The Experiment

by Holly Hart

  That gets him. He frowns and scratches his chin thoughtfully.

  “Go on,” he says.

  “If I can get Sara into bed, I should be able to steer her away from the secret, so that she tells Pearce the rumors are bullshit and Atlas is all aboveboard. And if worse comes to worst and she stumbles across the truth somehow, I can threaten to tell Pearce she’s been sleeping with the enemy. Knowing him, he’d go scorched earth on her and ruin her career.”

  Tre stares at me for a very long time before speaking.

  “That’s cold, man,” he says finally.

  “It’s strategic thinking for a dangerous situation,” I say. “There’s a difference, especially in combat. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made.”

  “Even if that sacrifice is Sara?”

  I made sacrifices for Sara for a long time, and she threw them out the window. If Tre thinks I’m not going to put her in the line of fire, he’s dreaming.

  One of you is dreaming, a part of my brain says. But are you sure it’s Tre and not you?

  “There’s something else you’re not factoring into this,” he says. “Even if Pearce accepts that we’re clean, you still have to come up with a reason for the Sullivans not to sell to him.”

  “I’m working on that,” I say.

  “Work harder. We have less than a month.”

  “I told you, I’m strategic. Wheels within wheels, and all that crap. If everything works out the way I’m planning, we won’t have to worry about Pearce at all.”

  Of course, if it doesn’t work out, my world is going to come crashing down around me, and I may very well ruin the life of the only girl I ever loved.

  And this loonngg month is just getting started.

  Chapter One Hundred Twelve

  19. SARA

  “Does this dress make me look like a slut?”

  Grace rolls her eyes for the umpteenth time since she came over.

  “That’s Mom talking through you,” she says. “It looks great.”

  That’s what I was thinking, but I wanted a second opinion. The woman looking back at me in the mirror has her shit together. The neckline shows off my cleavage, the waist actually fits the way it’s supposed to, the skirt part hugs my legs, but not too tightly.

  “Are you sure?” I ask one last time.

  “It’s Chance Talbot,” she huffs. “It’s not like you’re going out with David Beckham or something.”

  “You haven’t seen him,” I say as I work my diamond studs into my earlobes. “He’s not the kid he was when you knew him. Not by a long shot.”

  “Oh yeah? Take some pics with your phone tonight. I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “Sure, Judge Gracie, I’ll wait on the opinion of the gal who’s had even fewer boyfriends than I have.”

  She smacks my butt as I pass where she sits on my bed.

  “Don’t be mean,” she says with a grin. “I have issues.”

  I hand her the box of Kleenex from my night table.

  “Got an issue, here’s a tissue.”

  “Just go on your fucking date,” she giggles. “And tell him I say hi. I really do want to see him again. And Tre, too.”

  “Oh, honey,” I say, grabbing my purse. “You definitely want to see Tre these days.”

  She sighs. “He was hot enough back then.”

  “He’s even hotter now.”

  “Go!” she says. “Leave me alone so I can pout.”

  “I’m out,” I say as I open the apartment door. “Wish me luck.”

  She blows me a kiss. “Knock him dead, sis.”

  The car is a stretch limo, which I expected. What I didn’t expect was Chance standing on the sidewalk, holding the door for me with the setting sun lighting him from behind.

  He’s in a trendy sharkskin suit that matches the gray of his eyes and highlights his physique. No tie, of course. He told me once that a tie is like an invitation for an attacker to strangle you. It’s one of the things you learn when you grow up on the streets.

  “I didn’t expect you, too,” I say as he takes my hand and ushers me into the back. His palm feels warm and good in mine.

  “I figured this would give us more time together,” he says. “It’s been a long time – we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

  “That we do.”

  He gives me an appreciative once-over, setting off a flock of butterflies in my belly. No other man has ever been able to do that to me.

  “You look amazing,” he says.

  “Thank you,” I manage to answer.

  He waves a hand at the bar, well-stocked with top shelf booze.

  “Drink?”

  “I’d love a vodka on ice,” I say. “It’s been a long day.” And I’ve got a sudden heat that I need to cool down.

  “I’ll bet,” he says, handing me my drink and pouring himself a neat scotch.

  “Any trouble in your interviews today?” he asks.

  “Just the opposite. Everyone was incredibly cooperative. They all love you, by the way.”

  He smiles shyly and shrugs.

  “The best people I know work at Atlas,” he says. “It’s an honor to know they feel the same about me.”

  “You sound like a Marine,” I say.

  “Oorah,” he grins.

  “I’m so glad you followed your dreams. The Marines didn’t know what they were getting when you signed up.”

  He chuckles. “That’s for sure. I walked into basic training like I owned the place. Took the drill sergeant all of ten minutes behind the barracks to let me know that no, in fact, I did not own the place, if you get what I mean.”

  “At least you were always a quick study,” I say with a wince.

  “Once I adjusted my attitude, I realized that these guys and gals were the family I’d always been looking for. Combat just drove that home to me even more. The man at your six is closer to you than a brother.”

  It finally sinks in with me that Chance has spent a lot of time in the dark corners of the world since he left. I’ve had plenty of my own shit to deal with in my life, but none of it involved bullets and bombs flying in my direction.

  “I can’t imagine what that was like,” I say.

  “I hope you never have to,” he says with a faraway look. “I made it back in one piece after three tours, but a lot of my friends weren’t so lucky. Some of them had physical wounds; all of them had emotional ones. Quite a few of them work for me now.”

  “I know,” I smile. “I met some. They think you’re a hero.”

  He shrugs. “It’s easy to look like a hero when you’re signing somebody’s paycheck.”

  I think of Quentin Pearce and cringe inwardly.

  “You’re being modest,” I say. “They told me you saved a lot of lives overseas.”

  “A lot of guys did,” he says, glancing at his watch. “I’ve got us a table at the Purple Room in twenty minutes. Sound good?”

  I let him change the subject; he never was one to take praise very well. It was pretty rare that he got any growing up.

  “This is crazy,” I say.

  He looks at me, startled.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the last time we were together, you could barely afford a burger at McDonald’s. Now we’re on our way to the most expensive restaurant in Chicago. I’d say you’ve come a long way, but that doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.”

  He finishes his scotch.

  “I try not to think about that,” he says. “Money’s just a perk of the job, really. I’d be just as happy eating burgers at the Bad Apple every day, but clients kind of expect high-end treatment. It’s the work that’s important.”

  “So I’ve heard. A lot of people have better lives because of Atlas.”

  “I saw some bad stuff on the other side of the world. It changes you, or at least it changed me. I wanted to help people, and when I met Sully, it was like God was saying ‘all right, here’s your opportunity.’”

  I nod. “By all accounts, i
t sounds like he was a wonderful man.”

  “He was the father I never had,” Chance says simply. “Everything I have, I owe to him.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Chance. When we were young, you were like this giant warehouse full of potential, just waiting for someone to unlock your door. I think maybe Sully was that key for you.”

  He smiles. “I never thought of it that way.”

  “You never did see yourself the way I saw you,” I say before I can stop myself.

  He looks uncomfortable all of a sudden; I’m sure if there were a mirror in here, I’d look the same. Way to make it awkward, Sara.

  Chance breaks the tension by changing the subject again.

  “I’d rather talk about you,” he says. “Tre told me about Bishop & Associates. So you and Gracie track down missing kids? That’s incredible.”

  I blush. “Nothing like what Atlas does,” I say. “But – well, you know what Grace and I went through when we were growing up. A lot of girls aren’t lucky enough to have… people in their lives to help them through it.”

  Suddenly his hand is on top of mine. I don’t think he even realizes he’s done it; there’s just this empathetic look in his eyes, urging me to go on.

  “So they leave,” I say. “Unfortunately, there’s never a shortage of hawks out there looking for girls to exploit. We work to find them and get them out of those situations.”

  “Sounds dangerous,” he says.

  I shrug. “You taught me how to handle myself years ago, and I’ve been practicing ever since. I’m pretty good at it.”

  “So you’re saying everything you are today, you owe to me?” he says with a grin.

  I giggle. “Yes, Dudley Do-Right,” I say, pretending to swoon. “You saved me from the railroad tracks of life!”

  That makes him laugh. It’s the first time he’s done that around me since we met up again, and it prompts an aching wave of nostalgia in my heart. Suddenly all I can think of are what-ifs.

  I down the last of my vodka in an effort to get a hold of myself.

  “But those cases tend not to pay all that well,” I say. “So I have to take some jobs that aren’t quite as morally upright, if you know what I mean.”

  Chance nods. “There are a lot of rappers and reality show stars who need bodyguards, and they help Atlas keep the lights on. Sometimes you have to work with people like that.”

  “Yup. And sometimes, you have to work with people like Quentin Pearce.”

  The car comes to a stop and the driver comes around to open our door.

  “Let’s not talk about that,” Chance says, taking my hand. “I want us to just be happy tonight.”

  I smile, trying to mask the emotions running just below the surface of my eyes.

  “I want that, too.”

  You can’t imagine how much.

  Chapter One Hundred Thirteen

  20. CHANCE

  “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I ask as my driver motors off into the darkness.

  “What, with walking? I’m pretty good at it, Chance. Been doing it since I was a toddler.”

  I chuckle. Sara always could make me laugh like nobody else.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I know what you mean, and I’m fine with it. I really want to see your place, Chance.”

  We’re both a little tipsy, but that’s okay. Dinner went better than I could have hoped. We spent the whole time catching up. She was most interested in stories about what Atlas does for people in dangerous situations around the world; I wanted to hear more about the girls she’s rescued.

  Quentin Pearce never came up once, which makes me think I may have accomplished my goal.

  You accomplished more than that, my conscience tells me. Sara’s on her way to your penthouse right now. Where are you going to go from here?

  Wherever I have to if it means saving Atlas.

  Saving Atlas. Uh-huh. Nothing at all to do with satisfying the urges you’ve been having since she walked into that boardroom.

  Shut up, brain. You’re starting to sound like Tre.

  “The food tonight was amazing,” Sara says.

  “Better than the Blue Box Café?” I ask. It’s what we used to call the Kraft Mac & Cheese I practically live on when we were kids.

  “Oh my God,” she giggles. “I haven’t thought of that in years.”

  “What’s that line from the Barenaked Ladies song? Something about eating even more mac and cheese if I had a million dollars.”

  “Is it true? I mean, I assume you have a lot more than a million dollars. Is your pantry stuffed with blue boxes and expensive ketchups?”

  “There’s nothing in my pantry,” I confess. “I, uh, don’t really cook.”

  She goggles at me. “Seriously?”

  “Hey, I grew up on the streets and then went into the military and got fed every meal. Where was I going to learn how?”

  “And then you struck it rich and realized you could afford the Purple Room,” she says with a mocking grin.

  “Don’t hate the player,” I say. “Hate the game.”

  She giggles and takes my arm. I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it – it was practically a reflex for her when we were young.

  We amble along North Wayne Avenue like that for a while until I see my house in the distance.

  “There’s my place,” I say, pointing to the three-story greystone I bought a couple years ago.

  “Holy crap,” she breathes.

  “It’s not the storeroom at the rec center,” I say. “But it’s all right, in its own way.”

  She giggles. “That’s incredible. I’m so proud of you, Chance. You’ve come so far.”

  I pull her closer to me as we approach the lobby.

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  Chapter One Hundred Fourteen

  21. SARA

  Chance’s house reminds me a lot of the Atlas offices: sleek and understated, with lots of wood and glass. The foyer opens onto the front room and the elegant staircase to the second floor, with a glimpse down the hall at a modern kitchen.

  There’s no hint of a feminine touch to the décor anywhere. I can’t help but take that as a good sign.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say as he closes the massive walnut front door behind us.

  “Thanks. I don’t get to spend a lot of time here; mostly I’m traveling for work. There’s a little suite adjacent to my office, too, for those nights when I don’t make it home from work.”

  “Oh, sure,” I say, nodding. “I mean, who doesn’t have one of those, right?”

  He grins as he leads me down the hall, past a tasteful dining room with a low table that looks like it was made from a solid piece of ebony, and into the kitchen.

  “Parties always seemed to end up in the kitchen when we were kids,” he says. “Might as well start there.”

  It’s a huge space, with about twenty feet of counter space and polished ash cabinets that go all the way up to the ceiling. An eight-by-four-foot island separates the kitchen proper from a subdued family room with a huge TV on the wall and a floor-to-ceiling window onto the back yard.

  “I feel like I’m dreaming,” I say. “Something like this – I never could have imagined it when we were young.”

  “You and me both,” he says, pouring us each a drink from a sideboard in the family room. “I used to dream about just having my own bedroom back then, let alone this.”

  Grace and I were far from well-off, but at least we had our own rooms. Chance never had a room to himself in the foster care system; the closest he ever came was the sofa in the basement of Tre’s house.

  He hands me my glass and I raise it in a toast.

  “To you,” I say. “You did it, Chance. You made your own reality. I always knew you would.”

  “I’ve got a better one,” he says. “To those kids in the storeroom of the rec center, who never gave up on themselves.”

  That slices like a blade, but I don’
t let it show. If only he could have said we never gave up on each other.

  For a moment, we stand there quietly, looking out at the night sky and the stunning landscaping of the yard. It looks like a Japanese garden of sorts, with cedar and stone and a fountain in the center.

  “Come with me,” he says, taking my hand and leading me to a spiral staircase in the corner.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Up.”

  Two flights later and we emerge through another walnut door onto a rooftop patio. There’s outdoor furniture that forms a conversation area overlooking the yard and the rest of the downtown neighborhood.

  I scan the 360-degree view.

  “It’s gorgeous.”

  “Yeah,” he says, looking at me. “It sure is.”

  I down my drink in the hopes of slowing my suddenly rapid heart rate. What’s going on? Is it what I hoped when he invited me here? What did I hope? Am I ready for this? Do I want this?

  Chance places his glass on a low end table and takes my hand.

  “Remember when we used to slow dance in the storeroom?” he asks. “Just swaying back and forth to whatever was playing on that shitty little transistor radio that only picked up the oldies station?”

  I nod, unable to speak.

  He takes a remote control of the table and taps a button. Immediately, Madonna starts singing from an unseen speaker about being crazy for someone.

  Chance pulls me toward him and I move as if in a trance. We take our places like we always did back then: me with my arms around his neck, him with his hands clasped at the small of my back. It’s like the last fifteen years just disappear like steam on a windowpane.

  I can’t seem to swallow as we sway back and forth under the stars, staring into each other’s eyes, with the muffled sounds of downtown and the song on the radio. Finally, he brings his forehead down to touch mine.

  “I missed you, Sara,” he whispers.

  “I missed you, too.”