She slid across the seat so she could lower her voice, so Vince in the front seat would at least have to strain to hear. “Come home with me, Reid. Forget Falcone, forget his job and come home.” This was his chance. He was away from the estate, away from Jimmy and all his goons. There was only Vince, who was armed, but surely he wouldn’t use a gun on a crowded downtown street at lunchtime. Reid could get out of this car and into hers and drive away with her, and there was little Vince could do about it.
His grip grew tighter, but he still didn’t look at her. “I don’t have a home anymore,” he reminded her. “O’Shea threw me out, remember?”
“Because he was angry. Once he realizes that you’re back to stay, he’ll be happy to have you.”
“Yeah, sure, he will. Until the next thing I do that he doesn’t approve of.”
She didn’t respond to that. This wasn’t the time or the place to try to convince him of Jamey’s complex emotions. Besides, they were nearing the downtown block where Vince intended to drop her off. She didn’t have time to waste. “Forget about Jamey and everything else. Come home with me. Stay with me. Live with me.”
“Live off you? Remember, if I quit this job, I’m out of luck. Jamey sure won’t take me back, and the garage probably won’t. Who does that leave? Who’s going to hire a punk like me?”
Before she could answer, Vince spoke. “Where do you want out?”
She looked around and saw Remy’s office building. She told him where her car was parked, then used her free hand to force Reid to look at her. “Please,” she whispered. “You don’t have to go back there! Please come with me now. Come back to Serenity where you belong.”
“I’ve made my choice, Cassie,” he said quietly, with finality. “I’m sorry it hurts you, but you knew what I was when you got involved.”
She knew. He was a decent, honorable man who would do nothing to protect himself until he was certain that she was safe. He wouldn’t take this opportunity to free himself from Falcone. He wouldn’t do anything to further fuel Falcone’s paranoia, even if returning to the estate meant that he was still in danger.
With a sigh, she stared past him out the side window, not realizing until a horn sounded behind them that it was her own car she was looking at. They were double-parked beside it and holding up noonday traffic. Pulling free of her, Reid opened the door and slid out, then waited for her to join him on the street. She did so, pausing intimately close to him. “You know where to find me.”
Finally he smiled, a crooked little grin that didn’t ease the emotion in his eyes, and he mouthed two words. “I will.”
She touched him one last time, then moved around him to her own car. By the time she got the door unlocked, he had already climbed into the front seat of the Mercedes and they were driving away. She stood and watched until they were lost in traffic, then climbed into her car, lowered her head and tried to say a silent prayer, but one word was all she could say. Please. She trusted God to understand the rest. Please watch over him. Please keep him safe. Please bring him home.
Please.
It wasn’t fair how quickly good times passed and how bad times just dragged on. The time Reid had had with Cassie had flashed by—a few days that had lasted only minutes—while these weeks with Meghan and Falcone had literally crawled. He’d lived a couple of lifetimes since they’d left Cassie on a downtown street and driven away yesterday afternoon. He suspected he would go through a couple more before Sinclair found some way to get him out.
He’d wanted to go with Cassie yesterday, had wanted it more than even she could imagine. But after Jimmy had announced that he didn’t trust him, it would have been sheer folly to get out of the car and refuse to return to the estate. Some of Falcone’s men—Vince, Tony, who knew who else—would have shown up on Serenity to reclaim him, and they wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.
No, he had to stick with this job until Sinclair somehow came through. The agent knew of his situation, and he would take appropriate measures to get Reid out free and clear, with no disappearing acts, no threats to his life, no future danger. Sinclair had to deliver. Reid was counting on him.
Feeling restless, he paced the length of the garage. It was a gathering place not just for the drivers and Jimmy’s full-time mechanic but for everyone who didn’t have someplace better to be. There were a half-dozen men there now, playing poker with an afternoon baseball game on the television in the corner. He’d spent a lot of time with the men, but he didn’t know any of them. He didn’t want to know anyone who carried a gun for a living, neither cop nor crook. He just wanted to be a part-time grease monkey and bartender, with a father who was someday going to have to forgive him, a stepmother who thought he was a better man than he really was and Cassie, who made him a better man.
Someday he was going to marry her and spend the rest of his life with her.
Provided that he got out of this alive.
Activity at the other end of the garage drew Reid’s attention that way. The poker game had abruptly ended, and everyone was on his feet, pulling on a suit coat. Vince separated from the others, came straight to Reid and pulled him into the workroom where a wide variety of the best mechanic’s tools available was neatly stored on pegboard and shelves. “Your girlfriend kept her word,” Vince said, leaving the door open with a clear view of the driveway outside. “The cops just came through the gate. They were asking about you.”
Reid hid his relief behind the sullen mask that had always been his protection. “This isn’t legal. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Vince’s look was derisive. “Come on. You’re a punk. You’ve been doing something wrong ever since you were a kid.”
The car that pulled around back was unmarked, the officers out of uniform. The driver was a stranger, but Reid recognized his partner as Michael Bennett. They parked in the middle of the cobblestone drive and climbed out, both taking long, leisurely looks around before starting toward the garage.
“Can I help you?” Jimmy came out of the house, looking dangerously annoyed. It would have shown more respect for the cops to go to the front, ring the doorbell and be properly escorted to his study, where he would control the conversation and tell them exactly what he wanted them to know. Instead, coming to the back gave the impression that they were going to bypass him and conduct business their way. Disrespect angered Jimmy.
It was Bennett who spoke. “I understand Reid Donovan works for you.”
Jimmy shrugged. “A lot of people work for me. What is your interest in Reid?”
“I’ve got some questions to ask him.”
“Questions about what?”
“That’s between him, his lawyer and me. You aren’t his lawyer, are you, Jimmy?”
Annoyance was steadily giving way to anger. “I think this is harassment, Detective Bennett. I believe it’s illegal.”
The cop made no effort to pretend innocence. “Harassment? I’m a cop. He’s a suspect. Questioning him is my job.”
“A suspect in what?”
“Where should we start?” Bennett asked dryly. “The kid’s got a rap sheet that rivals yours when you were his age. He’s done a little of everything. Of course, you know that, since a lot of his criminal activity was on your behalf.”
Jimmy didn’t bother to protest his innocence. “This is because of that girl, isn’t it?”
“What girl?”
“That girlfriend of his. Cassie Wade.”
“She’s a sweet kid, isn’t she?” The detective made a great show of looking around again. “So where is Donovan?”
“Maybe he’s not here.”
“Maybe I don’t believe you. Maybe I’ll get a warrant and some backup and come back to search the place. Maybe a warrant that would let us look everywhere—every building, every room, even your study. No telling what we might uncover.”
Warrant. Bennett had said the magic word that could strike fear in Jimmy’s black heart. Even from this distance, Reid could see his sudden uneasiness
. He could hear the false bravado in his voice when he responded. “You’re bluffing. Besides, you’re out of your jurisdiction. This isn’t New Orleans.”
“Then I guess I’d have to bring the FBI back with me. They don’t have to worry about things like city limits and jurisdiction,” Bennett said mildly. “So it’s your choice. You can give him to me, or you can give him to them. What’ll it be?”
One minute passed into the next, and no one spoke. No one moved. Reid was starting to believe that Jimmy would call the cop’s bluff. He would order Bennett and his partner off his property and tell them to come back with the warrant and someone authorized to execute it over here—local cops, maybe, or parish, state or federal. And while they were gone to get their warrant—if they could even get one—what would happen to Reid?
Just as he was about to face the answer to that grim question, Falcone broke his silence. “Vince, send Donovan out here.”
In the workroom, Vince looked at Reid and shrugged. “You ought to hang on to Cassie. You could do worse than a woman who knows how to get things done.”
Reid didn’t reply. He simply walked out of the storeroom and through the garage into the sun. Jimmy gave him a derisive look. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth, kid. Go home, and don’t bother coming back.”
As he reached the car, Bennett faced him over the roof. “You need to pick up your stuff?”
Reid nodded. At Vince’s insistence, he had brought everything he owned with him—one duffel bag filled with jeans and shirts, a few toiletries and a couple of sketch pads. He would happily leave it all behind for the chance to get out more quickly if it weren’t for the drawings. Those sketches were the first things he’d ever done right in his life, and people—Cassie, Jamey, Karen—seemed to like them. He wanted to keep them.
Escorted by Vince and Tony, Reid and Bennett went to the small cottage he’d been assigned. While the other three men waited, he changed into his own clothes, then packed everything he’d owned before Meghan and Remy Sinclair had come into his life. As an afterthought, he took a few of the purchases Meghan had made for him: one dark gray suit, a shirt, tie and shoes. If fortune was with him—and he believed it was—he would have use of a suit sometime soon. If not, well, he could give it to someone who needed it.
They returned to the car, where he climbed into the back seat, but he didn’t relax, not until the electronic gates were closing behind them and the ornate iron fence was rapidly disappearing from view. Then he breathed a sigh of relief heavy enough to make Bennett turn to look at him. “The next time anyone asks a favor of you that involves Falcone, do yourself a favor and tell him no.”
“I intend to.” A mile or two passed in silence before he spoke again. “Out of curiosity, could you have gotten a warrant?”
Bennett shook his head. “You haven’t done anything of interest to us or any other agency in a long time. But Falcone didn’t know that. He suspected, but he didn’t know. Considering the interest we always have in him, he probably figured it was best not to test us.”
Silence settled again until they were on the New Orleans side of the river. Once more Bennett looked back. “Where do you want us to drop you?”
Reid knew exactly where he wanted to go—home—but there were a few things he needed to take care of first. He glanced around at the buildings that lined the Central Business District streets, then gestured up ahead. “At the corner.”
The cop pulled to the curb, and Bennett extended his hand. “Thanks.”
After a brief hesitation, Reid accepted it. “Yeah. Thanks.”
For too many years, reasons for celebration on Serenity had been precious few and far between. That had changed with Karen’s arrival and her first neighborhood cookout. Since then, they’d had a back-to-school party, Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas parties, parties for holidays and birthdays and for no special days at all. This Friday evening’s cookout was in honor of spring, Mrs. Gutierrez’s seventieth birthday and everyone’s desire to get out, have fun and socialize.
Everyone’s but Cassie’s. She was there because she felt obligated, because as a teacher at the school, she had a responsibility to set a proper example. She was there because she couldn’t stand waiting alone one minute more, couldn’t stand not knowing about Reid one second more. She was there, helping play hostess, pretending to care about what was going on around her and hoping that no one could see how much she hated being there.
How much she hated Reid not being there.
She was fixing a hot dog for Marina Taylor’s six-year-old when quiet moved like an encroaching wave across the crowd. Only the children seemed unaffected. They continued to play under the trees or munch contentedly. All the adults were still, though, and looking with great seriousness from her to the street, then back again. Blindly she held out the hot dog, nearly missing the waiting hands, then stepped away from the table. A path opened between her and the lone figure standing on the sidewalk there.
Her throat tightened, and she felt the ticklish urge to both laugh and cry as she crossed the grass. She retained control, though, until she was standing, just as she had yesterday, at the edge of the grass where the old drive had once crossed.
Reid came to stand directly in front of her. He was carrying an army-surplus duffel over one shoulder with a single vinyl suit bag draped over it, and he was wearing familiar faded jeans and a white T-shirt. Just the clothes told her what she needed to know. He was safe, and he was home.
“Is it over?” she asked softly. He nodded, and she blew out her pent-up breath. “I’m so sorry, Reid, for not having faith, for not doing exactly what you—”
“I love you.”
The rest of her apology forgotten, she stared at him. She would bet that was the first time in his life he’d ever said those words, and she knew he meant them. She could see it in his eyes and in his faint smile. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling, too, as she curled her fingers in his shirt. “I love you.” The words were inadequate to express all the emotion bubbling inside her—the relief, the happiness, the need, the desire, the pure, sweet joy. “Oh, God, Reid...”
With his free arm, he pulled her close, tangling his fingers in her hair, brushing kisses over her forehead, her cheek, her jaw. All too soon, though, he released her and glanced toward the crowd in the yard. Cassie didn’t need to look to know that his gaze was focused on Jamey, standing at the top of the side steps with Karen at his side, or that Jamey was staring back.
She reached for his hand. “Come and talk to him.” “And tell him what? The truth has to stay our secret, remember?”
“Tell him you’ve come home to stay. Tell him you’ve missed him. If you have to, tell him you’re sorry. Just talk to him, Reid. He’s your father. You’re his son. Talk.”
He let the bags slide to the ground, then, holding tightly to her hand, he started across the yard. The opening the guests had made for her widened as everyone took a few more steps back, each turning to watch as they passed. This was Reid’s test. People in the neighborhood looked up to Jamey. They knew he was honest and decent, knew they could count on him to look out for them. If he accepted Reid, they would, too. If he turned his back on his son, so would they.
At the bottom of the steps, she tugged her hand free. Reid looked at her, seeking encouragement that she offered with a nod, then climbed the next few steps alone. He stopped one step below his father. He greeted Karen first with a smile and a squeeze of her hand, then simply stood there for a moment, staring down at the floor, before, with a deep, shuddering breath, he met his father’s gaze. “I quit the job with Falcone.”
For a long time, Jamey just looked at him. On the porch, Karen was holding her breath, and down below, Cassie was doing the same. It would be so easy for Jamey to react in a manner that was guaranteed to push Reid even further away. He’d wasted much of the eleven years he’d known his son doing just that. But not this time. Keeping his voice carefully neutral, he said, “So you’ve come back.”
> Reid nodded.
“For how long?”
“To stay.”
There was another long silence, then Jamey asked, “You need a job and a place to live?”
From behind, Cassie could see the tension that held Reid stiff slowly ease. “I have a place, but I could use the job.”
“You can start Monday.”
“Thanks.” Reid stood there for one awkward moment, then turned. Before he’d gone more than a step or two, the sound of Jamey’s voice stopped him.
“I’m glad you’re back, Reid. I’ve missed you.”
His gaze meeting hers, Reid almost smiled. That was the closest, she suspected, that Jamey had ever come to expressing affection to his son. Reid looked touched. Slowly turning back, he extended his hand, clasping his father’s for a long moment before quietly saying, “I’ve missed you, too.”
Around them conversation started again. What had held the potential for a very bad scene had been defused without so much as a raised voice, and the party could go on. They didn’t realize that a miracle of not so minor proportions had just taken place. For the first time in their twenty-six-year relationship, father and son had shared an honest, open exchange without any of the bitterness or distrust that had underlaid even their most unimportant conversations in the past. The neighbors who had witnessed it didn’t realize its significance, but Cassie did. Karen did. Jamey and Reid certainly did.
As he came down the steps, Reid slid his arm around Cassie’s waist and drew her through the crowd with him. “Where are we going?” she asked, although she knew full well their destination: a two-room apartment with a bed that had been far too lonely these past few weeks. Like her life. Like her heart. A place where they could make up for their past, treasure their present and plan their future. A place where they could express their love all over again.
The bar was quiet, all its regular customers across the street indulging in a livelier celebration than usually took place here. Cassie led the way upstairs, unlocking her apartment door, pausing while Reid took a quick look around at the work she’d finished since he’d left. The half-round table stood against one wall, a battered old bench Karen had donated against the other, and rugs were scattered on the floor. With potpourri on the table and a big basket overflowing with dried flowers on the bench, the hallway was almost perfect. All that was missing was Reid’s framed art on the walls. Now that he was back...
The Taming Of Reid Donovan Page 25