a bad history with impulse control, Chief. But what you do not have is a problem doing your job well—or a problem with helping the rest of us stay on track.”
The chief exhaled a curse. “We got a lot alcoholics in the departments. People with serious problems, Vic. You know this.”
“That’s on them. Not you.”
“I’m not so sure of that right now.”
“Look, you’re fine. We’re fine. Everything is cool. And if you bring in therapy dogs to the next stationhouse meeting, I will laugh at you. Then probably play with them. I love dogs. Dogs are awesome. Can we have dogs?”
Tom smiled a little. “Anne just got one.”
“Really? I always did like your sister.” Vic put his palm up again. “No, not like that. Jesus, and people think I’m a perv.”
“You are a perv.”
Vic started to grin as he thought about what he had lined up later in the week. “Yeah, I am.”
“You got any beer?”
As the Pats kicked off, Vic nodded toward his kitchen. “Help yourself. And bring one back for the host.”
The chief groaned as he got up, and Vic knew exactly how the guy felt. “Oh, and you’re buying lunch, Chief.”
Tom glanced over his shoulder. “How’d you know I’m staying?”
Vic stared up at his boss for a moment. The guy really did look worn out, and Vic had to wonder if maybe Sheila, the ex-wife, hadn’t hit him up about something. But there was no as
king about that. Wives and girlfriends were not even on the list of acceptable guy talk.
Exes? No fucking way.
Vic shrugged. “I can just tell you’re here for a while—and it’s cool. As long as you stop talking and keep bringing me cold Buds, you’re welcome on my couch. And I want pizza from Antonio’s, pepperoni with the thin crust. I’d like a large. Oh, and they’ll bring more beer if you tip them well, too.”
He expected a hard comeback. Instead, the chief just nodded and went for the kitchen. “Good deal.”
chapter
36
The following morning was classic New England in the autumn, the sky a bright, endless blue, a clear sea flipped on its head, the sun so intense, it turned the world to chrome. As Anne traveled away from houses and neighborhoods, shopping centers and office buildings, she felt a calm come to her. Forty minutes later, she was almost to Danny’s farmhouse.
“You ready for the country?” she asked.
Soot had his head out the window and was looking around at the trees and the fields. He was wagging to himself, his tail going back and forth.
The lane she was looking for came just around a tight corner, and Anne had to double back after turning around in the middle of a straightaway. Rolling meadows intersected by low stone walls and vibrant trees made it impossible not to fall in love with the area—and then she came up to the farm.
Not what she had expected.
The buttercup-yellow Victorian was set back on its land at the top of a little rise. The closer she got to it, the more she saw the age in its flaking paint and sagging front porch, but that didn’t matter. With some work and some time, it was going to be a haven away from the stress of Danny’s job—
It was the perfect place to bring up a family.
The errant thought pierced her heart, a javelin of deduction. She didn’t have time to think about it, though, because as she rolled to a stop, Danny opened the front door.
“Hey,” he called over.
“Hey,” she said as she turned off her engine. “Nice place.”
“Glad you made it.”
Going around and letting Soot out, she wondered if she should hook his lead, but then he just stuck by her, trotting along as she went across to the three steps up onto the porch.
Danny was in work clothes, old jeans hanging low on his hips, scruff on his jawline, a muscle shirt giving some of his tattoos airtime. Scratches that were partially healed marked his forearms, evidence of the work he’d been doing.
“This is . . .” She motioned at the house. “Amazing.”
His smile was that of a boy who’d been told he got the answer right in school. The teenager with hard-to-get concert tickets. The grown man who had something special and shared it with someone who mattered.
“How much acreage do you have?” she asked.
Danny’s knees cracked as he got down on his haunches to greet Soot—who welcomed him like a close friend, well missed.
“Fifty.” Danny put his face right into the dog’s. “I missed you, boy. How’s tricks. You ready to mark my property?”
“But where’s the mess?” Anne tried to keep the suspicion out of her voice. “I mean, everything looks great here.”
As she motioned to the mowed grass around the house, Danny rose and thumbed over his shoulder. “Wait for it. But first, lemme show you inside.” He held the door open for her. “I’ve got running water and electricity, but other than that, this is a work in progress.”
He wasn’t kidding. Every window was hung with shredded drapes, and what little of the glass showed was layered with such dust that you couldn’t see out of them. The floorboards were scuffed, and the wallpaper throughout was so old and faded, it was hard to tell what its original colors had been. Finally, the kitchen was a discordant seventies-era harvest gold and pea green mess, the appliances all throwbacks out of a Sears catalogue from the Jimmy Carter years.
But God, the potential.
All of the woodwork in the halls and rooms was incredible, the molding heavy on the ceilings, around the fireplaces and up the staircase. There were also no stains anywhere, which suggested the roof and the plumbing were sound, and the doors were all plumb.
Upstairs there were three little bedrooms, and just one bathroom for all to share—but holy crap, that claw-foot tub.
It was deep enough to qualify as a lap pool, and she could just imagine what being in all that water would feel like.
“So who’d you buy this from?” she said as they went back to the first floor.
Soot was leading the charge, his nails clipping down the bare, creaking steps in hops.
“It hasn’t been lived in in forever. It was in a trust and the woman who had the life estate survived for a decade in a nursing home. I look at it as a long-term project. I shouldn’t have bought it, but sometimes you just do things.”
“You must have purchased it after . . . the fire.”
“When I got out of the rehab hospital, I needed something to do.”
“I get that.”
“So you wanna meet the problem?”
“Sure.”
Danny took her out the kitchen’s back door, and that was when she got a load of what he was talking about. The bank or whoever had been looking after the property had only paid attention to the front. Everything behind the house was a tangled mess—or had been. He’d obviously been hard at work, piles of brambles, vines, and saplings grouped here and there around an old barn, an icehouse, and then a storage building.
As Soot wandered over to a bush and did his business, she shook her head. “We are going to need more than just a day.”
When she realized what she’d said, she shook her head. “You’re going to need that, I mean.”
* * *
It wasn’t until Danny saw Anne step up onto the porch that he realized he’d bought the house for her.
In some crazy, delusional part of his mind, he’d seen the thing advertised in the back of the New Brunswick Post one Sunday and decided to take it on. He’d had to stretch to make the money work, but it was amazing what he’d saved living in that shit hole apartment with the boys.
“Where are the saws?” Anne asked.
“In the barn, come on.”
The sunshine was warm on his face and the air was cool on his bare arms. And having Anne at his side paled even the splendor of the morning.
Sliding back the barn door, he spooked a couple of swallows from the rafters.
“Here’s what I got.” He showed her the array he’d laid out on two rough boards suspended between a pair of sawhorses. “Choose your weapon.”
He was not surprised as she went right for one of the chain saws, picking the heavy weight up with her right hand and steadying it with her prosthesis. As she moved it around, he could tell she was testing out how she would handle things, making sure she could retain control before she cranked the power on.
“I brought a couple of different prostheses options,” she murmured as she braced her legs and took the static blade through the air. “But I think this will work fine.”
I love you, he thought.
Instead of speaking his mind, he grabbed the other chain saw and gave her ear protection. “You ready?”
She nodded as she put in her bright orange plugs. Then frowned. “I’m wondering if I shouldn’t secure Soot with his whizzer lead. What if he spooks?”
“Believe it or not, it’s all fenced in. See the gate over there? Well, the gate under those bushes.”
She looked in the direction he pointed, and he got to enjoy the way the sunshine streaming into the barn, hazy with fine dust, bathed her in golden light.
Danny cleared his throat. “I walked the line this morning soon as I got here because you said you were bringing him. It’s a wire fence, but it’s sound and he can’t get over it or through it. Also, no barbs, so he won’t get hurt.”
She glanced down at the dog. “You hear that? You can roam. Don’t worry about the noise.”
/> They walked out and agreed to concentrate on the northern edge of the acreage. Taking posts about fifteen feet apart, they got the chains going, and then it was a high-pitched whine duet. He checked on her a couple of times and then just worked along with her, him heading to the left, her to the right, the distance between them growing as the debris they created multiplied.
Soot was the perfect supervisor. He picked a shady spot by the barn, lying on the cool grass, but he did not put his head down. He watched them the whole time, as if he were ready to intercede if whatever protocol he was measuring them against was violated.
Phase two was hauling, and Anne took off her navy blue fleece for that, her Under Armour shirt contouring her torso. She worked without slowing, her body honed by exercise, her focus so total, he wondered what she was working through in her head. And then it was back to the saws. And more with the hauling.
They broke for lunch, eating the subs he’d gotten on the way in and talking about nothing in particular. And then it was four in the afternoon.
She cut her engine first and wiped her forehead on the back of her hand.
He knew it was getting late, as the sun was fading and their work was adding up—and he wanted her to stay the night even though all he had was an air mattress upstairs that smelled like a latex glove and no food.
Anne surveyed the wide swath they’d cut, the thin stumps now poking out of the dirt, the stubble of the earth.
“We got more done than I thought.”
“Still plenty left.” Then he added, “Not that I’m saying we have to keep going.”
“Good. Because I’ll be the first to admit, my shoulders and arms are shot.”
All Danny could do was stare at her. Her lips were moving, and it was clear she was talking, but emotion had jammed up his brain.
“Danny. I asked you a question.”
“Huh?”
“Why are you staring at me like that?”