by Anthology
“Nothing. What do you mean Trick's safe? I told you to stay away from him.”
“Well, that's the thing. I'm working with him now and—”
“What? Are you fucking crazy?” His yell made her rip the phone from her ear.
“Did you not hear me? I know where he has money.” I think. She hadn't seen the inside of the safe but given his proclivity in the past to always have cash on hand it was highly likely she'd find some.
“Rachel, the guy's a loser.”
“Enough of the insults.”
“Are you defending him? The man who drained our trust fund?”
“No, it's just . . . I think he's changed. He's not the arrogant lawyer with all the answers anymore. Now he's—”
“Oh, man. Jesus, Rach.” A scratching sound came over the phone. “You've gone and fallen for him again. What the fuck are you doing?”
“I'm doing the best I can. Stop yelling at me.” She ripped the covers off her legs and stood.
“He’s telling you lies about me, isn’t he? Don’t listen to him. Just…just stay away. I leave you alone for—”
“For almost three years, Jay. I've been here alone for three years. Where have you been, Mr. Mini-Break?”
“I deserve it and more. Sasha and I—”
“So she has a name.”
He sighed heavily in the phone. “I also got laid off.”
“When?” Her anger cooled. “Why didn't you come see me?”
“With what money?”
“How about the money I've been sending you every month? A hundred dollars doesn't go far, but it could buy a bus ticket.”
“Yeah, about that. Any chance you could . . . Oh, never mind.”
“You want more?” She felt her anger rising once more—not over his obvious thought but that they were in this stupid situation to begin with.
“Forget it. Go off with your boyfriend there.”
“He's not my boyfriend.”
“Whatever, sis.”
Jay hung up on her. Hung up!
She hit speed dial. She wasn't about to let him have the last word.
This mailbox is full. What the hell?
Pacing, she stewed. If she could, she'd visit him and make him slam the door in her face to get rid of her. Despite his transient nature, why hadn’t she insisted on an address? Enough. She then did what she should have done years ago. She Googled Northstar Energy, found it was headquartered in Dallas, and scrolled through many pages of the company's website until she found a number for the human resources department. Ten minutes later, and thanks to an accommodating “Carla” on the other end of the phone, her world imploded for the second time in three years.
That stupid, mental stop sign was no match for the anger that spewed like a volcano after learning Northstar Energy had never employed someone named Jacob Anthony Grant. For three years she'd believed every word Jay had told her. For three effing years? If he lied about this, he could have lied about other things. Trick might be right. She might have been played. That motherfucker.
Chapter Eleven
Max sauntered in with a crooked grin on his face. “You're going to want to sit down for this. We got a lock on Jay Grant's phone. He's in D.C.—Cambridge Heights Apartments.”
Trick stood so suddenly, his office chair threatened to tip over but righted itself with a loud thunk.
Max ignored his shock and continued. “So I took a little trip down to our nation's capital.” He held up his phone and showed a picture of a scruffy-looking man, peering over his shoulder as if someone might leap from the bushes. “This your guy?”
“That son of a bitch.”
“He looked strung out. He has been using, and probably for a while.”
Declan had asked about gambling, drugs, or women. If the man Max had seen was Jay, they knew the answer to that question.
Trick's mind spun like a roulette wheel only to land on one question. Did Rachel know? He grabbed his jacket. Confronting her wasn't smart, but hell, nothing he'd done in the last few weeks was smart.
“Max, go get him for me, will you? Bring him back by any means necessary. I'll be back.”
He turned the corner and ran smack into the very woman he was headed to see. Rachel wore jeans and a blouse, her hair hanging long and wet, and no makeup graced her face.
“How long have you suspected Jay took the money? Like really known?” she whispered.
His heart didn't know which way to go—feel a smug satisfaction at the shock on her face or crumble under the unshed tears forming in her eyes. “I've suspected for a while.”
“I talked to Jay. He's on a mini-break.” She drew quote marks in the air. “Now his fricking voice mail . . .” She lifted her cell phone and shook it. “. . .is full. Whose voice mail is ever full?”
The amount of relief that flooded his body was ridiculous. Rachel didn't know where Jay was. “Come inside. We'll talk.”
Max gave him a small salute before Trick shut himself and Rachel in his office—alone.
She paced. “He was worried I was with you. Told me to stay away.” She looked dazed, as if she couldn't believe her own words.
“Let's sit.” He moved her to the long couch and pulled her down, her movements robot-like. “We've been looking for him, Rachel. Traced his cell phone—”
“How? Oh, you pinched his number from my phone, huh? Did you hire me just to get info on Jay?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” He was done telling her lies—even the simple, little white ones.
“Well, I win the ulterior motive contest. I came here to steal back the $3 million from you.” She stared at the center of the room, dazed and unfocused.
“I figured that might be a possibility.”
She turned to him, more tears forming in her eyes. “You hired me anyway.”
He shrugged; his throat clogged with emotion. Those tearful eyes were going to kill him.
“He took the money, didn't he?” Disbelief, sadness, resignation cascaded like dominoes through her words. Sorrowful resignation colored every halting word.
He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest to keep from hugging her. He should tell her the whole story. Her brother was a larger fuck-up before the trust fund debacle than she knew, but that sordid account could wait for the appropriate time.
“When I saw you at Talman's, I began to think you weren’t involved,” he said. “In my gut, though I couldn't admit it at the time, I think I knew you couldn’t be part of the set-up and waitressing at the same time.” He felt the need to confirm it for some reason, both for himself as well as her. Now he had proof in the form of Rachel's tears and honest shock at being thoroughly misled by her brother.
Her eyes grew wide. “I called Northstar. They had never heard of Jacob Anthony Grant.”
“We know.”
“Jesus. Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped.”
“Yeah? Like you really would have done that.” She looked like he'd slapped her. “I've been trying to talk to you about him for over a week. You wouldn’t listen to a word I said.”
She stilled and recognition crossed her pretty face. “Well…I’m ready to listen now.”
“Okay, let's start at the beginning. Did he ask you to move to Baltimore with him?”
She nodded.
“So you both moved but he didn't stay. He left shortly afterward.”
“For Northstar, or so he said, but he just wanted me someplace you wouldn’t find me, didn’t he?” She put her head in her hands. “Jay could be anywhere—”
“He's in D.C. Max found him.”
She lifted her gaze to him, her eyes brimming with even more frustrated tears. She shot up. “You have a car, right?”
“No, Rachel. Let us handle this.” He pulled her back down. “We have reason to believe he's using. It's not safe.”
“Drugs? He never was—”
“Come on. He got high every second he could, Rachel. Don't you remember?”
“No, I don't. He was probably better at hiding it f
rom me than you. I've been sending him money. Not much.” She shrugged. “But still. . .”
His jaw began to ache from clenching it so hard.
“Trick, I don't know why he's been lying, but it doesn’t mean he took the trust fund—
“Jesus, Rachel,” he cried and stood. “Doesn't it? A few million doesn't go far when it's snorted up your nose or pushed into a vein for three years.” By the way her eyes reddened further, his sarcastic tone wasn't helping, but he was so tired of everyone being so naive about Jay. He went to fucking jail because of that guy. “Rachel, look . . .”
Her face screwed into a grimace and a sob broke from her chest. He dropped back on the couch and pulled her into him. She cried into his shoulder until his shirt was soaked with tears—stupid tears that she should never have shed. He was going to kill Jay Grant the minute he found him.
She gulped air as her body shuddered. “I'd have finished sc-school. And, oh, God,” she looked up at him, shocked. “We would have been m-married.”
He didn't know what else to do. He grasped the sides of her face and kissed her hard. Salty tears mixed with the sweet taste of her lips. His hands shot under her shirt, and her lips trembled as she took shuddering breaths. His lips, tongue, and mouth reclaimed what he should have never lost. He felt her despair, yet he couldn't feel bad, because after three long years, she finally, finally believed he could be innocent of crimes that took him away from her.
~~~~~
Rachel was drowning—in his kiss, in all the lost time, in the foolishness she'd displayed. As wave after wave of emotion swept her, she clawed at Trick's shirt. If she could get lost in the feeling of skin on skin, she might forget what she'd learned.
She yanked the fabric of his jeans and heard the ping-ping of a button skittering against a hard surface. Trick pulled his half-unbuttoned shirt over his head. Frantically, she fumbled for fasteners and zippers. She furiously kicked her legs trying to peel off her jeans. She didn't want anything but his skin against hers. His lips were back on her as if understanding the life-and-death nature of the contact.
When they'd finally shed all clothes, he jerked her underneath him and slammed into her. She heard herself moan, a long, throaty sound that rumbled in her ears. She emptied the air from her lungs into his mouth. He took it all. She nearly came undone again at the intruding thought of all he'd endured—for her, for Jay.
Her throat clogged and a muffled cry caught in her throat. He broke his lip lock on her mouth and stilled. “Breathe, Rachel.”
Her lungs sucked in a large breath, and she stared into his eyes as he moved in and out of her, slowly, then urgently. She hooked her legs over his, her arms clung to his shoulders. Involuntary, animalistic sounds vibrated in her throat, and her body opened to the stretch of his cock, his wild thrusts. Still, she needed him to go harder and deeper, to drive out the loss and distance of the last three years. Crushed by the disclosures about Jay's probable involvement, overwhelmed by the injustice done to Trick, and staggered by all she’d lost as a result, she clung to Trick like a buoy in a stormy ocean. Being with him like this was genuine, true. Everything else had been a lie.
His lips cruised along her collarbone, up her cheek, to retake her mouth in a wild tangle of lips and tongue. She lost herself in his musk, his weight, and his hard cock battering her pussy. Hips aching from being stretched wide, nipples raw from scratching against the light hair on his chest, she wanted to ride the feeling of him in her, on her, everywhere, forever. A yearning sound left her throat as her desire rose impossibly higher, and fresh pleasure spread down her legs and up her torso as her orgasm built. When she finally crested, they were both panting, and the sweet and satisfying release moved her to further tears.
Trick slipped free, pulled her up and onto his lap, and held her while she sobbed. Neither of them moved until she had no more tears left. She stayed wrapped in Trick's arms until her brain slowly reawakened, an unwelcome development, because one clear thought cut through the haze and fog. Jacob Anthony Grant, if you did what I suspect, you are no longer my brother.
Chapter Twelve
“Are we ever going to make love in a bed again?” he asked.
Cool air wafted over them as the air conditioning kicked in. Rachel sighed and pulled away, their skin sticking together slightly as she eased off his lap to sit next to him.
“Is that what we're doing? Making love?” She reached for her jeans and torn panties. A maniacal half-laugh bubbled up at the sight of the tattered garments. “Well, this is what we always did. Have an emotional breakdown and make up like”—she waved her torn panties through the air—“this.”
“I don't remember us like that.” He grasped her wrist and pulled the lace from her hand. “All I thought about when I was put away was waking up in the morning next to you in our bed.”
She stilled. “You thought about me in prison.” Her eyes closed and she wrapped her arms around herself. Her voice softened to little more than a whisper. “I thought of you, too—even when I believed you were a criminal.”
“I would have settled for just your voice, but every time I called, Jay said you were—”
She arched back to look at him with a frown. “You called?”
“Many times. Jay delivered the same message every time. You'd never talk to me again. After the tenth call, I gave up.”
“For the record, Jay never told me you called, but what I do remember is Jay pushing a steady supply of sedatives and sleeping pills down my throat. I'm going to see him, Trick. You can drive me, or I'll walk.” She yanked her jeans up over her hips. Big deal, she'd go commando. Her blouse, however, was going to be a problem given the tear across the left boob.
Trick stood and reached for his pants. “You don't need to. Max is going to get him. We'll confront him together.”
“No, I want to do it alone.”
“Not happening, Rachel. I told you, he's strung out—”
“I don't care.”
He cursed under his breath and then refocused his attention on her as if he knew there was nothing else he could say to change her mind. “You realize I'm going to think about you panty-less all night,” he laughed.
“Is that all we have, Trick? Sex?”
“No, Rachel, we are far more than that.”
She wasn't so sure. She wasn't sure about anything right now. She only knew she had to see Jay immediately to get answers herself.
“As for a blouse”—he stood and held out his hand—“I'm sure the girls will lend you something. Wait, I have a better idea.” He walked to a credenza, pulled out a glittery Shakedown t-shirt that they sold in the merchandising area, and held it out to her. “Wear this.”
“This is so not me.” She ripped open the bag, pulled out a navy blue sequined top, and dragged it over her head anyway. “I need to go.”
“Let me tell the kitchen to have dinner sent here. We'll have a nice quiet meal in my office. We'll wait here for Max to return with Jay.”
“Promise me you'll let me talk first.”
“I can't promise that. I've waited three years to clock him across the jaw.”
Her selfishness about the situation hit her once more. She grasped Trick's arm to capture his full attention. “Trick, I'm so sorry. What you must have gone through—”
“Hey,” he pulled her into an embrace. “No more tears.”
“How did you do it? Get through those three years?” she asked into his shirt.
“It was eleven months and three days followed by eighteen more humiliating months under house arrest at my mother's. I survived one day at a time, like you're going to do now. It will get better, I promise.” He released her and lifted the phone from its cradle on his desk.
Her mind wandered as Trick debated chicken parmesan versus salmon with the kitchen staff. Trick had said things would be better, but how could anything be better knowing what she knew now? Trick never had the money. Jay might have the money, though she refused to commit to that thought until she had hard
evidence, but he'd lied to her. She didn't care anymore about the money. The problem was she didn't know what to care about anymore. She glanced at Trick. Except I still care for this man. She had no idea what to do with that feeling.
Chapter Thirteen
Max arrived two hours after Rachel had her melt-down in Trick's office with bad news. He'd found the apartment where Jay had been living but did not find him. A woman with track marks up her arm had opened the door, and while she confirmed Jay “once lived there,” she refused to say much else. Within an hour, Max traced Jay's cell phone to a dumpster a mile from the apartment. Rachel’s last conversation with Jay must have spooked him and he fled.
Two weeks crept by with no news from or about Jay. Max reported in regularly—the man was a dog with a steak bone—but as each day passed, Rachel's faith her wayward brother would be found diminished. To keep her mind occupied, she took on more duties at Shakedown. She revamped their drink menu and remapped the table set-up so they could put in three more cocktail rounds that also created more room for servers to traverse the expansive floor. She also got to know her co-workers and learned she wasn't the one with the saddest story at the club.
Georgette, a waitress she often worked with, was a mom left to raise two children alone Her husband was doing time in Lorton Prison for robbery. Nathan hinted he had a son in California but never saw him, and Vivi continued to show up every night and sit at the bar staring out at the show with a glazed look in her eyes. Soon Rachel stopped asking questions altogether as their tragedies reminded her of her own.
The dancers still ignored her, which was fine as they seemed to live in their own world, but she couldn't help wondering what impetus pushed those beautiful women into choosing that particular career path, and why had they followed it to a club in Baltimore, Maryland? While there was nothing wrong with Baltimore, it was not exactly the burlesque mecca of the world.
Word got around, as it did in the restaurant and entertainment business, that something significant had gone down between Trick and Rachel, and they were now officially a couple. No one questioned this sudden “coupling”, and Trick remained infuriatingly calm for someone who'd spent time in prison for a crime he didn't commit.