Too Late

by C. Hoover

  It doesn’t.

  After I’m dressed and about to head to the store, I decide to check on him. I open the bathroom door and he’s no longer standing. He’s sitting in the tub, still fully clothed, the water beating down on him. His eyes are wide open and the water is running over them.

  I grip the doorknob and take a small step back. “I’m going to the grocery store, Asa. What do you want me to cook tonight?”

  His head doesn’t move, but his eyes scroll across the bathroom and meet mine. “Meatloaf.”

  I nod. “Okay. You want anything else while I’m there?”

  He stares at me for a few seconds and then he smiles. “Get a dessert for the celebration.”

  Celebration? My throat suddenly becomes itchy and it’s hard to swallow. “Okay,” I say, my voice weak. “What are we celebrating?”

  His eyes leave mine and move straight ahead again. “You’ll see.”

  I have no idea why Asa invited us over for dinner. We’ve been at his house almost every night lately; tonight shouldn’t be any different. I was hoping Sloan was being paranoid in her text when she said he’s losing his mind, but I’m a little worried she’s spot-on.

  I can smell the food before I even open the front door. When I walk inside and look around, Dalton is the only one not here yet. Jon and Asa are taking up both recliners and Kevin is on the couch.

  Asa is leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, remote in hand, flipping through news channels. When he hears the door close behind me, he turns around.

  I nod my head in his direction and he turns back to the TV. “Do you watch the news, Carter?”

  I glance toward the kitchen to see Sloan standing at the bar, wiping it down with a rag. I can see her from where I’m standing, but Asa can’t.

  “Sometimes,” I say.

  Sloan cuts her eyes to mine and lifts a finger to her hair. I run my thumb across my bottom lip. She lifts her other hand to her head and twirls three of her fingers in her hair. Then five. Then all ten. Then she’s mock-ripping at her hair with both hands, twirling it in all directions, letting me know she’s going crazy.

  I want to smile at her, but I force myself to walk into the living room and take a seat next to Kevin. “Why’d you want to know if I watch the news?” I ask Asa.

  He flips to another channel. “I haven’t heard anything about my father. Just making sure he survived and I’m not about to be arrested for murder.”

  He says it so nonchalant, like the possibility of being arrested for murder is a daily occurrence. I nod, but fail to tell him that his father survived. He wasn’t even hurt that bad, actually. The casino called an ambulance for him, but other than a broken nose and a broken jaw, there isn’t any serious damage. The guy didn’t even want to press charges. Dalton told me all this after he checked into it today.

  He also told me the guy was an addict, he was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic, and he had a shitload of other issues. I hate to say it, I have a little sympathy for Asa somewhere deep down inside. There’s no telling what he went through as a child with that man as a father. But sympathy is as far as it goes. You can sympathize with someone and still wish they were dead.

  I keep the information about his father’s condition to myself. I think it’s good that Asa is worried about repercussions. It’s not something he probably experiences very often.

  Asa sighs after flipping through all the news channels twice and coming up empty. He stands up and throws the remote toward Jon. “You guys make sure and wash your hands. My fiancée worked hard cooking this dinner and I don’t want any of you fuckers seated at my table with filthy hands.” He heads to the stairs and runs up to his room. His bedroom door closes, and I glance at Kevin, who is staring at the empty stairs.

  “He’s being really fucking weird,” Kevin says.

  Jon begins flipping through the channels and says, “What’s new?”

  Neither one of them bothers going to the kitchen to wash their hands, so I use the opportunity to walk in there. Sloan is pulling the meatloaf out of the oven when I pass her. “Hey, Sloan,” I say casually.

  She looks at me, but doesn’t smile. She shoots me a look that tells me we need to talk. There’s just not really a way to do that right now. I turn the water on and she walks the meatloaf to the counter next to me. She sticks a knife between the loaf and the pan and begins working it loose.

  “I messed up today,” she whispers.

  I turn the water to a lower pressure so I can hear her better.

  “I found out he’s been lying to me about my brother’s benefits. I confronted him. Told him I was leaving him. He got really angry.”

  “Sloan,” I say quietly. Why the hell would she do that? “Are you okay?”

  She shrugs. “I am right now. But something is off with him, Carter. I’m scared. He sat in the shower with his clothes on for half an hour. Then when I got home from the grocery store, I looked out the window and saw him sitting on a lounge chair, staring at the pool. Then he just started slapping his palm against his forehead. He did it thirty-six times. I counted.”

  Jesus Christ.

  She glances up at me and I hate how scared she looks. I should just take her now. Grab her hand, pull her outside while he’s upstairs, and get her the fuck out of here.

  “Now he keeps saying he has a surprise for me. He’s talking like this dinner is some kind of celebration,” she whispers. “I’m scared to find out what it is we’re celebrating.”

  Asa’s footsteps move overhead, like he’s about to head downstairs. Sloan grabs the pan of meatloaf and walks it to the table.

  The other two guys must hear Asa heading downstairs as well, because they’re at the sink now, preparing to wash their hands like he instructed.

  We help Sloan carry the rest of the food to the table, just as Dalton walks through the front door. It’s only 6:55, but he sees Asa bounding down the stairs and he apologizes for being late.

  “You aren’t late,” Asa says. “You’re right on time.”

  I take a seat, and it ends up being directly across from Asa. Diagonal from Sloan. It’s oddly quiet as everyone passes around the food, divvying it onto their plates. Once all the food has been passed around the table, Asa grabs his fork and says, “Should we say grace?”

  No one speaks. We all just stare at him, wondering if he’s kidding or if someone needs to start praying before he flips his shit.

  He laughs loudly and says, “You stupid fucks.” He shoves his fork into his mashed potatoes and swallows a bite.

  Jon says, “This is twice in a row we’ve had dinner here. What gives? Is this what happens when you become domesticated?”

  Asa narrows his eyes in Jon’s direction, then washes his mashed potatoes down with his beer. “Where’s Jess tonight?”

  Jon shrugs. “Haven’t seen her in a few days. I think we broke up.”

  Asa chuckles, then he looks at me. “Where’s Tillie?”

  I run my thumb across my bottom lip. “Working. She might stop by tomorrow night.”

  Asa licks his lips, taking another sip of his beer. “That would be nice,” he says. Then he looks at Dalton. “How come you’ve never brought a girl over?”

  Dalton speaks with a mouthful of meatloaf. “She lives in Nashville.”

  Asa nods and says, “What’s her name?”

  “Steph. She’s a singer. She’s why I was almost late, actually. She signed a recording contract today and she called to tell me about it.” He looks proud when he talks about her.

  It almost makes me laugh, because there is no Steph. He just made all that shit up on the fly, and Asa swallows it down like a warm glass of milk. “That’s cool,” Asa says.

  Asa likes Dalton. I can tell by the way he looks at him—without any suspicion at all. Not like the way he looks at me.

  “Something wrong with your fucking mouth, Carter?”

  I glance at him and raise my eyebrow.

  “You’re rubbing your goddamn lip raw.”

/>   I didn’t even realize I was still rubbing my lip. I pull my hand from my mouth. “All good,” I say, taking a bite of the meatloaf. The last thing I want to do is provoke him. Not with the way he’s been acting lately.

  Asa takes another bite of his meatloaf, and then he rests his hands beside his plate. “So,” he says. “I have a little surprise.” He smiles, and then looks over at Sloan. I can see the roll of her throat when she swallows.

  “What is it?” she asks cautiously.

  Asa opens his mouth to speak, but he’s cut off by a loud banging on the front door. I can see the irritation in his eyes as he turns to glance at the living room door. A second loud knock occurs.

  He drops his silverware with a loud clank onto the table and looks around at all of us. “Any of you expecting company? In the middle of fucking dinner?”

  No one speaks up.

  He scoots back from the table and slaps his napkin beside his plate. When he turns to walk into the living room, Sloan glances across the table at me. She looks scared, but also relieved that his big surprise was just interrupted. I turn to Dalton and he raises an eyebrow.

  We all look at Asa as he peers through the peephole. He stares for several seconds and then presses his forehead to the door. “Fuck.” He turns and rushes to the kitchen, grabbing Sloan by the arm and pulling her up out of her chair. He grips her shoulders and says, “Go up to the room and lock the door. Don’t open it whatever you do.”

  I scoot my chair back and stand up. Dalton does the same. We both look at each other and then back at Asa.

  “Who’s at the door?” Jon asks, pushing his chair back as well. I don’t think any of us have ever seen Asa this worried.

  Asa glances up the stairs and around the room like he’s trying to find a way to escape. “It’s the fucking FBI, Jon. It’s the fucking goddamn FBI!”

  What?

  I immediately turn to Dalton, but he shakes his head to let me know he’s just as unaware as I am. I also notice his fists clench at his side. “Shit!” he says. To Asa, I’m sure Dalton’s reaction is expected. But to me, I know why he’s really mad. The FBI are about to walk into this house and ruin the investigation.

  More pounding against the door.

  Asa pulls his hands through his hair. “Fuck! Fuck!”

  I see him glance toward the back door. I can already see him trying to plan an escape route. I step forward to get his attention.

  “If they’re here to arrest anyone, they already have the house surrounded, Asa. They may just be here for questioning about your father. Just open the door and act normal. We’ll all stay seated at the table like we have nothing to hide.”

  Dalton nods. “He’s right, Asa. If we all run, they’ll have reason to think you’re hiding something.”

  Asa nods, but Jon shakes his head. “Fuck that. We’ve got shit all over this house. If we open the door, it’s over. For all of us.”

  Asa’s eyes are wide as he tries to figure out what to do. We all look at the front door when the banging resumes.

  I can see the veins in Dalton’s neck, and I know he’s fearing that all the work we’ve put in was basically for nothing. The entire investigation won’t mean shit, because it will now be in the hands of someone else.

  We’ve seen this happen a couple of times—an investigation being taken over by a higher-ranking force. But Dalton has put so much into this, it’s going to be impossible for him to watch it go up in flames.

  “Go to your room, Sloan,” Asa orders. “You don’t need to be here when I open that door.”

  Sloan glances at me, concern in her eyes. She wants to know if she should follow Asa’s orders—if she should leave the room.

  More banging.

  I nod softly to let Sloan know she should do what Asa is asking her to do. At least she’ll be out of the way of whatever is about to go down.

  Asa suddenly strides across the room toward Sloan. He gets in her face. “What the fuck are you looking at him for?” he yells, waving his hand in my direction. “What the fuck are you looking at him for?”

  Oh, God. I start to walk around the table, but Dalton grabs my arm. Asa wraps his hand around the back of Sloan’s neck and shoves her toward the stairs. “Get the fuck up the stairs!”

  She doesn’t look back as she runs up the stairs.

  Asa is looking at me now. Dalton may not be happy that the FBI showed up, but I’m relieved. Chances are, Asa will be arrested for whatever they’re here to confront him for. Which means I might survive tonight, because the look he’s giving me right now is telling me otherwise.

  He knows. He can tell, based on that one look Sloan gave me, that something is going on between us. But between the banging on the front door and the imminent possibility that he’s about to be arrested, he thankfully puts it on the back burner.

  He points at all four of us. “Sit the fuck down,” he says. “Eat. I’m opening the goddamn door.” We all take our seats. Asa rushes to the kitchen and opens a cabinet, reaching to the back of it. He pulls out a gun and slides it inside the back of his pants. As he’s passing the table, he says, “If I find out any of you fuckers are responsible for this, you’re all dead.” Asa turns toward the door, and right before he opens it, he presses his forehead against it like he’s saying a quick prayer. When he pulls it open, he smiles. “How can I help you gentlemen?”

  I hear a voice say, “Asa Jackson?”

  Asa nods, but then the door swings open and several men swarm him, knocking him to the ground.

  When Jon sees what’s happening, he scrambles toward the back door, just as it’s busted open and three men rush inside. Jon is immediately subdued and thrown to the kitchen floor.

  It isn’t until this moment that I realize these guys won’t have any clue Dalton and I are undercover. I don’t even have a badge on me to prove it. They’ll just think we’re on Asa’s side.

  The next several seconds are complete chaos.

  More men appear through the doorway, guns are pointed at our heads, we’re on our stomachs, faces pressed to the floor, hands being cuffed behind our backs.

  I’m lying next to Dalton and before they pull him to his feet, he whispers, “Stay calm. Wait until you’re alone before saying anything.”

  I nod, but one of the agents notices us communicating. Dalton is jerked up by his arms.

  I can hear Asa being read his Miranda rights as two men jerk me up off the floor by my arms. They’re barking orders, separating all of us into different parts of the house. I’m pulled into a spare bedroom off of the kitchen.

  All I can think about is Sloan and how freaked out she probably is right now.

  The door slams shut behind me and I’m thrown into a desk chair. There are two men in the room with me. One is taller than me with dark blond hair and a beard. The other is shorter, stockier, with red hair and an even redder mustache. The redhead is the one who speaks first. They both pull their badges out of their jacket pockets and flash them at me. “I’m Agent Bowers,” he says. “This is Agent Thompson. We’re going to ask you a few questions and we’d appreciate your cooperation.”

  I nod. Agent Bowers walks closer to me and says, “Do you live here?”

  I shake my head. “No.” I start to tell them what I’m doing here and that they’re making a big fucking mistake, but the tall one interrupts me and says, “What’s your name?”

  “Carter,” I say. I don’t say Luke yet, because I’m still not sure if Asa is even being arrested. The last thing I need is for the fucking FBI to blow my cover.

  “Carter?” agent Bowers says. “You just have one name? So you’re like Madonna? Cher?” he bends forward, eyeing me. “What’s your fucking last name, smartass?”

  I twist my hands behind my back, trying to ease the pressure cutting into the circulation in my wrists. My pulse is pounding in my temples, partly because of the entire last few minutes and partly because I’m pissed that they’re about to end everything and get all the credit. Sure, they might be here to
arrest Asa. And yes, I’m relieved that Sloan is now safe. But knowing the entire last few months were for shit and that I put Sloan in danger more than once really hits a nerve.

  It grows quiet and I can hear Asa yell, “Fuck you!” from another room.

  Agent Thompson kicks my chair, bringing my attention back to him. “What’s your last name, son?”

  Little does he know I’m aware of how to conduct a proper investigation, and these assholes have already broken at least three rules. But the FBI, and even the police, aren’t really known to follow rules to the specifics in situations like these. I know that firsthand.

  I open my mouth to respond to them, but I’m cut off by the sound of Sloan’s scream coming from upstairs. I immediately jump up, but both of them shove me back down in the chair. “Fucking arrest me, or let me go!” I yell.

  I have to get to Sloan. She’s probably scared shitless right now, not knowing what the hell is going on. I need to check on her before I fucking lose it, but they won’t let me out of the room. “I’m on your side,” I say to them, trying to keep my voice calm, when I just feel like screaming at them. “If you take the cuffs off, I’ll prove it and then get back to my fucking job!”

  Detective Thompson stares at me for a moment and then looks back at agent Bowers and laughs. He points at me. “You hear that?” he says. “He’s a cop.”

  Agent Bowers also laughs, and with a heavy dose of sarcasm, he says, “Our bad. You’re free to go,” he says, pointing toward the door.

  I could do without the sarcasm. I also know I just fucked up by breaking cover, but I’m not sitting in here for another minute with these assholes. I’ll worry about dealing with Ryan later. “You’ll find my badge taped underneath my passenger seat. It’s the black Charger.”

  Agent Thompson’s eyes narrow and he looks at me like he might actually be entertaining the idea that I’m not lying. He looks at agent Bowers and nudges his head toward the door, silently telling him to go verify.

  I can still hear Asa in another room, yelling back at whoever is questioning him. He’s demanding a lawyer now. I don’t think that’s going to help him at this point.