Bounty

by Aubrey St. Clair

  With a sigh, I pass her room and enter my own. I carefully place my moronic attack-package on the table, and tell myself that I didn’t make a move for many reasons, and collateral damage is just one of them. I didn’t have enough resources, no backup, goddamn I didn’t even have a way to restrain the man besides a stupid piece of twine. Nowhere to go. I would have been killed. April may have been killed. The chances of bringing him in, in that situation, were very low.

  I made the right call, even if my pride is stung. I just need to plan my next move. Should it involve April? Did I give up to spare her or not?

  It all comes down to that question.

  I could retire on this money, finally become a real PI, or hell, just completely retire from this fucking business completely.

  But then I think of April again, and her relationship with her father. How devastated she’d be.

  And yet the Irish Mafia do so much damage in the city of Boston. The thought of this slippery motherfucker getting away… untenable.

  The arguments swirl inside my brain. April. Sullivan. Using her, betraying her. Giving up now, betraying my country.

  What will it all have been for, if I don’t take him down? Using her as I’ve done is no basis for a relationship anyway. I made the right call not putting her in danger earlier, but that doesn’t mean I have to stop chasing her father.

  I have to do this.

  Now that I’ve already met Sullivan, gotten the tracker on him, I’m willing to throw caution to the wind. I call one of Vicente’s drop numbers. I’ve been out of touch since they took my phone, Vicente doesn’t even know what city I’m in. Time to bring me in, as they say.

  Vicente is pissed. I’m careful not to say anything incriminating out loud on my end. If they tap this, I’m completely fucked, but if they’ve just bugged the room, which is far more likely, I’m only a little bit fucked.

  But yeah, Vicente is livid.

  “Goddamn it, Copperhead, this was your chance!”

  “Well. I wasn’t prepared,” I say carefully.

  “They took all your stuff? Your phone, definitely,” Vicente suggests.

  “You know it, buddy!” I try to sound normal.

  “Guards?”

  “Yup.”

  “Collateral.”

  “Yup.”

  “Oh, fuck. You’ve got a goddamn hard-on for the daughter, don’t you?”

  “Nah,” I lie. “Only as much as I need, you know?”

  He laughs. “Anything else?”

  “Yes,” I say. “A party. She wants to bring me to a party.” That much, at least, the bodyguards will already have overheard. “In three weeks.”

  “He’ll be there?” Vicente is starting to sound excited.

  “Yep. April will bring me, if I want.” I don’t mention how close I was to giving up. Or how much kissing-up I’ll have to do to get that invite back. Or how shitty I feel about it all.

  “This is your last shot,” Vicente warns me. “He comes back stateside, we know he’s stateside? I can’t keep you in charge. You know that. If you don’t bring him in by that night, we lose the job, the raid squad will have to step in. There will be no bounty for you.”

  A part of me thinks, maybe that will be for the best. Would it be the worst thing in the world?

  “And you know you don’t want that,” Vicente continues. “Besides losing the money, you could lose your life. They’d take him, messily. Publicly. April could get hurt, you could get hurt. And everyone in his organization would know who’d done it. Who do you think they’ll look at, if there’s a full FBI raid on his gala? His loyal men? His daughter? No. The new guy. You.”

  “Well, they’ll know the other way, too,” I say cryptically. They’ll sure as hell know it was me if I’m the one taking him down, too.

  “You’re not getting this.” He sighs, dramatic. “Let me break it down for you. This is the perfect set up for our partnership, knucklehead. When you’re abroad, I can’t help you. If we’re stateside, I have to send every fucking guy, we have to do it through official channels. But for that one night, one night of almost-overlap, where we can say we weren’t sure he was here, but he’ll be in Boston… that night, I can send you a black ops team. Everything will still be on the up and up, legally, but I won’t have to send in fucking SWAT. You just need to make sure he can’t flee, you get him alone with no muscle, and we can send in a team like a surgical blade. Extract him. And no one will be the wiser. Hell, we could even pin it on a rival gang.”

  Somehow I’m not sure the plan will work quite as Vicente is imagining it, but I can’t explain why. Not from here.

  “Okay, buddy!” I say brightly. “Thanks for talking to me. It’s been a crazy week.”

  “No kidding, man.” He laughs. “See you stateside.”

  I’m fucking exhausted and pass out immediately.

  28

  April

  Liam does figure out how to make it to the airport without me. It makes me feel insanely guilty to leave without him, but once I’ve announced something like that, I feel too foolish to take it back.

  Though, I am a fool. I might as well admit it.

  We keep to ourselves during the flight back. It’s easy enough, on my dad’s private jet. And I have plenty to occupy my head.

  But even though I spend most of the flight trying to talk myself into ending it all officially, as I promised myself I would, I still can’t escape the fact that I still want him.

  He passes me on the way to the bathroom, and just the warmth off his body as he walks by makes me feel safe. When he’s near, I feel both in control, and completely out of control. I feel comfortable with the intrinsic dichotomy of life — that I am the only thing I can control, and that I can be okay with that.

  I also still want very badly to fuck him. On the plane. Again.

  Movies keep me occupied. And the crossword, which I hate. But anything to keep my eyes off of him. To distract myself from running over and jumping into his lap.

  We disembark silently, and he walks me to the car that’s waiting for me. I know he’s not going to join me, so I turn to him. Force myself to meet his gaze, instead of staring at my shoes.

  “Well. Liam. Thank you very much for saving my life. And thank you for attending dinner with my father and I.”

  “April –”

  I ignore him and power through what I want to say. If I stop now, I may never be able to get through it. “My father will probably try to pay you something for your efforts. I’d just take it, if I were you. He’ll trust in your silence, that way.”

  “April you always do this. Give me these little rehearsed speeches. Just talk to me.”

  But I know he doesn’t want that.

  “I just…” I hold out my hand, and he pauses, looking at it for a moment before he shakes it. “Thanks, is all.”

  “April, wait...”

  But I have to go, or I’ll cry. I have to go, or I won’t go through with it. So I try to walk away tall, accepting this loss with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.

  But I can’t help but call to him, just before I duck into the town car, “The invitation still stands. For the party. State Street and Congress Ave, 8pm on November 30th. I think I’ll need a date, anyway.”

  Then I’m off.

  The time passes both slowly, and quickly, without Liam. I feel like I’ve known him forever, but it’s only been weeks since I met him. Not long at all to fall for someone.

  Work helps me keep my mind off him, most of the time. The big order for dad is going well. Blowing glass keeps my mind busy, as does mixing copper and gold alloys. When I’m immersed in my work, the days slide by. I think of him only in little jolts, especially when I examine the cage he brought me.

  My collection is still based around it. I wish he could see them.

  I go on a few other dates, but they’re all pretty useless. Nobody can compare to that electricity, that implicit understanding. That strength and shared history. They way Liam made m
e feel, the way he paid attention to all the little details, cherished them. The way he could undress me with just his eyes.

  I try not to hold out hope. I don’t expect him to actually come to the gala. And even if he does, what guarantee is that? It’s not automatic reconciliation. But some stupid part of me thinks that if he shows up to this, after all this time apart… it’ll mean something. For the both of us.

  And when it’s finally the evening of the 30th, I can’t help but feel, as I slip on my heels and work on my gently waving curls, that I am dressing up for him.

  29

  Liam

  She invited me. After everything that happened and everything I did, she gave me what I needed more than anything else — a time, date, and location of her father, in the United States.

  And despite the fact that I try to keep the thought at bay, I can’t help but also wonder if she also gave me something I want even more. Some hope that she still wants me.

  I pass by November in a daze. Of course, Vicente and I try to prepare for the big night. It’s the most intensive homeland black ops in recent memory, and Vicente is running it solo. There are a lot of planning sessions, a lot of strategizing. We gather as much information as we can about potential guests, the organization.

  Here’s the thing, though. I don’t give him the address. He doesn’t know I know it. I tell him I know the size of the venue, and that it’ll be downtown, and that I’ll call him or text him as soon as I’m there.

  He has no idea.

  I don’t trust him not to pull the trigger without my consent. I don’t want him to swoop this from me… or make any decisions I’m not ready to make.

  I have my own plan in my back pocket.

  State Street and Congress. Could these thugs truly be so bold, to throw a gangster-funded gala at the Great Room, one of the ritziest venues in Boston? God, they’re really asking for it. Somewhere so public, anyone could rat them out.

  It’s a show of power. Of arrogance. Of hubris.

  Truth is, I wouldn’t necessarily have to go with April, now that I have the information. We could just send in his black ops team. But I’m the best chance of getting Devlin alone. Making it possible to take him down less publicly. And then there’s also always the possibility that April gave me the wrong address. To throw me off. Intentionally or not.

  She doesn’t know my motives, so it likely wouldn’t be on purpose? Unless, between meeting her father and arriving home, she figured it out. But more likely, if it’s the wrong address it’s because her father gave her the wrong address, and intends to claim a last minute switch of venues.

  Either way, I could just track her. I still have her GPS-chipped. She hasn’t changed phones yet, and that alone is more proof of her innocence in all of this than anything else to me. Any good criminal knows to change phones often.

  So there are a lot of possibilities on the table, and Vicente and I talk through each one. But ultimately I want to — no, need to — finish this myself. Not that I’d ever tell him, that.

  Either I’m going to reconcile with April and make a break for it before his team descends, or I’m going to take down her father at this party. There’s no other way for this to end.

  But I’m not even sure which option I’ll take, even as I’m securing my bow tie. Formal wear again. But there’s still space for me to pack a small millimeter weapon in my breast pocket, and my knife along my ankle. And my zip-ties, much better hidden this time around.

  It’s a gloomy night, with an ominous fog hanging over the city, turning all the street lamps into halos. I bring myself to State and Congress and wait in the cold for April’s arrival, watching my breath as it billows out.

  What’s it going to be, Copperhead?

  There’s a tap on my shoulder, and I whirl around.

  It’s April, looking absolutely radiant in the fog, backlit by the streetlamp in a way that makes her seem to glow. Her face is flushed pink, and a smile of pure joy blossoms across her face.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” I breathe, unable to stop myself.

  She stands before me, just quietly, profoundly happy to see me. It must have taken so much courage for her to invite me. For her to come meet me here. After everything.

  My eyes devour her, as hers do me.

  It was in that moment that I realize, suddenly and absolutely, that I love her. This isn’t just a mark that I was attracted to. It wasn’t just a cool chick I liked, and fucked, out of lust and selfishness. The way I completely lost my shit over April, it wasn’t just lust. It was kinship. It was kismet. It was something incredibly rare. Something in me recognized something in her.

  It’s even more than that. This amazing, gorgeous, thoughtful, strong woman sees something in me. It’s like we found each other, found the one we’d been searching so long for, and that’s something really special. Something you don’t let go of easily.

  What’s more important that? Nothing.

  And I almost let it go.

  I’d give anything to get it back and let it flourish. I know that now. Maybe part of me knew that back in Panama, too. Maybe that’s what caused my hesitation.

  If I can make April Fitzpatrick happy, then nothing else matters. Bagging a high profile mark doesn’t matter. Stopping crime doesn’t matter. My pride certainly doesn’t matter.

  Only April matters.

  It’s taken me almost too long to realize it, but now that I do, I’m not going to forget.

  “Ready to go?” she asks me eventually, and something about her tone of voice, the way she’s making eye-contact with me, I know that she’s come to the same realization.

  There is peace, finally, between us. But I have to come clean, or this will never work. Even if that means risking rejection, risking blowing the operation.

  Only April matters.

  “Wait, April. I have to tell you something, first. It’s important.” I say.

  She waits, expectant. Trusting.

  I take a deep breath.

  DEEDLE DEET DEET DEET DEET DOO, DOO.

  My fucking phone.

  We both let out little whinnies of nervous, joyous laughter. I look at my phone, and it’s Vicente.

  “I’m so sorry darling,” I say. “I have to take this. It’s related to what I want to — I just have to take it. You’ll see.”

  “Okay.” She smiles. “I’ll wait by the car.” She gestures to the ubiquitous town car that I’ve come to associate with her and her father.

  I stroll a little way down the street and hiss into the phone.

  “Vicente, what?”

  “Copperhead. You there yet? What’s the address?” He sounds just a bit tense. Understandable. But something else clicks in my brain, and I now know exactly what I need to do.

  I give Vicente an address and some details, but I warn him to hold off, not to strike until I give the word. I spend a few minutes laying it on thick, reminding him of the plan and what we expect and how it’s supposed to all go down. Too much is at stake here, and I’m not leaving anything to chance anymore. I won’t put April at risk.

  “I want to make sure I have the bastard under my control before you guys come in. I want this bounty, Vicente. After everything I’ve been through to get it, I deserve this bounty.”

  “Right on, I get it. Just don’t fuck it up, Copperhead.”

  I hang up.

  And then I realize, quiet like a cat, April has approached and is standing right behind me. I have no idea how much she heard, but by the look on her face, it was enough.

  The grief on her face hits me like a ton of bricks in the gut. Her eyes are like black coal in the dark, her lips one flat line of betrayal.

  “You motherfucker.”

  And then she takes off.

  30

  April

  My heart and mind race as I pound down the pavement to the gala. Liam must be hot on my heels, but I wore boots, not heels.

  I’m fast. Liam, apparently, is struggling. Or maybe still staring in shock, lik
e an idiot. Did he really not think I might come back out to fetch him, eventually? Or maybe he’s just calling for reinforcements.

  That bastard.

  He told them to come find us. He told them who will be here, where my father will be, how to take them down. He’s sold us out to the police or someone else, I’m not sure.

  He said something about a bounty.

  So I guess my father really is on the run, and Liam was sent to track him down. He used me. He was never interested in me at all. He just wanted to get close to me to get to my father. For a bounty.

  I have to warn Dad.

  Nothing else matters.

  The rhythm of my feet fills my ears as I run, the clatter of my boots against the concrete. I’m almost to the front doors of the hotel, I can already make out the bouncers. But soon I hear another set of footsteps, hot on my heels. Liam, calling my name.

  I burst through the entrance hall, but it takes too long, the doors are too slow, and he catches up to me. He grabs my arm, and when I try to jerk away, he spins me into him, wrapping me in an embrace.

  I hate him for how good it feels to have his hot breath in my ear.

  “If you tell your dad, I’m dead,” he huffs.

  I push him off and slap him. And then I’m running again, and this time I’m truly faster, nimble on my feet. I know this hotel, I’ve been here before, everyone knows me. I dodge through people, leap up the grand staircase while he’s getting waylaid, my dad’s men trying to stop him. He’s so obviously acting like an intruder.

  As I dash through the main gallery space, I see my work on display. Everything I’ve created this autumn, all the pain and confusion, and all the.. fuck… all the love I felt for Liam, built into clocks, the time ticking down. The colors swirling, the hands jerking around and around. It’s enough to make me dizzy, being faced with my own creations.