Blood Ties: A Grace Harper Novel

by J. T. Hardy

  Chapter Four

  The hat and cover-up were back in my go-bag by the time Libby's car pulled up outside the Fast Auto Fix. I slipped out of the waiting room and into her car, checking the street as I moved.

  Nothing out of the ordinary but me.

  "Thanks for the ride," I said, setting the go-bag by my feet. Libby had changed into a dark gray T-shirt and white shorts that looked tough and summery at the same time.

  "No problem, but don't you live around here?"

  "Don't go to my place," I blurted.

  She shot me a wary glance. "Oh-kay, why not?"

  Dialing Libby's number had felt right at the time, but this was above and beyond the friendship we'd started. Sure, she'd stood up for me when that X-ray tech was convinced I'd taken her yogurt, and she'd had my back when some of the other PTAs started hazing me, but could I honestly expect her to...ugh, this sucks.

  "Have you eaten yet?" I must have hit my head harder than I'd thought not to have an excuse ready.

  She kept looking at me, but her expression was more puzzled than worried she was riding with a crazy woman. "Not yet."

  "Want to grab a bite?"

  "Grace, what's going on?"

  "What do you mean?"

  She scoffed and flicked a hand at me. "Please, you have suspicious written all over you. What is it, guy trouble? Dodging creditors? An awkward pass in my direction?"

  "No, nothing like that."

  "Enlighten me."

  That was a peek into the mystical she really didn't want. "It's stupid."

  "You think I've never been stupid before?"

  From what I'd seen? Probably not.

  I sighed and fished out a pinch of truth. "I was at Frisco's earlier. A gas leak exploded in the building next door while I was in the parking lot. It was small, no big deal--" I hastily added as her questions started. "But I guess it wigged me out more than I'd thought. I didn't want to go home."

  "Are you okay? Was anyone hurt?"

  "I'm fine, a small bump on the old noodle is all." I smiled and lightly rapped my knuckles against my head.

  "Paramedics said you could go home?"

  A simple yes would get me off the hook, but the lie didn't want to pop free this time. "I barely bumped it."

  She rolled her eyes and muttered something in Spanish. "You're coming home with me."

  "I don't want to spoil your vacation." But a weight lifted off me.

  She waved a hand as if brushing away my hesitation. "It's not a real vacation. Makes no difference when I get there."

  A dark sedan slid out of a side street two cars behind us. I kept one eye on it. If it didn't turn, I wasn't leading it back to Libby's.

  "I don't want to be a burden."

  She grinned. "Sure you do."

  "What?"

  Laughter this time. "You got spooked and wanted some company. Who else would you call? Daisy the devil child? You don't know anybody." She made a left. The sedan rolled past us on its original course.

  "I suppose not." I smiled back, and actually meant it. Dad would scold me for a week when he heard about this, but some things were worth the risk. "I know it's silly."

  "It's fine. We've all had those nights. Besides, my family would tear me a new one if I ignored a friend in need."

  My throat tightened. I'd met people I'd liked before, but friendships were too painful when you knew you'd have to vanish with no notice or explanation. Libby had made it easier to try. We'd just clicked, right from the start.

  "Thanks," I finally answered. "I appreciate it."

  I leaned back against the seat and felt, well, not safe exactly, but not in any immediate danger. One night at Libby's would give me time to think and figure out what to do.

  "You look pensive," Libby said.

  "Hmm? Sorry. You might have been right about that guy trouble thing."

  "Boyfriend or ex?"

  I winced. Me and my big mouth. "Neither. It's nothing."

  Her eyes narrowed. "Stalker?" Her tight grip on the steering wheel hinted she knew something about that. The coldness in her tone said she wasn't going to let this drop, either.

  "Yes and no. It's complicated."

  "Ay, mamita, it always is."

  Libby unlocked the door and led me into her apartment. I'd been there a few times, but had never stayed long. The place was homey. Photos of handsome, smiling guys--most of them in fatigues--hung on the walls. She'd decorated with stylish furniture in muted colors, soft, yet not overly feminine. A bookcase filled with novels in English and Spanish sat behind an overstuffed chair with a matching ottoman. I kept meaning to ask her to explain the custom-painted three-foot model of an Imperial AT-AT Walker standing next to a piano.

  I took a deep breath. No spicy woodfire scent, and everything smelled fresh and clean.

  "I don't mean to pry," Libby began, "but what are you hiding from?"

  "Hiding?"

  She tossed her purse onto a writing table by the door that gave the room a finished look. "You're jumpy, and you checked the mirrors all the way over."

  "I was almost blown up. It unsettles the nerves." And batters the body, which I was definitely starting to feel despite the aspirin.

  "Plus, you know how to evade a question. What is it? Witness protection?"

  "They told us not to talk about it. People might die."

  Libby snorted.

  "Have I mentioned how much I like your place?" I said, envious.

  She rolled her eyes. "Is this a temporary wig out or do you need a night to regroup?"

  "Uh..."

  "Answers that. There's a fold-out couch in the room down the hall. You'll find a spare toothbrush in the drawer under the mirror in the bathroom, and some hotel soaps and shampoos are in the basket on the vanity. Help yourself."

  "Thank you." Unexpected tears welled. I'd gone to a sleepover once when I was twelve with the daughter of one of the guys Dad worked with one summer. Seemed dumb to me, sleeping on the floor, telling scary stories, though it might have been more fun if I'd participated. I had the scariest stories of all.

  She hesitated, staring at me again like she was waiting for me to come clean. "Feels like a hot chocolate night," she said when I stayed silent.

  "It's eighty degrees out."

  "You're turning down chocolate?"

  "I didn't say that."

  "Didn't think so." She shot me a "whenever you're ready to talk" look as she bustled about the kitchen. The two cabinets on either side of the sink had glass doors, and all of the glasses inside matched. Mugs on one side, wine on the other. More photos of soldiers on the refrigerator. Somebody had a fetish.

  Libby heated the milk without a word, staring out the window over her sink at an actual view to a park across the street. No sounds broke the quiet but the clink of spoon on metal. She used real milk and squares of chocolate melted in a real pot. She even added cinnamon and what I'd swear was chili powder, though I had to have misread that.

  Once it was melted, she pulled out a gizmo and whipped it into something frothy. It smelled amazing. Exotic and sweet. Gooseflesh rippled down my arm. It's just chocolate, relax.

  She slid the mug to me, still quiet.

  Maddening.

  Libby reminded me of one of my fourth-grade teachers. Whenever anyone screwed up, he'd stare them down until they confessed. Took him fifteen minutes to crack me when I broke the projector once. Probably still a record.

  I blew on the frothy goodness and sipped cautiously, mind whirling, sorting through lies and half-truths. The real truth kept knocking them aside, demanding to be heard.

  I wish.

  The hot chocolate was amazing. Rich and creamy, with a hint of heat.

  Libby grabbed a box of Girl Scout cookies from the cabinet and rolled a tube of Thin Mints toward me. She hadn't blinked since I sat down.

  Damn, the girl was good.

  Nine cookies in, I caved. "Fine, someone broke into my apartment."

  "Did you call the police?"

&nb
sp; I shook my head. "Nothing was stolen. I had this weird vibe I wasn't alone, so I left."

  She slid her phone across the counter this time. "Call the police."

  "And say what? The heebie jeebies spooked me after a bang on the head? No. Waste of their time."

  "They can send someone to check it out. Trust your gut."

  "Yeah, well, my gut is calling me a wussy girl."

  Her huff said she didn't buy that either. "I'll go over with you in the morning and we'll make sure everything is secure."

  "You don't have to do that."

  "I know, but I'm super nice that way." She sipped her drink. "Any news on your dad?"

  My whole body jerked. "Excuse me?"

  "I overheard you a few times on the phone. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but you hear "chemo," you notice, even in a hospital." She shrugged. "I figured you'd talk about it eventually, but I've known chattier SEALs"

  "Everything's fine." I gestured at her fridge with the mug. "You date a lot of soldiers?"

  "Not especially. How's he doing?"

  "Staying positive. Brothers?"

  "Four of them are. You heading home to see him between assignments?"

  I sighed. "Why do you care?"

  She took another cookie and pointed it at me. "Because you're my friend."

  "You've known me six months." But it felt like I'd known her forever.

  "So? My parents fell in love and got married in that amount of time. There's no minimum on friendship."

  "You're going to make me cry."

  "Grace, cut the crap. The loner act is getting old."

  I gripped my mug. "Who says it's an act?"

  "I do, and I know it well. I also know that look."

  "What look?"

  She took another cookie. "The same one I had right before I bought that damn piano."

  "I've no intention of buying a piano." I'd asked for lessons once. Dad bought me a harmonica and a teach-yourself-to-play book. Dad, please call back.

  "Neither did I, but I was a girl who lived out of a duffel most of her life. Then I was struck with this irrational urge to own something I couldn't shove into a suitcase." She popped the cookie into her mouth and crunched.

  I pictured my impulse-buy throw pillows, which I might not see again. They were just pillows, but it hurt.

  "You're tired of temporary, you're tired of being alone all the time, and you're tired of lying to everyone that you prefer it that way." She cocked her head and studied me through squinted eyes. "Unless I read you wrong."

  I doubted Libby had ever read anyone wrong in her life.

  "It's a brain tumor," I said, my throat catching. "Grade four."

  "Damn, that sucks." Sympathy softened her face, but no pity ruined it. "How long does he have?"

  "Should have died a year ago."

  Her eyebrows raised. "Tough bastard. I know the type--my dad was career military."

  "You were an Army brat?"

  "Marines. You name a country with a base in it, and I've probably lived there."

  "I've lived in thirty-seven states."

  "Seriously?"

  I nodded. "Six were on assignment, but the rest were regular moves. My dad's in construction, so we changed cities a lot." Usually unexpectedly.

  "Sounds like the military. What about your mom?"

  I twitched, but she didn't seem to notice. "Died when I was five. Yours?"

  "Was the terror of whatever base she was on. I've seen four-star generals cringe in her presence."

  I chuckled, but the coiled knot in my chest wouldn't loosen. Dad had had plenty of time to get to the safe house by now. Unless he didn't remember where the safe house was. If he'd had an episode, he might forget he was running at all.

  Worrying is pointless until you know something.

  I held up my mug, nerves--and muscles--screaming so loudly Libby was bound to notice. "Have anything stronger to mix with this?"

  "I do indeed."

  She opened one of the cabinets by the sink and pulled out a bottle. Fruity sweetness filled the kitchen as she poured what smelled like cherry liquor into my mug.

  I sipped. It burned smooth and silky down my throat. "Mmm."

  "Bought it in Paris from a little old Italian guy. Didn't speak a word of English, but what a riot he was."

  "That was pre-piano I take it?"

  She nodded. "My brothers took me there for my twenty-first birthday."

  Libby seemed a little older than me, so maybe twenty-seven, twenty-eight now. "How long have you lived in Lauderdale?"

  "Two years. Did the traveling PTA gig for a while, too."

  "And then you bought a piano."

  She chuckled and licked some spilled liquor off her finger. "Craziest urge I ever had, but it's my anchor now. I figured I'd give the whole roots concept a chance. Gave it six months. Plan was, if it didn't take, I'd sell the thing and take off."

  "Do you miss it?"

  "Sometimes. Still get restless though. I indulge in a lot of road trips. Good for the soul." She sipped her chocolate and fixed her gaze on me. "You could try it."

  "The piano? I don't play."

  She shot me an "oh please" look.

  I hunched over my mug. "I'd have to learn everybody's names."

  "That's what I said, and before long, I knew everybody's names."

  "Some of us aren't meant to put down roots."

  "Some of us topple over if we don't." She tipped her mug toward me. "You look like you're looking for a solid patch of dirt, is all."

  A default ring tone burst from my pocket. I grabbed the alternative phone, my stomach twisting.

  "Dad? Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine, Apple-cheeks, are you all right?"

  "Yes." I glanced at Libby, who turned away and started cleaning up the kitchen as if she wasn't listening to every word. "There was an explosion, sort of, but I'm fine."

  "Leave right now if you can. Go to your mother's."

  Code for dump your ID, grab one from your safety stash, and go someplace you've never been to before. Icy cold shot through me. "What about you?"

  "My running days are over, Butternut. If they find me, they find me. Maybe that'll be enough to keep them away from you."

  "No, you need to--"

  "I love you, Grace."

  Those words were off limits, had been for months. Saying I love you was too much like saying goodbye.

  "I love you, too, Dad."

  "Now run." The phone went dead.

  Chapter Five

  "Problems?" Libby asked the moment I set down the phone. I struggled not to hurl it across the room and scream.

  What did he mean he wasn't running? He couldn't order me to uproot my life and do nothing to protect himself. That was insanity!

  "No, just Dad being Dad."

  "The answer is yes."

  "To what?"

  "Would you flat out lie to me."

  I winced. "It's complicated."

  "I'm sure it is," she said, checking the window again, "but I need to know what's up, because that overly clichéd black van pulled up when I started the hot chocolate, and it's still idling out there."

  "What van?" I jumped to the window and looked down. Crap. The damn Pretty Boys weren't even being subtle about it.

  "My next question--do I call the police now?"

  "I'd prefer you didn't."

  "Give me a compelling reason not to."

  "Libby, you--"

  "Stop." She held up her hand, palm out. "I have a cousin who's in perpetual trouble, so I know the signs when someone is after you. I've hidden him from lowlifes many a time. Who'd you piss off?"

  "I should go." But I didn't want to leave. Not the apartment or the city. Certainly not my whole life.

  "Bad idea with that van out there."

  "I've put you in enough danger already."

  "The building has a doorman who did three tours in the Gulf. Besides--" She reached under the sink, coming out with a gun that looked military. "I can take care of
myself, which is more than I can say for you."

  I scoffed and put my knuckledusters on the table. Not as flashy as her military hardware, but they hurt what was after me. I really should have held onto that black knife tighter. "I do all right."

  "Pretty." She set the gun down next to it. "Fine, so we've established we're both armed and dangerous. Now tell me what's going on or I'm calling the cops."

  Either she was an exceptional liar or she wasn't bluffing. My money was on both.

  "I'm not a hundred percent sure--honestly," I added quickly when she gave me a dubious glare. "Unpleasant people are after us. Dad always called them the Pretty Boys."

  "They're pretty?"

  "Drool worthy. I know it sounds crazy, but remember I told you my dad worked construction? He saw somebody killed when I was a kid and we had to go on the run. The Pretty Boys have been after us ever since." True, more or less.

  Libby narrowed her eyes and stared me down. "I can't tell if you're lying or not."

  "It's safer if you don't know all the details." For both of us.

  She gazed out the window for a few seconds, then blew out a breath. "I guess I was right about the witness protection."

  I smiled tight.

  "Did he witness a hit?"

  I stayed silent. I'd tell fewer lies if I let her fill in the blanks.

  "This is unreal," she said.

  And how. "We're not safe here. They're only watching now, but it won't last." Soon as they figured out which apartment we were in, they'd come through the door like it wasn't even there. I'd no idea what they'd do to Libby, but odds were they'd tear through her just as easily. I was not going to let that happen.

  "If your dad was the witness, why do they want you?"

  Question of my life. "I don't know. I have to go, but you should head for the Keys as soon as we get out of here."

  She frowned. "You're going to take off?"

  "It works."

  "How much cash you have on you?"

  "Enough. I'll have more once I pick up a few things."

  "I thought your apartment wasn't safe?"

  I hesitated. "They're not at my apartment. I rented a storage locker near the interstate."

  Libby's eyes widened, and then she shook her head slowly. "Look at you and your be preparedness."