Checkmate: Checkmate, #8

by Finn, Emilia

  “He’s nobody. I met him a week ago.”

  “Why was he in that office when we closed the door, why did the door remain closed for half an hour, and when it was opened again, he was gone?” She pulls me to my feet when my wish to spew refuses to come true. We’re not eye-to-eye. We’re not even close. “Talk to me, Tate. Because that dude came into the office today, and he was trying to play me.”

  “I don’t know.” Tears flow over my cheeks.

  I can’t say. I can’t tell her what he hasn’t already told her. Even if technically, he would be her brother-in-law if she and Jay ever marry.

  Oh God. Kane and Jay don’t know they have a brother. “I don’t know his business. But I know I saw him on a date with you tonight.”

  She scoffs. “Yeah, and when you walked in, I was dead to him. I saw him run to you like his ass was on fire. I saw him catch you. I saw him carry you. I saw you snuggle into his damn lap like you might drown if he let go. We gave you guys privacy, and now he’s missing, and I’ve been saddled with the tab for dinner. Something smells like fish, Libby. Something is up with that man, and you know more than you’re letting on.”

  “I can’t…” I turn to the sinks and splash water over the uninjured side of my face. “I don’t know his business.”

  “Why do his records only go back eleven years?” She stares into the mirror and meets my eyes with a glare. “Why does he simply not exist before the age of twenty-one?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why is he the owner of a massive tech giant, but his education records simply don’t exist?”

  I hide my face and splash more water. “I don’t know.”

  “Why did he escape onto the fire exit just because Alex was at the door?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Sophia grabs my arm and spins me so fast that my brain rattles inside my skull. I might’ve told Alex there’s no concussion, but it was a lie. It was a bald-faced lie.

  “You have to know something, Tate. You’re a good fucking cop, one of the best in this town, but you don’t know the dude whose arms you were snuggled in an hour ago? I call bullshit.”

  “I don’t know! I don’t know who he is, but you seem to forget your place. I’m an officer of the law, and you’re starting to get on my nerves. Back up, ballerina, and quit while you’re on this side of a jail cell.”

  Her eyes glitter with something dangerous. I don’t really know this woman. I’ve met her, she seems cool, but we’re hardly friends.

  She leans in now, and glares. “Why, when I look at him, do I feel things in here?” She grabs my hand and presses it to her chest. “Why do I feel something in my gut when he stares into my eyes? When his hand slides over my skin, when he thinks he’s seducing me, but we both know it’s a farce? Why, Libby? Why do I feel these things?”

  “Probably the same reason I do! I don’t know him, okay? But he makes my stomach do weird things too. He makes my heart beat faster. But it’s as explainable as your stomach.”

  “You lie.” Her dark eyes follow mine each time I try to look away. “Who is he, Officer Tate? Who is that man, and don’t tell me his name is Theo Griffin.”

  “Theo Griffin is what his license says.”

  “I know that. You think I don’t know everything he has on record?”

  I shrug and try to turn away, but she grabs me and spins me back one last time. “Does he know about your addiction, Elizabeth? Does he know your weakness?”

  I recoil with a hiss and lift a balled fist. “You’re a fucking asshole, Sophia. You have no business looking my shit up.”

  “I need to know who’s around me. I’m sorry you have a secret that hurts you, but my family comes before yours. Jay’s safety comes before Theo’s. So tell me what you know, and I’ll forget what I know. Jess is just days away from having her babies; if you allow my family to be in danger, then you’ll be my first sacrifice. Zero hesitation, zero remorse. I’ve lost one sister already, I won’t lose another.”

  15

  Theo

  What Does Jericho Mean?

  I sit in my car outside Club 188 for a full hour after being shoved onto a fucking fire escape. I expected Libby to be only minutes behind me. Seconds, even. Because that’s how long it would take me to get to her if roles were reversed.

  What is taking her so long that I sit in my car long enough for my breath to fog the glass? And why the fuck can’t she be a known friend to Theo Griffin?

  My phone lights up in the dark, the ringtone silent, but the vibration giving one fast buzz against the plastic console of my rental. My eyes remain on the club entrance, my stare focused on the very spot she’ll come out just as soon as she gets her shit together and leaves.

  My phone vibrates again, impatiently demanding my attention.

  Frowning, I bring it up to find Olly’s name and a message.

  Everything good, boss? Radios are buzzing with a ruckus at the club.

  When I don’t immediately answer, he sends a second: Griffin? Do you want me to stay on Kane Bishop, or come to the club?

  Instead of replying in text, I hit dial and let my eyes refocus on the club entrance.

  The call rings only once before he picks up. “Yeah?”

  “Libby got busted up tonight.”

  “What?” His keys literally rattle and turn in the ignition. Almost two weeks of watching her on my orders has made him somewhat invested, I guess. “She on the way to the hospital? I can meet you over there.”

  “No, she’s okay. She’s got a busted face, black eye, split lip. Dude fucked her up pretty bad with one single swipe, but she’s okay.”

  “You lit him on fire? Need me to take care of the body?”

  This is why Olly is my man. My trusted compatriot after more than a decade of pure loyalty.

  “No. I didn’t get to touch him, actually. Dude cop was all over him the second it happened. I’ve been with Lib while the medic was working on her face. She’s gonna be fine, but I’m bringing her to the hotel tonight.”

  “Boss…” I can hear the smile in his voice. “You’re bringing her with her permission, right?”

  “Do you think I give a fuck if I have her permission? She has a concussion, which means either she goes to the hospital, or she comes with me. She’s not being given a choice.”

  He chuckles. “Okay. What do you need me to do?”

  “Maybe just stop at the store and stock up on painkillers, water, snacks. That sorta shit. Leave them in my room. I’ll take care of clothes for her. Then I need you to find out what Jericho means.”

  “Jericho?” he questions. “What’s that?”

  “Exactly. See what you can find out. I’ll connect with you in the morning. You can let me know then what you found.”

  “You got it.”

  “Great. You can do that back in your room. No need to keep watch tonight, I’ve got it.”

  “Yes, sir. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  16

  Libby

  Come to Jesus

  I walk out of the club with Sophia and Jay on my sides as security detail, but as soon as I catch sight of Theo’s car in the street, I meet Soph’s eyes and shake my head. Her lips firm, but I pull away anyway and head to my car, which is parked behind Theo.

  I didn’t know when I arrived that I was parking behind Theo, but that’s the car he’s sitting in, so I shake my head and continue walking as though my head isn’t aching like Scanlon’s hand was surely a sledgehammer.

  Theo thinks for a moment I’m coming to him, but I veer away and slide into my car and swallow when his lips thin in my mirror.

  Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.

  This is why I stick to my own company. This is why I prefer to be alone, rather than adding complications to my life. Because all it took was one hour of truths, just like the first time we met. One single hour where the world felt empty but for the two of us.

  Last time, we sealed it with a spit shake.

  This time… so much more.

>   “Goddammit.” I switch on the ignition and pull out without giving him any indication of where I’m going or if he’s welcome to come along. Sophia and Jay remain on the sidewalk near the club entrance. It’s cold out, and Soph is barely more than naked, so she stands in Jay’s embrace and lets him keep her warm, but no one could confuse them for a couple in the dark, sneaking a makeout session. They’re soldiers, and they’re watching us closely.

  As I pass Theo’s car, he pulls out into the traffic as smoothly as if the world was waiting for his move.

  And of course, Sophia and Jay see it all.

  I feel like I know why he’s here. I feel like I know why he insists on using his new name and not his old. And I know exactly why Sophia feels things when she looks at him; his eyes may not be the same color as Kane and Jay’s, but they’re the same shape. His jaw is the same. His lips are the same. His shoulders are the same. His face is longer than theirs, and his hair a shade lighter. But if you take color away, cast all three into a monotone world, there isn’t a whole lot of difference.

  She feels him, because he’s brother to the man she lives her life for. She would threaten a police officer with information she gathered illegally, all to keep that man safe. She loves that deeply, so of course her heart pounds when she looks at Theo.

  The same way my heart has always pounded when Kane walked through my station. The same way my heart broke when word got out that Jay had been executed. For most of a year, I mourned the death of a man I had never formally met, and when he returned and surprised us all, I called in a 10-7, drove home, locked myself in my room, and cried for the return of a Bishop.

  No one can know how much I wished that a different Bishop had returned. No one could know I sat on the side of my bed and wept for a man the world knew as a junkie criminal.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I swipe a hand beneath my nose as though it runs, but hiss when I smack my aching face. “Shit.” My eyes water from the pain, from emotion.

  Today, my life swiveled on its axis, just as surely as it did in a club when I was a child.

  Today, the third and final Bishop rose from the ashes, declared alive once again.

  I pull into the parking space out front of my apartment building, and though I’m tempted to run inside and hide away with the cookies I felt were so fucking important only a couple hours ago, I don’t bother. Gunner Bishop would only chase me down and toss me into his car. I know he would, so I don’t waste my time or risk making a scene.

  I simply slide out of my car, lock the doors, then I walk to his as he idles across the street. I stop by the driver’s side and wait a single second before he winds the window down.

  His eyes scour my face as though our hour apart has dulled his memory. Or maybe my bruises are getting darker as time goes on. “Get in, Libby. Don’t make me chase you down.”

  I pull in a long breath and let it out on a sigh. “Shit.” Shaking my head, I walk around to the passenger side and slide in so my denim rubs against luxurious leather.

  “Good choice.”

  He pulls out again and takes us across town to where I know he’s staying.

  * * *

  “Here you go.”

  Sitting on the end of a plump bed in what may be the fanciest hotel room I’ve ever seen, I glance up into bright blue Bishop eyes and fight the tears that want to spill over. If I cried for Jay, then there’s no knowing when the dam will break for the Bishop I truly wanted. Two decades of grief, two decades of hoping and wishing sit on the precipice of whenever my mind finds it fit to snap. But that moment isn’t right now, as I accept a glass of water and take two ibuprofens when he snaps them from the foil packet and drops them into my palm.

  “How’s your head?”

  “Feels like a hummingbird attacking the inside of my skull,” I murmur. I let him believe it’s completely because of Scanlon and my concussion, but at least half of my headache has to do with the man right in front of me. All of the years I spent crying for him. All of the nights I sat in my dorm at school and wondered where in the universe he was. All of the times I sat there and wondered how painful death is, hoping his didn’t hurt, and wondering about the easiest ways to accomplish the same in hopes to see him again.

  My concussion hurts, but it’s nothing compared to what this man makes me feel.

  He kneels down in front of me and watches as I take the pills with a shaking hand. “Do you feel sick?”

  I shake my head, but stop again when it hurts. “No.”

  “Are you sleepy?”

  I look down at my bare legs and the Griffin Industries shirt that dwarves my otherwise naked body. He acts like we’ve known each other forever. He acts like we met when I was nine and we didn’t miss a single day between. “A little sleepy, but the regular kind, not the kind where I think I’m dying.”

  His heavy bottom lip twitches with a grin. “Want something other than water? I’ve got juice, or a beer, I guess. I don’t think beer will help your headache, but some might say the relaxation is worth it.”

  “No.” I sip my glass of water and avoid his eyes. “I don’t drink.”

  He lifts a brow. “At all?”

  “Nope. Not at all. Don’t like it.”

  “Okay…”

  His eyes scour my face while I stare at the far wall and try to process what the actual hell has happened tonight.

  “I need you to talk to me, Lib. Why were you inside the club so long?” He reaches up and grabs my face to bring it around. “What took you so long?”

  “I had to talk to Alex, then I went to the bathroom because I felt sick. Sophia followed me in and asked questions.” Theo’s eyes darken with awareness. “She wants to know who you are. She wants to know who the real you is, because she knows Theo Griffin came out of nowhere a little more than a decade ago. She knows Theo is likely a fabricated name, and she suspects I know the real man beneath the fake.”

  “How does she know this stuff?” He readjusts on his knees and drags my face back each time I try to look away. “Libby? How does the bimbo know that stuff?”

  “I already told you; she’s smart. She’s the brains behind Checkmate. She dressed up tonight to do to you the exact same thing you were doing to her. You want her secrets, she wants yours. You offered money and sex, she put on a tiny skirt and did the same. Neither of you got answers, because then I walked in, and apparently you stopped paying attention to her.”

  A grin pulls his lips up to the side. “That’s kind of true. I had the bimbo in a booth in a sexy club, but then my cop walks in, and suddenly I’m thirsty.”

  I know he’s making a joke, but I still frown and pull away from the hand on my chin. “I’m not your cop, Gunner. I’m not for sale.”

  “You are my cop,” he argues in a low, dangerous voice. “Everything that you are belongs to me, and everything that I am belongs to you.”

  “Gunner, no–”

  “Theo,” he snaps. “My name is Theo. And trust me when I say, I’m not pleased that you’re a cop. I fucking loathe cops. But we’ll excuse the fact that your job sucks, and focus only on the fact that you’re you, and I’ve waited a long time to see you again.”

  “No.” Shaking my head, I turn away and try to slide off the bed. “This isn’t going to work. I’m not a cop for hire, and you’re not a guy I can get messed up with.”

  “It’ll look bad on your résumé, huh?”

  He turns as I slither from his grasp and walk across the room.

  “I don’t understand you, Libby. What is your problem?”

  “My problem is that you have a lot of money. You have bunches and bunches of it, and nobody your age, especially not a boy who started out homeless without a single cent, earned all of that money legitimately. And you know what? Even if you did, it doesn’t look like you did. And at this point in my life, I don’t much care about how your company began. I care about how this looks. I care that people will make assumptions, and for the rest of my life, I’ll be suspicious in their eyes.”
>
  “Suspicious? What’s suspicious?”

  “They’ll see my name and know it’s the same as my father. They’ll see your name and assume I’m carrying on the family business of being a Bishop’s little bitch. They’ll see your money and assume I opened my legs for a few dollars.”

  “But none of that is true. Libby.” He snags my wrist as I pace past, and drags me back to sit on the end of the bed. His blue eyes bore into mine as his hand comes up and holds my jaw in place. “None of that is true. I’m not my father, and you’re not yours. Every single cent that I have came to me legitimately. You might not believe that, but it’s true. And every cent I have started on the back of you.”

  “Me?”

  He nods. “I like to draw. You never knew that about me, huh?” When I stop fighting to escape his hold, he takes my moment of weakness and pulls me to the floor to sit in his lap. “My mom used to call me Doodlebug. She saved up for the longest time, bought me a fancy set of pencils and sketch paper, and that’s where I spent most of my youth; in those books.”

  “The pencils,” I whisper. I remember the tin stashed under his couch. The pile of loose sheets of paper. “I found your pencils.”

  His eyes soften. “Did you steal those the day you took my sweater? Because I wouldn’t be mad if you did. I’d give almost anything to have those back.”

  Tears burn the backs of my eyes. “No. I left them there. I stole your sweater and had to hide it. You talked about your sweater, you said it was your favorite and you were so mad you forgot it, so I went with my father that day and stole it. But I didn’t know you loved your pencils. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head and breathes me in. “I started drawing again while I was living on the streets. There are a bunch of people in this world that paid two bucks for a drawing of you.” He leans back and chuckles. “It was a good plan at the time, but I see now how that’s kinda creepy. Sorry.”