Taking Control

by Jen Frederick

  I nod. “Until I can talk her into getting a bodyguard. It’s just a smart precaution. Kidnapping for ransom seems more popular these days. That’s one of the few upsides to the paparazzi. Hard to steal someone who’s followed by cameras every time she steps foot from the house.” We both look downstairs. “Not to mention the random hate-related muggings.”

  I can handle myself but Tiny? She’s tough, but she’d never survive a beating from those thugs.

  “Maybe you ought to ease up,” Kaga suggests. We pause outside his office door.

  I scoff. “This advice from the man who’s monitoring a certain Columbia student’s every interaction with the opposite sex?”

  Kaga’s impenetrable facade eases for a moment, and then he concedes my point with a slight dip of his head. “I have overstepped.”

  His stiff formality bothers me far more than his ribbing. Kaga’s honor is what prevents him from pursuing the woman he desires. “We’re both concerned about those we care deeply about.”

  The clasp of his hand against my shoulder is his signal that all is forgiven. He pushes open his office door, and inside I find Jake, Gabriel Allen, and Steve playing cards.

  I look from Gabe to Steve and back again. Neither should be here.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask Steve. He should be with Tiny.

  “She’s fine.”

  I’m already moving toward the exit when Jake chimes in. “I’ve posted someone outside the door across the street, and there’s another guy, former black ops, inside reviewing some investigative tape. No one is getting to her.”

  “And you?” I turn to Gabe.

  “Making sure you don’t break any laws,” he says, not looking up from his cards.

  “Am I paying you hourly as you lose money to Jake and Steve?” Gabe is my lawyer. He’s Jake and Kaga’s lawyer too. Hell, he could represent Steve for all I know.

  “Yes.”

  Shaking my head, I walk over to Kaga’s well-stocked bar and pour myself an orange juice with a splash of vodka. Breakfast of champions.

  “You’ll be pleased to hear that I didn’t touch him.”

  “He tell you anything?”

  “No. I did find out that he assumed I’d know who sent him.”

  “I’m going with Howe, then,” Gabe answers, throwing down his cards and striding over to the one-way mirror that allows Kaga to survey the entire club. “Cards should never be played while the sun is up. We’re toying with the natural order of things, which is why my hand is so bad.”

  “We’re going to let the guy go this afternoon. Jake can send a man to shadow him. No harm, no foul. You can continue to represent me without any ethical conflicts.” I slide into Gabe’s abandoned chair and pick up his cards. No matches and no face cards. I wince. That is a shit hand. Turning to more pressing business, I tell Jake, “I need a fulltime bodyguard for Tiny. Preferably female.”

  “We call them ‘personal protection service providers’ in the business, and she’s not going to like that,” he says absently, his attention on the pot—which looks to be about a couple grand. Low stakes. He glances at Steve, who doesn’t look up from his hand. “See your five and raise you five.”

  Steve matches with his own chips. “Call.”

  “It’s just a precaution,” I repeat the excuse I gave Kaga earlier.

  “Can I be there when you explain this to her? Because I can’t wait to see how you finesse this. She’ll eat you alive.” Jake lays down his hand. It’s a straight, with a queen high. Steve fans out his cards. Four of a kind, ten high.

  “Motherfucker.” Jake curses and pushes away from the table. “Ten grand in three hands. How do you do it, Steve?”

  Steve has unholy luck at the card table. It’s unexplainable, and if I didn’t know him, I’d argue he cheated. It’s one thing to have the cards fall in your favor for one round, but with Steve, it’s such a common occurrence that no one really wants to play with him anymore. Except for Jake, who views it as a challenge, and Gabe, because he thinks he can win at everything. He usually does but not against Steve.

  Steve just shrugs and pulls in the chips.

  “When are you going to ask Tiny to marry you?” Jake asks. “You are going to, right?”

  “Tiny works for you for a few weeks and already you think you have the right to ask me about my intentions toward her?” I say incredulously.

  “She’s a woman alone,” Jake shoots back. I can see his white knight complex is fully engaged and he’ll be like a dog guarding his bone if I don’t give him what he wants. He’s fiercely protective of all the women in his circle. His little sister gets the brunt of it. I doubt she’s even had one date since Jake got back from the Middle East.

  “I haven’t asked because her mother died, and I didn’t want her looking back later thinking I proposed because she was in a bad state emotionally. And before. . .” I stretch out my legs, “before she was busy resisting my obvious charms and would have said no just to spite me.”

  “Sounds like you two have a healthy relationship,” Gabe observes.

  “Given that all you assholes are single except for Steve, you haven’t the first clue what a healthy relationship is.”

  “Oh, we know. We’re just incapable of being in one,” Jake retorts.

  “Speak for yourself,” Kaga interjects.

  He and Jake stare at each other for a long time before Jake says softly, “Sorry, old man, but I know you too well. We’ve shared too many experiences. You’re a good man, but you’re not for her.”

  Kaga tightens his fists and takes a step toward Jake. We all tense, preparing for a fight. It’s a showdown that’s been a long time coming, but with visible effort, he loosens his fists and dips his head slightly. “If you say so, Jake.” With that, Kaga turns and leaves, abandoning us in his own office. The tension is thick enough to choke on.

  “Ready?” I ask Steve. He nods. As we exit, I turn back to Jake. “You’re going to regret keeping them apart for so long. There’s no one more decent than Kaga. He’d do right by your sister.”

  Jake’s mouth tightens, but he says nothing.

  “Where to?” Steve asks as we climb into the Bentley.

  “Office. I’ll change there.”

  “What will you do about Howe?”

  “It’s time to ratchet up the pressure, not just in his social life.”

  Despite the appearance of Mitch Hedder, the attack was most likely orchestrated by Richard in response to the first round of pressure. If he was behind the assault, though, it meant direct and swift action must be taken. Not just for my sake but for Tiny’s.

  In the office, changed and prepared for a full day of analyst reviews and meetings, I call Tiny to give her the rundown on what happened this morning.

  “He wouldn’t talk. We’re letting him stew for a few more hours and then releasing him. Jake’s got a guy who’ll follow him for a couple of days.”

  “You didn’t hit him or anything?”

  “No, Tiny, I did not. You’ll be happy to hear my lawyer was there, so I was extra circumspect.”

  She sighs with relief. “I just don’t want you hurt. Your eye looked terrible this morning. What will you tell people?”

  “That I didn’t duck quickly enough at the gym during a sparring session.”

  “You spar?”

  “A little, although not as much as I did in the past. I had my share of fighting when I was young and dumb. I prefer to fight in a suit with a lot of cash. It’s less painful and a lot more rewarding. Plus, if you get beat up, it’s hard to make love to your girlfriend.”

  “Really? Because you had no problems last night,” she said.

  “Keep talking like that and we’re going to have lunch early.”

  “Speaking of lunch, I’m going to cancel on you. Sarah called.”

  I shouldn’t begrudge the time she spends trying to repair past relationships. I shouldn’t, but I do. I take a moment so my next words to her show no evidence of my true feelings. “That
’s fine. I’ll see you at home tonight.”

  “Love you, Ian,” she says. And then I hear a door slam. “Hi, Jake.” A grunt of a response and then another door slam.

  “Wow, he’s a bear this morning.”

  Undoubtedly. “Take an early lunch today. Stay out of his hair.”

  “What’s this about?” she asks suspiciously.

  “Nothing to do with you or me. He and Kaga had an argument this morning.”

  “Okay. Love you,” she repeats.

  “Love you too.”

  My next call is to Jake. “We’re letting him out at eleven.”

  “I’ll have a man over there fifteen minutes prior.”

  “Just have him observe and deliver the usual. Name, occupation, associates. We should be able to figure out who his brother is.”

  “You think it’s Howe?” he asks.

  “I do. I called him a few days ago and told him that it was time for him to go.”

  “You did?” He sounds surprised but pleased. “It’s a good time. Out with the garbage before you start something new. Of course, you had to enjoy knowing you could crush him at any time. I can see why you’ve waited. I’ll report back on the details of our friend.”

  He hangs up, but I’m left staring at the phone. You had to enjoy knowing you could crush him at any time.

  Shoving away from my desk, I walk to the plate-glass windows overlooking the downtown harbor. Had I let Richard go all this time because I liked the idea that his continued existence could be snuffed out at any time with a mere phone call? Perhaps. Perhaps knowing I could make him suffer was perversely satisfying in its own way, and I used Cecilia to justify it.

  Did I really care about Cecilia and her purported good deeds? Not particularly. I did enjoy knowing that I controlled Richard’s future.

  But now I want him gone. Tiny is the most important thing in my world. More important than revenge and retribution. Those things will only hold me back—or worse, they’ll endanger the fragile future Tiny and I are building together.

  Meeting Tiny, falling in love with her, I’ve realized that I’d rather look forward than backward. I’d rather live for tomorrow than wallow in the regret and pain of yesterday. It’s the mantra I’ve been preaching to her regularly. Her mother would want her to be happy. Her mother would want her to move on. If I expect Tiny to look ahead, then I need to as well.

  It’s hard. Very hard. But I’m no longer alone.

  FOURTEEN

  JAKE RETURNS LATER THAT DAY with information on my assailants. The Ludwiczak brothers were smalltime criminals with rap sheets as long as my forearm. They’d been involved in everything from burglary to assaults. Both brothers had served time, but they’d been out for a couple of years. It appeared that they were offering their services as paid muscle, which Jake said could move them back into the Hedder column, but Richard is the mostly likely candidate.

  The following day we take the Hedders to the gravesite in Flushing. Tiny’s father had originally been buried on the west side, but there wasn’t any space for her mother and father to be laid to rest together. With Tiny’s consent, I had her father moved to a new plot, where Sophie and Sandro Corielli would rest side-by-side.

  I hired a car to transport the Hedders, and Tiny and I follow in the Bentley.

  The last trip we made out to the cemetery was not together. Tiny had gotten on her bike and ridden for miles, faster and faster until her feet were nearly bloody. She’d finally collapsed on the grass at the cemetery, drained of energy.

  Fear had struck me hard that day. I’d followed her as best I could in the car, but she took turns that I couldn’t and often I guessed wrong, having to backtrack and then reroute.

  I thought maybe I’d lose her in those first weeks after her mother’s death. She was emotionally gone.

  It was a risk, but I took her out to the Connecticut estate and told her that I loved her and wanted to spend every one of my days left with her.

  She came back to me that day, but I still feel like she’s unsure about her place in my life. And I’m helpless to fix it.

  The tension in the car thickens with each passing block.

  “You think I’m weak, don’t you,” she says.

  The color in her face is washed away, and her lips are pressed thin and tight. I don’t know if she’s angry or sad. Likely both.

  “Never. Not once,” I answer.

  “Then you think I’m stupid to come here with Mitch. I know he’s scum. You think I shouldn’t give in to him, pay him any attention.”

  She’s trying to pick a fight with me. I press the privacy console. Steve doesn’t need to hear this.

  “I don’t think you’re stupid. I think you’re too generous with your forgiveness and affection. I’m afraid that he’s going to take advantage of that.”

  “I’m just trying to do what I think Mom would want.” Her voice is aggressive, and her chin juts out in challenge. “I can’t do what you think I should do all the time. It makes me feel like a toy. I’m an Ian Kerr accessory piece. Maybe not one that Frank would have picked out, but a knock-off that you’d find on Canal Street.”

  I stare with incredulous disappointment, not sure where her insecurity is coming from.

  Tiny leans her head against the window and sighs heavily. “I’m sorry. I just I miss her.”

  Compassion eats away at anger. “I know you do.”

  Leaning across the expanse of leather, I run my hand over her shoulder and down her arm, trying to impart some comfort and love. Her whole world changed recently, I remind myself. The adjustment might take some time. I need to be patient.

  “Will I ever stop missing her?”

  I think back to my trip down memory lane yesterday and the near knee-buckling grief I felt as I recalled how both my parents died. “No,” I admit softly. “But it’s less painful every day, every year.”

  She peels away from the window and crawls into my lap. The wound from the loss of her mother is stark in her eyes.

  If I could, I’d suck all her pain out like poison from a wound. I tuck her head under my chin and hold her, hoping my embrace conveys what I can’t express with words. That I love her. That she’s my everything. That we can endure anything so long as we’re together.

  We walk to the grave together. Mitch is already there, pretending to weep, blowing loudly into a handkerchief. Malcolm is rocking back on his heels, his hands shoved into his pants pockets. His suit must have been retrieved from the floor of his closet, given its rumpled state.

  Beside me, Tiny’s hands clench and unclench as she stares at the headstone, but it’s Malcolm who looks as if he’s the most uncomfortable person present. I stare at him from behind my sunglasses. Possibly sensing my scrutiny, his gaze lands on me before shifting to Tiny—and for a small moment, a naked longing is revealed. The look is intense and anguished and so swift that if I hadn’t been staring, I never would have caught it.

  I glance at Tiny to see if she sees his very non-fraternal feelings toward her, but her eyes are fastened on the headstone. Her jaw is tight as she tries not to lose it in front of the Hedders. Her unspoken desire to remain calm is what keeps me from reaching for her.

  Malcolm’s feelings for Tiny put another wrinkle in the situation. He definitely could be the one behind my assault, if for no other reason than the idea that I’m the one making love to Tiny every night is killing him. Before me, Tiny had had one boyfriend and a few hookups, as she’d described them. None of them were serious enough to have prompted a reaction from Malcolm. From what she told me, the relationship ended because her ex liked to sleep around.

  After Mitch places a few flowers on the headstone, he comes over to embrace Tiny. She flinches at the touch, and I place my hand on her elbow to reassure her. She braces herself and pats Mitch gingerly on her back. Malcolm’s gaze tracks Tiny’s every movement. It’s unnerving.

  At least my presence is a sufficient deterrent to keep both Hedders from enacting some kind of con at the graves
ite.

  “Thank you so much for bringing me, Tiny,” Mitch says. I grit my teeth at hearing her nickname come out of his mouth. It was her mother’s name for her, and it doesn’t sit right with me that he’s using it.

  “You can thank me by telling me what you have of Sophie’s.” Her voice cracks at her mother’s name, but her stare at Mitch is unwavering.

  “Let’s go back to the Plaza. We can sit down and—”

  “No,” Tiny interrupts. “I want to know what you have of hers. I had dinner with you. I brought you here to pay your respects, and now you tell me what you have of my mother’s.”

  “Your mother would have wanted us to be friends,” Mitch replies.

  “Bullshit.” Tiny responds. I stifle a laugh at Mitch’s shocked expression. “Bull-fucking-shit. You don’t have the first clue what Sophie wanted—not when you were married and not now. I’m going to assume that this is some long con you’re running to get money out of Ian and you don’t have shit of my mother’s. You’re a snake, Mitch Hedder—a disgusting vile snake to use my mom’s death to make a play for cash or whatever it is you think you can get out of me or Ian. I’m done.”

  She grabs my hand and tugs me toward Steve and our idling car. Behind me I can hear Mitch scrambling to follow us.

  “You have it all wrong, Tiny. Your mother left me. I still loved her.”

  If steam could come out of a person’s ears, I would be seeing it right now. Tiny’s face is a thundercloud of anger. She whirls and advances on Mitch. He takes a step backward and loses his footing. We all watch as his arms pinwheel futilely in the air to gain balance. He fails and falls backward, nearly striking his head on a granite headstone.

  “Go, just go,” Malcolm waves us off. With resignation, he helps his father off the ground. “He won’t bother you. If he has something of Sophie’s, I’ll get it for you.”

  “Thank you,” Tiny says.

  As she turns away, Malcolm calls out, “If you need anything, I’m here for you.”

  She looks over her shoulder with a quizzical look. “I have Ian now.”

  Those words make me want to pick her up and howl at the moon with satisfaction. I content myself with simply holding her hand.