by Tara Wylde
He nods and takes a pull from his bottle of Coors.
“It’s not the VIP room at Studio Paris,” he says. “But it’s pretty cool. Kind of a neighborhood pub feel. I like it.”
We’ve both dressed down for tonight, which in Tre’s case means no tie. I’m in a sport jacket and jeans, with a casual shirt and my favorite cowboy boots. It still sets us apart from the guys in the room, most of whom sport different combinations of Cubs, Bears and/or Bulls paraphernalia. The TVs on the wall are tuned to the various cable sports channels, where the guys in the bar watch two of those three teams in action while a bunch of people in suits talk about the third team.
I’ll take the Phillies, Eagles and 76ers any day, but I’d never say that in a place like this. I may be tough, but I’m not that tough.
Tre turns to look me in the eye.
“Are you going to just let this be a fun night of catching up?” he asks. “Or is this part of your master plan, too?”
“A little of both,” I say.
“Not for me it ain’t. I haven’t gone out and just had a good time since I can’t remember when. Fucking boss never lets me have any time off.”
I flip him the bird as I down half my beer in a single pull. It’s so cold there’s sweat running down the side of the bottle. I like that.
The jukebox in the corner starts playing AC/DCs You Shook Me All Night Long just as Sara walks in. It’s like some sort of cosmic prank, because the way she looks is enough to make me stop my beer in mid-lift and just stare at her. She’s in a sleeveless white camisole and jeans that look like her skin has been sprayed with denim-colored paint. Her black-and-red pumps complete the ensemble.
Oh, and Grace is with her. And some other woman.
I stand and catch Sara’s eye, motioning her to the table. She looks like something out of a movie, strutting in time to the beat of the music. I swear time slows down and she’s moving in slow motion. Her eyes are only on me – or at least that’s what I’m going to tell myself.
I finally shake off my paralysis and notice that Sara was right: Grace is definitely not little anymore.
“Wow,” I say to her. “I used to know a kid who looked just like you, except she was about a foot shorter and skinny as a rake handle.”
She giggles and wraps her arms around my neck.
“It’s good to see you, Chance,” she says. “You’ve filled out too, I see. Just like Sara said you had.”
She did, did she?
“Tre!” Grace hoots. “Look at you!”
“I’m too busy looking at you, girl!”
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I just saw something flash between those two…
Then Sara’s hand is on my arm and suddenly that’s all I’m aware of.
“Chance Talbot,” she says. “I’d like you to meet my friend, Kelsey Gates. Kelsey, this is Chance.”
Kelsey grins wide and takes my hand. “Sara has told me a lot about you,” she says.
“She hasn’t told me quite as much about you,” I say. “But what she does say is very positive. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Kelsey and Tre greet each other as I take Sara aside.
“Did you see what I saw?”
“Uh-huh,” she says. “I think we may have to keep an eye on Gracie and Tre tonight.”
“Or just leave them be,” I say. “They’re both grown-ups.”
She grins. “You obviously haven’t spent any time around Grace lately.”
“Enh, don’t worry. Tre is enough of a grown-up for all of us.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
28. CHANCE
“What was I saying earlier about Tre?” I say in Sara’s ear.
He, Grace and Kelsey are dancing to The Safety Dance over by the pool tables, and it’s hilarious. For someone who was All-American in his college football days, Tre’s dance moves are like the physical manifestation of a Greek tragedy.
Luckily, the girls don’t seem to mind. And he’s had more drinks tonight than I’ve ever seen him have in a single night, so he’s feeling zero pain. It’s about time.
Sara smiles. “I have a feeling it’s going to be us looking after them tonight,” she says, raising her voice to be heard over the music.
“Please don’t tell me you have dibs on this one,” says a voice from behind Sara. We turn to see a new server carrying a tray of refills for us.
“Amber!” Sara beams. “How are you?”
Amber looks me over as she sets the drinks on the table. “Obviously not as good as you, girl. Who’s this?”
“Amber Hoffman, this is Chance Talbot. We knew each other back in Philly and now we’re – uh, sort of working together. For a while.”
She reaches a long-nailed hand toward me in greeting.
“Charmed, I’m sure,” she says. Her thick Chicago accent makes it come out chermed I’m sheeyer.
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
“So, are you two…” Amber asks, eyebrows raised.
I look at Sara. She glances away, but she’s got a smile on her face.
“Don’t you have people to serve?” she asks.
“I guess that’s my answer,” Amber says, giving Sara a peck on the cheek. “Way to go, honey.”
I’m about to tease Sara about where we stand with each other when Grace comes charging over and pulls her out of her chair.
“Come dance!” Grace hollers as the opening strains of Springsteen’s Dancing In The Dark blast out of the jukebox.
Sara seems relieved to get away from me. I can’t blame her. A moment later, Kelsey collapses into the chair Sara just left.
“Whooo,” she breathes. “That Grace has enough energy to light up Wrigley Field.”
I grin. “She was always a spitfire. So, Kelsey, where did you serve?”
Her eyebrows go up. “How did you know I was in the service?”
“I can tell by the way you move,” I say with a shrug. “Game recognizes game, you know?”
She smiles. “Impressive. I served with Ashley White in the Female Engagement Team in Afghanistan in 2011.”
“Whoa. Now that’s impressive. If it hadn’t been for your team, they probably wouldn’t have lifted the ban on women in combat in 2013.”
We toast each other. There’s an instant camaraderie among combat vets that transcends the spoken word.
“If you’re ever looking for a new career, call me,” I say. “Atlas needs good people.”
“And give up my career as Sara’s shrink?” she says with a laugh. “She talks about you a lot, you know.”
“She does?” I try to keep it out of my face, but inside my stomach does a backflip.
“Yeah,” she says. “So keep this in mind, Marine: Sara is my best friend. You hurt her and I’ll fucking kill you in your sleep. Copy that?”
“Sir, yessir,” I say with a nod. “I know better than to mess with one of Ashley White’s soldiers.”
She grins and sips at her wine. Our dance floor trio chooses that moment to show back up at the table and tear into the new round of drinks.
“How you doing, brother?” I ask Tre.
His eyes struggle to focus as he answers.
“I’m fucking great,” he slurs. “Showing these white folks how to dance.”
“You sure are,” I say, slapping him on the back.
Sara leans in close. “What were you and Kelsey talking about?”
“Just your old boyfriends,” I say.
Her face drops in horror.
“I’m kidding,” I chuckle. “It was military stuff.”
She punches my arm. “Don’t do that to me!”
“Why not?” I ask with a sinister glance. “Is there some deep, dark secret you don’t want me to find out?”
She looks a little off-balance for a moment before recovering.
“No,” she says. “How about you? Anything you’re hiding?”
Suddenly this isn’t funny anymore. I need to get out of this before I end up in a downward spiral that
I can’t get out of.
“You’ve seen everything I’ve got to show,” I say with a leer.
She bites her bottom lip. It’s hands-down the single sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“How about we have your driver take these three home?” she says in my ear. “You could come and see my place. It’s not far from here.”
Suddenly I can’t finish my drink soon enough.
Chapter Seventy-Five
29. SARA
I knew it. When I asked Chance if he was hiding anything, he lied to my face.
Of course, I lied to his face right before that, so I guess we’re even. We’re both hiding something. The difference is, I’m actively searching for his secret.
“Where we goin’?” Tre slurs as the limo pulls up outside the pub. “’Nother bar?”
“You’re all going home,” Chance says. “Take tomorrow off, buddy. Sleep in.”
Grace pipes up: “Maybe I should make sure Tre gets into his place okay.”
I glare at her. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“I guess not,” she grumbles. “Just askin.’ Try to help somebody…”
Chance puts a hand on the driver’s shoulder.
“Make sure Tre’s is your last stop, okay?”
As they chat, Kelsey sidles up to me.
“I like Chance,” she says. “It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that you two have a history together.”
I can’t help but smile. I trust Kelsey more than my own sister; her opinion means a lot to me.
“I have no idea where we’re going with this,” I say. “It’s like we’re driving through a forest in the dark without any headlights.”
She chuckles and shakes her head.
“You think it’s any different for the rest of us? It’s always a gamble, sweetie. The question is whether you’re willing to spin the wheel and accept the consequences, good or bad.”
Am I willing to spin the wheel? And even if I am willing, am I even capable of spinning it? I honestly don’t know.
What I do know is that Chance is coming back to my place right now. And we’ll see what happens from there.
We both wave as the limo’s taillights fade into traffic. Chance turns to me and smiles.
“So,” he says. “Your place.”
“Yup. It’s about four blocks this way.”
Strolling through the glow of the streetlights makes me think of the other night, when we were headed to Chance’s house. I can’t help but draw an unflattering comparison in my head.
“Just so you know, my place isn’t a greystone,” I say.
“Is it bigger than a storeroom?” he asks.
“Yes,” I grin. “It’s bigger than a storeroom.”
“Then I’m looking forward to it.”
I take his arm was we wander for a few blocks, stopping every now and then to look in storefront windows. The neighborhood isn’t great, but there are lots worse in Chicago. Plenty worse in Philly, too.
“How far now?” he asks as we cross the entrance to an alleyway.
“That’s far enough,” says a voice from the shadows.
Suddenly Chance’s hand is on my waist, pushing me behind him.
“What are you doing?”
Before he can answer, I see four men in hooded sweatshirts walking toward us from the alley.
“We saw you with the limo,” says the one in front. None of their faces are visible in the shadows of the tenements on either side of the alley. “Give me your wallet.”
Chance holds up a steadying hand while he reaches into his sport jacket pocket with the other.
“No problem, man,” he says calmly. “It’s all yours.”
Suddenly one of the others is moving toward me, reaching for my purse.
“Whatcha got in there?” he asks as he yanks on the strap. The sudden jerk pulls me along with it, making me lose my balance.
“Hey!” Chance barks. “Don’t touch her!”
“Or what, motherfucker?” the guy yells. “You gonna do something about it?”
“No,” I say, glaring at Chance. “He’s not going to do anything.”
Chance waits a beat while I take a breath.
“I’ll do it for him,” I say as I stomp the heel of my pump into the guy’s instep. He shrieks in pain until I drive my right elbow into the bridge of his nose. Then there’s only a wet crunching sound.
“What the fuck – ” the guy in front manages to say before Chance’s fist pile-drives into his mouth. Chance follows it up with knee to the groin, a stomp kick to the inside of the knee, and finally a wristlock that sends the guy face-first into the pavement.
I finish off my guy with a punch to the throat, then spin to face the other one nearest me. Meanwhile, Chance has the remaining attacker in a chokehold, slowly passing out.
I drop into my kickboxing stance. “You can run now if you want,” I say.
The .38 Special is out of his pocket and pointing at me before I even see his hand move.
“I’m not runnin’ anywhere, bitch.”
My heart barely has time to skip a beat before I hear the sickening clank of metal hitting bone. As the gunman drops to his knees, I see Chance standing behind him, holding a length of hollow steel fence pipe like a Louisville slugger.
“Thanks,” I say, tasting the tang of adrenaline in my mouth.
“Oorah,” he says. He’s not even breathing hard as he kneels down to pick up the gun.
“Empty,” he says, weighing it in his palm. “These guys are punks. Do you want to call the police?”
“I never have before,” I say. “It always complicates things.”
“You’ve done this before?” he asks, eyes wide.
“I return missing girls,” I say with a shrug. “The people they sometimes end up with usually aren’t too keen on handing them over peacefully.”
He shakes his head and looks at the bodies lying in heaps on the asphalt.
“Wow,” he breathes. “You were seriously badass.”
“So were you,” I say, trying to slow my breathing.
He pulls me closer and runs his hands along my face and torso.
“Everything okay? No injuries?”
“Nope. You?”
“I’m fine.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want this to ruin the rest of our evening.”
He goggles at me for a few moments and then shakes his head, grinning.
“Seriously badass,” he breathes
“Like the old song on the radio in the storeroom used to say, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
I take his hand and lead him down the street to my apartment.
Chapter Seventy-Six
30. SARA
“Welcome to my castle,” I say as I turn on the light in the entry. The old sconce on the wall illuminates my stylish closet with the plastic accordion door, as well as the fabulous vintage shag carpeting that’s stylishly worn threadbare in several spots.
“Nice,” Chance says. “Looks like you’ve got everything you need.”
I sigh as I finally get to kick off my pumps and feel the floor against my bare feet.
“That’s sweet of you to say.”
“It’s true. I like this place.”
I lead him past the two bedrooms - one for my bed, the other for my workspace – and my one bathroom, into the combination kitchen-living room space at the back. It’s tiny, but there’s a huge window that has a great view of the building across the street.
“The location is good, anyway,” I sigh. “Only a few blocks from our office. Grace’s basement suite is less than half a mile, too.”
“Like I said, everything you need.”
I rummage through the fridge and discover, much to my surprise, a can of Coors for Chance in one of the crispers at the bottom. The bottle of cold pinot grigio that hasn’t started to smell like vinegar yet is good enough for me.
We take a seat on my old IKEA sofa and each kick back a good, long shot of our drink
s. We’re obviously both still a bit on edge from our fun earlier in the evening.
“You really should be proud of this,” he says. “It’s not a palace, but it’s clean and it’s yours. And I’m betting you live here because the low rent lets you do more work for clients who need you but can’t afford to pay. Right?”
I raise my glass. “Spot on. There have been a couple of girls who ran away from homes that had money, but they’re few and far between.”
“And you can’t say no to someone just because they can’t pay you.”
I wince. “I really should learn how to.”
“No, you shouldn’t. And you shouldn’t feel guilty for having to work with Quentin Pearce, either. If that helps you to help other people, I’m all for it.”
“What I do is nothing compared to what Atlas does,” I say.
He surprises me by frowning.
“I wish you’d stop that,” he says.
“Stop what?”
“Comparing yourself to others. You’re wonderful, Sara. Not ‘wonderful relative to somebody else.’ Just wonderful. Get it?”
I smile shyly. “Did the Marines teach you to think like that?”
“No,” he says. “You did.”
My stomach jumps. “What are you talking about?”
Chance shakes his head and slides closer to me until our hands are touching, making my insides flutter even more.
“I spent so much of my life feeling like I was less than other people,” he says softly. “Because I didn’t have parents, or money, or a regular home like everybody else. But you taught me that everybody felt like that, in one way or another. So I actually was like other people.”
I swallow hard. Chance was always there to let me know that things would be all right when the rest of the world was dark and crazy. He was like the beacon at the top of the lighthouse for me when my dad would hurt me or make me feel small, or when Mom was in one of her manic stages and I couldn’t deal with it. He was always there to show me the path away from the stormy seas to the safety of the shore.
To think that I did the same for him – it’s an incredible feeling.