by Clara Stone
“She doesn’t hate me,” I defend myself.
“She hates you so much she’d probably save you from stepping in front of a bus just so she can shove you under it herself.” He taps his chin. “What the hell did you do to her, anyway?”
I groan. Hell if I know. “Why are girls so fucking hard to figure out?”
“They’re only hard to figure out because you let them be.”
“Huh?”
“It’s true.” Fisher nods. “See, if you don’t let them get under your skin, then you wouldn’t be so fucked up in the head you can’t figure them out. You know that’s what they do, right? They act all innocent up until they have you eating out of their palms, and then bam!” He slaps his hands together. “They fuck with your head, man.”
I laugh. “You’re crazy weird.”
He waves his hand at me. “Just calling it like I see it.”
“Well, then.” I flop down beside him. “Back to my original statement, before this conversation got kicked into another galaxy—Anna called me earlier. She wants to celebrate her birthday with her brother.”
Fisher groans.
I pat his shoulder and then squeeze it. “Yeah. And I’m pretty sure if she doesn’t hear from me in the next few days, she’s going to show up on my doorstep looking for you.”
“I’m the worst big brother in the world.” He groans into his hands.
“Naw, man,” I reply. “You’ve just made some shitty choices. But if you don’t figure something out to make sure you celebrate her birthday with her, you’ll definitely be wearing the Worst Brother of the Century badge.”
His laugh is more of a snort. “Yeah, I guess I’ll give her a call.”
“You should.”
He gives me a pointed look, and I know what he’s thinking. I have a lot to make up for with my own family.
Including telling them all the reason I dropped out of Harvard and the truth about my career.
DESPITE THE DIM lighting from the streetlights, the sky is pitch black, starless. I pick up my pace, making my way across the empty parking lot. Cat was supposed to be at the gig tonight, but was called in to work because another bartender called in sick. She was pissed as hell, but lent me her car and wished me the best of luck as she sashayed out the door. I’m supposed to pick her up from work in about an hour.
“Hey, Jess.” I turn as I reach for the car door and see Jarod running toward me.
Letting go, I take a deep breath and plaster a smile on my face as I wait for him to reach me. “It’s Jessica,” I say when he comes to a stop before me. I have this thing about people shortening my name when they don’t really know me, especially those that give me the creeps.
“Huh?” His eyebrows tilt up. “Oh, yeah. Right. Old habits and all.”
Old habits, my ass. “What’s up?”
“Tom just got us a big gig set up the third week in January. It’s in Miami. I don’t know if you had any plans for January, but we’re gonna have to hit it hard the week before, which means more time off at work and more time in with me.” He grins that creepy smile that makes my eyes twitch. “So, do you think you can make it happen?”
“No problem. That works.”
“Great!” He grins. “Apparently, there’s some big-shot producer coming out there for a fashion show or something. Some dude that knows a dude that Tom knows said he was planning to stop by a club afterward—Royale or something—and he got us in.”
I’ve heard of Club Royale, actually, from Cat. It’s one of the hottest clubs in the state, and is apparently something every hot-blooded male and female needs to experience. Or so the rumors say
“We can ride together,” he finishes, his grin even wider than it was before.
I take a step back, reaching for the car door handle again, hoping to be as non-obvious as possible. Over the weeks, Tom has lightened up on his hatred of me, but Jarod, no matter how dreamy his voice might be, still definitely gives me ick factor.
“I don’t think so,” I say, opening the door and putting it between us like a shield. He looks at me like he doesn’t understand, and I stumble over my words, trying to explain. “My roommate’s always talked about going to Royale, so we’ll probably carpool together. Besides, I don’t really want to impose.”
“Mi casa es su casa, and all that,” he says, taking the hint and turning away.
I smile and wave goodbye as he jogs back to the side door of the dive bar, rejoining the rest of the band.
“So not going to happen,” I mumble, sliding into the driver’s seat and closing the door.
I turn on the engine, lock the doors, and then wait for the car to warm up. It’s old, and Cat insists that it takes at least ten minutes before it’s good to go. So I pull out my phone and dial Vincent, who picks up after only two rings.
“Hey, Jess,” he says, sounding a bit out of breath. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Yeah?” I say, grinning. I really wasn’t expecting to catch him and just going to leave a message.
Yeah,” he responds. “We haven’t talked in forever.”
I roll my eyes. “I talked to you three or four days ago.”
“Yeah, well, it seems like forever.”
He’s right. It does. We used to talk every day, and now . . .
“I have something to—” we both start at the same time and laugh.
“You first,” I say. I want to save my news for the end.
“So, you know how I’ve been trying to get custody of my brothers?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I found a social worker who’s finally willing to hear my side of the story. I might finally be able to get them out of foster care and living with me.”
“Oh my god, Vince. That’s fantastic! Those boys needed out like ten years ago,” I say, feeling the positivity of this call all the way to my bones.
“She said it might take some time, but, you know . . . it’s better than not having any hope. It just sucks that they had to live with such a crappy . . . ” He pauses. “I just wish . . . argh, never mind.”
My heart twists at an odd angle. He’s been more of a parent to those boys than their mom’s ever been. “I know it’s hard to see them like this. But everything will be okay. I can feel it.”
He laughs softly. “I’m so glad you’re in my life, Jessy-girl. You know that, right?”
“Uh-huh. Just remember that the next time I piss you off and you want to throw me out the window.”
“Punk.”
“Ass.”
“I don’t know how I ever thought you were pretty.”
“Well, you weren’t much of a looker back in grade school either. Trust me, me kissing you was the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“It was,” he agrees. “I was steered off girls until I was a senior in high school after that. So thanks!”
His laughter is throaty, like he’s tired and doesn’t really have the energy. Concern for my best friend peaks.
“Oh, hey! What were you gonna tell me?” he asks, clearly trying to change the subject. I sight softly and let him.
“So, you know my band, The Torque? Well, guess where we’re going to be in a few weeks?”
“Where?” I can picture him sitting a little taller, his ears straining to hear what I have to say.
I smile wide, though I know he can’t see me. “Miami. We just landed a gig there over for the third week in January. Remember how we used to dream about going there as teenagers? How we’d sleep in fancy hotels and live the high life?” I laugh. “Well, that might not be true yet, but maybe we can live part of that dream. What do you say? Think you can get away for the weekend?”
“Yeah. I’ll see what I can do,” he says. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Yay!” I squeal. “I miss you and the boys so damn much. You’ve all been so ingrained in my life, it kills me not to see you every day.”
“We miss you too. And hey, congratulations. You deserve it, Jessy-girl.”
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I let out a breath, feeling the tension of the past week diffuse. “How do you manage to always make me smile?”
His response says it all: “Because you’re family. And that’s what family does.”
I glance at the oil temperature gauge on the console and see that it’s hit the approved level. Time to go get Cat. “I gotta go, Vince. But, I’ll see you in a few weeks?”
“You bet.”
I start to hang up, but he says, “Hey, Jess.”
“Yeah?”
“Love you.”
I smile, shifting the car into drive. “I love you, too.”
“HE’S STARING,” CAT whispers into my ear as I serve my current client their drink.
It takes everything in me not to let my thoughts or gaze wander over to him. He’s become a regular these past few weeks, and ignoring both him and his stares has been the most difficult part of my job. Cat told me that Fisher asked for my number a week ago and that she highly suspects it was for Harrington because he wouldn’t tell her why he needed it, just that it was for a good cause. Which then begs the question, if, and I’m assuming Cat was right here, but if Harrington does have my number, why hasn’t he called?
“It’s like he can’t keep his eyes off you.”
I ignore her too. But it’s a lot harder, since she’s behind the bar with me and practically attached to my hip.
“He’s getting up.”
“Stop!” I hiss.
“He’s headed to the bathroom.” She pushes up on her tippy-toes, one hand on the counter as she looks over me. “Ooo . . . he has his cell phone out—”
“I. Don’t. Care.” Oh my god, this woman.
“What if he dances with some girl—”
“I’m not playing this ‘what if’ game with you, Cat.” I pull back the anger that’s been building with each of her statements. It’s probably the exact thing she’s hoping for—to get a rise out of me.
“But what if he kisses someone?”
“Cat—”
“And what if that girl is really into him—”
I sigh. “I don’t care.” I slide a drink toward another customer. “Anything else I can get you?” I ask him.
“Well, I’m always up for a little special treatment, if you know what I’m saying.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. Gross.
“Ergh. Beat it, loser,” Cat says, stepping between me and the guy. She turns to me, leaving her back to him, and he wanders off. “What if—”
I glare at her.
She puts up her hands in surrender and slinks back to her own serving station. I expect her to continue pestering me, and am surprised to find that she doesn’t. I glance over at her and see she’s flirting with her customers. Boobs on display, touching their arms, and even a little wink here and there. In other words, her usual ammo and the reason she always makes better tips. I smile, thankful that her attention is finally directed toward something else.
For now.
“Can I get a rum and Coke?” I look up to see a girl with blonde, perfectly curled locks standing on the other side of the counter. Her makeup—smokey, with lashes so dark they make her blue eyes pop—looks far too mature for her round face.
“ID?” I ask.
She flushes. “I’m twenty-one.”
“I believe you. But I still need to check your ID, or you can get a band at the hostess table.” I point toward the front door.
“But it’s my birthday,” she pleads.
“Sorry,” I respond.
She huffs. “Fine. I’ll take one of your best non-alcoholic drinks then.”
I smile brightly. “Now that I can do without an ID.”
A few minutes later, I present her with one of my own specialities and wait as she takes a sip. “This”—she smacks her lips together—“is ah-mazing.”
“You like?” The pomegranate-rosemary fizz is a hit or miss for a lot of people, so I want to make sure.
“Me like.” She takes another sip. “Oh, god yeah. This is awesome. Thank you! I so needed this tonight.” She pulls out some cash from inside her shirt and I put up my hand.
“That drink’s on the house. Happy birthday.”
She gives me a wide smile and then disappears into the crowd. I move on to the next customer, and then the next, and the next. Cat appears at my side again.
“I don’t like her,” she says, sneering as she points into the crowd.
“Who?” I ask, glancing up, trying to figure out who she’s targeting with such malice.
“Little Miss Goldilocks. The girl you served your special drink to? I think you wasted your talent on her.”
I laugh and look at her, my lips curving into a half-smile. “What’s gotten into you?”
She crinkles her nose. “I don’t like her. She’s nothing but a spoiled brat.”
I scrunch my eyebrows together. “You know her?”
Cat nods. “That’s Fisher’s sister, and apparently she’s only in town to celebrate her birthday.”
Ah, now it makes sense. She came home in a tiff this morning, slamming doors and all, saying that Fisher had dropped her off because his sister was in town and he needed to spend the day with her instead of whatever it was Cat had had planned. “So that’s Anna.”
“Anna Bandanna. Ugh. What kind of a name is Anna, anyway? It’s so old and boring.”
“So boring,” I agree, pursing my lips in an attempt to hold back my giggles. “I mean, those blonde curls are just so totally fake.”
Cat looks at me, grinning. “This is why I keep you around.”
I laugh, my mouth wide open. “This. And the fact that I’m low maintenance.”
“True. True,” she agrees.
I put away the bottle in my hand. “I’m going to check stock.”
“Are you sure that’s why you’re headed back there?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Because not too long ago, I saw someone else disappear in that general direction.”
I wave her off and duck out from behind the bar before she can make any more unnecessary remarks. I need the break from her almost as much as I need to restock my station.
I MAKE MY way toward the bathrooms in the back, where the music isn’t so loud. I check the stalls to make sure there’s no one inside, and then look for cameras. There’s one right by the door, on the ceiling in the corner. But from the look of it, I can tell it’s video only.
Satisfied with the inspection, I pull out my phone and dial.
“Harris.” Neil answers on the first ring.
“Talk to me, Neil. I could use some good news right about now, man.”
“The guy we’re looking for is Roberto Gomez,” Neil says. “And before you ask, yes, I’m sure. He’s been linked to Stamos since before Stamos made a name for himself. So if you can bring Gomez in, we should have enough on him to get him to talk. He probably knows stuff about Stamos that even Stamos doesn’t know.”
“You’re fucking amazing, Neil,” I say, running a hand over the back of my neck.
“You know me. I’m a rockstar.”
That he is. There’s no way I could have made it this far without him. Hell, without him, I wouldn’t have even had a clue where to start.
“Something else you should know about Roberto: he’s been doing business under the table with the Armenians behind Stamos’s back, under the alias Bobby Jones.”
This is great news. We’re finally closing in on Stamos. After the sort of plateau we’d fallen into, it feels good to make progress. Especially since Stamos still hasn’t introduced me to the “friends” he mentioned weeks ago. “Can you get me any more details on the transactions? Dates, times, travel plans? I need to know where and when to find Gomez.”
“Yeah, you bet. I’ll send those details as soon as I get them.”
I nod, though I know he can’t see it. “Thanks, man.”
“No problem,” Neil responds.
“Hey, before you go, do you know if I have the go-ahead for Krish and Lincoln yet?”
“No.
But Wilson is trying his best to make it happen for you. I’d say it’s as good as done.”
“Thanks, Neil.”
“Good luck, Agent Lovelly.”
I end the call and shove the phone back into my pocket, just as two guys walk into the room. They look at me, and then at each other. I recognize one of them; he’s the brother of my last opponent. And he didn’t take his brother’s defeat too well. I see the rage in his eyes right before he throws a punch at me. I sidestep, my hands in the air, loose but ready. I don’t really want to pick a fight with him, but I will if I have to.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I warn.
He sneers. “My brother’s still in the hospital because of you. You’re not walking out of here without a little payback.”
I give a quick glance over to his friend, who cracks his knuckles, his face stone cold serious.
“Last chance, boys,” I warn them again. “I’d hate to see you end up like your brother.”
“How do you figure? There’s two of us, and only one of you,” Little Bro says, taking a step toward me.
“Maybe, but with the space in this bathroom, you can’t both come at me at the same time.” Unless one of them gets past me, that is. Then I might be in more trouble. But I’m not going to let that happen.
Little Bro comes after me first, throwing a clumsy, untrained punch. I sidestep and grab his arm, using his own momentum to shove him forward into the hand drier, his head hitting the corner wall.
His friend comes next, and I quickly throw a back kick, catching him in the gut. He flies toward the door, but rights himself faster than the first guy. This time, he charges with a scream, throwing flailing jabs at me: right, left, right, left, upper cut.
I can tell he’s better trained, but not by much. No match for me. I try my best not to hurt him too bad. After all, he’s only trying to support his friend’s ego. In my peripheral vision, I notice the other guy get to his feet and I punch the first, Bro’s Friend, in the face. He stumbles back, crying out that his nose is broken. I don’t have time to worry about him though, as Little Bro comes at me again. I block his sloppy punch and front kick him, sending him stumbling into the hand drier again. He falls to the ground and curls in on himself, coughing and whining.