“We could start with just one, then branch out to smaller agencies in the city. It’s a no-brainer. They’ll receive access to our superior resources and we’ll get a percentage of their business.
Slate nods as he assesses my five-year-plan. “Damn fine work. Who did this for you?”
“The woman I was guarding in LA? Elena? She has a guy but he didn’t come cheap.” I don’t share how I all but wiped out my savings. “So, what do you think? Can we bring it to Grayson’s attention? Do you think he’ll go for it? The best part is, we can hire more vets.”
Elena’s guy told me to shut the fuck up once I make the sale and when I do, Slate frowns. “If Patten likes this, no doubt you’ll be leaving my pool of bodyguards?”
I shrug. “Y’all know me. If you need me, I’ll be there but I’m thinkin’ it might be nice to stay put for a while.”
Slate’s eyes narrow. “Did you pop the question?”
“Not exactly.”
“Why the hell not?” He grabs an egg roll and smothers it with mustard while I set down the container of egg drop soup I was slurping.
“I got some personal shit I need to clean up.” I never told him what sometimes happens if I wake up with someone in my bed and I hope to God he never finds out. It would be a career-ender.
“Anything I need to be concerned about?”
“Nope. I got it covered.”
“Alright then. I’ll schedule a sit-down with Gray.” He stands and glances at his cellphone, indicating our meeting is done.
I hold out my hand and we shake like two brothers-in-arms. “Thanks, Slate. Appreciate it.”
“Remember to ask Patten for a piece of the pie. It’s your idea and it could be big.”
“I’ll think about it.” I don’t need to be some rich asshole. I just want steady work, a small house, a couple kids, and enough to be comfortable. And Sam.
While I continue the daydream, I grab a cab and arrive at my therapist’s office with only minutes to spare.
The guy who reminds me of a younger, bearded version of Henry Winkler reaches out his hand from where he stands in his doorway. “Sebastian. Come on in.”
I enter, lay back on his couch with my hands behind my head, and stare up at the dots on the industrial drop ceiling.
“How you been?” The chair squeaks as he eases down into it and grabs a notebook.
“Fine, fine.” I don’t mention how worried I’ve been about hurting Sam.
“Fine usually means not-fine.”
The fucking guy should work for the CIA. “I haven’t woke up and tried to kill anyone, if that’s what you’re implying.”
He sighs heavily. “Are you taking the pills I gave you?”
“Nope. I don’t need them because I’ve been sleeping alone and don’t have to worry about… you know…” Shit. The words get stuck in my throat.
“Why don’t you try to say it out loud?”
I sit up and glare, inches from his face. “I didn’t wake up and try to kill someone, okay?”
“You sound angry.” He doesn’t back away for which I give him a lot of credit.
“Fuck yeah, I’m angry. I want to live like a normal guy. I want to ask my girl to marry me without having to worry about shit. How long before you can cure me?” It pisses me off how I keep askin’ yet he never answers.
“How about we talk about your dreams?”
“How about we don’t.” I look to the door, ready to bolt. “Listen, doc. Nothing against you, but this isn’t working.”
“We’ve only seen each other a few times.” He chuckles. “Whether you admit it or not, you are doing better.”
“Y’all are the one with a screw loose. I feel worse now than before I started.”
“How so?” He leans back in his chair and I take a deep breath to give it one more try.
“I was doing fine. Getting along great. Not a damn thing bothering me. Suddenly, boom, she shows up in my life and everything goes to hell.”
“Did you break up?”
“No, we’re closer than ever.”
“So, what’s gone to hell?”
“Shit. It’s so fucking hard to explain. It’s like this. One minute my life is like a favorite black and white movie. Then, without warning, the whole damn world lights up in Technicolor. And if we’re apart, it’s like a piece of me is tore out of my chest and shit I don’t want to think about reports for duty.”
“The war.”
“Yeah. The exact day I told you about.”
“Where everyone got killed but you and your friend, Lochlan.”
I don’t say nothing because the scenes of my nightmares play out in my head. The noise, the bomb… waking up in the sand… Guys screaming.
I pace and when I stop, I’m crying like a teenaged girl. “Look at me. How the fuck is this better? I’m no fucking good like this.” I wipe my sleeve over my face, my fist clenches, and I lay into a punching bag he has in the corner until I’m physically spent.
As I sit back down in his leather lounge chair he takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“Yeah, me too. Is this how it works? I remember shit, I feel like shit, and pay more money to come back for more?”
He chuckles. “I’ve had many clients say the same. However, if suppressed, feelings are likely to become infected. They heal on the surface, but underneath, it’s ugly.”
“And y’all are what? The antibiotics?”
His smile disappears and his glance at the clock tells me our time is up “No, you are. I’m the scalpel reopening the injury. See you next week?”
Fuck. I have no idea if I’m on the right track but the alternative is to do nothing which won’t get me any closer to asking Sam to marry me.
“Yeah, whatever.” I stand, blow my nose, and exit the room.
Chapter Six
Sam
While Suds spends his day in the city, I work at the salon, hoping someone will drop a tidbit of information on the missing statue.
I do learn Monsignor Joseph at St. Mary’s is using the opportunity to up attendance at his midnight mass. He’s invited an orchestra to sing with the choir and a ringer from the Metropolitan Opera.
Mrs. Sabelli confides in me as she hands me a fiver, “Their church has been jealous of our miracle Jesus forever. If anyone took it, it bet it was them.”
I have a hard time believing Father Joe would steal the baby Jesus, but a lead is a lead. If the kids don’t pan out, I’ll go and talk to him.
Slate has no work for me this week so December is going to be tight for money which sucks because I wanted to buy Suds something nice. For family, I’ve been crocheting up a storm. I got the cutest scarves done for Mia and Rose, Kimmy gets a tiny stuffed mouse toy, and Joey? I’ll bake him up some banana bread and cookies.
Fuck. Getting fired from my old job sucks. I got no insurance, no security, and no apartment to call my own.
So as not to sink into depression, I call Father O’Connell who says the long jump contest is scheduled tomorrow, at recess.
With the whole afternoon mine, I work on Sebastian’s present and pray it all comes together in time. Vinny found me some high priced leather from Italy. Nonna did some of the stitching, and I borrowed her vintage Singer to do the rest.
When Suds texts me, I look up from my work and can’t believe it’s after six.
Suds: “C U tomorrow. Had a few things to deal with in the city. Staying at my place.”
Me: “Everything okay?”
Suds: “Yeah. Fine.”
That’s weird. He said he’d be back for dinner and my sauce has been bubbling on the stove all day.
Shortly after, Mia and Rose arrive from work and check the pot. “Whoa. You’re cooking? Where’s Suds?”
My throat gets a little tight and eyes watery. “He’s ah, staying in Bushwick, tonight.”
Mia gives me a hug. “Didn’t you tell him you were actually cooking?”
“I didn’t
think I had to. I just assumed he would stay here for a few days. I mean, he was gone for over a month…”
Rose squeezes my shoulder. “He didn’t break up, hun, he’s just taking a breather. Guys need space.”
Suds doesn’t, not with me but I don’t say so.
Taking what Rose said to heart, I text only once before bed but he doesn’t respond. What the hell did I do wrong?
I swear to God, I will never understand men.
***
I toss and turn most of the night and finally fall asleep sometime near dawn. When, I wake, the mattress is still empty beside me. Sighing, I check my texts and there’s still nothing from Sebastian.
Maybe he thinks we’re moving too fast? Did the notion of working together scare him off? I mean, how many couples survive working together?
Shit. This is just the kind of self-doubt I promised never to engage in again. Fine. I’ll step back from our relationship and give him some space. I’m a grown-ass woman and don’t need…
My throat tightens as my fallback mantra gives way to a flood of tears. Life without Suds will suck big time.
Get a grip, Sam. What the hell is wrong with you? He didn’t text. One night! What is the big deal?
Turning off my cellphone, I walk with Mia and Rose to the salon. It’s Wednesday, Pot Luck at the Senior Center and all the regulars come in. At the end of the morning, I dump a jars’ worth of quarters into my purse, and depart for St. Thomas’ Catholic School.
Now well after the school’s lunch hour, Father O’Connell’s assistant, a young Dominican priest, hands me a thumb drive. “You really t’ink dis will work?”
I grip the data, my heart thumps and as the familiar urge to analyze data overcomes me, I give him a confident smile. “If they wore the same sneakers, I can find them.”
His white teeth shine in contrast with his brown skin. “I will pray for your success, Ms. Russo.”
“Thanks.”
“Please. Let me know if you need anyt’ing.” After he leaves, I plug the data into my USB port but before I start, check my phone for any word form Suds.
Damn. Where the hell is he? I
Me: At the school.
I want to text him a whole lot more but to hell with it. I’m fine without him. Sam’s Detective Agency. That works.
My heart stops and for a horrible moment, I picture him injured and all alone in a hospital somewhere. What if he walked into an intersection without first checking for cars flying through red lights? It happens to out-of-towners all the time.
Shit. Trying not to worry, I focus on the sneaker prints and about an hour later, pump my fist into the air. “Score!”
Sister Mary Agnes rushes out of her office. “You found them?”
“Yes.” I turn my screen so she can see and show her the boys’ names.
Pursing her lips, the nun scowls. “I’ll need a few minutes to get those scoundrels into the office and call their parents.”
“No problem.” I stretch and check my phone.
Suds: On my way.
Air whooshes out of my lungs, the tension in my neck loosens, and my shoulders drop about two inches. Sister, I’ll be right outside.”
My feet fly to the school’s front door and I pace wringing my hands as I stare up and down the sidewalk. When he comes into view, my heart stutters. I love him so much. What if he’s losing interest?
He acts as if everything is fine and kisses me. It’s as if he didn’t forget to text me, miss my dinner, or make me sleep alone.
I refuse to sound needy so I pitch my voice cool and professional. “Glad you could make it.”
His eyes crease. “You mad?”
“No.” When I stare at his boots, he lifts my chin.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Nothing.” If he doesn’t understand how much he hurt me, I’ll be damned if I’m going to tell him. Besides, it’s childish to think he’ll text me every night.
“Did you not sleep well?” His concerned gaze tries to capture mine and I go cross-eyed to avoid it
“Yeah, never better.” Cement steps cool my ass but not my ire as I sit and stare into the distance.
“Y’all gonna pout or tell me what’s wrong?” He has the audacity to look like the injured party which makes it easier to yell.
“I made dinner last night. You never even texted to say you weren’t coming.”
His face goes blank like he’s trying to remember as he settles down next to me. “Shit. Sorry.”
That’s it? I want to ask where he was but because he doesn’t volunteer, it can’t be good. Before he met me, he was a real player and I wonder if he hooked up with an old flame. For me to ask would be really fucked up, especially when he vowed never to cheat.
Realizing, I may have a few trust issues, I squeeze his hand. “I really missed you.”
The moment passes and he grins. “Hell, I missed you, too. And I am truly sorry about last night. I went to see my therapist, my thoughts got all fucked up, and I didn’t want y’all seein’ me like that.”
Oh God. I am so stupid. I hug him tight, my head to his chest, then kiss him a whole lot better than the first time.
His lips lift at the corners. “Guess we got some makeup-sex to be doin’?”
“Absolutely, but first we need to talk to the two boys who were smoking in the basement.”
The ache in my chest dissolves as I walk him up the steps and into the middle school.
Chapter Seven
Suds
I dodged a bullet this time, but what about the next? Sure as I live and breathe, Sam will want to help me. However, the shit in my brain is way too dark to share. It’s bad enough I got to spew it to my shrink. Thank God she forgave me but sometimes I feel like I’m playing Russian roulette with my life.
As we walk along the corridors, the art on the wall calms my soul. At first glance, the kids were supposed to draw a scene from The Night Before Christmas and while some are pretty good, it’s the gawd-awful ones, I like best.
Sam points out a green-faced Santa and a stick dog with antlers. “I think he’s the Grinch.”
“Nah, he’s Santa with a stomach ache. Look at the size of those cookies.”
We share a smile, round the corner, and I knock.
A surly woman in her sixties looks down her nose at me and points to two worn wooden chairs outside her door. “Almost ready. Please sit.”
As we set our butts down, Sam catches my mood. “That was the principal. Nervous?”
I snort out a laugh. Bullets make me jumpy, as do insurgents with IED’s. And I suppose, now I can add shrinks to the list but not nuns.
Recalling myself as a kid, I lean back and cross my ankles with my hands behind my head. “I did spend quite a few hours waiting in a place just like this.”
“Why? What did you do?” Her lovely eyes search my face and I feel like a real ass for hurtin’ her.
My gaze lingers on her lips and my cock twitches. “Mostly, I skipped class. I got restless. Still do.”
She rolls her eyes and clicks her tongue. “I was a good kid. I never got sent to the principal’s office.”
I don’t believe her bullshit, not for one second. “You mean you never got caught.”
“Uh-huh. Exactly.”
Suddenly, the office door opens and the woman from earlier introduces herself. “Hello. I’m Sister Mary Agnes. Ron and Colin are waiting with their guardians. Follow me, please.”
We follow the angry nun back down the hall and into a small classroom decorated for Christmas. The two perps, a blond and a dark-haired kid, sit with their arms crossed, ready for battle.
A fortyish man in a greasy blue jumpsuit introduces himself as Colin’s father. A pale woman in an oversized sweatshirt nods hi and greets us with a limp handshake.
I loom over the tyke with the most attitude. “You’re Ron? Right?”
The kid juts out his chin but I give him a reassuring smile. “Listen up, we’re not the police and didn’t come here t
o make trouble. Me and Sam are private detectives and we think you two might be able to help us get back the stolen Jesus from the nativity.”
“We want to talk to the FBI. We need witness protection.”
“No, son, we talked about this.” Ron’s mom turns toward the principal, “I apologize, Sister.”
While all this is goin’ on, Sam slides into a kid’s desk, swivels it around, and faces the boys. “We know you were in the basement. Hell, I used to smoke there myself.”
Both their eyes go wide, but it’s Colin, who asks, “Weren’t you never caught?”
“Nope. Not once, but then again, I never broke a window.” Sam tilts her head in a way that says, you screwed the pooch.
“It wasn’t us.” Ron shoots a warning glance at his pal and Sam catches it.
“I believe you. I really do. You just wanted a place to hang out, to call your own.”
The dark-haired kid nods. “Right.”
“But what about the baby Jesus in the manger. Did you see it?” Sam hones in on the more timid of the boys who stares at his feet.
“We were going to take it but it started to ah… do the miracle thing, so we put it back. I swear we did.”
I squat down on my heels between the boys. “If y’all saw who took it, you need to man up.”
Ron blurts out behind me, “Don’t say anything, Col, until they promise us protection.”
Colin’s Dad stands, fists clenched. “Did someone threaten you, son?”
“We need to tell them.” The shy kid’s face reddens as he sniffs back tears. “I’m sorry, Dad… It was last Wednesday. Everyone had gone home ‘cause school got out early. Me and Ron met up after dinner. We figured it’d be fun to break in after dark and hang out for a while. We were climbing out the window when this big scary dude grabs Ron and told me he’d kill him unless I went back in and handed out the statue so I did.”
“We need to call the police.” When the woman in the sweatshirt wrings her hands, her kid jumps up and hugs her, face white.
A Suds and Sam Christmas Page 3