by Rickie Blair
“You can’t be serious,” he said. “I told you. I don’t do that anymore.”
The stranger leaned in and said something in a low voice. Felicity strained to hear, but couldn’t make it out. Sam crossed his arms, his powerful shoulders pulling the back of his jacket.
“Why should I get involved?”
His companion took a step back and Felicity saw a blue cap tucked under his arm.
“Do you want our money or not?” he asked with a Scottish accent.
She held her breath as the two men stared at each other.
“Are you threatening me?” Sam asked.
The man held up his hands and chuckled.
“Don’t be daft, Sam. I’m simply a business associate asking you for a favor.”
Sam ran a hand through his hair, scowling.
“I thought I was done. You never said anything about this.”
“It only just came up. Are you in, or not?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s not good enough. If you want to renege on our deal—”
“All right,” Sam roared. He looked down at his feet, then added in a lower voice, “I’ll do it.”
As the stranger walked out, Felicity stepped up and put a hand on Sam’s arm.
“Sam?”
He whirled around.
“What?” he barked. His face softened when he recognized her. “Felicity. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
“Ruby wondered if you were coming back.”
He tilted his head, with a trace of a smile.
“Ruby wondered? What about you?”
Felicity ignored the question.
“Who was that man?”
Sam’s face hardened again.
“An investor. I hope, anyway.”
“Investor in what?”
“My state-of-the art fitness facility built around a martial arts dojo.” He thrust out his chin. “It’s a good idea, it will work. I already have celebrity sponsors.”
“For an investor, he didn’t act very friendly.”
“You shouldn’t eavesdrop.”
“I wasn’t, but I couldn’t help noticing—”
“Butt out, Felicity.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, surprised by his irritation. “But if you’re looking for investors, why didn’t you ask me?”
He flinched slightly and looked away, tapping one heel. Felicity turned to the restaurant.
“Let’s get back before Ruby thinks we’ve abandoned her,” she said over her shoulder.
“I didn’t ask you because I thought you didn’t want me around.”
Felicity’s breath caught in her throat and she turned to face him.
“What does that have to do with it? Your investors don’t sleep with you, do they?” Sam winced and she squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no, I get it.” He looked around the casino, his jaw tight. “You want me to start up with Ruby. You think she needs a diversion and I fit the bill.” He studied her. “You’re a good agent, Felicity. Always there for your clients.”
“C’mon, Sam. That’s not—”
“Hey, I can do that, assuming she’s willing. But it would mean I’d be around a lot more. Spending time with her friends, even. Is that what you want?” Sam looked down at her and his face changed. He took a step nearer, gently circling her upper arms with his hands and pulling her against him. Lowering his head, he touched his forehead to her hair.
Felicity’s heart skipped a beat and she drew a ragged breath.
“Get over yourself,” she said. “It won’t make any difference to me whether you’re around all the time or not.”
“Liar,” he said softly, without lifting his head.
“I am not.”
“Then why are you trembling?”
Why? Because she was fighting the urge to jump into his arms and wrap her legs around him and put her hands on his face and kiss him as if he were the last man on Earth. Dammit. She shoved him away and narrowed her eyes.
“Never gonna happen, Sam.” She poked his chest with a turquoise fingernail to emphasize each word. “I. Don’t. Want. You.”
He grabbed her wrist, wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulled her against him and pressed his lips to hers. Felicity closed her eyes, swept up in sensations she remembered all too well.
Then she shoved him away.
“Don’t ever do that again. I’ll get a restraining order, I swear.” She turned and stalked off.
“A restraining order?” Sam called after her. “Really? How’s a guy supposed to date Ruby if he’s not allowed to come near her best friend?”
She whirled to face him.
“If you do anything to hurt her—” Her throat constricted at the look in his eyes.
“You must really think I’m a jerk,” he said softly before turning and walking out.
Her chest hollowed out as she watched him go. You think I don’t want you around, Sam? Want has nothing to do with it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Norris Havelock chewed his lip and stared at the ground. What he could say to win his mother some shelter? He had been living rough since the flood that drowned his friend and demolished his bivouac, so he had no place to take her. He had tramped all over the city, and this was the last place on his list. If they didn’t let Millie in for the night, there were no other options.
“I can wash dishes, take out the trash, mop the floors. Anything you need.”
The shelter director gave him a weary look. She was a big woman, dressed in a faded sweatshirt and polyester pants which had long ago lost their stretch. Her blowzy hair struck out for freedom in every direction.
“I’m truly sorry, Norris, but there’s no room right now.” She pointed over her shoulder. “I couldn’t fit a sheet of paper in there. It’s jammed up tight. I’m sorry. I can give you some sandwiches, but then you have to leave.”
A young woman seated at a desk got up and left the room, returning a few moments later with two plastic-wrapped sandwiches. She handed them to Norris with a smile and returned to her work.
He took the food with a nod of thanks and shoved it into the pocket of his worn cotton jacket.
“Okay,” he said, “I get it. You have no room for me. I don’t care, it doesn’t matter. But please, can’t you take my mother? She’s an old woman. Where’s she going to go?”
The director took another step closer to the door and reached for the handle. “Try the West Side shelter. They sometimes have space when we don’t.”
“I’ve been to the West Side shelter,” he said. “They’re full, too.”
“Maybe the Edison, then.”
“I’ve been there, too.” His voice rose. “No room. They have no room.”
She checked her watch.
“I’m sorry, Norris. We have to lock up now. Maybe if you had gotten here sooner…” her voice trailed off.
“How could I get here sooner?” His heart raced as he clenched his fists at his side. “I just told you, I’ve been to three places already,” he shouted. “How was I supposed to know which ones to go to first?” She placed a hand on his arm and he shook it off. “You must be able to put a cot somewhere. What about right here in the hall? There’s room here.” He glanced around. “Or in the back. Let me see the back room. I bet I can find a spot.”
Before he started down the hall, she grabbed his arm.
“Let me see,” he said, shoving her away without looking at her.
She fell back, hitting her head on the doorframe. Norris swept open the door into the back room. Faces, white in the sudden beam of light from the hallway, turned to him from cots spaced close together. He stared, adjusting his eyes to the dark.
“Are there any empty cots in here?” Norris called.
“Go away,” came mumbled voices.
The director stumbled to her feet behind him while rubbing her head, then turned to the young woman at the desk. “Call the police.”
*
* *
They threw Norris out onto the sidewalk after warning him not to return.
“You’re lucky she’s not pressing charges, or we’d be taking you to the station,” one of the cops said. “Get out of here.”
Norris tramped along the street, craving the rusted tin box that he had lost in the flood. He looked back over his shoulder at the shelter. Effing bitch. He turned, recalling a VA counseling session that had droned on and on. ‘Moodiness, irritability, and tiredness are symptoms of withdrawal.’ No kidding.
But he intended to stay clean, at least until he could get Millie sorted. He couldn’t even chance a beer since alcohol was a trigger, according to the same counselor. Assuming he could pay for one. Shit.
He plodded back to the coffee shop where he had left Millie, who was too frail to walk far. Norris wished he had better news for her. His head hung down while he made his way along the sidewalk. What the hell was he going to do? He could go back to the storm drain, but how could he take his mother there?
Besides, thinking about the drain made his hands shake and his breath quicken. Withdrawal, certainly, but something else too. The memory of filthy water crashing over his head, of being submerged, of panic. Brackish liquid burning the back of his throat, pieces of wood and metal banging up against him and slashing at his face and hands, his friend’s face disappearing under the surface. He had tried to find her, but his arms had flailed uselessly against the buffeting current. Eventually the water ebbed and he struggled to his feet. But by the time he caught up to her, police were leaning over her body.
He had failed again.
People talked at him. Veterans’ Affairs was mentioned, as well as a detox center and other options. But Norris had simply walked away in the end. That had been two weeks ago. The paramedics had taken his name, and a city worker went looking for him after his mother landed in the hospital. The worker found Norris at the VA center, trying to get an advance on his check.
At the hospital, Millie had cried and insisted that he take her away. She was frightened, but Norris couldn’t figure out why. She was confused. He should have left her in the hospital, he could see that now. Millie had been evicted from her home, she had no ID with her, and she didn’t know her bank account number or the address of her branch. When Norris had gone into a bank branch to explain the situation and get her some cash, they had asked him to leave.
Many hours later, after a long and frustrating day, a coffee shop waitress agreed to let his mother sit at the counter for a time. She even poured Millie a free cup of coffee.
“You stay right there, hon, and rest yourself a while,” the waitress had said. Norris had been grateful. Now, as he walked back into the coffee shop, his mother took one look at him and knew that he’d been unsuccessful.
“Never mind, son,” she said, “we’ll be fine.”
Norris swallowed the lump in his throat. He had heard her say that many times over the years as a single mom, struggling to pay the bills. He slid onto the stool beside her and tried to be cheerful.
“Tomorrow we can set you up with the welfare folks, I hope, but we’re out of options for now.” Norris glanced at the clock over the counter. Four a.m. “The welfare office won’t be open for hours.” He turned to the waitress. “I don’t suppose—”
“I’m sorry. The early morning shift starts soon and the boss always comes in right after. He won’t let you stay.” The waitress placed a mug in front of Norris and filled it from the carafe in her hand. “I can let you have a coffee, but then you’ll have to go.” She took two jelly donuts from a covered tray on the counter and placed them on a plate, then slid it over.
They made the coffee and donuts last as long as they could, but cold glares from the owner eventually sent them out the door.
Norris turned to Millie.
“I’m sorry, mom, there’s only one place left.” He glanced up the street. “It’s not far. Can you walk a little farther?” She nodded, and they trudged down the street.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Summerlin, Las Vegas
Dragos Luca sauntered through the great room, tapping his fingers against his thigh in time with the hip-hop music throbbing through his four-bedroom house. Women in skintight tube dresses and four-inch heels giggled and waved as he passed, and men in sports jackets with beer bottles in their hands high-fived him. A uniformed server stopped beside him with a tray of sliders and sushi. Luca flipped the top off a slider, wrapped the sirloin in a napkin and dropped it into his pocket, then sent the server on his way with a flick of his hand. He stood at the patio doors, watching candles flicker and bob in glass snifters on the pool’s surface while couples cuddled in the corners. At his elbow, a server cleared his throat. Luca plucked a single malt off his tray without acknowledging him. Sipping the Scotch, he turned to face the great room, where three young men used rolled bills to snort cocaine from a coffee table. Two women gyrated their hips to the music in the middle of the floor, grinding against each other as they held their hair up with their hands. Several men watched them with intense gazes.
In other words, a regular Saturday night.
And like many such Saturday nights, Luca was bored.
He tossed back the single malt, rubbed his hand across his nose, and dropped his empty glass on the nearest end table. He adjusted the cuffs on his dress shirt to show off his gold cufflinks, glancing around the room. If only something, anything, would happen. Too bad Petru was missing the party, but at least after tonight that irritating nerd Zeke Turner would have served his purpose. Finally. Too many screwups there.
He turned at a touch on his arm. Roman, his second in command, handed him a cellphone. Luca held the phone against his ear as he walked to the front door.
“What? I can’t hear you.”
He gestured at Roman to open the door so he could step out onto the drive with the phone. The brightly lit house glowed on the darkened cul-de-sac and the music’s thump-thump-thump pulsed through the neighborhood. While his caller droned on, Luca assessed the cars lining the street—a Bentley, several BMWs, a Ferrari, and two Lamborghinis—and narrowed his eyes. At his last party, there had been at least one Rolls.
Across the road, a neighbor looked up from arranging garbage cans in his driveway. Luca waved, with a smug smile. The man ignored him and marched back to his house, followed by a yappy hors d’oeuvre. Luca glowered at his departing back. Asshole.
Luca crouched on the pavement and emitted a low whistle. The little dog stopped, perking up its ears, pivoted and trotted across the street to him.
“Hey, there,” Luca said, “what’s your name?” He held the phone to his ear with one hand while he pulled the sirloin from his pocket with the other. Luca gently scratched the dog’s head as it tossed back the ground beef.
“Gizmo, get the hell back here,” his neighbor yelled. The dog obediently trotted across the street as Luca rose to his feet. Gizmo? What kind of a name was that for a dog?
The voice in his ear was still talking. “…by Sunday.”
“I told you, everything is fine. Stop worrying.” Luca shut off the phone and tilted his head to look up at the spreading branches of the Eucalyptus coolabah tree above him. He hummed a few bars and then, at the top of his lungs, sang, “Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong. Under the shade of a coolabah tree—”
His neighbor turned at his door to scowl at him. Luca belted out the next two lines.
“And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled. Who’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?” Luca raised his middle finger to his neighbor and grinned. Up yours, asshole. The neighbor stepped through his side door with the dog and slammed it behind him. Luca turned back to the house, chuckling.
“Mr. Luca?”
For a moment he didn’t recognize the young woman in jeans and a sweater, her long hair tossed back over her shoulder, who stood on the sidewalk. Tracy. His little friend from the outlet mall.
“Hello there. Decided you couldn’t afford to stay a
way, huh?” He held the door open for her. She hesitated, then stepped through the entrance and he closed the door behind her.
“I didn’t know you were having a party.”
He gave her his best smile and leaned in so she could hear him over the noise. “A purse party.” Her sweater emphasized the curves he had lusted after at the mall and her hair smelled of herbal shampoo.
She stared at his jacket.
“You look nice. Different.” She glanced at the door. “Maybe I should go.”
Luca placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her to the stairs.
“Nonsense. You came for a purse, you should get a purse. Let’s go upstairs so you can pick one out.”
“Aren’t they down here?”
“Oh, no.” He laughed and flicked a hand at the party guests. “Where would we put them? We keep them upstairs, in our showroom.” Luca moved his hand to her shoulder and guided her toward the first step. He turned to a stranger standing nearby. “We’ll only be a moment,” Luca said in a giddy voice.
The stranger looked confused. He nodded and turned back to his companion.
With a gentle, but insistent, boost, Luca pushed Tracy and she started up the stairs. He glanced over the railing at Roman who stood across the room, beside the stereo receiver. Luca twisted one hand in the air to indicate he should turn up the music.
Roman turned his eyes away with a gesture of disgust.
Luca paused with his eyes boring into the back of Roman’s head. After a few seconds, Roman looked up at him, then leaned over the stereo and turned the music up to an ear-splitting level.
On the second floor landing, Luca and Tracy walked along the hall to a room near the back.
“In here,” he said, opening the door. She stepped through. He followed and closed the door, shutting out the light from the hall.
She laughed nervously and said, “Can you turn on the light? I can’t look at purses in the dark.”
He turned to the door and flipped the lock. It thudded into place. He could hear her breathing, even over the blaring music from downstairs. She was close.