by Zoey Parker
“She said she’ll be back later in the afternoon to clean up.”
I shake my head, flabbergasted. “I can’t believe she’s still coming here.” And because I’m a little wonky and off my game, I mutter, more loudly than I intend, “I would have run away from this shit sty.”
Remembering I have company, I look to Russ.
Russ turns his head as I give him the stink eye. He shuffles uncomfortably.
Good. Let him be nervous. This is how things are supposed to be around me, how things are supposed to be between us. I’m his fucking boss.
Just like you were Lily’s boss…
The taunting voice in my head awakens the beast of a hangover clouding behind my eyes, hot, heavy and powerful. I raise the heels of my palms to my temples, fighting pressure from the inside with pressure from outside. Closing my eyes, I grind my teeth, and concentrate on imagining the pain poofing away.
I hadn’t noticed that he walked away, but Russ is speaking over me now and his voice grates like nails down a chalkboard. I’m preparing to tell him to “shut his fucking mouth” when I open my eyes and look down at the tray he’s magically procured and holding out.
I grab at the bottle of ibuprofen, and dumping three pills into my sweaty palm, I dry swallow them, but drink the water when the pills feel stuck to the side of my throat.
Russ quietly steps back with the tray, now holding the emptied glass of water.
I reach for my cell, face down on my nightstand. It’s well past noon. Of course I slept to a crazy hour. Not only am I dealing with a raging headache, but now I’m riding the rising waves of a foul mood.
I’m hardly one to plan every minute of my day, but I do keep a to-do list handy, and I planned a lot for this Saturday.
Somewhere in my foggy, pain-addled mind, I recall making an appointment to meet with Russ on the intelligence mission I sent him out on last night once he confirmed Art Dayton’s existence.
Before last night, the detective was none of my concern. He was another cop out there to evade, elude, handle, but now, after what he’s done, I consider him a threat to the Hanley legacy. And I have yet to see the fucker face to face.
The bastard even got to Lily, convinced her into spewing the crap she was tossing my way last night.
Lily…darling, naïve…sexy-as-fuck Lily.
Well, I wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore. She made it clear she didn’t want this, and I’m not going to force myself on her. I’d have to figure out a plan B now that that alibi was out the window, but whatever it’s going to be, I would have to keep it from unsettling Lily’s life any more than I have thus far.
“What do you have for me, Russ?”
“Maurice’s been spotted.” Russ says. It’s a bit of good news until he adds, “But as soon as he surfaced, he went under again.”
“The strip club needs its owner, and I need to beat some fucking sense into that man.” My tone is clipped. “Find him, Russ. And then give me the news I want to hear.”
Russ dips his head, a flop of his mussed black hair falling over his forehead. His dark eyes are sharp though, and I sit up for what he has to say next.
“Your girl had a visitor.”
I tighten my lips on Russ’ labelling Lily as mine. She had been my girl, for just about twenty-four hours, and then something remarkable happened— a first in my life since early elementary when most boys and girls were in the cootie phase: Lily left me.
“Female, male?” I choke on that last past.
“A woman,” Russ says.
Relief swarms me, but I refuse to admit to myself why.
Russ proceeds with a description of Lily’s guest: Caucasian, redhead, tall, slim, friendly with Lily. I don’t care about any other woman though. I’m impatient for him to get back to Lily, but clearly I’ll have to prompt him.
“What of Miss Erickson?”
“She seemed all right. Moody. The other woman had her wrapped in a hug at one point.”
My chest squeezed, my temples throbbing anew with the knowledge that it was me. I’d caused Lily to cry.
Unless something else happened since I dropped her off last night.
“What were they doing?” I asked that question too quickly. At least Russ’ expression doesn’t give away whether or not he noticed.
“Jogging, if I had to guess by their gear.”
“Jogging?” Huh? So Lily jogged? How come I didn’t know that? She was delightfully curvy. A little fleshier than the chicks I date—women like thin, tall Angelina.
“I didn’t follow them though,” Russ reports. “Keith called with an interesting story. I thought it more pertinent, but if you’d like, I can head back out there.”
“No,” I fan at the air. Why have him believing I care about Lily more than I should?
I can name a few other uses of Russ’ expertise. I pay handsomely enough for his loyalty. Sending him after a beautiful woman who both frustrates and arouses me is not the best use of his time.
Besides, Lily isn’t my girl as he put it. She never was and she never will be, not when she made it so clear she thinks so little of me. I should be keeping my distance, working her out of my system or some shit.
Damn. This hangover is lethal.
The headache of doom calmed at the painkillers, but apparently the guilt’s having an effect on me. I must look pitiful enough for Russ to break his usual decorum. He’s asking after my health.
“I’m fine,” I mumble, waving off his concern. And to prove how fine of an ass I am, I rush out of bed, standing weakly.
If Russ hadn’t been there, I would drop. Only now we both fall over, the tray thudding on the carpet.
Keith’s footsteps sound quick and heavy up the stairs and down the hall. His big frame fills the doorway. By that point Russ has successfully pulled his body off of mine. He scrambles to stand, telling Keith, “We’ve got it.”
I can’t bring myself to look in Keith’s eyes. He disappears from the door and his clunky steps fade into the background.
“Did he pull a gun out?”
Russ shrugs. “He’s spooked.”
I peel myself off the floor, using the bed as support to drag myself up over it.
Russ’ shoulders rise a bit. He seems to be puffing out of his black leather jacket and dark gray camo hoodie combo. What’s got him bushing up worse than a cat’s tail?
As if he heard my though, Russ continues. “It’s Dayton. He’s tailing Keith as well.”
My jaw sits hard on that.
“Dayton’s good.” Russ again voices what I had been thinking. “He’s searching for a weak link.”
“Has he found it?” I snap, my eyes narrowing. If Keith sells me out, I’ll kill him.
“No. Keith’s clean as far as I can tell.”
“That’s comforting.” I stare him down, the silence heavy. I reflect, realizing there’s little reason to alienate Russ. He’s been loyal, and I have yet to doubt him. In fact, he’s my most trusted man. “I want this to end as quickly as possible. Do you have anything we could use?”
Russ stoops to pick up the tray and glass, his hand reaching out for the ibuprofen bottle. It’s closer to me so I bend to get it, passing it to him. Russ thanks me gruffly, but I nod for him to continue.
I know he has something on the son of a bitch putting me in this position with my men, with my family, with Lily...
“You were right about Dayton. He was pulled from the SLMPD for a reason, and all signs suggest it has to do with that narcotic sting gone bad.” Russ smirks. “Turns out there’s more to it than just a dead partner. There are some loose-lipped beat cops Dayton rubbed the wrong way, and one of them happens to be a second-generation blue blood.
“His father’s a captain in Internal Affairs. News travels and I got it on record that gang fight that killed Dayton’s partner also killed nine civilians.”
“Nine? Shit.” I massage a hand over my jaw. My brain is moving ahead, working out the pieces, but I listen to Russ, hear him o
ut to the end.
“Those nine included five sex trafficked workers, their go-between madame, two johns, and the driver chauffeuring everyone around.” Russ’ information is music to my ears. I’ll have to give him a fat bonus check.
Russ tilts his head, the smile slipping. “It got me thinking. What else are they hushing up about Dayton? Someone up high had to have got him out quietly and put him in Potentia. He’s a man with bad enemies and good friends.”
“Guess I should have a word with Dayton then.” I stand, noting Russ’ foot sliding forward. I give him a stern look. He might have given me a huge jump on Dayton, but I am not about to be coddled by him.
“Let me dress and I’ll be with you and your man soon enough. There’s a lot for us to do.” And taking a glance over my shoulder at the bright sunlight fighting to get through the blinds, I say, “A lot to do, and so little time.”
Only Russ is alone when I meet him in my airy living space, dressed and ready to go.
“Keith?” I ask.
“I sent him to keep an eye on Erickson and her pretty friend.”
I pause, looking at Russ. “I never did ask, but when you were tailing Dayton into St. Louis, did you happen to stop by my sister’s place?”
My concern is for Julie. She likes him. And as far as I understand, Russ doesn’t feel the same for my kid sister. I can’t blame him. It’s hard dating the boss’s sister...and likely harder dating the boss.
I suddenly understand where Russ is coming from, and where Lily’s head might have been at last night. She probably only agreed to the alibi because she thought I was going to kill her or fire her.
“Sure.” Russ bravely holds my gaze and that’s enough to tell me he hasn’t touched Julie. “But she had some pretty hot ladies in there. She called me out on it, that and something about my not visiting enough.”
“I heard the same spiel,” I commiserate.
“Before I forget,” Russ hooks a hand behind his neck, his lips twitching and gaze avoiding mine too obviously. “Ellen left something for you.” He jerks his head to the coffee table.
Seeing what has him all flustered, I move to collect and slide the large zipper storage bag into my brief case. Lily’s forgotten panties are now tucked away in there safely, thanks to Ellen’s clever thinking. I know I’m left with the task of delivering them.
Chapter 12
Luke
Outside we’re all business.
I send Russ off ahead to track down Dayton. I’ve got other errands to run before I drop in to see the pain-in-the-ass detective.
On my way down the steps toward my garage, I note the car sliding in through the gates of our condo community. I recognize the owners, a young pregnant couple, who roll the car to a stop and lower the passenger’s window. Trading greetings, I smile and wave until they’ve slipped into their garage at the end of our row of four eastern-facing lots.
The grocery store is up first. I need to stock up the fridge. I’m not a chef, but I know my way around the kitchen and care about the food I put into my body.
I come across more familiar faces while shopping. Names and other minor details readily on my tongue, I greet four people before I arrive at the checkout with my cart full of items. The braces-wearing teenager behind the counter is also a face I recognize, his father being on my sales team.
Welcome to Potentia: A large enough town for its own police department, but small enough for most people to know someone who knows someone who knows you.
It’s all so cozy, but the warmth from those unplanned meet-and-greets ends when I hear from Russ.
“You were right. Dayton’s in his office, working a double-shift.”
Confirming I’d be there soon, I head for my next errand.
The fair-haired florist knows me as a regular. Also, I might have fucked her two years back, right after choosing the funeral wreaths for my mother. I’d been handling her sudden illness and passing badly, and sex became an outlet. Alcohol another.
Last night was unique for me. I hadn’t felt that level of despondency since Alice Hanley died. How strong a hold does Lily have on me?
As I try to make conversation light with the florist, my mind still turning Lily’s grip on me, I see something new on the florist’s finger while she rings up my overflowing bouquet of lilies. The irony of the flowers isn’t lost on me.
“Congratulations.” I say, relieved.
She beams, holding up her hand, fingers wiggling to display her stunner of an engagement ring. She babbles about her fiancé, giving me a history of the guy, and then ends off with the romantic, surprise proposal. I’m all complimentary smile and nods.
Waving, I step out of the store with my prize in my hand. Careful with the flowers, I rest them in the passenger seat and round the car to get going to my second-to-final stop.
The cemetery lies at the far side of Potentia, near the town limits. It’s big and most long-time residents of our town end up here.
My mother, born and bred in the city, moved out to live with my father in his then-small town. Potentia quadrupled to its present population of twenty-thousand in a couple decades, but back in the late seventies, there were slim pickings of entertainment for a city girl. And Floyd Hanley didn’t have the money he has now, so driving his wife to St. Louis was a luxury.
Yet she made the most of it, and she loved Potentia, possibly even more than her husband and her son who were born here.
“Hey, Mom,” I greet her the only way I know how. Coming out here, seeing how lonely and cold the cemetery has gotten with summer ebbing into autumn, I’m blindsided by sorrow.
“I brought your favorites.” I angle my words to the clouded heavens, imagining her riding on one of the gray, cotton-candy like fluffs scuttling low overhead. “And apparently someone else has as well.”
Indeed, nearly the same arrangement I bought is leaning against her black marble grave. Only the white of the lilies is broken up by the vibrant red of roses.
“Dad’s been by. Wonder what he had to say,” I mumble.
Nothing good, likely. He doesn’t make it a point to visit his wife. Too painful, he complains. His argument is that he wants to keep the memories of his wife as she was before the rapid decline and eventual succumbing to late-stage brain cancer.
I frown, settling the lilies down by the other flowers. I’d have to get in touch with him. Right now though, I had an appointment with Art Dayton, intrepid detective.
Russ isn’t there when I arrive at the converted church building housing Potentia’s blue. Better he stays away; it seems like Dayton has no clue he exists, and I want to keep some of my cards hidden from our nosy badge-wielding superhero.
The Neo-Moorish styled church that used to stand here dissolved long before I could remember, but my dad’s full of stories, and he says the congregants dispersed after their last pastor was tried on financial fraud. The building stood empty for years, and then the suggestion for a police force to be implemented in the growing town was passed by the then St. Louis mayor.
But it’s not the red and beige, Oriental-inspired building that lures me to this part of town. It’s the detective somewhere inside.
“Dayton,” I say in response to the officer sitting at the front desk when he asks what I’m there for. There’s no bulletproof glass shielding him. I imagine that’s due to the lull of living and working the beat in a small-ish town.
Picking up his desk phone, the officer speaks briefly to whoever is on the other end. My bet’s on Dayton.
Then he hangs up and nods for me to take a seat in the waiting area behind me. I’m not alone. Keeping me company is a wild-haired, unkempt man wearing several old, worn and torn coats, and a sniffling young woman sporting a nasty bruise on her right cheek.
Sitting across from me, I find it hard to look at anything but that bruise. Once she notices my stare, she angles her head away, smoothing her blond hair over the ugly mess. My thoughts immediately go to whoever did that to her. A boyfriend? Her husband? She�
��s young-looking, but it’s possible.
My fists squeeze tightly in my lap.
I glance over at the officer behind the desk. Have they taken her statement? Why isn’t she in an office talking to a detective? What kind of station were they running around here?
Instead of taking care of this poor woman, Dayton’s riding my back, hounding the bigger fish and ignoring the small fry. Except abuse is hardly small fry. I add it to the reasons for despising the man.
“Mr. Hanley, I presume,” a voice, slick and smooth, drags my attention off the battered young woman.