by Sybil Bartel
“He was wounded by an IED.”
“Wooo-ow. That’s hard-core, girl.”
I didn’t have a response. It was hard-core. We were quiet a minute.
“I was worried asshole Manny had gotten to him,” she said quietly.
I gave her a look.
“Which, yeah, yeah, I know. Stupid, right? Your man could crush that little shit with his thumb, but you know, he has like fifty more jerks who work for him. Did the police tell you what’s going to happen?”
Fifty? “No.”
“Me either.”
“I suppose it’ll depend on how much we give them.”
Ariel got real quiet, then she bent over and picked up Conner, who was systematically pulling all the pots out of the cupboard in front of him. When he was safely in her arms, she spoke. “I told them...you know...about Jimmy.” She looked me dead in the eye. “I told them I did it.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I didn’t have a choice. He was going to kill me.”
“I know.” I hugged her. “Thank you.”
She fidgeted, then swiped at an eye. “Yeah, well, I’m not supposed to talk about it. The lawyer your bodyguard got me told me to keep my mouth shut.”
Wait, what? “André hired you a lawyer?”
“Yeah, can you believe that shit? Mr. Bodyguard showed up with her, but I suspect Mr. Southern Accent is behind it. He seemed to know her, like, know her, if you know what I mean. And not that I can say for sure, but if I was betting, I say Mr. Southern Accent has more dough than he lets on. I can’t afford a fancy lawyer like her, but she said it was all handled, so my money’s on Mr. Southern Accent as fairy godmother. Besides, that bodyguard? I asked around. His business is booming, but he’s just starting out. Can’t imagine it’s cheap to buy all those guns and SUVs and shit. And he even told me I should quit stripping and come work for him, answer phones or some shit like that. How’s he gonna pay someone for that?” She snorted.
Wow. André had offered her a job? “I don’t know.” And now I felt even guiltier for his working for free. I poured the extra-strength coffee over ice and handed it to her. “Would you want to work for him?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “You mean go legit?”
“I didn’t say that. A job’s a job. I’ve had plenty of sucky jobs.”
“You saying my job sucks?”
Um. Shit. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Ariel burst out laughing. “It sucks ass, girl. But tips are good, and I get my days off to be with my kid.”
I sighed, glad I hadn’t offended her. “A big plus.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” She nuzzled Conner’s nose.
“I’ll put on my suit, then let’s sit by the pool.”
“Great idea.” She winked.
I walked to the bedroom, wondering if she was right about Talon.
Chapter Forty
Ariel left late in the afternoon. I was exhausted, and Conner had fallen asleep for the second time. The first time, I was holding him, and he’d just dozed off like he didn’t have a care in the world. I held him for forty minutes and watched him sleep. I told Ariel it was the best part of my day and she’d laughed and said I had it bad.
I ignored two more texts from Talon, showered and crawled into bed after some bad TV. I was almost asleep when my phone rang. Fumbling in the dark, I checked the display, sighed then held the phone to my ear.
“You ignorin’ me?” Talon sounded angry.
“No.” Lie.
He grunted. “You’re pissed.”
“You hit him in the face.”
“He talked shit about Leigh.” He ran all the words together.
“No, he talked shit about you,” I corrected.
“You got somethin’ to say?”
“You called me,” I reminded him.
“So, that’s how this is gonna go down?”
“There’s nothing going down, Talon.” Besides the fact he was being an asshole.
“There’s plenty goin’ down, but you wanna crawl in your head and ignore it.”
What the fuck? “Have you been drinking?”
“Yeah, but not so much that I don’t know bullshit when I hear it.”
“And what bullshit is that?”
“You.”
I wanted to bang his head against a wall, or something metal, preferably steel. “Go to bed, Talon.”
“He’s wrong.”
I sighed. “Yeah, why’s that?”
“I wasn’t tryin’ to save you to fix my past.”
“Okay, fine.” Whatever. I wanted to hang up.
Talon’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I knew who you were the second I laid eyes on you.”
So that was his justification? “Fine.” I wasn’t going to argue with a drunk man, especially when I was sober. “Whatever you say.”
“I say a lot of things.” He laughed without any humor.
Jesus.
Then his voice went knife-sharp. “So hear what I’m sayin’ right now. This had nothin’ to do with my past. You and me, we were friends.” Then he hung up.
The sting was like a slap in the face.
I immediately called back but his voice mail picked up. “You’re a coward,” I spat out. “Who’s the one avoiding calls now?” Fuming, I threw the phone on my nightstand.
* * *
Pissed, I tossed and turned all night. He’d hit Buck, not the other way around. And now he was saying our friendship was over? Friends don’t throw friends away, and they don’t get to do shitty things and not apologize. That wasn’t a friend. That was someone who was selfish.
I watched the clock until seven, then called Talon again.
“Little early for you, Sugar.” His voice was hoarse and scratchy. I’d woken him up.
“You get my voice mail?”
A female’s voice in the background made some sort of protest, then the sound of sheets rustling filled my ear followed by a door closing.
Talon smirked. “Little busy.”
“You said we were friends,” I accused.
“That a question?”
“Fuck you.”
He chuckled. “I’m all good, thanks.”
“You don’t give a shit about any of this, do you?” I wanted to sound angry, but I didn’t. I sounded like someone who’d lost the only friend she had. And if I was being honest, I hated whatever woman he’d spent the night with, because I knew it wasn’t someone worthy of him.
“Thought we went over this last night, darlin’.”
I couldn’t stop it. A tear slipped down my cheek. “I may not have much experience, but I know I’d never throw a friend away.” Angry, I swiped at my cheek. “Goodbye, Talon.”
“Hey.” A sharp bang sounded like a fist hitting a wall, and I flinched. “Don’t you fuckin’ hang up on me.”
I wanted to tell him to go to hell, I wanted to tell him to fuck off but like a fool, I didn’t.
“I know what’s goin’ on in that head of yours, but I never said I didn’t care. Twist it how you want, listen to Blaze’s bullshit, I don’t care, but you and me? We were friends.”
There was that word again. “I have to go.”
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, then his voice turned weary. “You didn’t answer my texts.”
No kidding. “You’re right.”
“You okay?” he whispered.
Oh, fuck no, he didn’t get to ask that. “Fine.”
Talon sighed. “Give me a half hour and I’ll pick you up. Call your shithead lawyer and tell him to meet us at the police station.”
He was still in Miami? “You’re not picking me up. I can take care of myself.”
“Goddamn it, Sugar, you’re pissi
n’ me off.”
I lost my cool. “Well, that makes two of us! You don’t get to play hero, you don’t get to tell me what to do. You’re not my father, you’re sure as shit not my boyfriend and we’re not even friends anymore, so go fuck yourself!”
He started laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothin’. Just countin’ my lucky stars I ain’t Deer Hunter.”
I growled into the phone.
“Alright, alright.” He chuckled. “Nothin’ doin’, nothin’ doin’, calm down.”
Oh my God. “You’re telling me to calm down?”
“Yeah.” Then he turned serious. “Listen up, whatever bullshit’s goin’ on between us—”
“There is no us,” I said through clenched jaw.
“I get you’re pissed, but hear me out.”
I fumed but, remarkably, I held my tongue.
“I’m offerin’ to take you to the cops. Blaze wouldn’t want you to do this alone and neither do I.”
“How do you know what he wants? Have you talked to him?”
Talon was silent.
“Uh-huh, I see.” Fucker. “Go back to your girl du jour, Talon. I got this.”
“You tryin’ to be a bitch? Cuz I gotta say, not a good look for you, darlin’.”
“It’s the new me. Get used to it.”
Silence.
“Later,” I said caustically.
“I offered.”
“Good for you.” I hung up.
Pissed, sad and about fifty other emotions I didn’t want to think about, I sent a quick email to my shithead lawyer. When he called me back, I told him what I wanted, he agreed then I stomped into the bathroom. Forty-five minutes later, with a black pencil skirt, white silk blouse, four-inch heels and my mother’s pearl earrings on, I was as ready as I’d ever be.
I grabbed my keys, set the alarm then stopped halfway down my driveway.
A black SUV was parked behind the Tahoe. André stood waiting at the open passenger door. “Ma’am.” He nodded.
Resigned, I got in the SUV then waited till he was behind the wheel. “I’m going to the police station.”
André nodded without comment.
Ten minutes later, we checked in and I followed André upstairs.
When the detective saw me, he didn’t look surprised, he simply led me to the same conference room. He opened the door and I fought the urge to step back. The conference room was filled with people. Lara and a woman not much older than me were talking quietly in a corner, a court reporter was setting up her equipment, a man was adjusting a video camera on a tripod, another man in a suit was sitting at the conference table messing with a recorder and my lawyer stood at the far end of table, flipping through a yellow pad of paper, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed.
Barrett rushed over to me, but Lara was quicker. “Miss Dellis.” He held his hand out.
I shook his hand, then took the seat the video camera was pointed at.
“I’ll need a minute with my client,” Barrett said authoritatively, sitting down next to me. The room cleared, he set his pad down and turned in his chair. Elbows on his knees, hands clasped, his clear blue eyes met mine. “Do you wish to continue to retain me as your counsel?”
“Are you going to withhold information from me again?”
“No.”
“Then, yes.”
He nodded. “A criminal investigation can take years,” he warned.
“Is that statement a reflection of the hefty fees you’re going to bill me, or is it a warning not to get my hopes up for instant gratification?”
“Both.”
“I am aware.”
“They’re going to play three recordings for you and ask if you recognize any of the voices.”
“Alright.”
Barrett studied me. “Are you ready for this?”
“Yes,” I lied.
He nodded. “Okay. If you recognize one of the recordings, they’re going to ask you about that day. Answer every question to the best of your memory, and give details where you have them. They shouldn’t, but if they ask why you didn’t come forward sooner with this information, tell them you feared for your life and then I will step in. Questions?”
“No.” My chest felt tight.
He studied me again, then glanced behind him. “Ready?”
I’d forgotten about André.
“Yes, sir.”
“If she encounters trouble, I’ll handle the state attorney, you get her out of here.”
“Understood.” André nodded.
Fuck. This was happening.
Before I could take another breath, Barrett was opening the conference room door, gesturing for everyone to come back in. The court reporter went to her seat, the guy went behind the camera, Lara and the girl took a seat opposite me and my phone pinged in my purse. Nerves shot, I flinched, then reached into my purse. When I pulled my phone out to silence the volume, the text jumped off the screen and grabbed me.
Feel me...67 days
I wanted to cry out with longing. I wanted to run. I wanted my parents back. I wanted to melt into Buck’s arms and forget who I was. But Buck’s words crawled up my spine and took hold. You’re a fighter.
Fighters didn’t run.
I shut my phone off and made eye contact with Lara.
“Miss Dellis, we’re going to play three recordings for you today and I’d like you to let us know if you recognize any of the voices you hear. Then we’ll ask you a few questions. If you’re ready, we’ll begin.”
“I’m ready.”
Lara glanced at the cameraman, nodded then cleared his throat. He stated today’s date, named everyone in the room then looked at me.
“Please state your full name.”
“Jennifer Nicole Dellis.” My hands twisted in my lap.
“Miss Dellis, please refrain from comment until you have heard all three recordings.”
“Okay.” My heart pounded so hard it echoed in my ears. Moisture dampened the small of my back.
“First recording.” Lara nodded at the man with the small recorder.
A voice I’d never heard filled the room.
A minute later, Lara spoke again. “Second recording.”
Another man’s voice played. I’d never heard him before either. The skin across my forehead prickled. Anxiety held my back rigid.
“Third recording.”
“You dumb shit. You tink you so smart? A pig with half a brain know what’s happened.” Miami’s voice spoke from the grave. “I got haf a mind to take care dis myself. Then I don’t hafta worry ’bout no stupid pendejos messing up my bizness.”
I was panting. But not from fear. Anger, red, hot, blinding, filled my every pore.
“Miss Dellis, do you recognize any of the voices?”
“Yes,” I bit out. “Number three.” I hated him.
“Let the record state that Miss Dellis is identifying recording number three. How do you recognize the voice, Miss Dellis?”
This once, just this once, I would speak his name. “James Maldonado murdered my parents.”
Lara’s face twitched.
Barrett practically came out of his seat. “Strike the last comment from the record.”
“Miss Dellis, please answer the question of how you recognize the voice on the recording,” Lara said smoothly.
“March fifteenth, three years ago, I was on the phone with my father when I heard gunshots. Then the voice from the recording came on the line and told me I was next if I ever breathed a word of what I’d just heard.”
“What happened next?” Lara asked.
So I told him. Everything. Three years of hell, from the second Miami pulled the trigger
to the moment I met Buck. It took two hours. Three years in two hours. Two lives gone forever and only two hours.
“Miss Dellis?”
I looked up at Lara, but he looked different. “Yes?” The court reporter, the man behind the camera, the detective, everyone, everything looked different.
“Just a few more questions.”
“My client is done for the day,” Barrett interjected.
Then André was pulling my chair out, his face different. It wasn’t impassive. It was angry. Different. Everything...different.
I didn’t flinch when his arm went around my shoulders. Different. I stumbled in my four-inch heels. Different. My lawyer touched my arm to steady me. Staring at my feet, the grime of the police station rushed past me, then sunshine was on my shoulders. Lost, no purchase, I looked up.
Familiar green eyes met mine.
Polo shirt, slacks, loafers. Sun, sand, surf and coconuts wrapped around me with strong arms.
“Sugar,” Talon breathed.
I started crying.
“Shh, it’s okay, darlin’, I gotcha.”
But I didn’t want to be shushed. And he didn’t have me. No one had me. My parents were dead, justice wouldn’t fix what my father had done and it wouldn’t bring them back.
Barrett stepped up. “I’d like a word with my client.”
Talon stiffened, but he didn’t let go of me. “With all due respect, counsel, fuck off.”
I shoved away from Talon and wiped my eyes before looking at Barrett. “Yes?”
Barrett dipped his head so he was closer to my eye level. The gesture made him, I don’t know, less lawyer, more man.
“I have another appointment. Are you okay?” he asked in a low voice so no one else would hear.
I nodded, touched by his concern.
“Shall I leave you with them, or can I give you a ride home?”
I saw it then. Matthew Barrett wasn’t Peter Parker; he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. His arms stretched the sleeves of his shirt, he was taller than Talon and he might be smart as hell, but he looked just as capable of getting down and dirty. He wouldn’t take Talon or Buck, but he’d hold his own. I’d chosen well. “I’m okay.”
“You did a good job in there.”
“Thank you.”
He stared at me a moment. “I’m sorry for your loss.”