Always: A Legacy Novel (Cross + Catherine Book 1)

by Bethany-Kris

  He still stayed silent.

  “What is it?” Calisto asked.

  Cross cleared his throat. “Catherine’s eighteenth birthday is the first week of April. If the run lasts three weeks, I’m going to miss it.”

  “It’s one birthday, and there will be many more.”

  Yeah, except he also hadn’t left Catherine on her own for … shit, the summer, fall, winter, and now going into spring. He didn’t want to up and go, only to push his girl into some kind of relapse of her old behavior. Sure, he worked a lot, she had school, and that kept them at a distance sometimes, but he dropped everything—when he could—when she called.

  She was doing fine.

  He wanted her to keep being fine.

  Wolf glanced up from the cash in his hands. “Cross, this is something you’ve wanted to do since you were twelve, and you finally understood what gunrunning essentially was. Explain to me why you’re sitting there like you actually have to consider whether it’s a good move for you or not because of a girl. Thank your father—your boss—who offered his unmade man to be in on something like this, and go book your fucking ticket before I shove my boot up your ass.”

  Calisto hid his smile with the rim of his cup. “He makes a good point. This is a door opening, Cross, you’re supposed to take it. Remember?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “So take it.”

  “Catherine is going to be a little late today,” Cross said into the phone.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Dante did not sound pleased.

  Cross tried to keep his attitude in check, but it was hard. “Catherine won’t be home right after school, and I wanted to give you a heads up about it.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m heading out of state for a bit—maybe three weeks or so. I have to leave in a couple of hours. Figured she might like to drive me to the airport.”

  Dante was quiet for a long while before he asked, “For your father?”

  “Kind of, but it’s uh, more for the Chicago syndicate. A trip down to the other side of Mexico.”

  “I see. Well, she has her Lexus today.”

  “Yeah, I had someone drop me off and take the Rover to my apartment, anyway.”

  “All right, then.”

  “Thanks,” Cross said, pulling the phone away to hang up.

  “Pardon?” he heard asked.

  Cross put the phone up to his ear again. “I said thank you.”

  “There is a first time for everything, then. Have a safe trip, Cross.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “And make sure if you miss her birthday—you did say three weeks was a possibility—that you make it up to her,” Dante warned.

  “Of course.”

  Cross hung up the phone, and leaned against the hood of Catherine’s matte black Lexus. He watched the front entrance of the Academy’s upper school, waiting for that final bell. It finally rang ten minutes later, and shortly after, he caught sight of familiar dark hair and green eyes coming his way.

  Catherine grinned at the sight of Cross, and didn’t hesitate to jump into his embrace the first chance she got. He turned them both around to sit her ass on the hood, tugging her bag off her shoulder and stealing a kiss at the same time.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Something came up,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t have much of a choice but to come, or I wouldn’t see you at all.”

  Catherine frowned. “What? Why do you have a duffle bag on the ground?”

  Cross didn’t answer her questions, instead asking, “Where’s your keys?”

  “You want to drive my car?”

  “Sure.”

  Catherine handed the keys over, and Cross helped her off the hood. Once they were both inside the car and on the road, he started to explain what was going on when she realized they were heading in the opposite direction of her home.

  “I have to head out of state for a couple of weeks, but maybe a little longer. A job came up, and it’s something I can’t say no to right now. I figured since my plane is going to be leaving tonight, and I need to be at the airport like three hours early just to get through security in time, you could go with me and drive yourself back.”

  “A little longer?”

  Cross sighed. “That’s all you heard in that, huh?”

  “Well … yeah.”

  Her sadness was as clear as day.

  Cross felt like shit. “I can’t say no, Catty.”

  “Or you don’t want to,” she said.

  “A bit of both.”

  The problem was, he couldn’t explain more than he already had. Too much information was a bad thing, and this was not the kind of business he should be talking about with anyone other than the men he worked for.

  He sneaked a look at her, only to find she was staring out the window.

  “You pissed at me?” he asked.

  Catherine shook her head.

  “You sure because you’re not even looking at me, babe.”

  “I’m not mad,” she said quietly, “but it’s kind of last minute notice. That’s all. I’m going to miss you.”

  Cross laughed, reached over, and pulled Catherine close enough so that he could press a kiss to her temple. “Fuck, I love you.”

  She smiled, watching him under dark lashes before she kissed the corner of his mouth and then settled back into her seat. “I’m not mad, I promise.”

  “And you’ll be okay.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I just … worry,” he said lamely.

  Catherine waved his words away. “I’ll be fine, Cross.”

  Yeah, give it a minute.

  “I might not be back in time for your birthday,” he added.

  Catherine’s gaze snapped back to his. “Really?”

  “Yeah, I know, I’m sorry.”

  She blew out a slow breath. “That sucks.”

  “I’m going to try, though.”

  “Okay. But … if you don’t, can we do something special when you get back? Go out, or something?”

  “You don’t even have to ask,” he promised. “Whatever the fuck you want to do, Catty. Dinner, dancing, those shows you like. Whatever, we’ll do it.”

  Catherine’s face lit up again, and he didn’t feel so bad. Maybe he had panicked for nothing about leaving his girl on her own. She had been doing better. She certainly slowed things down with her cousins while she focused on getting her grades in for school, and Cross appreciated that more than she could possibly know.

  Especially if he was going to be gone. He didn’t like the idea of her being caught up in something he couldn’t help her with.

  “Lean back and open the corner pocket of that duffle, would you?” he asked.

  Catherine did as he wanted, saying, “There’s only keys in here, Cross.”

  “Yeah, you’re going to need them. For my apartment, and the Rover in the underground garage. Just in case you need something or want to hide out, you know. I left my leather jacket on the bed, and the whole season of that show you like is still on the DVR to watch.”

  Her smile bloomed. “Always looking out for me, huh?”

  He pulled her across the seat for another kiss, tasting her familiar sweetness and heat, before letting her go.

  “Always, Catherine.”

  “Sit down, or stand up, but keep your eyes on the screen and keep fucking quiet for the next several minutes,” Theo Deluca said.

  Cross chose to sit his ass down in a hard metal chair because his flight had been delayed three hours. He didn’t get into Chicago until early morning, and he hadn’t slept a wink. Four other men sat, too, while one opted to stand. He didn’t recognize the five men. The only person he did know was Theo standing in front of a projection screen. He had met Theo once or twice on trips with Wolf—the Chicago Outfit front boss was not a man to piss off, and he only seemed to get more irritated with age.

  A map came up on the screen, showcasing the United States and
Mexico. Theo clicked buttons on the remote in his hand, making the map come closer, and roads show up.

  “From Chicago to close to the boarder, it is basic highway, but you’re going to hit tolls, and only one of those might be a problem.” Theo clicked another button, and the specific toll in a lower state came up on the screen. “Make sure you hit it between eight and nine at night, on any given day, and you won’t have a problem. That’s when they’re changing shifts, and they’re less likely to notice several of the same kinds of vehicles moving through within a short period of time. They notice, report it, and you’re going to find yourself stopped shortly after. And if you do, you don’t know anybody’s name, and we don’t know yours. It’s that simple.”

  Theo clicked another button, and more maps came up, showcasing the border between the States and Mexico. “With the state of the fucking government upping security on the boarder, going straight across with a bribe isn’t going to work this time around. Instead, we’ve got back roads, shit towns, and a few crossing patrols to pay off on the way. A copy of these maps are going to be put onto your phones, or whatever the fuck you’ve got on hand. I suggest you memorize it, and focus on driving once the run starts.”

  “And the guns?” one of the sitting men asked.

  Theo passed the guy a look. “They’ll be here sometime this week, which gives the six of you time to make friends, and figure out which way you’re going to go. The faster you go, the better it’ll be and the less likely it is that someone will get picked up.”

  “As for the guns in particular,” Theo added, “that’s where the real work comes in. These rifles are coming in fully disassembled, mixed up in several crates. Each gun needs to be assembled, checked to ensure no parts are missing, disassembled, and repacked into new crates before being loaded between the three vans parked in the back of the warehouse. Got it?”

  “How many guns?” Cross asked.

  “There should be one-hundred-fifty.”

  “Between three vans?”

  “That’s why they’re going to be taken apart and packed back down after you assemble them again, New York.”

  Cross bristled at that nickname, but ignored it for the moment. “And we can’t just assume that the weapons are fine and nothing’s missing?”

  “Sure, if you want to be on the buyer’s shit list when he gets them all reassembled only to find out he’s missing a few. I sure as fuck don’t.” Theo sighed, and rubbed a hand down his face. “Listen, I’m doing this run as a favor to a friend who got picked up last month. He contacted me, said this drop was already in progress, and all we needed to do was pick it up, get it into Chicago, and then drop it down to Mexico. That’s what we’re doing.”

  “Just one run?” another man asked.

  Theo cleared his throat. “Depending on how it goes, we’ll see. Take that as you want because I’ve got fuck all to say about it, otherwise.”

  Then, Theo pointed between the two men at the end sitting next to one another, the two men in the middle, and then to Cross and the one guy standing.

  “Meet your partners on this run, say hello, get acquainted, and do whatever the fuck else you need to make friends. That’s what makes this work—having the right friends.”

  The guy who was standing turned to face Cross. It was then that he got a good look at his face, and realized something important. He was no older than Cross, if that, and maybe younger. They were definitely the two youngest in the warehouse, anyway.

  Cross held out his hand.

  The guy took it.

  “Cross Donati,” he said.

  “Tommaso Rossi,” the guy replied.

  Well, shit.

  Another boss’s son.

  Cross had a feeling the partner Theo chose for him was not accidental.

  Not at all.

  Theo clapped his hands, drawing their attention back to the front of the warehouse again. “Keep the phone calls out limited for the next couple of weeks, just to be safe. When you do call, you’ve got nothing to tell. Be fucking smart, and this run will end the way it needs to. Understood?”

  Confirmations echoed from each of the six men.

  “Good.” Theo opened his arms wide. “Let’s run some guns, boys.”

  Cross’s back hurt. His spine felt like jello, and his limbs were deadweights attached to his goddamn body. His knuckles were stiff, each and every one of them, and all the tendons in his hands hurt with every stretch of his fingers.

  Still, he grabbed the next barrel and spun it onto the assault rifle. He clicked on the shitty, standard scope, and pushed in the clip at the bottom.

  “That was three minutes and forty-eight seconds,” Tommaso said from across the metal table. “You’re starting to slow down.”

  Cross hadn’t realized Tommaso was timing him, but he wasn’t surprised to learn he was slowing down with each piece he worked on. Not given the way he felt.

  “Does your body feel like mine does right now?”

  “Like I’m gonna die?”

  Cross nodded. “Yep.”

  “Then, yes, it does.”

  They had been up for hours, nonstop. They could take breaks, take naps, and whatever else they needed, but there was a deadline to get the guns checked, counted, and on the road. That deadline was counting down fast. It didn’t help that the guns ended up coming in two weeks later than Theo had said they would arrive.

  Apparently, sometimes that happened.

  Fucking perfect.

  For the last week, they had been working on unpacking the weapons, putting them all together, checking all the parts, and then taking them apart. They were almost done, and then they would be on the road and heading down to do the drop.

  Cross began dismantling the gun as Tommaso packed the one he just took apart away into sawdust filled crates. He glanced at the clock behind his partner, taking in the time and letting out a low cuss.

  “What?” Tommaso asked.

  Cross shook his head. “Nothing. So hey, you good for a minute?”

  “Sure, we’re nearly through our set, anyway.”

  He put the weapon down, only half disassembled, and headed out the side of the warehouse where the other guys usually went to smoke. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he dialed a familiar number and put the device to his ear.

  It rang and rang and rang.

  Come on, babe.

  Finally, she picked up.

  “Cross?”

  “Hey, Catty,” he murmured, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You sleeping?”

  She yawned on the other end of the phone. “Yeah, but it’s okay.”

  Cross didn’t call a lot—he wasn’t supposed to. Theo made rules for a reason, and for the most part, Cross followed them because he knew that was a big part of his job there.

  “Look at the clock,” Cross said.

  Catherine grumbled something under her breath, and he heard blankets shifting as she moved. “It’s, like, twelve-oh-two in the morning.”

  “Yeah, it is. You know what that means, right?”

  “You called me really late to make me look at the clock and tell you the time?”

  Cross laughed. “No.”

  “Help me out here, then.”

  “Happy eighteenth birthday, babe.”

  Catherine sighed a happy sound. “So, that makes you the first person to tell me this year.”

  He’d like to be the first person to tell her for the rest of her life.

  “I guess so,” Cross murmured. “Sorry I didn’t make it back, Catherine.”

  “You’ll make it up to me.”

  “Don’t ever doubt it.”

  “Cross, it’s you I never doubt. Only you.”

  “First of all, that’s mighty fucking bold of you to assume—”

  “I’m assuming fuck all,” Cross interjected. “What I am doing is giving you a heads up about my intentions, and nothing more.”

  Catherine stepped into the doorway of her father’s office, making her presence known. She had
only heard the final bit of the conversation as she rounded the top of the stairs, and figured it was probably wise of her to step in.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  Two pairs of eyes turned on her.

  One green, familiar, and family—her father.

  The other, dark, lovely and all hers—Cross.

  “No,” Cross said, “there’s no problem, Catty.”

  Dante looked like he was biting his inner cheek before repeating Cross’s sentiment.

  “I didn’t know you were back from Chicago already,” Catherine said.

  Cross shrugged, and turned his back to her father. “Flight landed while you were still in school. I had some paperwork to sign when I got in, and then I headed over here. Figured I would surprise you. Surprise.”

  Catherine’s gaze darted to her father. “And nothing is wrong?”

  Dante sighed heavily. “Cross and I disagree on some things, but that’s to be expected, I think. Considering.”

  “Considering what?”

  “That you are not his daughter,” Dante murmured.

  “And what’s to disagree about?” she asked.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing,” Cross replied, never taking his gaze off Catherine. “But I think we’ve settled it’s not for us to argue about, anyway.”

  Catherine frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t argue at all.”

  It seemed her father and Cross would never see eye to eye on anything at all, especially where she was concerned. Catherine knew that was a lot of her doing because of things she had done that put Cross in bad situations in her father’s view, and other things she didn’t do—like tell the truth when she needed to.

  Truthfully, Catherine figured it wouldn’t matter because her father would never entirely believe any man was right for her. Wasn’t that how all fathers were with their daughters?

  “And we’re done arguing, as he said,” Dante said, shaking his head. “So, it’s Friday, no school tomorrow. I think Cross said he owed you something special for missing your birthday, yes?”