by Tara Leigh
My throat is a desert, swallowing nearly impossible. “Derrick, I—”
His grip tightens, and I wince. “What? Do you want me to remember how you cut and ran at the first sign of trouble? How you won’t even give me the time of day now that you have a hotshot banker in your bed?” Spittle flies from his mouth, hitting my face like sharp flecks of sand.
I try to shake my head, but I can’t move. “That’s not how it is.”
“Save it. I wanted you to meet me here today to prove a point.”
“W-what point?”
“How easy it is to get close to people. If I wanted to hurt those kids, I could have. And the guys that are after me, they want money, Noelle. So if I don’t pay up, you know who they’ll hurt?”
Tears sting my eyes as Derrick’s point stabs me straight through the heart. “Pappi,” I breathe.
His grip finally loosens. “Yeah.”
“Have you considered asking him for the money? You’re his son, he would do anything—”
A fierce look comes over his face, eyes narrowing into slits. “You don’t think I tried? I worked alongside my father for most of my life, I know his business as well as he does. I was able to get some cash out, but the bank notified him about the withdrawal.”
“Did you tell him why you needed the money?”
“Yes,” he howls. “I told him everything. And you know what—he packed me off to some gambling addiction rehab facility out in the mountains. Like hiking in sub-zero temperatures could take the place of a game of poker.”
I reach out to rub Derrick’s shoulder. “That’s great.”
He looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “No. The guys I owe money to think I ran away from them.” He swivels his neck, eyes darting around the urban jungle surrounding us. “Nowhere is safe. Not until I get them their money.”
I start to open my mouth but Derrick stops me. “Give me your phone.”
With shaking hands I reach into my pocket and pull out my mobile. Derrick glances at the screen. “A dozen missed calls, about as many texts. Looks like you have Knight by the short and curlies.”
I cringe at the vulgar expression, but Derrick snickers and tosses my phone at the nearest garbage can. It bounces off the metal and lands face-up on the sidewalk, a spider web of cracks spreading into the glass. As if on cue, it lights up again. “Isn’t that sweet? A man who doesn’t give up.” He shrugs. “Might as well leave it there. Maybe some chick will pick it up and soothe your fiancé’s broken heart when he finds out you’ve married me instead.”
A fresh wave of pain slams into my chest at the thought of anyone else soothing Nash but me. Half an hour ago, I was so mad at Nash I could barely see straight. But now, my anger has been swept away by fear. Fear for Madison and Parker. Fear for Pappi. And fear for me—that I won’t ever get the chance to work things out with the man I love.
“Come on,” Derrick says, hurrying me out of the park. “We have to get to the City Clerk’s office before they close, and they’re all the way downtown.”
“C-City Clerk?” I stutter, knowing exactly what his intentions are, but needing confirmation anyway.
“Yeah.” As we emerge onto Central Park South, Derrick scowls at the congestion of the streets and grabs for my hand. “Come on. Taking the subway will be much faster than a cab in this mess. If we don’t get our marriage license today, we can’t get married tomorrow.”
My stomach turns over on itself. If today went as planned, I’d be at the City Clerk’s office with Nash to get our license this afternoon.
The irony is cold comfort.
Nash
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” How the hell has Nixie managed to slip away from Jay again?
And because I fired the security firm that lost sight of Derrick yesterday, I have no one watching him either. In my defense, after talking with Paul Attwood, and then deciding it was time to call in a chit with Damon King, I didn’t think I had to worry about Derrick anymore.
Paul assured me that he would handle his son. And King assured me that no one in this city would take Derrick’s bets anymore. But I doubt there’s a group chat for bookies and loan sharks. It might take time for Derrick to be cut off. Or maybe Derrick’s feeling the noose slowly tighten around his neck. He’s a fucking wild card with nothing left to lose.
And desperate men do desperate things.
Best case scenario: Nixie’s sick of having her every move shadowed and wants to be alone for a while. Worst case scenario: Derrick has her. And there’s a world of possibilities in between. I don’t know what to think.
In hindsight, I should have gone to see her after Duncan and I hammered out the basics of the NetworkTech acquisition, but I figured I would give Nixie some time before attempting to explain myself. And it wasn’t like I went home for a night’s sleep. As soon as Duncan left my office for his hotel, my team and I worked through the night. With only a few days left in the fiscal year, countless tax implications and corporate filings need to be addressed.
My veins are already buzzing from too much caffeine when Jay calls, and his news sends my pulse into overdrive. He caught the medallion number of the cab Nixie jumped into, which is the only reason I didn’t fire him, too. Simmons, God bless her, managed to contact the driver and he explained where he dropped Nixie off, and that he saw her enter the Park via Center Drive.
I tell Jay that I’ll meet him in Central Park.
Given the holiday crowds, getting uptown is slow going. After what feels like forever, I finally run into the park at the Fifty-Ninth and Sixth entrance. Why would Nixie ditch Jay just to go to Central Park? And why this entrance? Whenever I take Madison and Parker to the Zoo, we walk in through the Fifth Avenue entrance.
Spotting a sign for the Wollman Rink, I remember Eva saying something about the twins having a field trip this morning. But if Eva invited Nixie to meet up with them, why wouldn’t she let Jay take her?
The ice rink is practically empty. I don’t see Nixie, or Eva, or Madison and Parker. Jay meets me there, his guilty expression proof that he hasn’t seen Nixie either. I try calling Nixie’s phone again. “Boss,” Jay says, pointing at the ground.
I follow the direction of his finger to see my name flash across a cracked screen. Nixie’s phone. The panic I’ve been keeping at bay, barely, rises up in my throat, threatening to choke me.
I lower my own mobile and end the call, reaching for Nixie’s discarded one. Her battery is running low and a dozen cracks zig-zag across the screen. I can’t get past the locked screen, but there’s one text visible that doesn’t belong to me.
Unknown: Ditch ur babysitter and come 2 Wollman.
“Son of a bitch,” I bark, spinning in circles as I look for any sign of Nixie. But there’s no copper-headed sprite anywhere.
I pull up my contacts, torn between calling Tripp or Damon. They are like two sides of the same coin. Both skilled hackers, respected and feared in equal measure. But while Tripp wears a white hat, Damon’s is black as night.
In the end, I message both of them. I want Nixie back, safe and sound, and I don’t care who helps me find her.
I loop Attwood in, too. Bastard better pray he finds his son before I do.
Chapter 21
Nixie
The cavernous reception room of Manhattan’s Marriage Bureau is filled with at least a dozen other couples, all in various stages of pre-marital bliss. Bent over clipboards with their arms intertwined, sides pressed together as if superglued, their intimate murmurs and soft, shared laughs grate on my eardrums.
Scattered on every surface are brochures extolling the virtues of a city hall wedding—Watch out Vegas, Everything’s Better in New York!
Right now, for me, nothing could be worse.
It isn’t nearly long enough before a clerk with close-cropped, curly hair and a heavy Long Island accent calls our names. Derrick hands over the paperwork he filled out while we waited and I look away as she inputs our information into the computer hul
king on her desk. Each click of her keyboard lands like a hammer, sealing my fate.
“You’re all set to marry as soon as this time tomorrow.” She stamps the form Derrick filled out with an official seal, her tweezed eyebrows lifting as she pushes our copy across the gleaming white surface of her desk. “I’ll give you the same advice I give to all my husbands. Happy wife, happy life. Remember that, and you’ll do just fine.”
She turns to me with a conspiratorial wink. “Trying to do my part to lower the divorce rate. Not all men have the sense to listen, but I always try.”
For a moment I consider confessing the truth—that I have no intention of marrying Derrick. Not tomorrow or ever. I’m going to get myself out of this mess . . . As soon as I can figure out how to do it without putting Pappi in danger.
I dredge up an anxious smile. “No such thing as a lost cause, right?”
She gives a derisive huff. “My sister-in-law works at the Matrimonial Support office just down the street—where you go to file for divorce. Now, that place is filled with lost causes. But here—” She waves her hand around the austere chamber that reminds me of a tomb. “I like to think of all my couples as taking their first steps toward happily ever after.”
There is genuine pride on the clerk’s face as she summarizes her role, and guilt thrums through my bloodstream like lead. Derrick and I are not now, nor will we ever be, one of her happy couples.
If I was here with Nash, I might have had hope for a happy ending. Or maybe not. Not after what I learned last night. Tears prick my eyes as I nod, unable to say anything else.
Nash might love me, but if we have any hope of a future together, he has to stop keeping me in the dark. I love him, but to be happy, I need more than words. I need genuine honesty. No relationship is equal in all ways, but I need to know that Nash wants an equal partnership in our own way. A way that works for both of us. Not just him. But for me, too.
Derrick mumbles a gruff word of thanks and hustles me out of the room, his booted feet slapping at the marble. Ten minutes later we’re checking into a nearby downtown hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Attwood. I press my palms against my stomach as it threatens revolt and Derrick glances down at me, his eyes brewing with warning.
Once the door to the elevator closes on us, he rakes a hand through hair that’s gone too long without a barber. “Can you stop flashing your sad doe eyes at everyone who looks your way? You think I want to be doing this?”
I turn away from the flashing numbers on the wall panel and look straight at Derrick. “I need to make a call, arrange for someone to feed my dog and take her out for a walk.” Get a message to Nash.
He scoffs. “So she’ll shit on the floor. I’m sure Knight can pay someone to clean it up.”
“Please—”
Derrick’s jaw clenches. “Enough. He knows you have a dog, and that you’re gone. She’ll be fine.”
He’s right, I know. Nash will make sure Kismet is taken care of. Nash makes sure everyone is taken care of. Always.
But this time, I have to take care of myself.
The elevator doors open with a jarring buzz and Derrick leads the way to our room. His walk is so different than Nash’s, more like the loping gait of a gangly teenager than the smooth stride of a confident power-broker.
In Bermuda, Reina told me that Wall Street players are gamblers, too. But Nash would never make a bet he can’t afford to lose. Unfortunately, Derrick doesn’t have the self-control to know when to get up from the table.
Once in our room, Derrick immediately turns on the television and sits at the edge of the bed with the remote in his hand, flipping through channels until he stops on a basketball game. In seconds, his shoulders are hunched over, his knee bouncing with tension, his eyes shining with a glazed look I recognize all too well.
“You have money riding on this, don’t you?”
Derrick blinks, but doesn’t tear his attention from the screen. “Just a little. It’s no big deal.”
“You are truly unbelievable. Who even takes your bets anymore?”
He just shushes me, jumping to his feet a moment later to yell at the referee. Again, an image of Nash springs to my mind. He’s looking for me, I’m sure of it. Has he found my phone yet? Or maybe someone else picked it up and answered his call?
Nash, my knight in shining armor.
But the only thing that makes me angrier than watching Derrick berate the refs from a mattress is waiting helplessly to be rescued.
Truthfully, even if Derrick gets his hands on my inheritance tomorrow, the chance of him using it to pay off his debts and not get in deep again are slim to none. There will always be the next sure thing, the next unbeatable hand, the next big score. He can’t resist. Derrick will never stop gambling. Handing him my inheritance would be like dumping it in the Hudson River. A complete waste.
And Pappi will never be safe.
Derrick sits back down, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. I’m still standing in the corridor that leads to the bedroom, between the bathroom and closet. “Mind if I take a shower?” I ask, careful to keep my tone nonchalant.
“Go ahead,” he snaps, not even glancing my way. Having sat through hundreds of games with Derrick, I know it’s only a matter of time before his whooping and cursing begins in earnest. When that happens, he won’t notice if a bomb goes off, unless the TV loses power. I turn on the water, and wait.
It doesn’t take long, not even ten minutes. From what I can tell, a fight breaks out and a key player from the team Derrick bet money on is ejected. Derrick goes ballistic, ranting and raving at the wide screen attached to the wall just two feet from his reddened face.
I am out the door and down the hall in seconds, Derrick’s unbroken tirade still ringing in my ears. Choosing stairs over the elevator, I sprint down the dozen flights, my footsteps pounding faster than my heartbeat.
After speed-walking across the lobby, I dodge cars and cabs and cross the street to Columbus Park. Once inside the gates, I increase my pace and blend in with the joggers running along the footpath. The park is fairly small, and despite the late-afternoon chill, it’s filled with elderly men bent over games of mah-jongg, women pushing strollers, and street performers hoping to draw an afternoon crowd. Resisting the urge to look over my shoulder, I exit the park on the other side and continue walking in the direction of the courthouse. The Chambers Street subway station is just a few blocks away.
I have to pass by the Office of the City Clerk again, where Derrick and I just were. A couple is posing for pictures beside the plaque for the Marriage Bureau, and their happy laughter bites at my heels as I rush past them. I have one foot in the crosswalk when a black Lincoln Navigator careens around the corner and screeches to a halt right outside the entrance.
Nash jumps out, followed by Jay, and they both sprint inside. With my heart in my throat, I resist the instinct to scream Nash’s name and take off running toward him.
I can’t leap into Nash’s arms. Not yet.
I brush away the tears falling unchecked down my face and continue walking until the sidewalk gives way to a set of stairs. Hot, stale air rushes up at me as I enter the subway station, slide my MetroCard through the turnstile reader, and find a place on the platform.
This pattern of me rushing headlong into trouble and then standing idly by while Nash comes to my rescue has to end. And it’s going to end today.
New York’s Penn Station is Grand Central Station’s buck-toothed, ugly cousin. Although the upper level, with trains to New Jersey and Pennsylvania, has been renovated, the lower level serving Long Island has not. It remains a grid of low-ceilinged, crowded tunnels that sprawl underground like catacombs. I spend the time until my train blending in with larger groups, occasionally ducking into tiny storefronts hawking overpriced souvenirs and snacks, and checking for Derrick’s face in the sea of commuters.
Forty minutes after leaving Penn, I arrive in Manhasset. Pappi lives just a mile from the train station, but I’m shivering by the
time I reach his white clapboard colonial with black shutters and a red front door.
I wasn’t much older than Madison and Parker when I came to live with Pappi and Derrick. But now, standing on the sidewalk, chilled to the bone, I’m not sure I can go in. Pappi welcomed me into his life, into his heart. And I allowed Derrick to chase me away.
I don’t want to tell him about Derrick. I don’t want to break his heart.
But I don’t have a choice. Because of Derrick, Pappi’s in danger. If he gets hurt, I’ll never forgive myself.
I drag one foot in front of the other, my stomach churning, until I make it to the steps leading to his porch. My hands are tucked into fists inside my pockets, my shoulders hunched forward against the gusting wind. The air has a tingle to it, like the first snowfall of the year is imminent. Before I can ring the bell, the door is thrown open and Pappi is there, his arms extended in welcome, a warm grin splitting his face in two.
I throw myself into his embrace, my hands wrapping around him as I nudge my forehead into his rounded shoulders. Without a word exchanged, Pappi closes the door and draws me into a warm hug. “Sshhh,” he finally whispers. “Come. I want to hear about all of your adventures.”
Tears blur my vision as I pull away. “You must hate me.” I’ve been gone for months. I sent letters, but I never gave him a real explanation.
He sets his palms on my cheeks, thumbs swiping at the rivers running down them. “You know I can never stay mad at this face.”
I choke out a laugh. No matter what teenage prank I pulled, usually at Derrick’s urging, that was always Pappi’s response. Which isn’t to say he let me run wild. There were always consequences, but never anger.
“What do you say I make us some hot chocolate?” He raises bushy eyebrows. “Maybe with a shot of Kahlua?”