by Kilby Blades
Tanya had never seen Liv before. Not surprising. Tanya had only moved in three months before and had barely been home since she’d closed on the sale. She’d yet to meet any of her neighbors beyond friendly waves in the parking lot.
Tate eyed Liv with caution. “What unit did you say you lived in?”
Liv smiled broadly. “46G,” she said, and pointed to the silver vehicle on the other side of the police barrier, “That’s my Range Rover.” She winked at Tate. “You can take down my plate if you’re worried.”
Tate eyed her warily and nodded with a tight smile, seemingly satisfied, then turned to Tanya. “I’m rolling off shift. I’ll pick up something for us to eat on my way home from the station. In the meantime, my house is your house. Make yourself at home. I mean it.”
His warm, protective gaze ran over her again, as if to make sure she was stable on her feet. “Towels are in the closet next to the upstairs bathroom if you want to take a shower. I’ll be there in an hour or so.”
Warmth spread through her like a comforting blanket. “Thank you, Tate.”
He eyed her purse. “Can I see your cell phone?”
“I’ll hold those,” Liv volunteered cheerily. Tanya transferred her precious cargo to Liv, retrieved the cell from her purse, and handed it to Tate.
He keyed in some numbers and handed it back. “I programmed myself into your contacts. Just text if you need anything.” He started to go then turned back like he had forgotten something. “It’s really good to see you again, T-Girl,” he said softly, her long ago nickname rolling off his tongue and sending her back in time. Then he continued his jog over to the nearest fire truck.
Tanya drew in a deep breath as she watched his tall form and retreating back. It all felt so surreal.
She’d always expected to see Tate on the field playing for the NFL. How had he ended up a firefighter? Then again, it made sense. He had wanted to make a difference after his father died, and they both had the utmost respect for all of the emergency workers who’d sacrificed their safety, and some ultimately their lives, to work the 9/11 pile looking for survivors and remains. Her father had worked for Cantor Fitzgerald, and his for Marsh & McLennan. In the end, neither of their families had much to bury.
Exhaustion hit her along with hunger pangs. She hoped she could wait until Tate came with food. She would need the strength. It would be a long night ahead, starting with a call to her insurance company.
A parting glance at her smoldering home left her feeling queasy.
She smiled weakly at Liv and took back her photos. “I have to pick up my suitcase before we go,” she said, and glanced across the parking lot next to the police car where she had abandoned it earlier.
It was gone.
Liv pulled up outside a brightly lit two-story Victorian home that looked like it had slipped off the pages of Architectural Digest.
Tanya’s lips fell open, and she double-checked the address. Definitely number twenty-five.
Did he live here alone? This was no bachelor pad. The Victorian was stately and elegant, sided in tan clapboard with white trim, gray fish scale shingles hung on the peaks over the windows, while dentil molding and architectural fretwork accented the house in all the right places. Low boxwood shrubs surrounded a wraparound porch and a tall, majestic oak tree overhung the house, completing the picture of suburban bliss.
Tanya grabbed the passenger door handle.
“Good luck with everything,” Liv said, and gave a sly wink. “Especially with that hunky firefighter.”
Tanya blushed. “He’s an old friend from high school…” She inwardly cringed, thinking about what had happened at the end. All her fault. Every bit of it. “My track record with men is pretty bad. I still owe this one an apology.”
Liv gave her shoulder a little nudge and smiled wide. “Get woke, woman! Did you see the way he looked at you? My money’s on forgiveness.” She winked. “Don’t let me down.”
Tanya’s cheeks heated, and she couldn’t hold back a grin. “Thanks for the ride. It was really nice to meet you,” she said, her words heartfelt.
As for Tate, she hoped Liv was right, but she’d been around the block enough times to know that life was never that simple. Tate had offered her a place to stay. That was all.
Clutching her precious cargo to her chest, Tanya approached the house and sighed.
She caught the stench of burning embers clinging to her clothes. A shower ranked highest on her priority list, even over food…until she remembered that all her things were inside the stolen suitcase.
Her shoulders slumped. All she had right now were the clothes on her back and the memories cradled in her arms. It reminded her of a time when she’d lived with less.
She thought of those lean years in L.A. after she’d broken out with her hit single, I’ll Carry You with Me. After she’d overextended herself financially only to find out the contract she’d signed with the record label had lined everyone’s pockets but hers. After she’d ran through her inheritance to break the contract, paid off her debts, and cut new demos to move her career forward. But that never quite happened. She toured with some bands but never saw another record deal. Ten years of her life were spent trying to keep the promise to her father before she walked away, disillusioned, and became a flight attendant.
Sadly, the only time she sang now was in the shower.
Tanya climbed the wide front steps. She juggled the boxes in her hands and slipped the key Tate had given her into the lock. It opened with a soft click, and she walked into comfortably warm air. R&B music played over a built-in sound system, the effect simultaneously unsettling and welcoming.
Her cell dinged with a new text. She laid her stuff on a small table inside the door that had a small tray containing a pair of earbuds and some loose change and dug for her phone.
Looks like you arrived safely. Turned on lights and music with app on my phone. Didn’t want you to freak out and think someone was in the house
Relief cascaded through her in a giant wave. Her shoulders relaxed and she laughed softly before typing a reply.
Thanks for letting me know. I’d wondered.
He responded. What do you like on your pizza? I’m stopping at Arturo’s
Her stomach answered with an eager gurgle at the thought of one of their wood-fired creations. Anything but peppers!
You got it! See you soon.
Something warm fluttered again in her chest. Choking back discomfort with the intimacy of her next request, she typed, Mind if I borrow something to wear? My suitcase seems to have disappeared.
Three dots appeared.
LOL, help yourself. Will call my buddy, he’s a cop in Maplewood. Will see what I can find out about the suitcase.
Tanya smiled despite herself. Thanks!
Tucking her cell phone back inside her purse, Tanya could have sworn she caught a flash of gray out of the corner of her eye as it dashed around a corner and disappeared into the room on the left.
Tanya’s mood brightened. A cat? Tate hadn’t mentioned a cat. She loved animals but traveled too much to have a pet. She felt bad for startling the poor thing.
She kicked off her heels next to the entry table, padded across the shiny hardwood floor, and wandered after the animal into what turned out to be a richly appointed living room with modern art, inset lighting, and an Oriental rug to warm the space.
Tanya’s brow rose, impressed. Then again, Tate had fine taste even back in high school. Wasn’t he the one who helped her pick a new duvet set and repaint her bedroom in an effort to cheer her up when they’d first met?
Masculine and functional, the room had a massive flat screen television that hung over the fireplace mantel with a plush dove gray sectional arranged for perfect viewing. In front of it, a large square coffee table made from a highly polished slab of burled wood on an iron stand. On top sat a basket of remote controls, a bowl of mixed nuts, a nutcracker, and randomly scattered coasters with navy blue Giants logos.
Pic
king up one of the coasters, she wondered again why Tate didn’t go pro after college, and then chastised herself.
Maybe you’d know if you hadn’t abandoned him all those years ago.
She sighed, shoved back the regret, and wove her way through the dining room, where tarps and paint cans were piled neatly in a corner. It was a work-in-progress compared to the living room.
Still no sign of Tate’s feline companion, she stepped into his renovated kitchen and gasped. Painted in pearl gray with white maple cabinets and a matching island, the kitchen was a chef’s delight with richly grained granite covering every surface, a Viking professional stove, and a Subzero refrigerator. All complemented by the gray-stained wooded floors. A chill traversed her spine with the first uplifting thought she’d had since discovering the fire: This is how she would rebuild her kitchen.
A chiming doorbell interrupted her reverie. Tanya walked swiftly down the hallway and pulled open the tall door expecting to see Tate.
Instead, a large package sat on the front porch with a big red bow and an envelope with her name.
Brows furrowed, she cautiously approached the brightly wrapped box, plucked the small card from where it was taped, and opened it.
No one’s Valentine’s Day should ever suck this much.
Liv & Your neighbors at The Commons
“Are you out of your effing mind?!” Bach’s exasperated voice boomed through the Bluetooth multi-media speaker in the rented Range Rover. Parked around the block from Tate’s house, Olivia slumped lower in the seat and tried not to feel like a stalker.
Bach had blown a gasket when he’d found out she’d gone to Jersey, entered the play, and made contact with their targets.
Olivia ground her teeth, lowered the speaker volume, and hovered her finger over the disconnect button on the steering wheel, seriously contemplating hanging up on him.
“Liv, you’re breaking every rule in the book! What the hell’s the matter with you?”
“Don’t get preachy,” she finally snapped. What was one more broken rule? Their offshore bets would do more to land them in hot water than her inserting herself into a play. “I was worried! We burnt someone’s house down. Shoot me! I wanted to make sure she was all right.” That was one of the reasons, anyway.
It had been a while since Bach had gone ape shit on her for something she’d done on a play. He’d get over it, he always did. But Bach’s tight tone told her it might take a while this time.
An unintelligible growl preceded his next words. “That’s what we pay deployment and execution teams for, Liv! I can’t believe you told her your name. And you left her a bleedin’ package? Are you insane? What’s so difficult to understand about ‘no involvement with the targets’?”
Olivia pictured Bach’s flushed face as he sat on his plush leather couch in front of a bank of monitors covering the betting pools and the live odds for every bookmaker taking some of the action. As the scenario unfolded between the couple, the execution team processed their observations and uploaded fresh data into the algorithms, which potentially changed the probability of success and the bookmakers’ odds.
Of course, the team had spotted her. She hadn’t been trying to hide. But they knew better than to record it or report it to anyone but Bach.
She and Bach had only two rules: stay out of the plays and don’t get caught laying their own offshore bets.
Lucky in Love had already banked the first payout for Tanya and Tate reconnecting at the fire scene, upping their corporate coffers over a million dollars, but that paled in comparison to how much they had riding on the final outcome—a kiss before midnight.
Today of all days, she wanted Tanya and Tate’s happiness as much as she needed that juicy payout. Hence, her flagrant disregard for one of their rules.
“That’s the second time you’ve questioned my sanity in one phone call,” Liv said to the lunatic who’d programmed a fire scenario into their algorithm. A sexy, lovable lunatic, but still a freaking lunatic. They were getting nowhere. She should’ve never answered the phone. Just wait until she told him what she’d snatched from Tanya’s apartment before the team had even arrived. Then he’d really question her mental health.
“And you still haven’t answered me!” he snarled.
Heat traveled along her neck. “And I don’t plan to!”
Bach’s frustration was palpable. “We’re not the only ones with eyes on this. What do you think Spiro will do if he catches wind of this?”
Something she didn’t want to think about. Okay, fine. He had a point. Regardless, she pouted and changed the subject. “Why did you call anyway?”
He released a breath. “For the love of Pete, don’t change the bloody subject!”
She dug her heels in, her tone turning frosty. “Why’d you call?”
He swore again and sighed. “I wanted to make sure you were…all right.”
Crap, here it comes. “Why wouldn’t I be all right?” she asked, swallowing hard, not wanting to discuss it. The second reason why she sat there on her ass running surveillance when it wasn’t her job. Plain and simple, she needed a constructive distraction.
His voice softened. “You know why.”
She played dumb. “I do?”
He blew out a defeated breath. “Come on, Liv. I called because…I was worried about you.”
Five years later and it still gnawed at the center of her chest. The mugging, Marcus collapsing in a pool of blood and dying in her arms on Valentine’s Day.
“I’m fine, really,” she lied, then waded into Bach’s personal shark-infested waters. She wasn’t the only one with steamer trunk-sized baggage. “What about you? How are you?”
He met her question with silence.
“Bach?”
Nothing but a deep exhale. “Stop deflecting. This isn’t about me,” he said finally. “Leave Jersey and come back to the city…Come to my flat.” His voice held a familiar ache, the one it got when he tried to take care of her. From anyone else, it would feel too close to pity, but not from him. Not tonight.
Despite all the innuendo they traded, they’d never come close to crossing the line. Besides, her being a hot mess since Marcus died and Bach’s unending parade of women to avoid his pain, on paper, they weren’t well suited. Regardless, he’d always been there for her. No matter what. And she for him.
In reality, her feelings for Bach were complicated. Not to mention her strict ‘don’t shit where you eat’ policy. Like it or not, their livelihood depended on it. And in truth, even dead, Marcus still occupied a big part of her heart. But more and more lately, Bach’s pull on her grew.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “Thanks. I’ll call you later.” She hit the “end call” button on the steering wheel before he could reply.
She may not be getting a happy ever after tonight, but she damn well wanted to give one to Tanya and Tate.
She checked the GPS tracking app on her phone. Tate’s car was still parked at the firehouse. Screw it, she’d circle back and monitor this scenario from a visual distance. What else did she have to do?
Her phone rang. She checked the caller ID. Her mother. Oh, hell, no. She sent it to voicemail.
Bach called back. She let it ring. He called again.
Again.
Again.
She parked two houses down from Tate’s, far enough away from the surveillance van, and killed the lights. Circumventing Bluetooth, she answered on Bach’s fifth attempt.
“What?!” she whisper-hissed into the phone.
“About fucking time! Since you’ve inserted yourself into the surveillance, did you think to tap into the camera feeds lately?” he ground out, thoroughly pissed off.
What was the point of that? Tanya was alone. Rather than answer, she sniped, “We have people for that, as you recently reminded me. Why?” Couldn’t he just let her stalk in peace and play Candy Crush until Tate arrived?
“You’re not going to bloody believe it,” he gritted.
“What?�
�� she asked, her annoyance turning to apprehension.
“We have an X factor,” he said.
The hairs prickled on the back of her neck. Was he serious? God, this couldn’t be happening.
She counted to five and calmly asked, “Can we adjust the bets?” The payouts would grow in inverse proportion to the likelihood of success. A massive payout for anyone who beat the odds and bet the kiss would happen, but a huge loss for the same bets if it didn’t.
“Too late, we’re locked. We need that damnable kiss by midnight or we’ll be living on gluten-free noodles for the foreseeable future.” His voice held an edge of panic.
Shitballs. She checked her watch. Three hours until midnight. Plenty of time to eliminate a threat. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she rubbed her forehead and asked, “What is it? Please don’t tell me it’s another rabid fox.”
“Close. There’s a bloody goddamn squirrel in the house.”
She almost laughed. “Really? Is it rabid?”
“Doesn’t look like it, no. Must have gotten in since we set up the cameras.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I can’t believe I’m actually saying this,” he said, and growled with frustration. “The team needs your help.”
Her brow furrowed. “My help? Why do they need my help? Do I look like I know anything about freaking pest control?”
He blew out a breath and seemed to regain his patience along with his cool. “Please, Liv. Just go meet Jeff. He’ll fill you in.”
Pressing her eyes shut, she sighed and hoped she wouldn’t be sorry. “Fine. I’ll call you later…And Bach? I have a feeling you’re going to owe me big time for this one.”
He snorted a laugh, “At this rate, I may have to pay you in trade.”
“Swine.” She hung up and did her best to ignore the warm tingles filling her nether region at the thought of a trade payment from Bach.
“You want me to what?” Olivia sat in the surveillance van across from Jeff and Tim, their execution team, and stared at them, incredulous. To quote Bach, had they lost their effing minds?