As the couple on the bench got up and wandered off, I blinked slowly, processing what Tommy O’Halloran had told me. “You’re offering two for the job.”
“It’s an important job. And I need it completed soon. Within the next ten days.”
Mind furiously working, I flipped through my mental file of everything I had learned about the O’Halloran family and could figure out only one issue important enough to warrant this level of urgency from Tommy.
“Does this have anything to do with your brother?”
“You seem to have a great deal of interest in my family,” Tommy said in a testy voice.
“I don’t have any interest. I simply believe in being thorough and taking all angles into consideration. And you haven’t answered me.”
“What the fuck does it matter? I’m offering two million on what will be one easy fucking job. Are you interested in that, at least?” Sarcasm punctuated his every word.
“My curiosity is piqued, but if it’s so easy, why hasn’t one of your men handled it?”
He didn’t want to answer. I could all but hear the mental debate going on, but finally, he said, “The job can’t be traced back to me in any way. My men are skilled, but they lack your level of skill. Your reputation, even your name, is all based on your ability to move in and out without being noticed. Rumor is, nobody even knows what you look like.” He paused for a beat, then asked, “Is that true, Spectre? Has anybody ever even seen your face?”
A toddler, dressed in jeans and a bright-pink shirt with a bear cub on it, headed toward me, chasing a ball that had escaped her hands. Carefully, I caught it with my foot and nudged it back in her direction. She beamed at me and squeaked out, “Baaw!”
I translated it to mean, “Ball.”
“Somebody is looking at me right now, Tommy.”
He grunted. “Look, I don’t have time for this dicking around. Are you going to take the job?”
“You haven’t given me details yet. I don’t take jobs without knowing the specifics.”
“You’re as big an asshole to work with as people say. I’ll text you an address. When you get there, let me know.”
Chapter 2
Tia
“It doesn’t look like yours.” A serious face lifted toward mine as I stopped at the table.
“It’s not supposed to, Annie. Can I touch your shoulder?”
She frowned at me, considering the request. Finally, she nodded. “But if I don’t like it, you have to stop.”
“Deal.” I rested my hand on her shoulder and eased in a bit closer, but not enough to invade her personal space.
Rhiannon Haggard, or Annie as she liked to be called, was older than some of my students, and hadn’t been diagnosed until she was ten. She was fiercely smart and judging by the work on her canvas, she had a definite artistic talent, even if she wasn’t pleased with how the piece was progressing.
Gently, I rubbed her shoulder as I gestured at the painting with my other hand. “Your piece shouldn’t look like mine. It’s your painting. It’s supposed to reflect something about you. My painting reflects something about me. We’re different people so why should our paintings look the same?”
“If this painting reflects me, then I’m a mess.” Her round face—pretty, young and sweet—was dominated by her big eyes and an unsmiling mouth.
The lack of a smile didn’t concern me. I couldn’t even count how many times I’d been told to smile as a child, or had a teacher or other well-meaning adult ask why I was upset, all because I wasn’t smiling. The smiles and reactions I saw from others had always confused me but by middle school, I knew I was the one who was different and I’d made an attempt—sometimes—to mimic those around me. It didn’t take long to learn those little expressions led to fewer interactions from people who felt they should ask what was wrong... or just idiots who felt the need to tell a kid to smile for no reason.
I’d spent so much of my childhood trying to figure out what was wrong with me, then, later, I’d faked being normal, and it had been so exhausting. Too exhausting, at times.
Annie had been diagnosed a little later than some of my kids, but she had parents who loved her and were working to help her get the tools she needed.
I hoped she wouldn’t have the same struggles I’d had—most of these kids wouldn’t. I was glad they wouldn’t always be wondering what was wrong with them, if they were broken.
I think most of the kids who attended my workshops already knew they weren’t broken, that nothing was wrong with them, although I always reinforced it. I envied my kids a bit in that aspect. That reassurance was something I hadn’t had until I almost an adult.
“You’re not a mess,” I told Annie as I gave her shoulder one last rub. She had sort of leaned into it, which I took as a positive sign. “You told me yourself that you hadn’t done much painting before. You just need practice. Think about it—I didn’t pick up a paint brush until I was fifteen. You’re younger than I was.”
Annie thought that over, then gave me a solemn nod. “So if I practice, when I’m older, I’ll be even better than you are.”
At that, I did smile, and Annie cocked her head to the side, studying me. I understood that well enough.
I was still trying to figure out people.
This thing I was doing—using art to help kids on the autism spectrum—could be completely draining. But when I got too tired, I made myself remember how it had been when that teacher put a canvas in front of me my freshman year of high school. I’d been behind, as always, struggling, as always, ostracized and alienated. Until she’d taken the time to help me find who I was.
“You just might,” I told her, with a wink.
“I will be,” Annie said with a decisive nod before turning back to her painting of a forest. Now that she realized she didn’t need to try to copy mine, some of the tension relaxed from her shoulders and I moved on to the next student.
Even though I always made it clear that I wanted them to make something that was their own, there was inevitably a student or two who tried to paint as I had. But in today’s class, it was just Alli. My second trip by her station showed the forest to be taking on its own life and I found myself pleased with the development. Judging by the gleam in her eyes, she was, too.
“Your mom and dad will be proud,” I told her.
She considered the words. “Maybe. They want me to be normal.”
My heart clenched at her words. How many times had I heard comments about shit like that?
Why can’t you be normal?
Why are you so weird?
Even from my own mother, although God knows she had been nobody’s picture of normal. And I’d loved her anyway. Even though parts of me still hated her.
Pushing old hurts and my anger aside, I thought of the couple who’d brought Annie in, of the conversations I’d had with her mother. “Your parents love you, Alli. They want what’s best for you.”
She didn’t answer as she bent her head to her work.
I moved over to D’Shawn, a boisterous boy of nine who took my workshop once every couple of months. If his parents could afford it, he’d be there every week. He loved painting, and according to his mom, he might have a crush on me. He had high-functioning autism and was far more affectionate than many of the kids I worked with.
In some ways, he’d actually helped me because he always wanted hugs when he came in, but at the same time, we had to work with him, because he needed to learn the rules about personal space, not only with others in the workshop but in general.
“Ah...the Millennium Falcon.” I wasn’t surprised he’d deviated from the project I’d suggested, and it had just been a suggestion.
D’Shawn walked to the beat of his own drum in so many ways.
“The Millennium Falcon!” D’Shawn pumped a fist in the air and laughed. Small for his age, he sat on his knees on his chair as he wielded his paintbrush, eyes narrowed as he carefully finished one area of the famous spaceship. “Who is strong
er? Luke Skywalker or Rey?”
“Oh, no, my friend. I’m not having this talk while class in going on.”
“I think Luke is stronger. He’s a lot older and—”
Carefully, I backed away, hands upraised. “Not here.”
“Luke is way stronger,” a quiet boy in front of D’Shawn said. “The Last Jedi was stupid. Rey hasn’t even been trained. She’s a dumb girl.”
“That’s it,” I said firmly, moving to the front of the room. “Remember the rules for staying in my class. We show each other respect. No name calling.”
The boy in question, Matthew King, frowned. “Rey’s not even real. What does it matter if I say she’s dumb?”
“There are females in this room who are real. Part of life is learning to respect the feelings of others. The way you say it, it’s like the reason Rey’s not strong is because she’s a girl,” I pointed out to him, wondering if I should let this go. But this was one of the lessons I wanted these kids to learn—the rules about respect and trying to think about others.
It had been be hard for me, learning those rules on my own, never understanding why people either laughed at me or avoided me or just stared at me like I was wrong or broken. I wanted to help kids, kids like I’d been, so they didn’t have to feel like I had.
“If you want to make a case that Rey wasn’t a very good Jedi, you need to come up with something other than her being a dumb girl.”
“She is a dumb girl.” Matthew folded his face into stubborn lines. “She’s a fake dumb girl, but she’s still dumb. Girls are dumb. The reason my dad left is because my mom is dumb. She’s a girl.”
My face heated slightly and discomfort rose inside me, but I pushed it down. The kids in front of me were also uncomfortable and the girls, especially, were upset. Annie rocked slightly in her chair, while the youngest student in class, Andrea, sat hunched over in her seat, arms wrapped tightly around herself. It was as if she wanted to shrink down so small, she disappeared.
“Maybe the reason your dad left was because you’re dumb,” D’Shawn said into the quiet of the room.
Matthew’s face went red.
I lunged forward, but if he hadn’t tripped on his chair, I wouldn’t have caught him in time. Panic was a bubble in my chest, one threatening to explode. I locked on D’Shawn’s wide, startled eyes and used that to ground myself.
“Calm down, Matthew,” I said. “Calm down.”
Matthew, of course, wasn’t in the mood to listen.
“WHAT IN THE FUCK DO you mean he won’t be able to come back? We paid $150 for this and he’s only been here three days!”
Matthew sat on the ground next to his mother’s car, rocking and humming to himself. His mother alternated between giving him concerned looks and fighting back tears, but at her husband’s words, she stiffened. “I paid the fee, Matt. You didn’t want to even bother with this, so don’t act like you’re out anything except the time it took you to come down here.”
He turned on her and once more, that bubble of panic swelled in my chest. I wanted to lock myself in my studio, close the blinds, curl up on the big beanbag chair, and hide. Instead, I squared my shoulders. “Mr. King, Ms. King, this sounds like a personal matter between you and something that would best be discussed where it won’t further upset your son.”
“He’s upset because you’re kicking him out of the stupid workshop!” Mr. King whirled on me and jabbed a finger in my direction. “If you’re kicking him out, we want the money back.”
“There are no refunds once the student starts the class.” Folding my arms over my chest, I stared at him. “Supplies have to be purchased and other costs factor in. I understand some children may have behavioral issues and I’ll work with those families. I offer one-on-one classes for kids who don’t work as well in groups with others. But it’s included in the workshop terms that money won’t be refunded if a child is removed due to violent behavior. Your son attempted to attack another student and before that, he was being disrespectful. I gave him several chances and he persisted. This decision is final.”
He took a step closer, using his greater height to loom over me. My brain kicked on, listing all the psychological factors behind why men like him did things like this but it was still hard to stand my ground. “You are not going to cheat us out of our hard-earned money—”
“It’s not our money,” his wife said, grabbing his arm.
He spun on her.
I’d been holding my phone since he climbed out of the truck, eyes wide and angry, clearly looking for a fight. Now, as he knocked her hand away, I hit the dial button. I’d never had to call 9-1-1 on a parent before and I didn’t want to do it now, but what if I didn’t and he hurt her, or me, or—
The voice on the other end of the line cut off the mad ramble of my thoughts, thankfully. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
Sensing the man’s attention turn to me, I rapidly gave my name and address. “I have an angry client here and would appreciate it if you sent somebody out.”
“What the fuck are you doing, bitch!”
A car pulled into the drive. I recognized Annie’s parents and relief now vied with panic for control.
“Ma’am, I’m notifying patrolmen in the area. Please stay on the line.”
Matthew’s father pointed a finger at my nose. “You stupid c—”
“What’s the problem here?” Annie’s father came huffing in our direction, his friendly face creased with concern, while his wife came at a slower pace, looking at King with distaste before shifting her gaze up to my house where Annie still waited with D’Shawn.
“Nothing, man,” King said, looking over at Paul Haggard with a friendly smile that was a sharp one-eighty from the look he’d given me. “Just a little misunderstanding. Ms. Jenkins was explaining that she’ll be sending us a refund since the program didn’t work out for our boy, Matthew.”
“No, I wasn’t,” I retorted, my cheeks heating even as anger and nerves vied for control.
King’s gaze bounced over to me, narrowing.
I met his gaze. “If you think manipulating me in front of another parent will make me do what you want, you’re wrong.”
On the other end of the phone, the woman’s voice softened, “Ma’am, is everything okay? A patrol unit is less than five minutes away.”
“I’m fine,” I said, even though I really wasn’t. There was too much going on and trying to maintain an air of calm was taking everything I had.
“Are you sure?” the question came from Annie’s mom, Mikaela, not the woman on the phone. Her gaze flicked between me and the Kings, mouth tightening slightly as she looked over at the father before sympathy made her eyes soften as she looked at the distraught boy.
“I’m fine, Mikaela. Thank you.” The ache in my chest eased somewhat at her concern, and at the presence of the woman on the line who continued to murmur to me reassuringly. “The police are on their way out, too.”
“There’s no reason for the damn cops—” King snapped.
“I think you should leave,” Paul said.
King puffed up his chest, glowering at the shorter, stouter man but Paul didn’t back down an inch.
“Mikaela, I’ll wait with Ms. Jenkins but why don’t you go on up there and sit with Annie and that other kid? They look pretty upset.” He smiled in his wife’s direction but stayed at my side. “Ms. Jenkins and I have this under control, right, ma’am?”
I nodded at the clear question in his words, thankful beyond words for his kindness.
“Matt, you need to go,” Ms. King said, sounding exhausted. She gave me an embarrassed look before moving over to crouch in front of her son.
My heart hurt for both the boy and his mom. She’d mentioned in her initial emails to me that she was in the midst of an ugly custody battle. I hoped like hell she won, because that man was toxic. Matthew clearly adored him, although I had no idea why. As his mom tried to talk to him, Matthew’s rocking became faster and faster.
; “Looks like the cavalry is here,” Paul said.
Both King and I looked up and followed the other man’s gaze to the bend in the road where a cruiser had just appeared. King gave me a dirty look, then turned on his heel. Without saying a word to his son, he stormed over to his truck and climbed in.
“What a fucking asshole,” I muttered without thinking about it.
“You can say that again,” Paul said.
At the wealth of emotion in his voice, I found myself smiling. Looking over at him, I said, “Thank you. So much.”
He blushed.
Chapter 3
Spectre
The address I’d been given was on a winding road that would eventually meander through the Smoky Mountain National Park. It was dotted with a mix of residential homes and rental cabins. Some of the homes looked like a stiff wind might blow them off, while others likely cost in the high six figures, minimum.
All he’d provided was an address with instructions to text once I’d arrived.
His secrecy wasn’t helping his case. I’d been there nearly an hour, waiting, going through the information packet he’d finally uploaded to a secure account. The taste in my mouth had gone from bad to worse with every passing minute.
Even before she came out of the cabin, I’d already made my decision, but the sight of her kept me locked in place. Or...well, it kept me from leaving.
I’d been doing this too long to be caught doing something so obvious as staring. I’d brought out a camera and set up like I was taking pictures of an empty stretch of land at the end of the road, using that cover to get in various angles of the entire area.
Through the lens of the camera, I was able to get the occasional look at her face and something about her features kept tugging my attention back to her. She was pretty, of course. But I’d had my share of women, ranging from homely to plain to attractive to beautiful. It wasn’t her looks, or rather, it wasn’t just her looks.
She had a jaw that was both strong and elegant and it was set in a firm line as she moved down the driveway to speak to a big, broad man who stood there yelling and gesticulating.
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