Carl bent over, his face nearing hers. “Take—the—books—with—you.” He spoke loudly enough that three girls sitting at the next table looked at him.
“They’re periodicals,” Sarah whispered. Her face heated with humiliation.
Carl shrugged. “I don’t care what they—”
“Reference books,” she said. “They can’t be checked out.”
Understanding dawned on his face. “You want me to sneak ’em?” He held open his acid-wash jean jacket, revealing a particularly obnoxious t-shirt of a woman with excessive cleavage. “I could put them in here.” He reached for a book.
“No!” Sarah answered louder than she should have. She pushed the book out of Carl’s reach. “If you want to help, then take these two—” She lifted two other open periodicals and handed them to him. “And go copy these pages for me.”
He looked skeptical. “What’re you going to do while I’m gone?”
“Finish my notes from this article.” Sarah had already opened the journal again and was moving her finger down the page, studying the melodies she’d been comparing.
Carl stayed put, face disgruntled as he watched her for another minute. Then his stomach growled and, as if reminded of his hunger, he grabbed Sarah’s wallet from her backpack on the table and stalked off in search of the nearest copy machine.
She sighed with relief and continued working.
* * *
Jay stared through the space in the bookshelf, undecided. It seemed a little too fortuitous that he’d run into the mysterious pianist again—not quite two weeks after their first, brief, encounter. His face no longer felt tender, but the melody she’d played still echoed through his mind. He watched her now as she toyed with a strand of hair that had escaped the braid trailing down her back. She was bent over, deep in study, and Jay’s curiosity grew. Surely the punches he’d taken last time earned him the right to talk to her—or at least the right to an explanation.
After a few seconds, he made an impulse decision and hurried down the row of books, following the guy she’d given the periodicals to, until he’d reached the three-person line at the copier. Judging by the volumes each person held in his hands, Jay decided he would have at least a few minutes to talk to Sarah before her boyfriend—the guy who hit me?—returned. Jay hurried toward her, then slowed as he came to the table.
“Hi again.” He slid into the chair across from her.
She raised her head, blue eyes widening as she took in his face.
“I see you remember me.” Jay touched his finger to below his eye. “I’ve still got the shadow of the bruises your boyfriend gave me.” He was pretty certain the black circles under his eyes had more to do with the lack of sleep than anything else—between late nights playing at the club, his internship, and his heavy class load, he’d pulled a couple of all-nighters already this semester. But he didn’t tell her that. “Nearly broke my nose too.”
“I am so sorry.” She held a hand to her mouth.
“Really?” Jay raised an eyebrow. She sounded genuinely distressed. “Do me one favor then. I’m considering a thesis on what women are attracted to in men, and so far I’m not doing too well in my research. Everything I try goes all wrong.” He touched his face again. “Case in point. Anyway, tell me what you see in that guy.” Jay nodded in the direction her friend had walked.
“See in him?” she asked, clearly appalled. “The less I see him, the better.” At Jay’s confused look, her lips formed a tentative smile. “Carl is my cousin.”
Jay returned her smile as he leaned forward. “A bit protective, isn’t he?”
Sarah nodded. “It’s my dad—his idea, I mean. It’s my first time attending a big university, and he worries a lot.”
“You’re a freshman?” Jay asked. He would’ve guessed she was a few years older, but maybe it was the old-fashioned glasses and way she wore her hair.
“Yes, but I’m starting kind of late.” She looked over her shoulder, her nervousness apparent. “You should probably go. I’d hate to see you get another black eye.”
“Ouch.” Jay put a hand over his heart and frowned. “You think I’m that weak, huh? Guess I’d better add a weight-lifting course next semester. Don’t worry, though. Your cousin had unfair advantage last time. Trust me, it won’t happen again.”
Sarah bit her lip as she continued to look around.
“What’s your major?” Jay persisted, emboldened by his interest.
“Bachelor of arts,” she answered, offering no details.
“Emphasis in music, I hope?” he asked. “You’re very talented.”
“Thank you.” The hint of a smile returned.
It changed her whole face, and Jay was pleased she could accept a real compliment. So many of the women he’d dated played ridiculous conversation games.
She looked over her shoulder again. “I’m actually sort of a double major. It’s a five-year program, and when I’m done, along with my bachelor’s from Harvard, I’ll have a master’s of music from New England Conservatory.”
Jay whistled. “That’s more like it. What are you studying right now?”
She glanced down. “Oh, it’s nothing—just for a paper. You wouldn’t be interested.”
“Try me,” Jay said. He caught her gaze and held it.
She didn’t move for several seconds, then blinked rapidly, turning aside and adjusting her glasses. “It’s an article about Chopin and Maria Sqymanowska. Their music was quite similar, leading the author to believe they must have known each other.” She kept her eyes averted.
“Go on,” he encouraged, far more intrigued by her than the article.
“There isn’t any proof they ever even met, but if you compare their compositions . . .” She slid the book closer to him. “It’s quite fascinating to note the similarities.”
Jay glanced at the pages and soon saw what she had discovered. The two compositions were alike. He traced his finger along the bar line for a couple of measures, internally playing the melody. His gaze returned to Sarah.
A blush crept up her face. “I’m boring you.” She started to pull the journal away, but he reached out, his fingers brushing hers.
“You’re not,” he insisted. That she was so interested in music was only a bonus, as far as he was concerned. “I’m a musician too. I think it’s great you get to study what you love. For me it’s a hobby I have to squeeze in whenever.” How long has it been, he wondered idly, since I’ve had a meaningful conversation with a woman? “Tell me more about your research,” he coaxed.
She hesitated, then spoke fast, sounding flustered. “It’s about musicians of the 1800s and the influences that helped shape their compositions. I’m focusing on Chopin and the pieces he wrote for dances.”
“And you play for the ballet . . .” Jay studied her. “Is Chopin your favorite composer?”
“One of them.” She seemed surprised at his question.
“I’m a Mozart man myself,” Jay said, showing her the biography he’d selected earlier. “Though I must confess my tastes vary greatly and I appreciate good, hard, classic rock.”
“I actually don’t follow rock that much—at all,” Sarah confessed.
“At all?” His curiosity was growing by the minute, though she was—so far, anyway—the complete opposite of every girl he’d taken out in the last year. Maybe that was why he liked her. “I’d be happy to introduce you to some of the greats. You could consider it a well-rounding of your musical education.” He gave her a hopeful smile.
She ignored his invitation and twisted in her seat to look around again. The lines of worry returned. “Please. You really should go.”
“Okay.” Jay held up his hands. “I’ll go. But only because I want you to finish the notes for your paper.” He stood and walked around to her side of the table.
She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze once more. Behind her glasses, her eyes were a clear, unreadable blue.
“I’d love to hear you play again. Do you think tha
t’s possible?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was unsure, but the corners of her mouth tilted upwards.
“Okay then,” he said, grinning. “That’s the first positive step in my research, because ‘I don’t know’ definitely supersedes plain old ‘no.’ I’ll look forward to seeing you again and hope for a ‘maybe’ next time. See you around, Sarah.” He gave a casual wave and forced himself to leave the table, disappearing in the stacks.
When he’d walked along a few aisles, Jay turned around. He waited a couple of minutes and watched as Carl, the cousin, returned and Sarah gathered her things.
It didn’t take much to convince Jay that cousin status wasn’t what Carl had in mind. What is he? A third cousin once removed or something? Jay wondered as Carl put his arm around Sarah’s shoulders. She shrugged it off and hurried ahead of him. The predatory look that crossed Carl’s face made Jay’s stomach churn. Before Jay realized what he was doing, he’d started following. They were heading to the elevator. Realizing he couldn’t get on with them, Jay hurried to the stairs and ran down to the main floor. He waited there, standing inconspicuously—he hoped—behind a rotating book rack.
A couple of minutes later he saw them again and once more followed at a distance. They left the building, and Jay started after them, but stopped abruptly as the alarm went off. He’d forgotten all about his book. Whirling around, he headed to the checkout desk, hoping that neither Sarah nor her creepy cousin had seen him.
Chapter Four
Sarah waited for the bus to leave and any passengers to disperse before stepping out of the alley where Carl had left her and beginning the walk to the park, her three-inch stilettos clicking a steady rhythm. The shoes were miserable, slanting her foot at an absurd angle and forcing her toes into an impossibly narrow point. She hated heels, but at least, after nearly two years and who knew how many setups, she’d mastered walking in them—almost. In this neighborhood, the cracked, uneven sidewalks were treacherous. And there was nothing like falling facedown on the cement to blow one’s cover. She stepped cautiously as she covered the longest two blocks of her life.
She reached the rundown park, the broken concrete walkway taking her past the ancient brick bathrooms, known as “the office,” where numerous drug deals were rumored to go down. She’d seen more than a few herself. Peeling metal doors hung loose on their hinges, and only one of the dim overhead lights flickered on in the early dusk. A man left the bathroom, rolling down his sleeve as he walked. Sarah looked away. It wasn’t her job to get involved there, though she still didn’t understand why the Summerfield Police Department didn’t go after those guys as well. It seemed to her that if there were fewer buyers in the picture, the sellers would start hurting too.
Making her way across the matted, patchy grass, Sarah headed for the bench where her own deal was to take place. Relieved to find it empty, she sat, tugging her skirt as low as it would go—still a good five inches above her knees—and took a compact from her oversized purse. Opening it, she looked in the mirror, checking the application of her fire-red lipstick.
“Hi, gorgeous.”
Sarah jumped at the unexpected voice and the face behind her in the mirror. The compact fell to the ground, shattering.
“Seven years’ bad luck,” Carl whispered in her ear. Standing, he walked around the bench, kicking the pieces of glass out of the way.
“What are you doing?” Sarah whispered fiercely. “You’re not supposed to be anywhere near me.”
Carl shrugged and sat on the bench beside her. “Why not? Seems pretty natural that a hot-looking chick like yourself would attract some attention.”
“Dad will kill us both if we blow this. What if Preece sees you and takes off?”
“Don’t worry so much, sweetheart,” Carl drawled. He leaned close to kiss her on the cheek, but Sarah turned her face away. He chuckled. “I just wanted you to know that I’m here and you’re safe.”
“I’ll feel safer if you leave.”
“Suit yourself. Remember—I’m watching.” He gave her bare knee a squeeze then stood and continued down the path.
Unnerved, Sarah shivered, rubbing her arms. The night was chilly, and she dreaded the coming winter. Why can’t more deals go down indoors? She frowned at the absurd thought. Why can’t there just be less deals, less drugs, less criminals? She sighed as she took the latest issue of People from her bag, pretending to read, as if she cared about—or even recognized—any of the celebrities in the articles.
The minutes ticked by slowly. She glanced at her watch. Two minutes late, then four, then six. Great. Nothing put her father in a worse mood than when she came home empty-handed. Rules were, she had to wait a full thirty minutes past the meeting time, so she refocused her attention on the magazine, reading about movies she’d never see, studying fashions her father would never let her wear. He insisted, for safety reasons of course—it was always about safety—that she dress as plainly as possible during her normal life so as not to draw attention to herself.
As if her life were anything close to normal.
“It would be a nightmare,” he’d said on more than one occasion, “if someone you met working undercover recognized you in real life.”
Not likely. Sarah thought of her outdated wardrobe—mostly pants she’d become too tall for in high school, and plain, collared shirts, many of them pink because her father had some absurd idea that’s what girls should wear. And her 1980s-style oversized glasses, her lack of makeup, and her straight, long blond hair were a far cry from the cat’s-eye glasses, dark hair, and overly made-up face of the woman she pretended to be tonight. She sighed inwardly, hating both images and longing for the day when she could be who she wanted.
It was too dark to even pretend to read now, so she closed the magazine and stuck it in her purse. She shifted positions on the bench and leaned her head back, looking up through leafless branches to the night sky. A lone star shone in the distance, and Sarah couldn’t help the slight smile that formed on her lips.
The first star of the evening. A wishing star.
Someone long ago—her mother, she liked to think—had told her that myth, and she still believed it, if only a little.
“Star light, star bright,” she whispered. “First star I see tonight. I wish . . .” What did she wish? That Preece wouldn’t show, and she wouldn’t have to live through the terror of meeting with him again? Yes, except that would mean disappointing and angering her father. Maybe she should wish that Preece wouldn’t come, but his elusive boss, Eddie Martin, would, so her father could shut down Martin’s operation once and for all. Maybe then she could get a different job, something safe, something she wanted to do.
As if in answer to her half-wish, a man approached the bench and sat down beside her.
Without looking over she knew that it wasn’t Preece. This guy was shorter and stockier than the tall, lean, twenty-something man she’d bought from before. Disappointment, quickly followed by fear, knotted her stomach. Heart pounding, she rummaged through her purse as she went through the mental steps of what she needed to do next.
Another minute passed before she turned to the stranger. A replacement? Martin himself? She couldn’t be certain. He didn’t fit the profile of the typical person she bought from. He looked older, with plenty of wrinkles and a nearly bald head, and if he was a pusher she’d bet he wasn’t a user. His face and arms were unmarked, and his steel gray eyes were clear.
She pulled an unopened package of cigarettes from her purse and gave him the password. “Got a light?”
He hesitated, and she held her breath while he took in her appearance, from her black, frizzy wig and overdone makeup to her too-tight clothing and awful shoes.
“I got more ’n that,” he finally said, giving her a lopsided grin.
Sarah felt her skin crawl, but she forced herself to return his smile. “Let’s see.”
She scooted closer. He glanced at the walkway, then reached into his jacket, extracting a tiny packag
e wrapped in brown paper. He held it out to her.
Pouting, she took it. “That’s all?” She unwrapped the paper and held the plastic bag up, examining the contents.
“Put that away.” He slapped his hand over hers. “There might be cops around.”
“Really?” Sarah’s eyes widened, and she gave him what she hoped was a look of shocked innocence. “I’ve never had no trouble in this park before.”
“I bet,” he said sarcastically. “You got the money?”
“You got the rest?” she shot back. “We had an agreement, and this”—she looked down at the bag—“ain’t nothing but a sample.”
“Agreement,” he scoffed. His gray eyes stared at her. “That’s all, babe, but it’s pure. Best you can get around here.” He held his jacket open, patting the empty pockets.
Sarah hesitated, rolling the bag around in the palm of her hand. It wasn’t much. Her father wasn’t interested in busting small-time dealers. He wanted her to catch the professionals, those with ties to bulk supplies of ephedrine. Still, if she backed down now, she might get herself in trouble. She sensed the new guy testing her.
“All right,” she said at last. “It better be good. I gotta share with my man.” Reaching a practiced hand down the front of her shirt she removed just one of four rolls of bills secured with a rubber band. “Count it if you’d like.” She slapped the cash into his hand.
He unrolled the rubber band and thumbed through the bills. “Been a pleasure,” he murmured, shoving the money in his pocket. He gave her a once-over as he stood. “Maybe I’ll be seeing you again. Tell your old man I said hi.”
Sarah watched as he disappeared in the same direction Carl had gone. Fingers trembling, as they always did as soon as a job was finished, she dropped the bag full of meth crystals into her purse. A sense of foreboding washed over her as she predicted her father’s fury. Even if the replacement could be linked back to Martin, she hadn’t bought enough to do any good. For an arrest and charges to hold over into real jail time, a seller had to either be within three blocks of a school zone or have substantially more than a few hits in his possession. The measly bag she’d bought today wasn’t sufficient evidence for that kind of conviction.
All The Stars In Heaven Page 3