Mercy

by Jean Brashear

Her chin jutted. “Always.”

  He studied her with those penetrating blue eyes. Kat resisted the urge to squirm. At last, he spoke. “Keep the money.” He revolved on his heel, shoving the door closed.

  Flabbergasted, Kat barely got her hand inserted in time. She leaped through the opening. “If I leave right now, you’ll never see this check.”

  He crossed his arms over a bare chest ripped with an amazing amount of muscle. “I don’t think so. Your gallery won’t make it if word gets around that you cheat the artist.” What might almost be a smile lit his eyes. “Best I can tell, that gallery is the only thing you understand how to love,” he drawled in the Texas accent that reminded her too much of life with Nana.

  “What would you know about love?” she countered.

  What might almost be pain flickered across his features. “Not a damn thing,” he growled. Then his gaze lifted, pinned hers. “But more than you, with your pretty boys you can fuck and forget.”

  His scorn pushed her to strike back. He stood there, lean and long, looking dangerous in the half-light of the dying day. His feet were bare, her boots with four-inch heels bringing her closer to eye level.

  A wiser part of her cautioned to ignore his words, hand him the check and walk away.

  But Kat didn’t often listen to her wiser part. Instead, she crossed the three feet between them, grasped a handful of his hair and sneered, “I can forget you, too, Gamble Smith.” Then she laid her mouth on his, pressing her curves all along the length of him.

  And felt him go hard. Her mind shouted triumph. She stepped away and smiled, ignoring a jitter. “You desire me.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Sex doesn’t mean anything,” she shot back. “It’s just fun. You have heard of fun?”

  “You don’t want to get involved with me, Kat.” His tone turned ominous.

  “I never said I did.” She thrust his check at him and started to go.

  Then froze at the sight of the painting on his easel.

  “Get out,” he commanded, inserting himself between her and the portrait.

  Kat shoved past him, mesmerized. The canvas literally glowed with color, rich and ripe and glorious. It was an ode to beauty, his most romantic piece yet. Her first glance showed her a woman of stunning passion yet such delicacy that she might have risen from mist. Her flowing gown rippled, her head tilted with a tender grace, her eyes open and shining with a love that could break your heart. Kat took a big step forward, then rocked back on her heels in shock—

  The face was hers, red hair falling down her back. She could almost feel the filmy gown swirl over her legs, her hand out to something she’d ceased to yearn for years ago. With every heartbeat, she edged closer to an innocence she’d left behind long before—

  Kat pressed one hand to her chest, literally robbed of breath, so thunderstruck that she hardly registered Gamble stalking past her, covering the canvas with a dark cloth.

  He remained with his back to her for a long moment in which she, for once in her life, had no idea what to say.

  Then he turned, but she could read nothing at all in his face. They didn’t move there for time that seemed endless, simply staring at each other as if one word would be too much.

  Finally, the silence weighed too heavily. “Gamble, I—” She broke off. “Is that really me?”

  Instead of his usual barely restrained rage, his face was cold now. Closed-in and lights off.

  Then he spoke, his voice distant. “It’s what you could be. But you waste it. Every day you throw away more of yourself.”

  “You can’t—” Her voice scraped like rusted tin. She swallowed hard. “You don’t know me—” She felt naked, crazy naked as if her chest had been ripped open and the air stung like a thousand razors slicing the tender pink inside.

  Indecision tore at her. She wanted to uncover that painting, to see the woman she didn’t recognize, to stand there in front of it until she could find the traces of that woman inside her own skin.

  And she wanted to back away from Gamble Smith and this terrible knowledge of his. Out through that door and back to the life she recognized.

  “Who the hell are you?” she whispered. All at once, Kat empathized with the cultures who feared the camera would steal their souls. He’d stolen something from her, some part hidden and precious. He’d reached deep into longings she’d cast away with childhood.

  That was private. He had no right. Fury restored her voice. “I’ll buy that painting. How much do you want?”

  “It’s not for sale.”

  “You can’t work on it any longer. You can’t let anyone—”

  One dark eyebrow lifted slightly. “It’s mine. I can do whatever I wish with it.”

  “Gamble, you can’t—it’s too much. I can’t bear—” Where was fury now? He’d stripped her defenseless. Shoving weakness away, she closed in, set foot on familiar ground. “You have a price—what is it?” One scarlet nail slid down his chest as she arched to bring her breasts closer to him.

  Gamble caught her wrist in a crushing grip and shoved her back. “It’s not for sale.” His jaw flexed. “Nor am I. Get out.” He took a menacing step toward her.

  She pointed one long, scarlet-tipped finger. “Don’t you let anyone else get their hands on that painting.” He’d exposed her, opened her up to ridicule. She wasn’t that woman, but an almost visceral longing plagued her.

  “Don’t you cross me,” she warned. “I’ll ruin you.”

  “You’re not as tough as you pretend to be.”

  “You understand nothing about me.” She straightened to her full height. But deep inside her, something shivered. “I’ll leave now, but I’m warning you—our contract calls for me to handle all your work for the next year. There are no provisions for reserves. That painting is mine.” With a toss of her head, she strode to the door, trying to ignore that the hand on the doorknob was shaking.

  He didn’t say a word as she left, but she could find no comfort in his silence.

  Lucas jerked out of the half sleep that was as far as he had dared go in the doorway that had been his bed during the night. He’d walked for hours returning toward Tansy, stopping only to grab a quick bite, unable to force himself inside an enclosure, even one he was free to leave.

  The faint gray of dawn dusted the tops of buildings, but here on the street, deep shadows still held sway. He stood and stretched. Shivered, rubbing his arms, wishing for even the thinnest blanket.

  Damn this place. The city noises drove him nuts. And it was cold. He wanted to be somewhere warm and solitary and quiet, but he had to face facts. He was going nowhere yet. No matter how his soul yearned for space and a new start, one image stalked him and wouldn’t be erased.

  Tansy. More beautiful now than the girl he’d thought beyond compare. Delicate. Gentle. And vulnerable, too vulnerable.

  Lucas knew that he could not leave until he understood what had happened. Until he’d determined for himself that Tansy would be all right. Would be safe.

  He had to take immediate steps to conserve his meager funds. He must find work, and soon. With what he had now, he couldn’t afford anything but a flophouse for a room, and he was not going to any homeless shelter. Never again would he sleep in a mass of men where despair hung in a smothering cloud. He had paid with his youth, had spent all his hope inside concrete walls, had learned to be brutal to defend his life.

  Sleeping in a doorway was not the night under the stars in the wide-open spaces he longed for, however, it was better than any of his other options.

  He would do it again tonight if he had to, but he would find a job today and soon he would have a bed of his own, however humble. Four walls inside which he was king and no one could trespass. No guards. No cons. No father’s fists.

  And as soon as possible, he would depart this godforsaken city forever.

  Hours later, Lucas understood that he would never be finished paying for a night that was not of his making. That he’d educate
d himself in prison didn’t matter. He’d already applied for eleven jobs and been rejected for every one. No one wanted an ex-con with no references.

  The only jobs he’d been offered were selling dime bags to kids and selling himself. He hadn’t fought off the advances of bigger inmates only to give in now that he was free.

  So as he walked into the topless joint with the Help Wanted sign in the window, he battled with desperation. He couldn’t let it be the same old story here.

  The place was as dark inside as the windows were dirty on the front. He counted four men scattered at tables, halfheartedly watching a dancer long past her prime. She shot a glance at Lucas and cupped her beyond-belief breasts in her hands, grinding her pelvis in his direction while her tongue slid over cherry-red lips.

  He’d been a long time without a woman. Hell, he’d hardly gotten started learning women when he’d found himself locked up.

  But he wasn’t that desperate. Resignation slid through his bones. He was ready to call it quite when, from a tiny corner of his mind, Tansy’s face rose.

  Goddamn it. How much is enough? he wanted to cry out. When did he get to live his life, the one that was ripped away on a night when he was a stupid kid?

  You’ve had a difficult life, Lucas, Juliette had written. There’s goodness in you; I can’t believe you intended it to happen. I’ve asked Martin to help you, to forgive you as I do.

  Well, he didn’t, Juliette. He helped them to bury me.

  But that didn’t change what she’d done, what she’d asked. She’d believed in him when no one else had. She’d granted him mercy in her dying twilight. Him, a kid whose own mother hadn’t believed him worthy of saving.

  All Juliette had ever asked of him was that he take care of Tansy. Long before that night, she’d asked a streetwise kid to watch over her impulsive, naïve daughter. That girl was gone, but Lucas’s debt remained.

  Christ. Lucas squeezed his eyes shut, tried to block out all the noise in his head. After a long moment, he opened his eyes and saw sympathy in the eyes of the dancer.

  Life trapped people in different ways. She was here because she had nowhere else to go, and Lucas didn’t, either. He smiled at his fellow prisoner, and when she smiled back, her face was almost pretty.

  Lucas steeled himself and headed for the bartender.

  “What can I get you?” Dark eyes viewed him from a weary, lined, dark chocolate face.

  Lucas nodded back over his shoulder. “I want to see the manager. I’m here about the job.”

  “Ain’t much of a job, just washing dishes.”

  “I don’t care. I need the work.”

  The eyes scanned over him. “When you get out?”

  Shit. Lucas met the gaze evenly. “Yesterday.”

  The head cocked. “And you already lookin’ for work? Not out whorin’ and drinkin’? How long you in?”

  His heart sank. “Twenty years.”

  The eyebrows lifted slightly, but the man kept polishing the glass he was drying. “You kill a stranger?”

  The length of time he’d served was a dead giveaway that violence had been involved. “No. And I can do the job. I know how to work.”

  “So you killed somebody familiar. How close?”

  He forced his fingers to relax from the fist he’d formed. “I’ve done my time. The past is over.”

  “Past ain’t ever over, son. It’s with us till the day we die.”

  “Let me talk to the manager.”

  “You lookin’ at him. Manager, owner, chief cook and bottle washer of this fine establishment.”

  To give up and walk out was tempting. He was so damn tired of fighting. Tired, period. He forced himself to remember that picture of Tansy and Carlton Sanford.

  “I can cook, too. The warden had me cook for him.”

  “Don’t need no cook.”

  Lucas glanced around. “Good food would bring in more people.”

  “Younger tits would bring in more people. I can’t afford them, either.”

  From somewhere deep, Lucas dug for strength. “The sign says you’re hiring. If it’s washing dishes, I wash dishes. Sweeping floors, I sweep floors.” Jaw tight, he waited a second. “You don’t trust a con, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll work free for two days.”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed. “You really mean it about workin’, don’t you?”

  A tiny hope flared. “I do.” He paused, dug deeper. “I’ll beg if you want.” The word beg stuck in his throat, but Lucas didn’t have the luxury of pride right now.

  The old man studied him for a long moment. “You don’t have to do that, son. I spent some time behind bars myself in my younger days.” Slowly, he extended a hand across the bar. “Albert Jackson. You got a name?”

  Lucas’s heart beat a deafening tattoo as he lifted his own hand. “Lucas Walker, Mr. Jackson.”

  “Cool Hand Luke? You call me Al.” He shook hands firmly. “Don’t you make me regret this, boy. I won’t be made a fool.”

  “You’re not a fool, Al. I’ll do the work.”

  Al went back to his drying, though surely not one drop of moisture remained. “You got a place to stay?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Got me a cot downstairs for nights when I’m too tired to make the trip uptown. ’Spect you could use it until I find out if you work out.” He glanced sideways at Lucas. “Oh, I ain’t no fool. Money goes home with me at night. But I don’t believe you’re a thief, Luke Walker, are you?”

  Pride knotted in his throat, but he swallowed his bitter retort. “No. I’m not a thief.”

  “And you didn’t murder no stranger, so as long as I don’t get to be your friend, I ought to be safe, you think?”

  Finally, Lucas noticed the twinkle in those dark chocolate eyes. For one second, he thought he might embarrass himself as the kindness of a stranger hit him hard. Swallowing around the tightness, Lucas found a small smile. “You’ll be safe.”

  The twinkle vanished as dark eyes went serious. “Don’t disappoint me, son.”

  Lucas drew himself up to his full height. Met Al’s stare with one of his own. “I won’t.”

  “Then go pick up your stuff from wherever you got it stashed and get on back here. You go to work today.”

  Lucas started to head toward the bus station where he’d rented a small locker. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.” Then he stopped and turned. “Thank you.”

  Al jerked his head toward the door. “See if you’re still saying that tomorrow. Now, go on. Get your sorry white butt here in thirty minutes and try to convince me you can really cook.”

  Lucas nodded and headed for the door. As he passed the small stage, the overblown blonde waved goodbye.

  Lucas winked and blew her a kiss.

  Chapter Five

  Two days later, Lucas burst out of the subway car, and took the steps upward, two at a time. He’d told Al he had an errand to run before work, but he didn’t have much time before he had to be back at the bar.

  It was a fool’s errand, hoping for Tansy to come to the park again just because he’d spotted her there around this time before.

  But then it wouldn’t be the only time he’d been a fool over Tansy Gerard.

  He could still remember the day he’d first seen her, a laughing sprite usually inseparable from her bigger twin. Lucas had met Paris in the basement the day before when Paris was being punished with laundry duty. Lucas’s father, the new building super, had put him to work mopping the laundry room floor. An angry Paris dumped clothes without sorting, scattering soap on the floor Lucas had just mopped. One temper butted up against another, and soon they were pummeling each other with abandon.

  They became friends in the space of one fight.

  The next day Lucas’s father beat the hell out of him after Martin Gerard figured out who had dared to touch his precious son. Threatened with firing, Harry Walker stormed in the door, fists swinging, pounding a promise out of Lucas to stay away from those who weren’t his kind. Their luc
k had improved at last, and Lucas was not to screw it up.

  It was far from the first occasion on which Lucas had felt the bone-cracking force of his father’s fists; it wouldn’t be the last. But Lucas was growing every day, and he swore that the last time would be sooner than Harry Walker wanted to think.

  Sixteen was only months away, and Lucas planned to be gone when that day arrived. To promise to stay away from Paris Gerard was no hardship.

  Until Tansy came downstairs that same day.

  A year older than the twins, Lucas at fifteen was already tall if not yet filled out. Paris and Tansy were halves of a whole, but not equal halves. Both slender, both blond; still, brother topped sister by half a foot, and Lucas topped Paris by several inches.

  Tansy was a reed, already living up to the promise of her heartbreaking beauty, but though she looked like a fairy princess, she was as fearless as her brother, twice as impulsive. She was a genius at sneaking out without getting caught. Equal parts curiosity and mischief had brought her to see this boy who dared to touch her golden brother, The Son, the apple of Martin Gerard’s eye.

  Curiosity might have incited her to beard the lion in his den alone. Compassion made her stay.

  Lucas could still feel the touch of those dainty fingers as she fussed over the new cuts he tried to shrug away. He’d bandaged them himself, just as he’d done many times before, but nothing would do except that she must clean them better and bandage them again.

  Lucas had barely stopped her from dragging him upstairs to her mother’s tender care. Only when he’d grudgingly explained about his father’s job had she relented, but she’d told him where to meet her and Paris after school the next day, taking it for granted that he would defy his father.

  She’d been wrapping her own sire around her finger for years, covering for Paris when he got into his many scrapes. When Lucas joined them and became their Third Musketeer, he was astonished at Tansy’s talent for duplicity. Soon she’d worked her magic on his father, too. Neither man could stand in the path of Tansy’s charm, Tansy’s sweetness, Tansy’s implacable will. She wasn’t spoiled or temperamental. Tansy simply made you feel that you’d be turning down magic not to join her in whatever enthusiasm held her in its sway.