Muffin Top

Home > Contemporary > Muffin Top > Page 17
Muffin Top Page 17

by Tabatha Kiss


  I flash her a smile. “You know I don’t mind, Mrs. Clark. Everything still go in the same place?” I grab the bread from the top of a bag and spin around to stick it in the bread box on the counter.

  “Yes, but you don’t have to do that. I can put it away.” She pushes herself out of the chair slowly and walks into the kitchen. “If you got a minute to spare, the light in the bathroom went out.”

  “Again?”

  “Must be a bad wire or something.”

  “I’ll take a look at it.” I drop the gallon of milk in the fridge and head down the hallway towards the bathroom.

  “Thank you, Fox!” she calls after me with a sweet voice. “What would I do without you?”

  “Fall and die, I suppose,” I joke, chuckling softly. I climb up onto the toilet and unscrew the crème-colored globe to get at the bulb.

  “Well, you’re not wrong about that,” she says. “Hey — you see the news today?”

  “Nope.” I twist the bulb and the light comes back on. “Looks like the bulb got loose.”

  “That girl you like is all over it.”

  “What girl?”

  “That Rocky girl.”

  I pause. “Roxie Roberts?”

  “Yeah, that one!” she says. “From those Night Trial movies we watched.”

  I step off the toilet and walk back into the kitchen. “What happened?”

  “See for yourself.” She points at the television. “It’s on every channel.”

  I grab the remote and scroll the volume as loud as it’ll go. Correspondents sit around a table, barking theories back and forth over snippets of news footage, analyzing one clip in particular. Ticker tape scrolls along the bottom, warning that the footage might be disturbing to some viewers. After what I’ve seen, I tend to ignore warnings like that.

  The footage starts with Senator Ronnie Lamb standing at a podium with his arm wrapped around a young woman—

  Dani. The ends of my lips twitch, just like they always do when I see her.

  He shoves her aside and she takes a step back, her face shining with a polite expression, although I can tell how tortured she is. Then I see the black ropes falling down in the windows behind them. I focus on them until two black bodies swing down and crash through the glass.

  Dani falls forward and my heart lurches in my chest.

  “Run, Dani…” I whisper, wishing for it to come true, but she stays on the floor with wide eyes. Terrified, frozen in her fear.

  The two men in black force Lamb to his knees and place their pistols on the back of his head.

  Snake Eyes. One bullet through each eye. It’s their specialty.

  They pull the triggers and Lamb’s body crumbles to the floor. Dani doesn’t scream. She doesn’t even look away from the blood creeping towards her shoes.

  “Move…”

  Lamb has been pissing people off on both sides of the aisle for over thirty years. It was only a matter of time until someone offed him but I would never have expected Snake Eyes to take the job. They don’t make a show out of it like this. The snake comparison doesn’t end with two bullets in each eye. They value stealth above all other skills. A hit in broad daylight? In front of a dozen news cameras? Someone wanted this to be very, very public. They wanted to send a message but to whom?

  I grit my teeth as one of them reaches behind his back. He pulls out his knife and leans over Dani, wrapping his thick fingers around her neck. Anger swells in my chest as the blade scratches across her cheek and blood spills down her face. I feel the pain of it myself, charging up my cheek from my lips to my ears. I run my fingertip along my own scar; the one I keep hidden behind a beard as Darla accurately pointed out. I’ve had it for two years, ever since my first mission in Snake Eyes.

  So that’s what this is. Lamb isn’t the target; he’s the perfect patsy. The news media will argue day and night over who is behind this political assassination but it was never about him or his policies. They needed this to be big.

  They wanted to make sure I’d notice.

  I step closer and watch as he leaps out the window. It’d be optimistic to think the police caught him. Mercer is way too good to get caught so easily.

  Mercer Black. He was my friend. Not so much anymore.

  “Horrible, isn’t it?”

  I pull my eyes away to look at Mrs. Clark. “Yeah. It is.”

  “Poor girl. She’ll be scarred for life.”

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Clark. I’ll be right back.”

  She mutters a response and slides back down into her chair while I step outside.

  Snake Eyes and I didn’t exactly part on good terms. There’s only one way out of Snake Eyes and that’s with two holes in your skull. I wasn’t about to go out like that and in order to escape them, I had to improvise.

  Somehow, Mercer has figured it out, but Mrs. Clark’s guest house has definitely done its job. He can’t find me, so he’s going after the one thing he knows I care about. Slicing Dani’s cheek was a warning meant only for me.

  Show yourself or she’s next.

  I think I’ll enjoy shooting him in the head.

  ***

  I knock on Mrs. Clark’s door and patiently wait while Sammy growls and barks at me through the window.

  “Calm your tits, Sammy! It’s just Fox.”

  I grin to hide my real expression as she opens the door. “Hey, Mrs. Clark,” I greet.

  She keeps the door open wide and walks back inside towards the kitchen. “Come on in, honey. You hungry? I was just about to make a sandwich and I’d be happy to make two.”

  I close the door behind me. “No, thanks. I just stopped by to let you know that I need to do some last-minute traveling.”

  “Oh?” she asks. She bends down to pull some lunch meat from the refrigerator and snatches a clean butter knife from the drying rack by the sink. “Where you off to?”

  “Just…” I hesitate and tap a finger against the counter. “A family thing.”

  She raises an inquisitive brow. “I was beginning to think you didn’t have one of those…”

  “Yeah. Me, too.” I look down at Sammy. He’s still on full alert, sitting directly between me and his master. I haven’t had blood on my hands in years but this mutt can still smell it on me. Always has. “Anyway, I don’t know how long I’ll be gone but I wanted to let you know.”

  “Don’t you worry about me, Fox.” She handles the butter knife with more precision than you’d expect from her old, pale hands — an after effect of her years as a trauma nurse. It’s what I like most about her. She’s not at all squeamish and could easily handle herself it if weren’t for that hip. “I’ve got Sammy and Harvey to keep me company.”

  “Right.” I flash a genuine smile. “Take care, Mrs. Clark.”

  “You, too, kiddo.”

  I step outside and rub my hands together as I make my way towards my car. The cold has lingered longer than necessary, teasing a spring just over the horizon. I look around, taking in my last lungful of Iowa farm air, memorizing the picturesque world around me. Big farmhouse, the guest cabin, even the old barn out across the field. I rub my hands together again. They always feel a little cold, at least… until the moments before a kill. Then I have to submerge them in ice water to make them feel normal again. I feel that warmth now, reigniting a feeling in me I thought was lost.

  I lower myself into my car and sit back against the seat. Here I am, doing the exact thing I told myself I would never do again. Not just for my own safety, but for my family’s as well. My mother. My stepfather. Dani. Each one of them will be in danger if I ever show my face again. Most of all, though, none of them will ever look at me again if they find out about the things I’ve done.

  I pause with my fingers lingering above the ignition. I should stop now and go back inside. It’s not right to uproot them now. It’s been five years since I left home and two since I was “killed in action.” They’ve had a chance to mourn, a chance to get over it and move on without me. It wouldn’t be fair
to them if I suddenly showed up again. And what would I say to them? Sorry. I wasn’t really dead. I’ve been hiding out in Middle of Nowhere, Iowa in an old lady’s guest house. Pass the mashed potatoes, please.

  But Dani is in danger.

  Mercer will come back for her and when he does, he’ll put her through unbelievable torment just to get to me. I can’t ignore that in favor of living my lie a little bit longer.

  I lick my lips and relish in the rush of memory tingling my senses. She tasted so sweet and warm back then, like freshly baked apples. Young, beautiful, but she didn’t know it yet. Not back then. She was just little Dani Roberts. The girl down the hall.

  I push the guilt aside and turn the key.

  ***

  “Hell-o! Who is this?”

  I press the receiver closer to my ear as the dull, rumbling LAX crowd passes by the pay phones. The woman in the booth next to mine makes eye contact with me before glancing down my black suit with a seductive smile. I turn my back to her and grip my bag a little tighter. “Boxcar, it’s me.”

  “Me?” His voice squeaks back. “I don’t know anybody named Me.”

  “Boxcar…” I glance around for prying ears.

  “No, I want to hear you say it,” he chuckles. “I want you to tell me that I died. How else could I be talking to a dead man right now?”

  “You’re not dead and neither am I.”

  “Obviously.” I hear the clacking of a keyboard beneath his voice. “I don’t suppose you’re about to bless me with an explanation?”

  “Not just yet,” I say. “I need your help.”

  “Did you try turning it off and back on again?”

  “Little more technical than that, Box.”

  “You came all the way back from hell to ask for my help?” he jokes.

  I pause as a man walks a little too close. A nervous habit, but not unnecessary. “Are you in L.A.?”

  “Nope, I’m a bit farther east these days.”

  “How far?”

  “Boston.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s more than a bit.”

  “Lucky for you, I’ll be in Denver this week,” he says. “Forty-eight hours from now, to be more exact.”

  “Where?”

  “Botsford Plaza downtown. I’ve got a little party to attend…”

  “Think you can spare a few minutes to decrypt a drive?”

  He sighs. “And here I thought you had a challenge for me. Meet me at the hotel. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, Boxcar.”

  “But only if you’ll dazzle me with the tale of the sly fox who cheated death.”

  I smile. “You got it, man.”

  “If I were to wager a guess,” he continues, “I’d bet this little resurrection has something to do with a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed starlet.”

  “You might not be wrong.”

  “Predictable,” he sings. “But I get it.”

  “Bye, Box.” I hang up and leave the terminal behind me.

  The bright California sun blinds me as I step outside. There’s an energy in the air; a unique hustle one can’t find out in Iowa farm country. I can’t say I miss it, but I don’t hate it either. It’s been five years.

  Home sweet home.

  Chapter 4

  Dani

  I stare at my reflection in a compact mirror, my gaze lingering on the giant, white bandage covering my cheek. It’s finally stopped hurting but it’s left behind an itch that’s impossible to scratch unless I want to piss off the plastic surgeon my father is pouring way too much money onto to make it all disappear.

  I slide the mirror back into my purse and look out the car window to see my father’s neighborhood rushing by. “Smith, where are we going?”

  He glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Your father’s house.”

  “I see that. Why? I said I wanted to go to my apartment.”

  “Sorry, kid. Daddy’s orders.”

  I sit farther back in the seat. “Great…”

  Smith says nothing more, keeping his blank, stoic face forward as we turn off onto my father’s street. I haven’t decided whether or not I like this new escort my father has hired to follow me around. He’s an ex-cop, obvious by the way he holds his shoulders like he’s reliving the old glory days of his career. Could be worse, I suppose. My hand rises to my cheek but I manage to stop myself from scratching the stitches lying beneath it.

  “Hang on…” Smith says, slowing the car to a near halt as the paparazzi barely parts for us. They fill the end of my father’s driveway, cameras flashing at the tinted windows, hoping to get just one shot of my new, mangled face to sell to the highest bidder.

  We pass through the gate and it closes behind the car, leaving the army of cameras disappointed and angry as we travel down the long road and park in the circle drive up front.

  “Stay put.”

  I nod at Smith as he steps out and slides his jacket off his shoulders. We’re far enough away from the gates that they’d never get a decent shot to sell but Dad doesn’t want to risk it leaking out at all. Smith opens my door for me and holds his jacket over my head to block their view of me as we walk up the stairs to the front door.

  “Honey, she’s home!”

  I hear Cora’s voice from the living room the second my heel touches the shiny, marble floor. “Yep, I’m home,” I mutter as Smith drops his jacket.

  “I’m going to see if I can get them to piss off.” He steps back outside to deal with the vultures with cameras.

  My father’s study door bursts open and he steps out into the foyer. His face instantly contorts into a frown and he walks over to me to grab my jaw.

  “Ow—”

  “I can’t believe this…” he says through his teeth, studying the bandage closely. “They couldn’t have just killed the old bastard and left?”

  “Dad…” I whisper, glancing into the living room for Cora. She’s been crying since yesterday, completely wrecked by the loss of her friend. “It’s fine. The doctor said it’s a clean cut, easy to fix. I got lucky.”

  “Well, we’re going to find out who did this and sue the hell out of them. We’re lucky you already finished re-shoots on Night Trials 3. Does it hurt?”

  “A little.”

  “They give you pain meds?”

  “No.”

  He furrows his brow. “What the hell kind of doctors are these people?”

  “They didn’t give me meds because I didn’t need them. Like I said, it hurts a little. Mostly just itches.” I step out of the foyer to join Cora in the living room. She’s curled up on the couch with a self-help book and a glass of wine; not an unfamiliar pose for her over the last few years. “Hey, Cora.”

  “Hey, sweetie,” she says, her eyes glazed and blissful. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine.” I pause near the windows and poke a single finger through the blinds.

  “Make sure you check out my bookshelf,” she says, pointing at me. “I have some great books for dealing with stress.”

  “I will.”

  The paparazzi disperse as a small, black car parks in front of the gate and Smith steps closer to investigate.

  My father wanders in from his study with a script in his hands. “While you’re here, I want you to read this again. Make any notes you want and we’ll take it back to Bruckberg.”

  “No.” I watch the driveway and the black car slowly rolls towards the house.

  “No?” he parrots back. “What do you mean no?”

  “Dad, I really don’t feel like working right now.”

  “Life doesn’t stop just because something bad happens to you, honey.”

  I scoff. That’s the great Bennett Roberts for you. All work and no play. “I know. I just need a few days off.”

  “Bruckberg doesn’t have a few days.”

  “Then they’ll find someone else.”

  “Bennett…” Cora’s sweet, sing-song voice echoes from the couch. “She’s not asking for much. Just a littl
e time to heal.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her.

  “No — not thank you. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, Roxie. A lifetime.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Dad…” I drop the curtain and step away from the window.

  “You can start by telling me what the hell is wrong with you!” he barks. “Where are you going?”

  “To answer the door.” I walk out of the living room and into the foyer as their voices continue behind me.

  “Bennett, please. You’re shouting.”

  “Of course, I am! My daughter is throwing her career away!”

  “Bennett…”

  I pull the door open just as Smith reaches for the handle from the outside. “Hey, Smith.”

  He sighs and steps inside. “What did I tell you about answering doors?”

  “Honestly, can’t remember,” I joke.

  “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t answer doors is what I told you.”

  “I looked out the window and saw you walking up the drive.”

  “And what did I tell you about lingering in front of windows?”

  “Don’t?” I smile.

  “You know, kid, I’ve guarded dictators that were easier to deal with than you.”

  “Not nearly as pretty, though, right?”

  He sneers in my direction and walks into the living room. “Ma’am,” he says, addressing Cora. “You have a visitor out front. He refuses to leave.”

  My father turns up his hands. “So make him leave. What else do I pay you for?”

  “Who is it?” Cora asks.

  Smith places his hands on his hips. “He says he’s your son.”

  Cora pauses and slowly sets her wine glass on the coffee table in front of her. “My son?” she repeats.

  “Said his name is Fox.”

  I turn to the door. My fingertips graze my lips, feeling the long-forgotten phantom tug of him drawing my bottom lip between his teeth. “Fox?” I breathe his name, excitement stirring in my breast.

  “Show me,” Cora says, standing up and following Smith outside.

  “Let’s not get too excited now…” my father warns. “It could be a prank.”

  He’s right. Lamb announced in front of dozens of cameras that my stepbrother was killed in action. That video hit one million views in less than an hour. There are plenty of people out there willing enough to toy with someone’s emotions like that.

 

‹ Prev