Mind Lies

by Harlow Stone

  I’m not bulletproof.

  Strangely, the lingering burn in my chest isn’t from the bullet—it’s my goddamn heart.

  “Take some time, Lock,” Bryan mutters before getting in his truck.

  Time.

  Something I need more of.

  With her.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “He’s been here twice in the past week asking for you—wanting to know where you’re staying,” Portia solemnly tells me.

  “I’d ask if you told him, but I know you better than that,” I reply. I stare at her on the computer screen, watching as she bites her lip. “Portia?”

  She sighs. “He also followed Cooper and me, and I’m assuming he was hoping that we’d lead him to you.”

  Frowning, I ask, “Followed you where?”

  “We were headed to that market in the south end. Cooper spotted him and had a little chat.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter.

  “He’s desperate to find you, Jer. Cooper almost looked sorry for him after they finished talking.”

  “What’d Locklin tell him?”

  Her face fills with a mixture of sorrow and hope when she says, “That you’re the only thing worth hanging onto.” She swallows. “And he won’t let you go.”

  Clearing my thick throat, I lean back in the patio chair and push the words as far back into my brain as they will go. He has no right to step into my personal life now, no right to bombard my friends—my family—with his halfhearted attempts to get me back. I came here to be free of him, clear my mind, and focus on anything but him.

  “Damn, it looks beautiful there, Jer.”

  Smiling back at my best friend and feeling grateful for the change in subject, I nod in acknowledgment as Portia compliments the stellar backdrop of rolling hills and the lake behind me.

  “It’s peaceful. I can’t complain, although I do miss you guys. How’s Cory handling the extra responsibility at the shop?”

  Pursing her lips and swiping hair out of her eyes, she tells me, “If he’d stop acting like a goddamn queen all the time, we might actually get more shit done. That new shipment of handmade afghans came in, and when I tried to pair them with the furniture, he threw a hissy fit because the teal-colored afghan apparently didn’t match that particular tan-colored couch.” Her hands flail as she imitates him. “God fucking forbid it looked too, and I quote, ‘beach house casual’ when it was supposed to look ‘modern chic.’ Forget strangling his highness with his bowtie; I’m gonna blindfold the fairy fucker with it instead.”

  My tea spurts past my lips and dribbles down my chin. I can’t hold back the laugh. “Oh my god, you two. I honestly don’t know how anything gets done when you work together.”

  Raising a brow, she agrees. “I know, right? He can’t be getting it on the regular if he’s this uptight. I’d ask him what’s up his ass lately, but I’m afraid the answer would be nothing. Poor Marcus; they must be blue—Agh!” she screeches, jolting forward on her stool.

  “Sorry, Pixie. Didn’t see you there,” Cory says, scowling at her after purposely knocking her off her seat.

  “Violence, Cory? Really? That’s what we’re resorting to?” she throws back.

  I see him cross his arms over his chest on the small screen, the top of his head cut off from the Skype conversation. “First of all, beach house casual did not suit the look we have going in here. Second, although your threats of blindfolds are mildly kinky, my sex life is far more interesting.” She opens her mouth, but he cuts her off. “And last, they’re never blue.”

  Leaning closer, she hisses, “How in the hell are you so uptight all the time then? I bet my tits you don’t get it on the regular!”

  “So it’s a small bet, then?” he deadpans.

  Her jaw drops. “You gay bastard!”

  He nods. “Back to the insults, Pixie. Truth hurts, doesn’t it, Ms. Tiny Tits?”

  “Okay, okay,” I try to reason, earning a scowl from both. “I’m gonna leave you guys to it, alright? Don’t kill each other before I get back.”

  They carry on their argument, throwing out a few “I love yous” before I sign off.

  * * *

  “I’ve missed you, Lass.”

  His voice in my ear waking me from sleep doesn’t startle me.

  It warms me.

  It’s only been three weeks, but god how I’ve missed him. He doesn’t show at my apartment above the shop often, but when he does it’s always a short visit. He comes in when I’m asleep and leaves before the chance of someone walking in in the morning.

  “Missed you too,” I mumble, adding a moan when he takes my ear lobe into his mouth.

  “How much?” he rasps, licking and kissing his way down my throat, pulling the strap of my nightie down my shoulder as he continues his journey.

  “Enough to wish you’d stay,” I tell him, not expecting an answer.

  “A few hours, Lass. Stay awake with me?” he asks as he pushes me onto my back, kissing his way down my chest, pushing the material up as he goes.

  “Always,” I whisper, sitting up a little so he can remove the offending garment that stands in the way. When his naked skin touches mine, I sigh, having missed the contact.

  Having missed the presence of a man in my bed.

  Not just any man, only him.

  Locklin can be a slow lover and a fast one, but during these middle-of-the-night visits, he always starts slow, waking my body one delicious kiss at a time from the top of my head to the tips of my toes and back again.

  “Are you ready for me, Jerri girl? he whispers against my lips, sucking the bottom one into his mouth as his hands move between my thighs.

  “So ready,” I let out on a moan, eager for him to fill me.

  Eager for him to take me.

  Make me his.

  Only his.

  My back arches off the bed when he works himself into me, painstakingly slow, but oh so beautifully. It’s not just sex with Locklin, it’s everything you’ve ever imagined when you think of two souls becoming one.

  Wrapping his arms around my back, he holds onto my shoulders to keep me in place while he thrusts into my body, pushing harder each time in hopes he can get closer.

  Deeper.

  My fingernails dig into his back when he pushes me over the edge. Free falling into an abyss where only he can take me.

  It’s a place where I can’t move, nor speak, as bright lights flash behind my eyelids, as my body begins to feel weightless.

  Free.

  But we’re not free, because we’re still hiding.

  Our souls entwined, our bodies worlds apart.

  “I love you,” I whisper, nodding off despite my promise to stay awake. I’m sure I hear him whisper back, “My water, Jerri girl,” but my sated mind doesn’t question it.

  My body doesn’t move to keep him close, and my lips don’t open to ask him to stay.

  I know he watches me, like he always does until I fall into slumber, and the only reason I know he’s gone is when I hear his motorcycle rumble down the street in the wee hours of the morning.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “It’s been two weeks, and I’m sure now’s as good a time as any,” I tell Paddy, convincing him to call Locklin. He’s gone back and forth, and naturally we wanted to wait a bit to see if he showed up here. It isn’t common, but it wouldn’t exactly be uncommon either.

  Locklin would normally call to make sure Paddy and Nessa were home before a visit, but given the circumstances, it wouldn’t be unlikely for him to seek out his family when he’s feeling lost.

  “He has yet to tell you the truth about everything, Paddy. I highly doubt he’d show up here and lie to your face.”

  Thankfully, Paddy picks up the phone. I think he’s hurt that Locklin has yet to call to tell him about the accident, about what happened to me. I also think it hurts him to have to confront him about it.

  I assured him we needed answers, and Locklin was the only one who had them.


  “Still a brick short of a full load,” Paddy snarls down the line, his mood gone from thoughtful to pissed off in two seconds flat.

  “What’s up your ass?” Locklin shoot’s back.

  “It ain’t what’s up me arse that you should be concerned about. You should be more concerned with me stickin’ my foot up yours!” Paddy shouts back.

  Silence.

  “You speak with Jerri?” Locklin solemnly asks to which Paddy continues his tirade.

  “You’re goddamn right I spoke to ‘er! Never pegged ya as a lyin’ thief.”

  Locklin growls back, “I had a plan!”

  “Plans to break the poor Lass’s heart! Well fair fucks to ya too, Lad. And lyin’ to me? Ye called three months ago and said my girl was fine!”

  “I didn’t lie; she was fine. And I wasn’t ready to tell you what was going on. Listen, Paddy—”

  “No. You listen to me! I want to know what ye been hidin’. I’ve supported ya yer whole life, Boy. But you be on my ships, usin’ my resources, and it’s me who has been hidin’ yer trips back and forth. Now you tell me what in the hell is goin’ on and why ye been keepin’ it yourself?”

  “Yakov found me,” Locklin says so quietly you would think he whispered it.

  “Come again?” Paddy asks, face nearly white as a sheet.

  “I was at the shipping port in Hamburg. Four containers had been shipped from Russia and had entered ports as they travelled south, but nobody had found the women yet.” He sighs. “It was like a shell game, trying to track the containers. Anyway, the next stop was Hamburg, so that’s where Lee and I went. We waited almost two fucking days before we saw anything.”

  I wait on eggshells. Locklin has been after Yakov since before me.

  After Siobhan.

  His status as informant gives him a little pull in some places, and a lot more in others. When he met with G2, the intelligence service of Ireland, after what happened to Siobhan, he was originally met with a long line of red tape.

  After years of pulling his weight, using Paddy’s ships and his business as a foot in the door to make friends and contacts at different ports across the Eastern Seaboard, Locklin realized the Russians weren’t just running women, but guns too. The tape began to shorten.

  Locklin has not only helped pinpoint meeting locations and drop points but has also put his own ass on the line to rescue innocent women, regardless of his own fate. I’m sure it was admirable—heroic even—in the eyes of G2, and that allowed Locklin to spread his wings a little further, gaining more access at the ports and more backup when he needed it.

  Irish intelligence didn’t have the manpower to folly around from one port to the next chasing a ghost. Having Locklin offer to do the legwork while on Paddy’s shipping runs was a blessing. And I was always able to sleep a little easier at night knowing that Lee, his contact at G2, was never far behind him.

  “It was a setup.” Locklin’s voice cuts through my musing, and goosebumps break out on my skin. “Twelve years, Paddy. Twelve years of me doing business in shipping, and I made a mistake.”

  I sit across the table from Paddy with my hands over my mouth, waiting with baited breath.

  “Tell me, Boy,” Paddy grumbles.

  “A truck came in late that night, dropped off a container, and loaded another. Lee followed the container on the truck while I stuck to the one that had been dropped off at the ship. Two fuckers stood guard near the thing. I figured they were waiting for the lift to hoist it on the ship, as usual. I took my chance and knocked one of them out while fighting the other, ’til the big Russian prick kicked me in the ribs, winding me.”

  “Jesus, Locklin. What happened to your ribs?”

  “Nothing for you to worry about, Lass.”

  “Don’t fucking ‘Lass’ me this time, Lock. They’re broken, and black! You can hardly breathe!”

  “I wasn’t out long, maybe two minutes. But when I woke up, they were gone. They got a few more hits in while I was out and then left me there.”

  “They dinnae just leave ya there,” Paddy says.

  “I know. Thought it was fucked when it happened. Spoke to Lee about it, and we figured they didn’t wanna attract more attention to themselves at the docks. It wasn’t busy that night, but it wasn’t quiet either. They’re known for shooting people, or beating them to death. A shot would have been heard, and if they were on a timeline with a container full of women, they didn’t have the spare minutes to beat me to death.”

  A shot would have been heard.

  Didn’t have time to beat me to death.

  This is the severity of what Locklin does. He doesn’t get paid for it; he didn’t spend his youth dreaming to fight off murderers, pedophiles, and rapists. He wasn’t trained to kill people.

  But he still keeps going.

  “That was a week before Jerri’s accident,” Locklin heatedly tells us, and I try my hardest to hold in the whimper wanting to escape.

  “What happened? How did they know you were ’ere?” Paddy’s accent is thick, his emotions affecting his speech.

  “I didn’t get it. I really fuckin’ didn’t, Paddy. Thought I had a tail when I went to meet with Bryan one day, but he ended up getting called out so that meeting didn’t happen. I got in touch with Jerri on the burner we use; it’d been a month since I’d seen her last. I shacked up at one of the motels in Brockton and met her at the coffee shop the next morning. We spent the day together. She then came back to the motel with me but didn’t stay the night.” He trails off—and I know why.

  I remember the fight we had that night, the first night I had ever refused to spend the entirety of it with him.

  “I need to bag off for a while, Jerri. Short visit again this time, Lass. Then I need you to promise not to contact me. You need anything, you call Bryan. He’ll help you.”

  Between the broken ribs, bruise on his jaw, and his aloof behavior after we just made love, I know something is wrong. And for the hundredth time, I’m so sick and tired of being left in the fucking dark.

  Why can’t he trust me enough to tell me? He thinks I won’t worry about him as much, but it makes it worse. Not knowing where he’s going, or how to get in touch with him, makes it so much worse.

  And it hurts.

  Not just because it’s insulting, because it’s one more roadblock between us.

  “The same fucking car I thought was tailing me the day before was parked outside. If I were smarter . . . fuck.” He sighs heavily. “If I were smarter, I would have known, but I didn’t fucking think. All I could think about was getting Jerri the fuck out of there before whoever was in that car came through the door. So I started a fight with her.”

  I gulp, half grateful he didn’t mean the awful things he said that night.

  “I started a fight because I knew she was stubborn enough, that she’d refuse to spend the night with me afterwards. And I was right—she left. She fuckin’ left, Paddy, and I didn’t follow her because the car stayed right where it was fucking supposed to. What I didn’t think about was that the goddamn brake lines on her car were cut before she even pulled out of the parking lot.”

  I gasp. The sound was loud, unfortunately loud enough that the phone resting between Paddy and me on the table catches the sound.

  “Jerri?” Locklin surprisingly asks, shocked. “I know it’s you, Lass. Paddy doesn’t talk with me about all this shit in front of Nessa. Answer me,” he rasps.

  Ignoring the tingling in my throat, I rasp, “Finish the story.”

  “Jerri, I don’t—”

  “Finish the damn story, Locklin.”

  A deep sigh is followed by, “I left my bike in the parking lot and left out the back door on foot. I hadn’t made it a block before seeing the car pulling out. It kept distance but stayed on my tail. I hit a twenty-four-hour diner and made a call to Bryan. I ordered a coffee and watched the car park amongst the trucks in the side lot. When Bryan showed up, I met him in the bathroom and confirmed what I already fuckin’ knew: They d
idn’t find me ’cause they were smart. They found me because they put a tracker in my phone when that Russian prick broke my ribs.”

  “Jesus,” Paddy mumbles.

  “They didn’t want to kill me. They wanted the bigger fish and to find out who has been intercepting their shipments. Good news was it didn’t monitor calls, just location. No doubt they assumed I was part of the muscle tryin’ to take down the trafficking ring. Track my phone, find the bigger fish. I got Bryan to check on Jerri, and when he told me she was in a coma,” he pauses, as though he were speaking of my death. “When he told me, I got back on the ship and headed back there to have a meeting with Lee and some other members of G2.

  “The fuck of it was when I got back, Patrick at the dock in Belfast says he got a call from Hans at the dock in Germany. Hans told him he was having a smoke with some of the dock workers, going on about how it’s hard to find good dock hands anymore. Some prick named Ivan then starts talking about a guy named Locklin, says he ran into him a few times and talked to him about getting on a different boat. Couldn’t remember Locklin’s last name though. He wondered if anyone could help him out.”

  “Son of a bitch,” I whisper, my stomach dropping and my danger-free bubble feeling as though it were about to burst.

  “They won’t find you, Lass,” Locklin reassures me.

  Shaking my head, I ask, “How can you say that? They found you, Locklin. They cut the fucking brake lines on my car. How can you think that they won’t find us? And why do you think it was safer for you to not tell me all this? Huh?

  “What do you think would have happened if one of them came to visit me while I had amnesia? I had no idea who was out to hurt me, or that they were Russian. Christ, Locklin, you could have gotten me killed by withholding that information!”

  “Dammit, I had eyes on you, Jerri! I would never leave you unprotected. I put that app on Bryan’s phone so he would know each and every time you left the apartment, and when you did, he was on your tail. If it weren’t him, it was a private detective he has used in the past. I never left you unprotected.”