The Unforgettable Queen of Diamonds

by Nellie K Neves

She walks in without me, more evidence of how far my stock has fallen.

  I motion for a booth to the side, but being defiant, she picks a booth opposite and falls onto the cracked leather seats. Her arms cross around her stomach, cinching down like a child, but she’s no child, certainly not in that dress.

  “Hi, welcome.” A server stops at our table, smiling ear to ear. “Our manager, Rick, has some great specials tonight, are you interested in those?”

  She’s one of our analysts, Anita Macroe. Obviously, the kitchen is closed, and this is my dead drop.

  “No,” Kennedy snaps the words out, “We want a full order of breadsticks and a large pepperoni pizza.”

  I dig a hand into my pocket to retrieve the flash drive. Palming it, I reach for Kennedy’s menu. She won’t look at me. I might as well be dirt at this point. Moving it to the front of her menu, I press my own menu over the flash drive and hand them to the agent.

  “I’m sure Rick’s specials are great, but no one knows more than Kennedy.”

  The analyst frowns and shoots a dubious look toward my date, who thankfully is too deep in her glowering to notice.

  As soon as the analyst leaves, I try again with Kennedy.

  “I really didn’t think I’d be gone that long.”

  “So, why were you?”

  “I couldn’t find what I was looking for.”

  “What were you looking for?”

  “My phone,” I say, hoping it’s good enough. “I must have set it down while we were in there.”

  She’s not stupid, or easily mislead.

  “I saw it in your pocket while you were playing the piano.”

  “I know,” my lies are tangling around me, “I felt like an idiot when I realized it was there all along.”

  “Palermo,” Rick’s voice crackles in my ear, “we need you to look at these. Come tell me if I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t feel your phone in your pocket. Didn’t you check before you went back there?”

  “I must have missed it.”

  “I’m sending Macroe back to retrieve you. Go with it,” Rick says.

  I’m split in two, trying to calm Kennedy, while seeing Macroe walking toward me in her Pizza Palace uniform.

  “Are you even listening to me, Roman?” Kennedy’s volume rises with every word. “I swear, sometimes you’re right here with me, and then in the next second you’re fifty miles away, and I don’t even know you.”

  “Kennedy, you know me. I’m sorry I’m—”

  “Excuse me sir,” Macroe stops at our table. “Are you Roman Palermo of Santos Sound?”

  I don’t want to answer her. I want to stay here and prove to Kennedy that she matters to me. But the analyst’s eyes narrow with urgency. They must have found something.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “There’s a call for you in the kitchen, if you don’t mind following me.”

  I swear Kennedy’s eyes launch not only daggers but a full nuclear airstrike in my direction.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say. “I’m sure food will be out in a minute.”

  “You have five minutes. If you’re not back, I’m leaving.”

  “Got it.” I swallow and square my shoulders, somehow more scared of the five-foot nothing across from me than the entire club full of criminals next door. Macroe motions with her arm for me to go first. I shoot one last look at Kennedy before I follow the order.

  It’s easier once I’m away from the table. Training takes over. I slam my palms against the kitchen door and swing wide. The kitchen is void of real staff, instead replaced by Rick, Macroe, myself and four agents, I don’t recognize.

  “Nice evening?” Rick asks with his typical dry humor.

  “It’s been a delight.” I lean over the laptop where they’re searching the files I stole. “What’d you find?”

  “Look here. I think we have our connections. You can follow the money back, watch the laundry happen so to speak. Comes in dirty,” his finger moves from one spreadsheet to the next, “goes out clean.”

  “So, we have him?”

  “We’ve got enough to build a case.”

  “When are we moving on it? Next week?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Tonight?” I back up, trying to understand the implications. “You said it would be crazy to try something tonight. You said-”

  “Yeah, and you said we’d be crazy not to. I called in for backup. I guess I’ve decided to trust your instincts. Tactical gear is in the back. Suit up.”

  The other agents are strapping on their gear, Macroe slams a clip into the bottom of an assault rifle and extends it to me. The world swirls with my fear.

  Kennedy is stuck at the center of this mayhem.

  ✽✽✽

  Kennedy

  They better hurry up with those breadsticks. I’m starved and scared, straight shook at this point, and none of that is a good combination for me. I glance around the pizza joint. All the nights I’ve been to The Nightingale, I’ve only stopped in here a few times. Strange that the open sign isn’t glowing. Someone forgot to turn it on, or maybe they’re closing. That would explain why we’re the only patrons inside. I can’t remember if this is normal or not. Seems off on a weekend night to be empty.

  I check my watch. It’s only nine. Places like this would normally be hopping. Bass from the party next door vibrates through the wall. I hate being this close to everything that happened in there. While it’s true, I sang and people loved me, I can’t erase the feelings of violation that accompanied everything else. If this is any indication of where a career in music is headed, count me out. I’m not a girl who thrives on danger. Give me the simple life any day.

  The leather groans as I turn to glance toward the kitchen. Voices shout, but I’ve lived with Victoria long enough to know shouting and cooking go hand in hand. Still, this doesn’t sound like normal kitchen sounds. As usual, a night with Roman has gone totally off the rails.

  Two minutes.

  He has two minutes left.

  ✽✽✽

  Roman

  “And what do I do about Kennedy? You want me to stuff her behind the oven over there? Hope the fight doesn’t spread and I don’t get a civilian shot?”

  Rick’s face darkens at my insubordinate tone. “Send her home. Get her a cab.”

  “I can’t keep doing this. I tell her one thing, and then I do the exact opposite.”

  “I’m not here to be your wingman, Roman. I have a mission, and so do you. Do what it takes, get her gone, and get in your gear.”

  He shoves the assault rifle in my hands. “This is how you keep her safe. This is how we keep everyone we love safe. We lie, we tell them we’re coming home, and we do what has to be done. You think we don’t have people we care about? You think you’re alone in loving someone? We all have someone. We all take risks. This is your job. This is how you keep her safe. Do you understand, Agent Palermo?”

  I draw in a deep breath, struggling against my training, but knowing he’s right.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now get out there and do what has to be done.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I turn on my heel, headed for the dining area, but stop short. Rick follows my gaze and lets out a soft curse under his breath.

  She’s not moving, only staring at me as the kitchen door still swings from her entry. Assault rifle in my hands, our waitress wearing tactical gear toting the title, FBI, all around her are signs that nothing was what she thought it was.

  “Kennedy,” I start, but she backs away, hands up, head shaking as if she can’t trust me or her eyes. The kitchen door parts, and she’s gone.

  Rick takes the rifle from my hands and shoves me forward. “Contain her. And get back here, you have a job to do.”

  ✽✽✽

  Kennedy

  “Kennedy, wait!”

  I won’t stop. I wave my hand above my head, hoping the oncoming cab will see me, but it flies b
y. I jog further, tilting once when my heel catches on the sidewalk. I wave my arm again, desperate to escape this nightmare. Warmth catches my opposite arm, halting my steps, and spins me all the way around.

  “Let me explain.”

  Without another thought, I whip my open palm against across his face. The sting of it brings tears to my eyes, but he drops my arm. I stumble back, determined to keep my distance from him.

  “Are you kidding me right now, Roman? Are you—” Every word I can think of is a curse word, and my mother raised me to be a lady. I scream out my frustration from deep in within my chest, reveling in the guttural sound. “How? How are you going to explain this?”

  “Please, Kennedy, please calm down.” He’s inching toward me, but I haven’t stopped trying to flag down a ride, any ride at this point.

  “I don’t even know who you are! You’re not a music producer, that’s for sure.”

  “I’m not but, that doesn’t mean—”

  “That’s exactly what it means. I don’t know you. I know your lies, that’s it.” Letting him weave more isn’t an option.

  An engine draws closer as a cab pulls to the curb. I back away from him, one finger up, watching his every move. “You stay away from me, Roman. I mean it.”

  “Please,” Pain fills his voice to the brink, “please don’t do this. I don’t want to lose you, Kennedy.”

  He’s as desperate to get to me, as I am to escape him. He looks the same as he always has, dark eyes, dark hair, thin layer of stubble at his jawline. It’d be easy to step toward him, test the air, see if he’s telling the truth. But in the next second, my memory flashes to pushing open that kitchen door and seeing that enormous gun in his hands, as if it’s perfectly normal to carry something like that. I shake my head to clear the memory and send him a final verdict.

  “You can’t lose something you’ve never had.”

  I pop open the door and fall inside, slamming it behind. But he’s not moving any closer. He’s stuck there where I left him, as if quicksand holds him steady and all hope has left his frame.

  “Where to?” the cab driver asks.

  “Cartwright Ranch please.”

  He glances in his review mirror as we pull away from the curb.

  “You okay? That guy bothering you? I could call the cops.”

  “No.” I don’t have the heart to turn around. “He won’t bother me anymore.”

  Chapter 19

  Roman

  If I don’t move too fast, I can still breathe.

  It’s been a week since we raided The Nightingale.

  For all my bravado, and all Rick’s praise about how I’m made for this work, I took a beating. I squint into the bathroom mirror, pressing down the curling edges of the butterfly stitch over my eyebrow. Dante Alvero cracked the butt of his gun against my forehead before he escaped out the back. I run my hands over my bare skin, wincing with every bruised rib, and remembering the pain I endured. Rick keeps telling me it was worth it.

  We got Pedro, and fifteen other members of the crew. Dante is on the run. Word is that he’s in the wind, staying low, not even the Dark Fox himself will touch him. We have the records from their dealings. Five laundering points have been raided and shut down. It’s only a matter of time before we have the lot of them.

  I move back to my bedroom. The mattress gives way beneath my weight. I fall back, happy to feel something soft in a world that’s turned hard and cruel. I cup my phone in my hand and pull up her number for the millionth time.

  Stay away from me, Roman, I mean it.

  I’m trying to do as she asked, but she has no idea how hard it is. I flip back to the home screen, then pull up my photos, shifting between the three I have. The three I took without her knowing. The first is a shot I snagged while she danced with her brother at the wedding. Her eyes flash even in a still picture. The second is seconds after she finished singing in the auditorium. Pure peace is written over her features. I meant what I said, music producer or not, Kennedy belongs behind a microphone and under a spotlight. The last is one Macroe grabbed on surveillance. My arms are tight around her. We’re locked in a passionate kiss, seemingly alone in that costume shop she commandeered for me. The bend in her fingers clenched around the fabric of my top, tells me at one point she felt something, even if it’s gone now. I ache to run my fingers through her hair, set my hand to the curve at her waist, anything at this point to alleviate this pain. Because that’s the problem, I can’t forget. She’s a song, stuck in my head, playing on repeat, but when I reach out, the melody dissipates, and I’m alone.

  ✽✽✽

  Kennedy

  When I was a kid, a girl on the bus wanted to cover my eyes with her hand. Being a trusting fool, I let her. I still remember how she held her hand there too long, how the darkness increased by the second until I became used to it. All at once, she ripped her hand away. Pain clouded my head. Pricks stung my eyes as they adjusted. She, and six others, stared at me, watching like I was a circus freak.

  “That’s so cool,” she whispered. “Let’s try it again.”

  I stood up at the next stop and put as much space between us as I could. It was harmless fun, I suppose. She’d learned about pupil dilation in school and wanted to test it on me. With my green eyes, the definition made the phenomenon easy to see. But I felt like a joke. Everyone knew what she was doing, except me. I followed along without concern for myself or whether I was safe or not. I’ve never done something like that again, not until Roman.

  Without any regard for my own safety I believed him. I trusted that every fluke was just that, a strange coincidence, some odd occurrence explained away by a few kind words, or passionate kisses. It’s easy enough to forget those kind words, but the passionate moments seem to linger like a melody running repeat in my mind.

  “Do you have Mavis and The Spacemen in a slot?”

  Hudson’s voice brings my attention back.

  Summer concert series.

  Normal life.

  No more Roman.

  “Yeah, Friday at ten after Hot Service, but before Mega Compass.”

  “Okay,” his pencil moves over the paper on his clipboard, “how about Backroad Brigade?”

  “Saturday at ten, before Redneck Outlaws.”

  “I think you’re ready. That was everything left on my list.”

  I nod, but not because I’m listening. Why can’t I forget Roman? Why can’t I put him out of my mind? He’s not real.

  “You miss him?”

  “What?” I snap my binder shut and glare at my baby brother. “No, of course not. I mean, miss who?”

  “You know who. Come on, you were great together. I’ve never seen you so happy.”

  I slide the binder back on a shelf behind me. They’ve never looked so good. After a meltdown a couple days ago, I pulled everything off the shelves, tossed out anything that didn’t belong, reorganized, and set it all back together again. It’s my way of pretending I have control over my life. I don’t, but my binders lie better than my heart.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I swivel my chair to face the filing cabinets behind me, a signal that he should get lost, but since when does Hudson listen to signals?

  “I know more than you think I do,” he says. He comes around the side of my desk. “I know he’s undercover.”

  I spin back, eyes wide, accusing finger jamming into his chest. “You knew? You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

  Hudson explodes to his feet, backing away from me as I follow him to the double doors of my office. His hands come up like my finger is a gun. “He said he stays behind the computers most of the time. I figured he was like an accountant or something. I didn’t think I needed to tell you.”

  I shriek and turn away from him. “He’s not an accountant, Hudsie. Accountants don’t carry automatic weapons.”

  I’ve stolen his thunder, silenced him by accident. After a moment, the knob on my door turns. “All I know is he was falling in love with yo
u. Figured that was worth taking a chance on.”

  The words circle me, taunting my best sense on a dare. I turn to ask him for more, but he’s gone.

  ✽✽✽

  Roman

  “You look like death.”

  I try to laugh at Rick’s stupid joke, but nothing happens.

  “Funny, I feel worse than that.”

  “Pretty hung up on her, huh?”

  Kennedy Cartwright is the last thing I want to talk about right now. I turn back to the screen. I’ve been working around the clock trying to decrypt the secret file I stole from The Nightingale computer. Nothing works. I need a secondary piece to unlock the encryption.

  “You could let the analysts take a crack at that, see if they get anywhere,” Rick says, motioning to the computer.

  “It’s keeping me busy.”

  “You need to get out. Go see your parents or something. I think you’ve lost ten pounds in a week.”

  “I don’t want my mom to see me beat up like this. I can’t exactly explain it.” I’m moving around better, but my face still holds the bruises from the raid.

  “Then go for a walk. You need air. That’s an order.”

  With an aggravated sigh, I press back from the computer, give him a mock salute and head out the door.

  ✽✽✽

  Kennedy

  Vic knows something’s up. Since nine this morning, she’s be placing plates of snacks, desserts, and appetizers on my desk. Normally, by now she’d be off to wherever my secretive sister disappears to, but she’s staying close, claiming she needs to practice recipes.

  She pitched an idea to dad last night, a circle of food trucks for the summer series, but he shot her down. It’s not the first time. He’s stuck in this old way of doing things. Food trucks are how the world operates now, but he calls them chuck wagons and makes jokes about chucking up everything he ate. Guy had one bad experience with a roach coach twenty years ago, and there’s no dealing with him.