Finally, a brunette pops up from behind the bar. She's about Celeste's age with a pixie cut. She’s so dainty and small, she makes Celeste look like an Amazon, and that's saying something. She can't be taller than four-foot-eleven – five-foot max – with large, brown eyes that take up most of her face. There's something familiar about her, but I can't place it.
Her smile falls, and she looks absolutely stricken, the moments she sees us.
“Celeste?” she says, her voice trembling. “I thought you were –”
“You thought I was what?” Celeste says, stomping toward the girl.
The girl behind the bar steps around it, and I see her name tag. Tasha. I look for any sign of familiarity in Celeste's face, but there's nothing but that blank, confused stare. She's either not giving anything away, or she really doesn't recognize the girl.
Tasha... It can't be? Nah. I push any thought of Sam away.
“Celeste, I swear –” Tasha says, holding her hands up. “I knew nothing about it.”
“What are you talking about?” Celeste asks.
Tasha looks to me, then back at Celeste, the confusion on her face as thick as it is clear. Here's someone who knows Celeste, finally. Someone who can answer all the questions we've had for a while now.
“I – I can't talk to you,” Tasha says. “I'm not supposed to.”
She quickly turns and takes off, running toward the back of the restaurant. I follow her, and Celeste is right on my heels. We push through the swinging doors that lead to the kitchen and find that she's not alone. A young man looks up from the grill, his eyes wide with surprise as he sees Celeste.
Tasha exits through a back door, and instead of sticking around and asking questions, Celeste continues right on after her. I follow suit, making note of kitchen guy's name – Louis. He's not older than eighteen or nineteen, but he clearly knows Celeste, judging by the look of familiarity on his face. His eyes stick with me for some reason. I've seen those eyes before, but I can't place them.
But there's no time for me to stop and question him. Not with Celeste on Tasha's heels. I bust through the backdoor and dart out into a long, narrow alley. Celeste has Tasha cornered. The petite girl is crying and pleading like her life depends on it. I can't hear what she's saying until I get closer, and even then, her voice is so quiet, it's hard to make out all the words.
But I hear Celeste loud and clear. There's an anger burning in her words, and a fury in her eyes.
“You said you thought I was dead?” she asks. “Why would you think that?”
The girl's voice cracks and she shakes her head vigorously. “I don't know,” she cries. “That's usually what happens to people, you know?”
“No, I don't know,” Celeste says. “I don't understand. That's what usually happens to people? What do you mean?”
I step up but hang back. I don't want to interfere. Celeste seems to have a handle on the situation – which is impressive. She's firm, commanding, and it's very clear she's taking no shit. She has the girl pinned in a corner, and though small herself, is looming over Tasha. I'm here if she needs me, but she’s got it under control. Instead, I focus on listening, and maybe picking up on some details. Learning more.
“Listen, Celeste,” Tasha says quickly. “You’ve been here long enough to know what Mario is, right?”
It hits me that Tasha doesn't realize that Celeste has lost her memory – which is a good thing. Makes it harder for her to lie if she's not sure what Celeste knows or doesn't know. It also makes it harder to get the whole story without making it obvious that Celeste doesn't know a damn thing.
“What do you mean – what he is?” Celeste asks.
“I can't – not here, I can't talk about it openly. You should know that,” Tasha says, again looking at me. “All I know is that Mario came in one day, said you'd no longer be working at the restaurant, and that you moved away. I knew you wouldn't have just up and moved away, not before you finished your internship. So, I guess I just assumed that, after what you'd found out –”
The back door to the restaurant swings open, crashing hard into the wall behind it, and I expect to see the kid I'd seen inside. Instead, I see two large men. One is at least my height, thick arms the size of tree trunks, with his head shaved bald. The other is slightly smaller with dark hair and dark eyes that look a lot like the kid inside – Louis.
That's when it hits me – both Tasha and Louis have the same eyes. Siblings, perhaps? Is this their father?
I don't have time for introductions. The larger man has a gun and though he's not pointing it at us, he still has it in his hand.
“Shit,” I say, moving to stand in front of Celeste, trying to shield her with my body.
She sees it too, and in that moment, she turns away from Tasha to focus on the new threat. The girl seizes the distraction, and takes off down the alley, leaving us alone with the two larger men. The one that looks like Tasha's dad has a slightly softer look to him. His eyes are more sympathetic than the bald man's. I raise my arms to surrender and look straight at the kinder looking guy.
“We didn't mean to cause any problems,” I say. “We'll be on our way.”
The man ignores me entirely, focusing all of his attention on Celeste. It's like I'm not even standing there, let alone speaking to him.
“I'm really sorry about what happened, Celeste,” he says. “I didn't know Mario would go that far.”
“Well he did,” Celeste snaps.
I cut a glance over at her and can still see the uncertainty on her face. But, when she looks over at me, I can see what she's doing – and she's putting on a good act.
“He did go that far,” she says. “And all I want are some answers.”
“You can't have answers, Celeste. You already know too much,” he says. “You were always so good to my daughter, and I hate that it's come to this. Believe me when I say I hate it.”
“It doesn't have to,” she says. “You can let me go, and I'll disappear. I'll walk away right now, and you'll never hear from me again.”
Damn. She's good. I keep an eye on Baldy, who's holding the gun, and he keeps an eye on me. We both know who the real threat is, and it seems like Celeste might be able to win the old man over. I can see him weighing her words in his head, and surprisingly, see a flash of compassion in his eyes.
Baldy grunts, “Bruno, you can't let her go.”
Bruno puts a hand up, stopping the other man. “I make the decisions around here, Nico. Not you. Not Mario. Me.”
“Mario is –”
“Mario thinks he's in control, but he's not,” Bruno says. “Now leave. Get out of here, Nico. Now.”
Celeste and I hesitate. So does Nico.
Bruno turns to the larger man, and repeats the words in a low, menacing voice. “Leave, Nico. Leave us be.”
Nico does as he's told, but not happily. He glares at me as he re-enters the restaurant, leaving the three of us standing there in the alley way. Without a gun pointed at us, we stand a chance if things go sideways. But then I remind myself that just because he looks unarmed, doesn't mean he actually is.
I'm never without a gun or two, but I don't want it to come down to a game of who can draw their weapon faster. Not with Celeste in the middle of the action. I hold out, hoping Bruno might come to his senses and let us go. The last thing I want to do is go for my weapon. And he seems to have a soft spot for Celeste. Anything is possible. Getting out of here without making a scene is ideal.
“Will you truly disappear, Celeste?” Bruno asks, his voice lower and softer than before. “Leave Chicago, and never come back? Never ask any more questions?”
“Yes,” she says. “I'll do that. I swear”
Bruno nods. “It's in your best interest if Mario thinks you’re dead. So please, play dead, Celeste,” he says. “I can't promise Nico won't say something, but I'll do what I can to keep him quiet.”
“Thank you,” she says.
“Thank you for taking care of my daughter all these years
,” he says. “I'm sorry it's come to this. It really is the last thing I ever wanted.”
With that, Bruno turns on his heel and walks back into the restaurant, leaving just the two of us alone, standing there completely dumbfounded. I have no idea what just happened or what that was all about. Celeste just stares at the door for a long time, as if trying to piece everything together.
Without even thinking, I take her hand to comfort her and she lets me. When she turns toward me, she looks as lost as ever.
“I still have no idea what's going on,” she says softly.
“I know,” I say. “Neither do I.”
Chapter Ten
Celeste
“I'm pretty sure I can trust Tasha,” I say.
We're back at the hotel. Finally, the adrenaline rush from that scene in the alley has worn off, at least a little bit. I'm starting to think clearly again. I'm pacing the living area of the suite while Grant throws his belongings into a bag. He's convinced we just need to leave, get out of the city and never come back – just like Bruno told us to do. I'm not sure I can do that though.
“You don't even remember her,” Grant says.
He wants to leave. He thinks we should pack up and go back to Colorado, and I know he's probably right. But to do that means I may never know about my life here, in Chicago. I may never know who I really am, what I did, or how I ended up mixed up with those kinds of people.
As I contemplate that, a million different questions rush through my head all at once. What about my parents? My family? Do I have siblings, or a best friend who's worried about me? Tasha mentioned that I was going to school – for what? What was I studying? These are all questions I need answers to and going back to Colorado without them feels like giving up. Feels like I'm closing the book on my old life – my real life.
And I don't know if I can do that.
“She's my friend, obviously. Even Bruno backed down because of how close we were,” I say.
“Are we even sure that's her father? They look alike, but you don't –”
“I don't know,” I snap, biting my fingernail. “But it's likely. Even you think they look alike.”
“Thinking and knowing are two different things entirely, Celeste,” he says. “Besides, you heard what he said. You heard his warning. We don't really have any idea who we're messing with here.”
“No, I don't,” I say. “But let me ask you this – would you be fine with just leaving, and forgetting everyone you ever knew? Would you be okay with forgetting Sam and everything the two of you had together?”
“That's not fair,” he barks back.
“Why isn't it? That's what you're asking me to do,” I fire back at him. “Just forget about everyone in my life. Forget even trying to figure out who in the hell I am.”
“Because it's too dangerous, Celeste.”
“You don't get to make choices for me, Grant,” I say. “If you want to go back to Colorado, fine. Go. Do what you need to do. But I'm not ready yet. I need to get some answers before I go anywhere.”
I head toward the door, and he steps in front of me – blocking my only way out. He towers over me by a foot or more and is easily double or triple my weight. He's got more muscles in one arm than I probably have in my whole body. When we first met, I might have felt intimidated by him – but not anymore. I know he cares for me, more than he wants to admit, but he's also not the boss of me. And I know he'll never put his hands on me or do anything to hurt me.
“You saved my life, Grant, and I thank you for that,” I say sincerely. “But unless you're willing to physically restrain me, I'm leaving this hotel room, and I'm going to find Tasha.”
“Your memories could still come back, Celeste,” he says.
His eyes plead with me, beg me to stay – and for a second, I'm convinced that he's right. That staying here is stupid. It's suicide. I should probably pack my things and jet back to his private cabin in the woods and forget about anything and everything here in the city. Start my life totally anew.
Except he's even admitted that we can't be together – that we can never be together – as long as I can't remember anything. What life is waiting for me back there if I can't be with him? Does he really want to be my bodyguard and babysitter for the rest of my life? Can I continue just living as if I don't know I have a life – maybe some friends and family – back here in Chicago?
“I have to know,” I say. “If it's true, what they said, and I was involved in something illegal, I want to know Grant. I need to know what kind of person I am.”
Tears trickle from the corners of my eyes, and I curse myself for crying. Grant grabs my shoulders and holds me steady, staring deep into my eyes. His face is controlled. Expressionless. And yet, I can still feel the compassion and care radiating from him.
“You're a good person, Celeste,” he says. “I don't know what kind of trouble you were in, but the Celeste I know wouldn't get caught up in shit like that willingly.”
“But how do you know?” I say. “I don't even know. And if I leave, I might not ever know, and it's killing me, Grant. I need to do this. With or without you, I need to find some answers. This is my life we're talking about.”
Grant sighs and lets go of my shoulders. He slumps forward and rubs his temples. I feel bad for him. For what I'm putting him through. Before I came into his life, he didn't have to worry about any of this. He didn't have to worry about little old me or all of the baggage and upheaval in his life.
“Maybe you should go back to Colorado,” I say, biting my lip. “I can take care of this on my own.”
“Hell no,” he says. “You're not getting rid of me that easily.”
I suppress a smile and bite back the big breath of relief that's threatening to burst from my lungs. Part of me wanted him to go home, to forget about me and all the problems I've caused him. But, deep down, I want him to stay. I don't want to lose him. I want to regain my memories, make sense of all this, and hopefully find a way to make things work with him still. At least, if he'll have me once we find out the truth. As scary as that may be, it's a risk I have to take.
Grant walks past me and grabs his jacket, pulling out his cellphone.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Research. Just a quick search to see if we can figure out where she lives,” he says.
“Oh, yeah, that would help,” I mutter, feeling rather sheepish. I nibble my fingernail as Grant searches for information, based on what he knows about Tasha - her father's name, her brother's name, her job, etc. It only takes him a few minutes, and he puts the phone back in his pocket.
“Alright, let's get this over with,” he says.
“You mean it?” I ask. “You're going to do this with me?”
“I'm not about to let you do it alone,” he grumbles. “So yeah, I'm going with you.”
I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him tightly. “Thank you,” I say.
He pats my back, chuckling under his breath.
* * *
Tasha Francelli. It should have been obvious, given the name of the restaurant, but now we know for sure. Grant also managed to find an address for her. An apartment in downtown Chicago, not too far from the restaurant.
The high rise has a doorman, and I fear he might turn us away. As we approach, he takes one look at me, and smiles.
“Good morning,” he says, opening the door and allowing us to enter.
He gives Grant the once over but doesn't say anything else. He acts as if he knows me and I have to wonder if maybe he does. I search his face and there is absolutely no recognition on my end. If Tasha and I are friends, it makes sense that I'd come over often, and that he'd recognize me because of it.
“Thank you,” I say, nodding as we step into the lobby.
Tasha lives in apartment 701. Seventh floor. We ride the elevator up, neither one of us saying a word. My stomach is churning. The memories of our drunken elevator ride the other night come back to me, and there's part of me that wishes he'd ho
ld onto me again. I also yearn for him to kiss me like he did that night, but I know that's asking too much. Things are strained between us right now, and I don't want to make them even more awkward.
Once the elevator doors open, Grant holds his arm out, blocking my exit from the elevator car. I start to protest, then realize he's searching the hallway first. He's looking left and right, searching the hallway beyond for any threats, like a bodyguard. When he feels the coast is clear, he lets me exit, but stays close by my side.
“We don't know who might be watching us,” he says.
When we get to Tasha's apartment door, I'm hit with a feeling of familiarity so strong, my knees buckle, and it takes a lot of effort to stay upright. Grant puts a steadying hand on my shoulder, giving me a look of concern.
“You okay?” he asks.
I open my mouth but find that I can't actually form the words, so I simply nod. I already know what lies on the other side of the door, what the place looks like, before I even knock. The visions take me by surprise, and I'm left reeling. Grant just stares at me. When I don't knock, he does it for me.
We hear footsteps from the other side of the door, along with a woman’s voice. “I'm coming,” she calls.
I swallow the lump in my throat, try to quell the roiling in my belly, and prepare for the fight when she sees me standing there on her doorstep. When the door opens, Tasha's eyes grow wide, and she freezes when she sees Grant and I standing there. She moves quickly, and tries to slam the door in our faces, but Grant manages to push it open. He shoves me into the apartment ahead of him before I even know what's happening.
Tasha's place is nice. It's got an open floor plan with mismatched, oversized furniture. Bookshelves line the walls, and there's a flat panel TV above the fireplace collecting dust, almost like it hasn't been turned on in a while, and there are no Christmas decorations up. It's a homey, cozy place. Most of all, it's comfortable. I want to crawl onto the sofa and curl up with one of the books.
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