The door opened and Mrs. Hodges’ face broke into an easy smile. “Well, if it isn’t my two favorite girls!” She took a step back and opened the door wider. “I’ve just put the kettle on. Come in.”
She was a small woman, somewhere between the age of fifty-five and seventy, with bright brown eyes and a still-lithe frame that she draped in loose trousers and patterned tunics. She smelled like tea and patchouli, a combination that was almost as calming to Jenna as Mrs. Hodges' quiet wisdom and capable hands. Her husband had died when Jenna and Kate were small. Jenna didn’t remember him, but she had a sense of him, of bushy eyebrows over warm eyes, a jacket with patched elbows, and a soft, deep laugh that made Mrs. Hodges smile.
Jenna led Lily into the flat, hyper aware of Lily’s tiny hand in hers. It was her job to shield Lily from the ugliness of the world, a job that only seemed to get harder since she’d come back to London. “I’m afraid I can’t stay, but would it be okay if I leave Lily here for an hour?”
“Of course,” she said. “Is everything all right?”
“Gran’s sick!” Lily proclaimed.
“Is she now?” Mrs. Hodges cast a sympathetic glance at Jenna before turning her eyes back to Lily. “You best stay here a bit then while your Mum helps out.”
“Are there biscuits?” Lily asked.
“Don’t be rude, Lily!” Jenna admonished with a smile.
“Oh, psh!” Mrs. Hodges said. “My home is Lily’s home.” She looked down at the little girl. “And of course there are biscuits. What kind of establishment do you think I’m running?”
Lily grinned, although Jenna was pretty sure the humor was lost on her.
Mrs. Hodges' eyes darkened with sympathy as she turned her attention to Jenna. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
She forced a smile and kissed Mrs. Hodges’ cheek. “You’re doing it by keeping Lily.”
“That is my pleasure.” Mrs. Hodges took Lily’s hand. “Shall we retire to the tea room?” she asked formally.
Lily giggled. “Yes!”
“Well, there you go,” Jenna said, bending to kiss Lily’s soft cheek. “The queen has spoken. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Don’t hurry on our account,” Mrs. Hodges said. “A proper tea cannot be rushed.”
Jenna had to fight the urge to stay. To ignore the fact that her mother was, at this very moment, throwing up in the bathroom at home. That Kate had work at the pub and then plans with friends, which meant Jenna had no choice but to deal with it if she hoped to take Lily back to the house.
“Thank you,” she said, stepping out into the hall.
She waved goodbye to Lily, watching her small face disappear as Mrs. Hodges shut the door. Then she took a deep breath and walked home.
She went to the linen closet first, choosing two washcloths and two towels. When she got into the bathroom, her mother was kneeling on the tile floor next to the toilet.
Jenna stepped over the vomit in the doorway and tapped on her mother’s knees. “Lift up, Mum.”
Her mother moved a little, and Jenna put one of the folded towels down so her mother’s knees wouldn’t hurt while she rid herself of the alcohol that was poison to her body. Then she set about cleaning up, giving her mother one warm washcloth for her face and mouth while Jenna mopped up the mess with the other one. When it seemed like her mother was done, she helped her to bed, pulling up the old coverlet around her shoulders.
“Sorry, love,” her mother murmured as she closed her eyes.
“It’s okay, Mum.” She pushed a lock of hair back from her mother’s forehead. “Just rest. I’ll leave you some aspirin and water.”
Her mother’s breathing immediately settled into a quiet rhythm. Jenna went back to the bathroom, disinfected everything, dried it with the second towel, and got in the shower. She leaned her forehead against the tile wall, letting her tears mingle with the water streaming down her face.
She’d learned to cry in the shower when Lily had gotten old enough to understand that tears meant something was wrong. It was the one place Jenna could cry without worrying her, and she’d become practiced at holding in her pain until she could be alone in the bathroom, steam fogging the mirror, swirling through the room like smoke. Now she let loose all her sadness and loss, all her fear and uncertainty about the future. Sobs wracked her body, and she wrapped her arms around her stomach like they would somehow protecter her from the assault of the past.
The water was growing cool by the time she felt emptied enough to step from the shower. She wrapped herself in one of the old, thin towels stacked on a shelf in the bathroom and went to her room where she put on yoga pants and a long-sleeve T-shirt. She felt raw, her nerve endings too close to the surface of her skin. She was too exposed, dangerously vulnerable, and she reached for her father’s old sweater and layered it over the T-shirt, wanting as many layers between her and the world as possible.
It had been a little over an hour since she left Lily at Mrs. Hodges'. They would still be having tea, maybe playing a game. She could afford to take half an hour to compose herself before she went back for Lily.
She went to the kitchen and opened a bottle of wine left over from the wake. They probably should have removed it from the house, but the truth was, it didn’t matter. If their mother wanted to drink, she would drink, and nothing would stop her. She hadn’t even been drinking wine tonight.
Jenna sighed into the empty room and filled a wine glass half full. She took a long drink, then stared at the burgundy liquid, trying to imagine it having such a hold on her that she would sacrifice everything. Her husband. Her dignity. Her hopes and dreams. Her children.
She couldn’t. She’d dodged that genetic bullet, as had Kate. She would have to be careful with Lily. Explain the predisposition when she was old enough to understand.
She took another drink of the wine, rolling her shoulders as the alcohol seeped into her bloodstream. She felt better, calmer, and she went to the fridge and looked at the stacks of food brought by friends and neighbors. Nothing sounded good, and she was closing the door when the bell rang.
She debated not answering. It was probably someone checking on them, making sure they were holding up okay, maybe even bringing more food. She didn’t have the energy to smile and reassure anyone that she was okay. That they would all be okay.
She headed to the front of the house when the bell sounded again. Her mother was asleep, and she would have to pick up Lily soon. She didn’t want one of the neighbors to see her leave and think she’d been hiding from them.
But when she opened the door it wasn’t a neighbor or family friend. It was Alexander Petrov.
“Hello,” he said, holding up a brown paper bag with a sheepish smile. “I thought you might be running out of shepherd’s pie.”
A wave of complex spices drifted to her from the bag, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Indian food?”
He nodded. “Good nose.”
“How nice,” she said. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugged. “John was with us a long time. It’s important to us — to me — that his family is all right. Also, I didn’t get to speak with you at the wake.” He shifted on his feet, and she realized he was attractive. Not in the primal way that Farrell was attractive but in a nice way. “Although if you would rather I leave it so you can eat in peace, there will be no hard feelings.”
She hesitated. She needed to pick up Lily, and being alone with her father’s boss hadn’t exactly been in her plans for the evening. But the smell of the Indian food had risen her appetite, and the prospect of a little company didn’t sound half bad.
She stepped back to let him in. “I have to step out in a bit, but I think I can manage a quick meal. And although there is still plenty of shepherd’s pie in the fridge, I have to admit I’m rather sick of it.”
He smiled, displaying two charming dimples that made him look incongruously boyish in his expensive suit. “Terrific.”
She led him
to the back of the house and unpacked the food. Then retrieved two plates from the cupboard. They made small talk while they dished, then took their food to the couch. They ate in silence for a few minutes, and Jenna was surprised to find it wasn’t at all awkward. She wasn’t usually good at getting to know new people, and she often felt self-conscious, hyper aware of quiet even when the other person seemed perfectly at ease.
“How are you holding up?” he finally asked, his voice careful, like he knew he was pressing around a fresh wound.
“I’m okay most of the time,” she said. “Then I realize he’s really gone, and it’s hard all over again.”
He nodded. “I imagine that’s how it is. I hope with time it will become less difficult.”
“I hope so, too.” She paused before continuing. “I hadn’t seen him in five years. I’m ashamed of that now.”
“I’m sure you had a good reason.” There was understanding and not a bit of judgement in his voice.
“I have a daughter,” she said suddenly, surprising herself with the disclosure. “I didn’t… I didn’t want to bring her back to London, and dad was always working so…”
“He rarely took his paid days off,” Alexander said, looking down at his food as if the thought pained him. “From what I hear from the people who worked closely with him, he seemed happy, seemed to enjoy his job.” He met her eyes. “I don’t know if that helps.”
She tried to smile. “It does. I often wonder if he was happy.”
“I think for most people, happiness is something that comes and goes,” he said carefully. “Where we get into trouble is when we expect to be happy all of the time. That’s not how life works. I find I’m happier when I’m able to see the beauty in its unpredictability.”
“A lofty goal,” she said.
He smiled. “Yes.”
A couple more minutes passed before he spoke again. “Forgive me for being indelicate, but have the police learned anything about the night he was killed?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but his wallet was emptied, and his football ring was taken. The police have chalked it up to a random mugging.”
Alexander put down his fork and shook his head. “I don't know what the world is coming to. Danger seems to be found in the most unexpected places.”
She thought of Farrell, of his determination to make the world a safer place by heading violence off with more violence. It wasn’t difficult to see how he had come to the philosophy given the death of his own father, not dissimilar to the way Jenna’s father had been killed. Every day people were hurt and killed simply going about their business. It wasn’t fair.
“I know what you mean,” she said, forcing Farrell from her mind.
“And there was nothing else in his possession that would have made him a target?” Alexander said, as if the thought had just occurred to him.
Jenna flashed to the passport and key card hidden in her father’s coat. Hardly sought after items for a thief. If he’d been hiding them, it had been for reasons of his own.
“Nothing,” she said. “He was a simple man, and as I’m sure you’ve noticed, this isn’t the best neighborhood in London.”
“Nor the worst,” he said.
She smiled. “Now you sound like my sister.”
He held her gaze, and for a moment, she thought she felt a current of something like attraction ripple between them. It was gone a split second later, replaced by an image of Farrell as he’d loomed over her at the wake, the feel of his erection pressing into her belly.
“Well, I suppose I should be going,” Alexander said, standing.
“I’ll walk you out.” She was glad for the distraction of walking to the front of the house, of the niceties involved with handing Alexander his coat and opening the door. He stepped over the threshold, then turned and looked into her eyes. “Thank you for sharing your dinner.”
“Thank you for bringing it,” she said. “It was very kind.”
“There was at least some part of it that was selfish, I assure you.” He smiled a little. “Goodnight, Jenna.”
“Goodnight, Alexander.”
He shook his head. “Alex, please.”
She hesitated. “Alex.”
The name felt strange and unfamiliar on her tongue. She watched him descend to the sidewalk and get into a sleek car parked at the curb. She closed the door before he’d driven away, feeling oddly guilty, as if she’d somehow betrayed Farrell when she owed him nothing. Certainly not the celibacy she’d maintained over the five years they’d been apart. She was willing to bet he hadn’t done the same.
The idea turned her stomach. She couldn’t think about Farrell with anyone else. She assumed he’d been with other people — but it was one thing to know it and another entirely to imagine it.
She went to the kitchen and put away the food, turning her attention to the conversation with Alexander Petrov. His questions about her father’s death had brought forth the questions that had been lurking in the back of her mind. Her father had been to the local pubs at least a thousand times in his lifetime without incident. Had his death ten days ago really been a random mugging? Or was there a chance the killer had been looking for something?
But what? Her father was a janitor. He didn’t have anything of value. He rarely even had money in his pockets. And what would a thief want with a passport and hotel key card?
She put the leftover food in the fridge and leaned against the counter. On the other hand, why had her father so carefully hidden the two things in his coat? Why not keep them in his wallet? Or better yet, at home?
The more she thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense. Maybe he’d been having an affair, taking trips to meet a lover. It was difficult to imagine, but she wouldn’t have blamed him given the circumstances. Still, she couldn’t be sure.
And for some reason, she wanted to be sure.
She thought about Farrell. He was a man of resources, and if Kate was correct, a man of some influence now. He would likely be able to help her trace the key card using the stamps on her father’s passport.
She shook her head, disgusted with herself. Call it what it is if you want to see him, she thought. At least be honest with yourself.
It was true. She did want to see him, although she knew nothing good would come of it. He was like a magnet, drawing her body in through some kind of gravitational force. Once she was in his orbit, it was nearly impossible to stay away, proving that she’d been right to do so all these years.
But she did want to know about her father’s final days and weeks. Wanted to know what he’d been thinking. Why he’d been taking trips, carrying around a hotel key card.
And Farrell Black was the only person who could help her.
11
Farrell surveyed the man standing across from him, sensing his fear. They were at the club, Farrell in his chair behind his desk while Leo stood next to Bobby Powers. Farrell knew Bobby expected him to stand. It’s what most people did during a power play. An effort to level the playing field, to eliminate the advantage someone might have by standing over you.
But that was bullshit. Farrell didn’t believe in power plays. You either had power or you didn’t. You were either in control or you weren’t. You could either back up your words with action or you couldn’t.
And Farrell did.
Farrell was.
Farrell could.
It didn’t matter whether he was sitting, standing, or laying down. He could end Bobby Powers with one well-placed blow, and Bobby knew it. The idea was tempting. He’d been on edge since he’d seen Jenna, all his feelings for her wound like a snake waiting to strike in the pit of his stomach.
And Bobby had betrayed his trust. A bookie who was responsible for one of London’s most lucrative territories, he’d been stealing money from Farrell for weeks. Farrell didn’t like it when people stole from him, but what he hated most of all was when people underestimated him. When they assumed they could steal from him without consequence. Then he
felt obliged to show them the error of their ways.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you,” Farrell finally said. “Skimming money off the top, under-reporting on the bets you control, lying about it all… Those aren’t forgivable offenses in my world.”
“I know,” Bobby said. He managed to keep his voice even, but Farrell saw the twitch of his shoulders, recognized the uncontrollable shaking that accompanies extreme fear. Bobby Powers was shitting his pants. “I’m sorry. I just… with the ex-wife and the support… I let it get away from me.”
“Do you think I’m interested in your personal problems?” Farrell asked him.
“N-No. You’re right. It’s not your problem. Just… please.”
“Please?” Farrell lifted an eyebrow, then cut a glance at Leo. He was like a brick wall, face impassive, shoulders squared. He would do what needed to be done.
What Farrell told him to do.
“Please don’t hurt me,” Bobby said, trying again.
Farrell sat forward. “I don’t make decisions based on pity. My conscience only answers to reason, and it wouldn’t be reasonable to let you get away with stealing from me. It would set a bad example for the others in my employ. Encourage more theft. And that I can’t allow.”
Bobby was shaking his head, trying to back out of the room even though Leo had a firm handle on his arm. Farrell wanted to stand, step around his desk, let loose on Bobby’s doughy face, not because it would accomplish anything, but because he needed the release.
He drew in a breath, forcing himself to maintain control. Giving in to the urge would feel good, but it would be a sign of weakness. An acknowledgment that seeing Jenna had put him off balance. And he’d promised himself a long time ago that would never happen again.
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