by Tiffany Snow
I shifted uneasily, but knew I couldn't lie to her. Thankfully, everyone else was still involved in their own conversations so no one was really paying attention to us. “I work for Blane as a runner,” I said, “and I tend bar at night.”
Vivian's eyes widened a fraction in surprise before she masked it. “I see,” she said kindly. “And are you from Indianapolis?” Beyond her, I saw the Senator's eyes flick in our direction for a fraction of a second and I knew that while he was talking to his staff person next to him, he was also listening to us.
“No, ma'am,” I answered, unable to shake my mother's lessons in manners enough to call Vivian by her given name – respect for my elders had been drilled into me. “I'm from Rushville, Indiana. My parents grew up there.”
“And what do they do?”
“My dad was a policeman,” I said. “My mother stayed home. They both passed some years ago.”
“I'm so sorry,” Vivian said sympathetically and to my surprise, her hand reached out to grasp mine. “Do you have other family? A brother or sister, perhaps?”
I shook my head. “I have an uncle and cousin, but we don't keep in touch.” Truthfully, I couldn't even say where my dad's brother and son lived anymore. It had been years since I'd heard from them, since Mom's funeral, actually.
Vivian's grip on my hand tightened, her face creasing in a frown. “You're awfully young to be on your own,” she remarked thoughtfully.
My smile was tight. I was unsure how to respond. I didn't want her pity, but neither did I want to appear rude. “I do all right,” I said, slipping my hand from hers.
“So, Blane,” the Senator said, bringing everyone’s attention to him, “are you going to tell us how the Waters trial is going? A lot of important people in Washington are watching to see how this turns out. You win this case, it'll be the biggest moment of your career. So far.”
Everyone's eyes turned to Blane, waiting for his answer, their interest in this topic obvious.
I looked at Blane in confusion. What Waters trial? Biggest moment of his career? What was Keaston talking about?
Blane didn't usually say much about his work. I didn't know why – if he just didn't want to talk work after hours, or if he didn't think I was interested. While you would think I'd know everything going on at the firm since I worked there, regardless of what Blane told me, I was frequently out of the office making runs. When I wasn't out of the office, I was still separated from Blane by four floors.
“It's going well,” Blane replied, his face a mask of polite indifference.
Senator Keaston chuckled. “From what I hear, it's going better than that, son,” he said. “You win this case, your name will be on everyone's short list.”
Short list? Short list for what? My confusion increased. I tried to catch Blane's eye but he just shook his head, not looking at me.
“I don't know about that,” he said. “The prosecution is pretty tough. We'll just have to see how it turns out. It'll be in the jury's hands.”
“You'll beat James,” Kandi said confidently. “He’s no match for you in front of a jury and everyone knows it.”
“James?” I interrupted incredulously. “James Gage?” This time Blane did turn to look at me, his expression unreadable.
“Yes, dear.” Kandi was the one to answer my question. Her voice dripped condescension. “You do know name of the District Attorney, don't you?”
My face heated at her disdain but I refused to look at her, my gaze still locked with Blane's. I couldn't believe he hadn't told me.
James Gage was the son of the former senior partner at Blane's firm of Gage, Kirk and Trent, now just Kirk and Trent. His father, William Gage, had been indicted for fraud and accessory to murder. William had been behind the recent scandal that involved a local computer company, TecSol, rigging online election voting. He'd also been responsible for the death of my friend Sheila and her boyfriend Mark, who had worked for TecSol. James had been involved as well but had gotten off scot-free, even winning the election for Indianapolis District Attorney.
James and I had gone on one date - a date he felt gave him license to be jealous of Blane's attention to me. Remember I said I'd learned the hard way about checking the peephole in my door before opening it? That was because of James, who had hit me and tried to choke me when he found out Blane and I were together. Only the quick actions of CJ, my neighbor at the time and someone I'd thought a friend, had saved me from even graver injury.
James had always been jealous of Blane, waging a competition to which Blane had been oblivious. I was alarmed at the fact that they were going up against each other in what was apparently a very important trial, and hurt that Blane had said nothing about this to me. James was dangerous and volatile, not to be trusted. Would he do something stupid if he lost a big case to Blane?
My dismay must have shown on my face, because Blane's jaw clenched tightly before he looked away. I realized everyone was watching us now and I focused on my plate to keep from meeting their eyes. I was embarrassed – everyone had known about something quite vital in Blane's life except me, his girlfriend.
“We missed you and Kade at Thanksgiving,” Vivian said to Blane, thankfully changing the topic of conversation and taking the attention away from me. It was the kind of comment mothers were adept at making. It demanded an explanation, even if she hadn't asked for one.
“We celebrated here,” Blane replied.
I was surprised Vivian knew about Kade. Kade was Blane's illegitimate half-brother. Their father had been unfaithful to Blane's mother though he'd refused to claim Kade as his when Kade's mother had died.
Kade went by Kade Dennon and, as far as I knew, very few people knew of the relation. Kade was a former FBI agent, specializing in cyber crimes. I hadn't known any of that when I'd first met him, though, and had known only that he was an assassin for hire. Kade had quit the FBI a few years ago and gone freelance, something Blane abided but didn't necessarily condone. Kade was as dark as Blane was light, with black hair and piercing blue eyes, though he had the same charisma and aura of danger as that of his older brother.
Blane wasn't quite being truthful with Vivian – we had celebrated here in Indy, but Kade had not joined us for the festivities. He'd disappeared several weeks ago, right after the election. Blane said Kade stayed in touch with him, but I hadn't asked where he was and Blane hadn't offered the information.
Kade was an enigma to me – we'd begun by hating each other, but he'd saved my life when I'd been moments away from being raped and killed. I'd never breathed a word about it to Blane and to my knowledge, Kade hadn't either. The shame and humiliation of the incident still sometimes haunted my nightmares and the last thing I wanted was to see pity in Blane's eyes when he looked at me.
Kade had also been paid twenty thousand dollars to kill me, then had turned around and given that money to me. It seemed Kade and I had called an uneasy truce, though I'd wondered if my being around was what had kept him from Blane at Thanksgiving. Kade was utterly loyal and devoted to Blane and I felt a pang of remorse that his dislike of me might have been the reason he'd stayed away from his brother for the holiday.
Blane deftly turned the conversation to other topics and I kept my mouth shut, regretting my earlier outburst that displayed my woeful lack of knowledge about Blane's life. Thankfully, dinner was over soon and people began drifting to the dance floor, the strains of a slow jazz number coming from the five-person band. The smoky sound of the saxophone drifted through the room as I contemplated what Senator Keaston had said.
“Dance with me,” Blane said quietly, resting his arm on the back of my chair and leaning over me. He caught a loose tendril of my hair and gently wrapped it around his finger. Our eyes met. I nodded and he rose, helping me from my chair and taking my elbow to lead me to the dance floor. I felt Kandi's glare burning a hole in my back as we walked away.
Blane took me in his arms and I felt my body stiffen, holding myself slightly apart from him; I was angry afte
r all. I stared eye-level at his shirt, crisp and white as it peeked out from beneath his jacket and said nothing, still reeling from the realization of what he'd kept from me.
After a few minutes of dancing in tense silence, I finally spoke. “Why didn't you tell me?” I asked, unable to hold the question in any longer.
He sighed. “I know how you feel about James,” he answered, “and this doesn't involve you. He's my problem now.”
My temper flared and I glared up at him. “So my role in this relationship is to look pretty, keep quiet and warm your bed, but not really be a part of your life?”
His hands dug into my hips. “I never said that,” he replied, his eyes narrowing. That usually signified a warning that his anger was close to the surface, but I ignored it.
“It's what you don't say that speaks volumes, Blane,” I bit out, my heart hurting at the truth of it. “What did Keaston mean by short list? What short list will you be on if you win this case?”
I didn't think he was going to answer me, his jaw locked tight, but finally he spoke.
“Governor. He was talking about the short list for Governor.”
My jaw dropped open in shock and my feet stumbled. Only Blane's tight grip kept me from falling.
“Of Indiana?” I squeaked, then wanted to kick myself for the stupid question. Blane gave a curt nod, watching me.
“Excuse me,” I said, stepping out of his grip. I had to get away for a few minutes, regain my control and equilibrium. I didn't want to break down into tears in the middle of the dance floor. He let me go, watching as I walked away.
I found a ladies' room and hid in a stall, taking deep breaths.
I had hoped Blane felt more for me. I wanted to be more than another transient woman in his life and his bed. I'd known Blane was a player, had seen him discard women without a backward glance. Why I thought I'd be different, I had no idea. My naiveté was my own undoing. I wanted to be a real part of his life, but the fact that he hadn’t told me about the case, that he had thoughts of running for Governor, made my wants seem laughable. Sometimes my outlook on life was too hopeful for my own good.
I realized I couldn't hide in the bathroom all night and surveyed myself in the mirror, tucking a few strands of hair that had gotten loose back up into some pins. The light caught on my necklace and I touched it, remembering the look in Blane's eyes when he'd given it to me mere hours ago. A hint of doubt crept into my mind. Maybe I was wrong; maybe Blane had a good reason for not telling me about all this. It wasn't like I'd given him a chance to talk before rushing off.
I resolved to give him a chance to explain, to tell me why he'd kept this news from me, and that resolve lasted until I walked into the ballroom and saw him dancing with Kandi in his arms.
Well.
Turning on my heel, I walked out and didn't stop walking until I hit the street. It was cold and I shivered, belatedly realizing I'd left my coat inside. I couldn't have retrieved it anyway; Blane still had the ticket.
It was late and the streets were nearly empty, the sidewalk even more so. I had my purse with me but only had a few dollars, not enough for a cab. There was a bus stop a few blocks away so I trudged onward. I'd catch the bus towards my apartment and walk the last few blocks from where it dropped off. It was nearly ten and I knew it picked up every hour.
I walked morosely, watching the sidewalk so I didn't trip. I was regretting the shoes now, but it wasn't as if I'd known I'd be hiking in them by the end of the evening. I sniffed, telling myself it was the cold making my nose run. My toes were numb and I was freezing. I wrapped my arms around myself to try to stay warm. The wind went right through the satin fabric of my dress and before long I was shivering. I cursed the cold, my choice of attire tonight, the fact that I'd agreed to come with Blane in the first place, and Kandi-with-an-i on general principal. It was quite clear she had more of a history with Blane than I'd realized or that he'd bothered to tell me.
I turned down a side street and saw the bus stop a block away. Finally. I picked up the pace a little but was brought to a jarring halt by the voice echoing out of the darkness.
“Hey, pretty girl, give me your cash and I won’t mess up your fancy dress.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Give me the necklace or you'll regret it,” the mugger said, jerking me back to the imminently dangerous here and now.
“My husband's is on his way,” I lied, grasping for straws.
He laughed cruelly. “You're a shitty liar,” he scoffed. His hand closed around the pendant and yanked, the chain of the necklace biting painfully into my skin before it broke. He stepped back, admiring his prize.
“No!” I leapt forward and grabbed his fist, clenched tightly around the pendant. I had to get it back. Surprised, he turned sharply to avoid my lunge, the movement causing the knife to bite into the skin of my arm. I ignored the sharp burn. “Give that back!”
“Get off me,” he growled, shoving me away. Furious, I came back at him again, grabbing the hand holding my necklace and sinking my teeth into it. He yelled in pain. Unable to get any leverage between us, his arm came down hard and he slammed a fist into my back. I was forced to release him, the painful blow knocking the wind from my lungs and leaving me unprepared for his punch to my stomach. I doubled over, the pain excruciating.
His hand closed around my neck and he pulled me upright before carelessly tossing me away. I hit the ground hard, my hands taking the brunt of it, but still smacked the side of my face on the ground. I couldn't move. My face ached and my thigh burned from where it had scraped the asphalt, and I struggled to breathe properly through the pain in my back and stomach.
“Fucking bitch,” I heard him mutter angrily. His shoe scraped behind me and I made myself turn over, not wanting to have my back to him. I saw the kick coming too late to protect myself and I cried out when it connected. I curled into myself, trying to become as small a target as possible. He hauled back to kick me again.
A shape came hurtling out of the darkness, tackling the mugger to the ground. I watched them grapple. The knife glinted briefly in the light before it was kicked out of the thug's hand. The sound of grunts and flesh hitting bone filled the alley.
I struggled to sit up, sucking in a breath at the aches and pains, and saw my rescuer had gotten the upper hand as he straddled the attacker. His fists continued to pummel the man, though I thought for sure he was unconscious by now, as still as he was.
I stumbled to my feet, tottering forward carefully on my ill-used heels. He still wasn't stopping, his blows landing punishingly hard as I winced, afraid he was going to kill him. I moved as close as I dared.
“Stop,” I implored, grabbing onto one of the man's arms with both my hands. “You're going to kill him!”
The man easily jerked his arm out of my grip, turning his head sharply to face me, and I froze in shock.
It was Blane. I didn't know where he'd come from or how he'd found me, but he had. His face was a mask of rage as he took in my appearance and I took a shaky step back, afraid of what he might do. I watched as the anger drained away from his face. He spared one last glance for the unconscious mugger and I heard him snarl, “Fucking piece of shit,” then he stood and was at my side in an instant.
“Are you all right?” he asked, turning me toward the light. He sucked in a breath and I knew I must look awful, blood trailing in a thin stream down my arm from the shallow cut the knife had made. I could feel my cheek swelling from where I'd hit the concrete. Blane's finger gently brushed my cheekbone, coming away with blood. Quickly removing his jacket, he placed it around my shoulders, pulling it tightly closed. Shock started to set in and I began to shake.
“Shh, Kat,” he whispered, pulling me into his arms. “You're safe now. I've got you.”
Tears spilled over my eyes as I leaned into him and basked in the comfort he offered, deeply breathing in cologne mixed with the musky scent of his sweat.
“Thank you,” I mumbled against his shirt. In respon
se, he pressed his lips lightly to my forehead.
“Let's get you someplace warm,” he said, turning us toward the mouth of the alley.
“Wait!” I scrambled out of Blane's arms and ran back to the mugger. Prying open his fist, I grabbed my necklace. The man groaned but didn't open his eyes. I was glad Blane hadn't killed him, though I wondered briefly what would have happened if I hadn't stopped him.
As I returned back to Blane, he looked questioningly at me. I shrugged. “He took the necklace you gave me.”
Blane didn't move. “You fought him over the necklace?” he asked, his tone chilling.
Grimacing, I muttered, “You gave it to me. I didn't want him to have it.”
“Christ, Kat!” Blane exploded. “I would have bought you another one! It wasn't worth your life! He could have killed you!”
I bit my lip, knowing he was right but not wanting to admit it. I had acted irrationally, but hadn't been able to stop myself. I'd just been overcome with anger that he would dare to take something precious to me. It wasn't even that it was an expensive necklace, it was just that Blane had given it to me. I said none of this, just looked up at Blane and hoped he would drop it. Huffing with exasperation, he pulled me to him, wrapping me tightly in his arms and resting his chin on top of my head.
“Never a dull moment, Kat,” he said with a sigh.
We emerged from the mouth of the alley to find two police cars pulling up, sirens blaring. A blinding light flashed at me and I realized there a few photographers there, too. A quick glance at Blane showed me that he looked like he'd obviously been in a fight. His hair was tousled and a bit of blood marred the corner of his mouth. His once white shirt was stained and torn, the cuffs open from where the buttons had come off. I saw his knuckles were raw, scraped and bloody from the fight. The veneer of gentility he'd worn earlier was gone. He looked altogether masculine and dangerous.
A cop stepped up to us, blocking the photographers. “Mr. Kirk, is that you?” he asked. At Blane's nod, he turned his attention to me. “You must be the victim. Someone heard you scream and called 911. You all right, miss?”