Guilty Pleasures

by Stella Cameron

  “You’re no shopkeeper. You’re marking time until you find something else that lets you push the edges of everything.” j

  Was he? “Would it be such a bad idea to live for the day? For a while? Could you try that?”

  She shook her head and eased away from him. “I don’t know. I’ve got to do something to get through these bad times.”

  “I’m not backing out of your life,” he told her. “No matter how definitely you tell me to get lost, I won’t.”

  “We could find out this is simple old infatuation.”

  “You might. I won’t.”

  A pen rolled from the desk, and she gathered it up. “If I agree that it’s a good idea to get out of Kirkland, my mother and Fab will have to be told—at least that Bobby and I are going.”

  “Of course.” The shapes and patterns began to turn for Nasty. The men who had tried the underwater capture had been professionals. Sam Dodge played no part in that equation. But he couldn’t be ruled out as a possible crank caller.

  “Bobby has his heart set on having a dad in his life.”

  “You know as well as I do that Sam Dodge isn’t here because he wants to be a father to Bobby.”

  Polly pulled the cap off the pen and made dots on her left palm.

  “Sometimes it’s kinder to be honest,” Nasty told her.

  “As in telling a seven-year-old boy that his father—the man he’s fantasized about—doesn’t give a darn about him? That he lied today when he said he did? Am I supposed to tell Bobby Sam will use anyone to get money because he’s probably still got an expensive drug habit?”

  Nasty rolled onto his toes, testing his left ankle. “There are ways to let people down easy. Let me talk to Bobby.”

  “You hardly know him!”

  “I’m going to know him very well.”

  She threw the pen on the desk and rubbed at the dots on her skin. “You’re so sure you can have what you want. What you think you want.”

  “I know what I want.”

  “Look”—she scrubbed at her temples—“Crumb, this is awful. What shall I do?”

  He didn’t fool himself that she was asking him for any other reason than that there was no one else to ask. “Trust me. Trust Dusty and me. We’ll get you and Bobby to a safe place. Then we’ll figure out a way to pull in whoever’s been terrorizing you.”

  Even the gentle swaying motion of her body warned him that she wavered between accepting his offer and rejecting it outright.

  There was no choice but to press on. “And let me talk to Bobby a little. With you there, if you like. I think I can tell him a story that’ll make him feel I understand some of what he’s been going through.”

  “I can’t agree to that unless I’ve got some idea what you intend to say.”

  He offered her his hand and closed his fingers when she took it. “I’m going to tell him how I got the name Nasty.”

  Seventeen

  “Tell me.”

  He smiled faintly through the windshield of the Porsche. Polly dug her chin into his shoulder until he glanced at her. “Tell me why you’re called that. You’re going to tell Bobby.”

  Nasty chewed his gum several seconds more before he said, “That’s right. I’m going to tell Bobby. Later. Pack enough for a week, huh?”

  “You said we were only going for a couple of days.”

  “I said a few days.” He parked at the curb in front of her building. “But it could be we’ll decide to stay longer. We might as well feel relaxed.”

  “Extra clothes are going to make us feel relaxed? Don’t talk down to me, Nasty.”

  He pulled the key from the ignition and turned toward her. “Is it so bad to want to save someone you care about? From feeling what you feel? Which, in this case, isn’t so hot?”

  Polly held the door handle. “Have you told me everything?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re talking down to me again.”

  “Because I ask you what you mean?”

  The lights of Carillon Point, a hotel and condominium complex a block away, cast a wavering white shimmer on the lake. Polly blinked, and the shimmer lost focus. “I asked you if you’re keeping something from me.”

  He took just too long to say, “No. I’m being cautious. Chalk it up to training.”

  Goose bumps rose on her arms. “Okay.” She wouldn’t get anything out of him unless he decided he wanted to open up. “I’ll run up and grab a few things. I want to get back to Bobby.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Telling him she didn’t want to be alone with him—and then dealing with his inevitable request to know why—would only make her more vulnerable to him. She got out of the car. If she had to fall for a man, why did he have to be a quixotic maverick with steel nerves? Why did Xavier Ferrito have to handle guns and knives the way other men handled screwdrivers? Why did he have to be comfortable dealing in death?

  The next breath she took didn’t get past her throat.

  He joined her on the sidewalk and took her keys from her hand.

  Footsteps approached and they both turned.

  Polly felt Nasty make a subtle move and knew he’d reached for whatever weapon he carried.

  “You used to be a whole lot easier to find, babe,” Sam Dodge said, arriving in the light outside the door. “I’ve been waiting for you for hours.”

  “Not now, Sam,” Polly said.

  A big man, he wasn’t as tall as Nasty, and his body had grown soft. “Sorry to butt in,” he said, the easy smile as engaging as ever. “Your friend will understand if you tell him we’ve got important business to discuss.”

  Polly tensed, expecting Nasty to respond. When he didn’t, her heart still didn’t slow down. “I’m sure you want to tell me you’re sorry about deliberately scaring me by taking Bobby away this afternoon. Apology accepted.”

  Sam took a pack of Camels from the inside pocket of a pale linen jacket. He tapped out a cigarette and felt through the pockets of dark silk pants for a lighter.

  Polly’s keys jingled as Nasty tossed them in his palm.

  The lighter flame flared, illuminating Sam’s flamboyant, sulky features. His hazel eyes sought hers. “Can we talk?”

  The keys jingled some more.

  “It’s important, babe.”

  If she told Sam she might slap him if he called her “babe” again, Nasty would have an excuse to intervene. Polly didn’t want to give him that excuse.

  “Bobby,” Sam said, and drew on the cigarette. His hair was as black and curly as it had been when Polly was a teenager. “We gotta put Bobby first now.”

  This time the keys rattled.

  “Could we go inside?” Sam asked. “We don’t want to discuss our son on the sidewalk, do we?”

  Polly made up her mind quickly, Mid said, “Okay, but I only have a few minutes.”

  “Why?” Sam behaved as if she were alone. “You got a train to catch?”

  “Let’s get this over with.” She reached to take the keys from Nasty, but he unlocked the door instead, pushed it open, and stood, staring into space, while she and Sam walked past him into the building.

  Sam paused in the lobby. He flicked ash on the dark red carpet and rubbed it with the toe of one shiny loafer. “We wouldn’t want to talk family business in front of strangers, would we, babe?”

  Polly gritted her teeth. “You and I aren’t a family. This is Xavier Ferrito. He’s my friend. He’ll be coming up with us.”

  With that she walked into an already open elevator and punched the button for her floor. Even moving with his deceptively lazy grace, Nasty joined her before Sam, who hooked back his jacket and stuck a thumb through a belt loop. He sauntered into the elevator and faced the closing doors.

  Disaster had to be only words away.

  Once inside her condo, Sam made little attempt to hide his curiosity. He looked around, picked up a small bronze of a zebra, and checked beneath its base as if expecting to find a price tag.


  Nasty planted his hands on his hips and observed. His jean jacket settled comfortably on his big shoulders. Polly glanced at the left side of his chest and wondered if his mean gray gun was there. The neck of his white shirt lay open to expose tanned skin. The turned-back cuffs of his jacket sleeves rested casually against his wrists.

  A picture of nonchalance.

  A lie.

  Polly wondered just what Sam would have to do to give Nasty a reason to explode into action, or simply to pull his gun.

  “It’s stuffy in here,” he said, speaking for the first time since Sam showed. “I think I’ll go out on the balcony for some air. Okay with you?”

  Sam said, “Sure,” before Polly finished opening her mouth.

  If Nasty had a single thought of any kind, it made no impression on his face. He walked outside and sat in a chair, with his feet propped on the balcony railing.

  “Guy’s got a limp,” Sam remarked.

  Poily ignored him.

  “When you got kids, you gotta be careful.” He tilted his head significantly toward Nasty. “Know what I mean?”

  “No.”

  “Sure you do. You were a lot of things, but you weren’t dumb.”

  “Thanks. Want to tell me what the things were? The things I was?”

  Sam dragged on his Camel and screwed up his eyes while; he inhaled. “You don’t wanna know.” He glowered at Nasty’s back again. “You always knew I was coming back.”

  Polly stared at him.

  “Don’t try pretending you’re surprised, baby. It was you and me from the beginning for you. That’s why you never took up with anyone else after I—after we split. You’re trying to make me jealous. I can deal with that. Consider it forgiven.”

  “Forgiven?” What had seemed powerful, glamorous arrogance to a struggling teenager sounded like pigheaded stupidity now.

  “I always forgave you,” Sam said, raising his voice, visibly directing his comments toward the balcony. Nasty had left the doors open. He must already be able to hear every word. “You were young, and you came back to me each time.”

  The inference wasn’t subtle. “Sam,” she said quietly, “if you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, it might be a good idea to back off. Now.”

  “Guys sow wild oats. Most gals don’t feel the urge—you did.” He shrugged. “I’m a tolerant guy. It wasn’t easy, but decided you were worth it. Once you were sure none of the others could give you what you had with me, you gave it up.”

  Polly looked at Nasty. He didn’t appear to move a muscle.

  Sam snickered. “You were some handful. They all wanted inside your pants. Man, and they all wanted back in there— even when you let ’em know it was me or no one ”

  Heated blood washed Polly.

  “You were stoned most of the time.” Sam shrugged, and took another drag on his cigarette. “You were a wild one. Whatever there was to experience, you wanted. So what? It’s part of being young. And you’ve grown up.”

  “Thank you,” she said through her teeth. “I don’t want to continue this conversation. Don’t go near Bobby again.”

  He smiled at her. “I’ve forgiven you for the way you cut me out of my son’s life, too. I can tell you’re different about children than you used to be. You understand how kids need two parents. You want that for Bobby.”

  “I want the best for Bobby. He deserves it.”

  “Sure he does. I do know he’s mine, y’know. I did the math.”

  Polly was too angry to shed the tears that burned her eyes. “It’s money, isn’t it? It was always money. Everything you did was only for one reason-—to try to get something for yourself. You came to me that one time at Hole Point, and it was for money. You were desperate, you had to be, because you’ve never wanted anything to do with Bobby. I wish he wasn’t your son, but we both know he is. And I’m not going to bother to deny the disgusting accusations you’ve just made. Even if I’d wanted someone else, you’d have hurt me so badly, I’d have stopped wanting in a hurry.”

  A boat’s horn sounded from the lake. Sam glanced through the windows. “It’s all past. Over.”

  “You didn’t want Bobby. You told me to get an abortion.”

  “Keep your voice down. Some things are just between two people. If Bobby heard that, he’d feel bad. Even though it’s a lie.”

  “It’s not a lie.”

  “If you need to believe it, okay. If it makes you feel better about causing the breakup, fine. It’s dandy, baby—whatever it takes. But Bobby is my son, and I want him. I’ve missed too much of his life. These are important years—the young ones. You knew he wants me, too. You should have seen his face when he saw me today.”

  She detested that Nasty was hearing all this, but she was also grateful not to be alone with Sam Dodge. “You’ve lost it, Sam. You haven’t grown up. You haven’t learned anything about the world.”

  “And you have? You’re so smart and worldly?”

  “Bobby’s a little boy. You’re right when you say these are important years. He’s never had a father, and he fantasizes about what it would be like if he did. That’s natural. But he doesn’t know you. If he did, he wouldn’t like you for long, would he?”

  Sam’s jaw came forward. “I want to be a father to my son. I want you, too, if you’re ready to settle down.”

  A nightmare while she was awake. This was all a horrible nightmare. She considered and discarded responses.

  “I’m not like other guys, babe. I’m not threatened by successful women. If you want to keep on with your career, it’s okay with me.”

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  Sam ground his cigarette out in the dirt around a potted African violet. “If this little burg’s where you want to be, I can handle that. I can work out of anywhere.”

  “Work.” Polly said the word, and tried it on while thinking about Sam. Not a match. “That could be tough. I bet they already have all the pushers they need in Kirkland.”

  “Still got the same wacky sense of humor,” Sam said.

  “You mean you’ve changed jobs? What do you do now?” Other than look for ways to get what he wanted for nothing.

  He produced a pocketknife, flicked open a blade, and slowly cleaned his nails. “I’m a campaign organizer.”

  Polly had to think about that. “Gangs have elections these days?”

  “Very funny,” Sam said. “Charity campaigns. Big stuff.” Scams, Polly thought, but she didn’t say so. “Look, baby, I don’t expect to put everything back together overnight. But we can do it. For Bobby’s sake we can do it. Just believe in me this time, huh?”

  “It’s too late,” Polly said, when she wanted to say it had been too late when they met—too late, and a mistake, except for Bobby.

  “No, it’s not,” Sam said. “You just gotta give us time. Time and opportunity. We were great together. We’ll be great together again. Hey, remember? Remember when—”

  “That’s enough.”

  Sam held up his hands and shook his head. “Okay, okay. I’ve come on too strong. You aren’t used to the idea yet. You will be. I told Bobby—”

  “Stay away from Bobby.”

  “I told him you and me are going to work at it. You should have seen his face. You can’t take that away from him, Pol.” The sound she heard was Nasty, uncrossing, then recrossing his feet in the opposite direction on the balcony railing.

  “I’m a very different guy than I used to be,” Sam said. “Your buddy can come back in. Tell him to come on back. We need to be on our own, you and me. I got things I should’ve told you and never did. I want to tell you now, baby.”

  She wanted him to leave.

  “You got it coming. You’re special. I shouldn’t have taken so long to let you know I think you’re the best, but I had to do some growing up, too. And now I have.” He spoke louder. “Come on in, buddy. Polly’s got something to tell you.”

  If there were any way to make Sam disappear, she’d do it. Nasty rose to his feet
and walked into the living room.

  “What happened to your leg, buddy?” Sam asked. He shrugged out of his jacket and threw it over an arm of the couch. “Fall off your skis on the bunny hill? You look like a skier.”

  Nasty opened his stance and let his hands hang loose at his sides. He stared at the air above Sam’s head and chewed, rhythmically worked the muscles in his jaw.

  “You don’t talk a lot, do you?” Sam said. He coughed, and cleared his throat. A nervous habit Polly recalled.

  Nasty met Sam’s eyes until the other man looked away and said, “Polly’d like you to go. We got things to talk about.”

  Only Nasty’s jaw moved. His stillness tensed every nerve in Polly’s body.

  “Did you hear me?” Sam asked.

  “Nasty’s staying,” Polly said, too loudly. The air sang with the promise of violence. “Sam’s Bobby’s father,” she announced, and sucked in her bottom lip. Control threatened to slip away.

  “Yeah,” Sam said, sounding fatuous. “You only got to look at the boy to see that. I decided it was time to think about Polly and me. For Bobby’s sake. And for Polly and me, of course.”

  She wanted to warn him. Didn’t he feel what she felt? Didn’t he sense that he was a hair away from a head-on collision with a killer?

  Polly shuddered. “Sam—”

  He cut in, “You waited for me. I knew you would. Damn, I shouldn’t have taken so long to do what I always intended to do.”

  “Oh, please, Sam.” Couldn’t he see the ice in Nasty’s eyes? Couldn’t he see that stillness was readiness?

  “Hey,” Sam said. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t get choked up on me. I know I almost lost a prize. You could have had someone else by now.”

  “She’s got someone else.”

  Polly flinched. Nasty’s statement cut like a sword edge swung through quiet air.

  He raised his right hand, tapped his fingertips lightly on his chest.

  Preparing to go for his gun…

  Polly wanted to tell him Sam was helpless, that Sam only took on people who were smaller and weaker.

  “What’s with him, anyway?” Sam asked her, rubbing his palms together.

  “Pick up your coat,” Nasty said. “Take it with you. It’s not my style.”