When the telephone rang, she automatically reached for the handset she’d placed on the end table earlier and glanced down at the lighted display. Her heart gave a hard throb of relief. “Lance, where have you—”
“Whoa, hot mama,” a voice drawled over the receiver, slurred and fuzzy. “Slow down.”
Mallory recognized the voice as Lance’s closest friend from a short list of undesirables. “Call me hot mama again, Kyle, and I promise to rip that stud right out of your tongue the next time we’re face-to-face.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Much better. Where’s Lance?”
“Behind Big Jim’s. Figured I’d call before Big Jim finds him and calls the cops.”
Swinging her legs around, Mallory scooted to the edge of the sofa and set the mug on the coffee table. “Behind Big Jim’s? Is he all right?”
“He’s breathing.”
“What happened?”
“Partied too hearty.” And from the sound of Kyle’s voice the same was equally true of him.
“You’ve been drinking? Anything else?”
“Oh yeah, everything else.”
His garbled laughter provoked a chill that made Mallory breathe deeply to dispel the sensation. “All right, Kyle. Listen to me. Do not get in the car. Tell Big Jim if he comes outside that I’m on my way—”
“Uh-uh. I’m outta here.”
She exploded off the sofa and headed into the foyer to find her shoes. “It’ll take me fifteen minutes to get there. I’ll give you a ride.”
“Uh-uh. I ain’t hanging around. I’ll cover him up…with this…” A rustling on the other end of the line sounded like Kyle dragging something—a box maybe?—over the ground. “He’ll wait.”
“Will he be all right?”
“Don’t see why not.”
Of course not. Damn kid. He didn’t see anything wrong with climbing behind the wheel of a car in his condition, either. “Listen, Kyle. If he has anything on him, take it with you.”
Another muddled laugh. “All right, hot mama. But you tell Lance you gave me his shit.”
In I’m-high-speak, that statement translated to mean that Lance had drugs on him that promised to continue the party a while longer. But this boy getting busted wasn’t an issue for Mallory if it saved Lance from a potential problem. And Big Jim calling the law only to find Lance in possession was potentially a big one. “I’ll tell Lance—”
The line disconnected.
Mallory pulled on her climbing boots, didn’t bother to tie the laces. Grabbing her purse and keys, she disabled her alarm system, pulled open her front door…
And found Jake Trinity walking up her stairs.
She stopped short in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”
He inclined his head to the garment bag he held slung over his shoulder. “You said twenty-four seven. I picked up some things to last me a few days.”
Well, she’d said twenty-four even if she hadn’t expected around the clock to start right away. One glimpse into Jake’s eyes made her suspect he’d known it, too. This was a game, one that under normal circumstances she would enjoy playing. Unfortunately, right now she didn’t have time to pick up the gauntlet and make the next move.
“Come on in, Jake.” She motioned him inside. “I’m on my way out, but you can wait here until I get back. I won’t be long.”
Jake might have agreed, but something raw was roughing up Mallory’s usual composure. “Hop in and I’ll drive you,” he said.
Her acquiescence was his first clue to trouble. Tossing his garment bag into her foyer, he escorted her down the stairs and held the door while she climbed into the passenger side. His second clue came when she said, “Head toward the Main Mall.”
Hitching her knee up on the seat, she stared through the windshield, as if willing the distance to pass in the blink of an eye. There was no missing her agitation, but he didn’t ask for an explanation. He did as she asked.
The Main Mall was a collection of older shops in the seedy fringes padding the business district. He also knew that after the close of the workday, the only people to inhabit that part of town were there for no good reason.
When Mallory didn’t stop him at the Main Mall but directed him into a rough neighborhood beyond, he was very glad he’d offered to drive her.
“Make a left here and pull around back,” she said, shoving her purse and keys under his front seat.
Jake pulled into the parking lot of a low-slung building tucked back from the street and obscured from the wash of the street lamps. An air conditioner unit was propped inside the only window with a two-by-four, and music blared through the open front door beneath a large hand-painted sign that read Big Jim’s Elbow Bender.
Circling the building, he bit back yet another question and came to a stop behind the back door where a bald light bulb burned weakly.
She cast him a sidelong glance as she opened the door and slid out. “Just hang on, I’ll be right back.”
Jake took one look around the parking lot where he could see about ten feet in any direction and got out behind her.
She glanced around in indecision then took off toward a concrete stall that contained a full Dumpster and stacks of flattened boxes beside it. He was a step behind her, but she didn’t seem to notice as she began flinging aside sheets of cardboard.
“Mallory, let me—” He cut off when he saw what she’d been looking for—a kid in his teens huddled against the wall.
In an instant, Mallory was on her knees beside him, pressing her fingers to his throat to check his pulse.
“Talk to me, Lance,” she said sharply, gripping him by the chin and shifting his face back and forth. “Come on, wake up.”
The kid was out.
The night eclipsed his features but Jake could see the faint stubble around his mouth, the glint of a silver stud through his eyebrow. His hair could have been blond or brown or any color in between for as much as the filthy dew rag revealed of the greasy strands below. His shirt and too-large hoodlum jeans weren’t in much better shape.
“Who is he?” Jake asked.
“A friend,” she said without glancing up.
Jake let her ambiguity pass. Now wasn’t the time to play twenty questions. She shook the boy’s shoulders, her frustration revealing itself in each impatient shake. A breeze lifted strands of hair away from her face and off her shoulders, revealing the tight lines of her expression and that she wasn’t just a little worried.
Kneeling beside her, he slid a hand behind the boy—Lance—and propped him upright. The muscles beneath his hands contained the wiry tension of a boy who was close to but hadn’t yet reached manhood.
Lance gave a grunt and tried to shrug him off.
Jake dragged him up so he was leaning against the brick enclosure, his head lolling onto his chest, before Mallory forced it up, peeled back an eyelid and inspected the bloodshot eye below. “Talk to me, Lance. I need to know what you’re on.”
Another grunt.
With a heavy sigh, Mallory patted down the pockets on his shirt, then moved on to his pants. She appeared to have found something because she was suddenly fumbling deep into a pocket before withdrawing a small glass tube.
“Crack. Nice. I suppose that answers my question.”
“He’s been drinking too.”
She nodded. Using her shirt, she wiped off the handle with impatient swipes and tossed it into the garbage. Disposing of the evidence, he guessed.
Grabbing Lance by the chin, she said sharply, “You talk to me right now or I toss your butt in the back seat and take you straight to the emergency room. Then I’m calling your dad.”
Her threat produced more life signs than Jake had seen so far. Lance exhaled heavily and looked as though he was trying to shake off the effects of whatever he was on.
“Mal,” he managed to grind out.
“Are you all right? Are you going to sleep this off or do I need to get you help?”
He shook his hea
d with a little more energy and mumbled something that sounded like “Drank too much.”
Mallory sat back on her haunches and frowned.
“You going to take his word?” Jake asked, more than a little surprised. The kid looked wasted in his estimation, but as he had no idea whether or not this was a frequent occurrence, he refrained from further comment.
“I don’t know yet. I want to see if I can get him up and talking some more.”
Jake stood, dragging the kid to his feet. “Come on, Lance. We’re taking a walk.”
Mallory caught the kid beneath his other arm and together they managed to get him moving, a stumbling, weak-kneed effort that seemed to be helping him shake off his stupor.
“How’d you know he was here?” Jake asked.
“His friend called me.”
He glanced around, in case he’d missed signs of someone else in the dark.
“Let me rephrase that,” she said dryly. “His friend called me before he took off.”
“Got it.”
Even through the darkness he could see worry clouding her features, though he sensed from her tough-guy tone that she was doing her level best not let him see how affected she was.
“Come on. Let’s get him to the car, Mallory. I think he’s coming around. If not, I’ll just drive to the hospital.”
She nodded.
Lance roused enough to assist their efforts to get him situated in the back seat. Jake fastened the seat belt while Mallory stepped back, shaking her head.
“Have you got a bag or something?” she asked. “He doesn’t look so good. You might be sorry you offered to give me a ride.”
“Don’t worry about it. Get in. There are napkins in the glove compartment if you need some.”
She leaned over the seat, dragged the Dew-Rag from Lance’s head and started up a steady stream of conversation that began as one-sided, but eventually included monosyllabic replies from Lance. She seemed satisfied.
“Let’s take him home.” She gave him directions to a nearby street that hosted a variety of nighttime businesses—a liquor store, a nightclub and several strip clubs.
Jake only nodded, following her lead and observing her closely, interested in how she handled the situation and unsure if he was reading her tough act right. She hadn’t shared a thing with him except this boy’s name and his status as her friend. Not much, given the circumstances. She’d retreated into herself to cope alone and privately. He had no doubt she would have handled Lance whether he’d accompanied her or not.
But she was worried. Her actions proved that louder than words could. Here was another piece of the puzzle to Mallory, a piece that hinted at a vulnerable woman beneath the tough exterior, a piece that proved how little he knew about her.
And how much he wanted to know more.
“Head around back of that tattoo parlor,” she said, and Jake wheeled around to the back of the two-story building to find the lot crowded with several very expensive vehicles.
Lance struggled to keep his head up in the back seat. “Shit,” he said, barely decipherable but clearly unhappy. “Damn crew. Don’t…leave.”
He wasn’t the only one frowning, and Jake recognized the war waging in Mallory’s expression. She avoided looking his way. “No can do, Lance, but I’ll make you a deal. Promise me you’ll stay put, and we’ll bypass the shop and get you upstairs. I’ll call your dad. That’s the best I can do.”
Her tone left no room for argument, and Lance was apparently coherent enough to recognize it. Again, Jake questioned if accepting this kid at his word was the smartest choice.
“Who owns this place?” he asked, pulling beside a Mercedes sedan and shifting into Park.
“Lance’s father.” Mallory slipped out of the passenger’s door before he could ask another question. “Let’s be fast.”
Together they helped the unsteady teen up the stairs leading to the second-story apartment. Another piece to the puzzle of his mystery woman came when she pulled out her own set of keys to unlock the door.
Obviously Lance and his father were very close friends.
While she settled the boy into his bed, Jake took a look around what turned out to be a surprisingly comfortable home. The building was in a commercial district that catered to a rougher element, but the inside of the spacious apartment might have been a home in an upscale suburb.
“I need to call his dad, so let’s go,” Mallory said when she reappeared in the living room. “Lance’s all set, but I don’t want him alone for long.”
She hurried Jake out the door and locked up quickly, casting a sidelong glance at the cars parked in the lot.
The crew. Jake added another question to his growing list of questions about this woman that he wanted answers to.
Only when he’d backed into the street did Mallory pull a cell phone from her purse and dialed. “Hi, Polish Paul,” she said with a cheeriness that was shy of being reflected in her expression. “Guess who I just tucked into his bed upstairs.”
Jake could hear the man’s booming voice through the receiver even if he couldn’t distinguish the words.
Mallory slanted the phone away from her ear as she relayed the course of events that had led her to the back of Big Jim’s Elbow Bender. “He’s trashed, but he was alert enough so I was okay with bringing him home. You need to keep your eyes on him.”
Jake braked for a light and shifted his gaze to Mallory, who’d brought a hand up to massage her temples.
“I know,” she said in response to the man on the other end. “I saw you all there. Tell Daddy I figured you were meeting with a client so I didn’t stop.”
Another piece of the puzzle fitted neatly into place as Jake accelerated with the light and made a right turn onto the Interstate on-ramp. Now he understood who owned one of the high-ticket cars in the lot—Mallory’s father. He couldn’t say for sure whether she was telling the truth about not wanting to interrupt a possible meeting, but he found it very significant that she hadn’t once mentioned his name.
From what her father had said earlier about his current clientele, a business meeting in a tattoo parlor at night fit neatly with Jake’s impression of a consultant who advised thieves on how to circumvent security systems.
Mallory completed her call and deposited the phone back in her purse. “Thanks for your help, Jake. Getting Lance settled would have been difficult without you.” She hiked her knee up on the seat and faced him. “And thank you for not grilling me.”
“You noticed.”
“I did.”
“Lance is obviously a close friend. And his father, too.”
He didn’t ask, just stated the obvious as he saw it, introducing the conversation so she knew he was interested. The choice to continue talking was hers.
She stared at him thoughtfully before saying, “I lived with Lance and his dad once upon a time.”
“Really.” Jake merged into traffic, taking a second to decide how best to phrase his reply and deciding up-front would be best. “While your father was in prison?”
“Yes.”
“So this…Polish Paul and his family were the ones who took you in. After I learned you were underage, I’d wondered what happened to you.”
“Did you, Jake?” He heard no emotion whatsoever in her voice. “So you followed the trial. Did you want to make sure all the loose ends were tied up?”
Although he never shifted his gaze from the road, he could feel the intensity of her stare, sensed an undercurrent of resentment between them.
Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
“I wasn’t interested in loose ends. I was interested in you. I had no frame of reference for why you’d be in that situation taking those sorts of risks. I needed to understand.”
“And do you?”
“Not really. I’d like to.”
She didn’t reply, but there was something about the silence, something about the way she watched him that told Jake he’d surprised her with his frankness.
/>
“Polish Paul was my dad’s inside man. He was the first member of the crew. Signed on long before I was even born.”
A very close family friend. “The crew?”
“My dad’s coworkers,” she said, and he glanced over at her to find that her pale face might have been carved from ivory for as much emotion as he could see in her expression. “Polish Paul was the inside man. Opal was the surveillance specialist and Eddie handled the alarms.”
“And your father?”
“He cracked the safes and stole the goods.”
She might have been discussing careers as mundane as medicine or law so easily and openly did she referred to these people’s expertise. “Exactly when did they all retire?”
“After the Innovative job.”
When their ringleader had gone to prison.
“Only your father served time. Wouldn’t the state have reduced his sentence if he turned in his accomplices?”
She shrugged. “He would never have turned them in. They’re his crew. It was his job to protect them.”
More honor among thieves.
“So now the crew is back together, assisting your father in his consulting business. Is this business legal?”
Mallory shrugged. “I’d say it’s not prosecutable.”
Fair enough. Jake was beginning to grasp that in her world there was a huge distinction between the two.
“So you went to live with Polish Paul after your dad was arrested.”
“Eventually. I went into foster care first.”
Jake hadn’t known that. He glanced at her, found her watching him with such a poker face that he was reminded of her father. “For how long?”
“Six months. Until Polish Paul and Opal could get married and prove to the courts they could provide a suitable home.”
“Polish Paul and Opal are married, but Lance isn’t her son?”
“Polish Paul and Opal only married to spring me from foster care. They dissolved the marriage as soon as I turned eighteen. Lance’s mother had died of cancer a few years before.”
Jake stared out at the highway unfolding before him, a stretch of dark road punctuated by the glow of passing red taillights. The scene struck him as lonely. Vehicles shooting past each other, the occupants concealed by blackened windows.
Over the Edge Page 10