by Tara Wylde
Jersey Boy is overweight, mid-thirties, with olive skin. The other one, a younger bald man in a black jacket and jeans, is silent. At least now I know what took Pearce the extra fifteen minutes to get here.
“Not interested,” I say, striding around them.
Jersey Boy reaches out and grabs me by the arm as I pass him.
“Now that’s definitely rude,” he says. “We just want to talk.”
Chance is in my ear again: “Sara! Get out of there!”
I look down at the guy’s meathook on my arm, then up at his face.
“Do you jerk off with that hand?” I ask.
He glowers at me. “What did you say, bitch?”
An instant later, his hand is in both of mine, twisted almost to the point of snapping. Jersey Boy drops to his knees in agony just as I dislocate his thumb.
“Jesus Christ!” he shrieks.
“Best learn how to use the other one,” I say.
Suddenly the bald one has me in a bear hug from behind.
“Don’t hurt her!” Pearce snaps. “I told him this was a stupid idea!”
I kick my legs furiously in front of me in an attempt to break his hold. Nothing doing.
“Sara!” Chance again. “Are you all right?”
“Just give me a minute,” I mutter.
“What?” asks the bald guy.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” I say as I jam the heel of my pump into his instep. The sound of his snapping metatarsal bones would make Kelsey proud.
I finish him off with a backwards head strike to the bridge of his nose. The crunch isn’t quite as satisfying as his foot, though.
He slumps to the ground and I round on Pearce. His eyes are saucers, and I revel in the fact that I finally made him lose his cool.
“I’m sure the Sullivans will be very interested in what just happened,” I say with a grin. “And what they can expect from the new owners of Atlas if they sell.”
My heels clip-clop against the concrete as I walk toward Webster Avenue and the cab I told to wait for me when I got here.
As I reach the fountain across from the bus stop, I smile as I hear Quentin yell “FUUUCK!” at the top of his lungs.
98
61. CHANCE
“Remind me never to fuck with you,” I say as I open my laptop on the motel room table.
“I don’t do all that training with Kelsey just to maintain my shapely legs, you know,” she says through a shit-eating grin.
I insert the data stick with the info I stole from the office in Pearce’s house in Lake Forest while Sara was entertaining him and his friends. The distraction gave me almost two hours to break in, fill the stick, and get back out. But we’re still looking for a needle in a haystack.
“So what did you find?” she asks, looking over my shoulder at the screen.
“I did a search through his most recent transactions, and the name Nova Chemical kept popping up,” I say as the data fills the screen. “I did a little checking before I left: it’s a small operation, hardly worth Empire’s notice.”
“So why is it so important?”
“Exactly.”
“Wait a minute,” Sara says, her eyes widening. “Nova Chemicals… now I know why I recognize the name! I did some work for the owner last year. Background checks on some job applicants. Paid really well.”
I scratch my chin. There’s something hinky about this.
“That’s quite a coincidence,” I say. “Who did you deal with?”
“A guy named Dacosta. He was a real creep – kept asking me all sorts of personal questions. I think he was trying to hit on me, but he wasn’t very good at it.”
Wait a minute… this can’t be right…
“This Dacosta guy: was his first name Sebastian?” I ask.
She raises her eyebrows. “How did you know that?”
Shit. As if this wasn’t convoluted enough as it was. This is a monkey wrench I really don’t need. But it might help me make sense of all this.
“I met Sebastian Dacosta in basic training,” I say. “Served with him in one of my tours in Iraq.”
That’s as far as I’m going to go with that.
“I got the sense he thought of himself as a tough guy,” she says. “Like he got off on being intimidating.”
“That was him all over. He used to brag about being from a ‘connected’ family, as if that would somehow impress a bunch of Marines.”
Sara sits down next to me and drapes her arm over my shoulder, still staring at the screen.
“What does it all mean?” she asks. “Now that you say ‘connected family,’ it makes me think of the guy from New Jersey tonight. He definitely gave off a distinct vibe, kind of like your friend Sebastian.”
“He wasn’t my friend,” I snap.
“Okay, okay,” she says. “Your enemy, then.”
I sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m on edge.”
“You’re on edge? I was the one who took on two guys single-handedly!”
I turn to her and take her hands in mine.
“That’s why I’m on edge,” I say. “When I heard what was happening over your earpiece, I almost lost it. The thought of you in danger…”
“I was never in any danger,” she says, laying a palm on my cheek. “You’ve seen me in action, remember?”
“In my head, I know that. But that didn’t stop my heart from going into spasms at the thought of you getting hurt. It’s not something I’ve ever thought about before, but now – now I think I have to know that you’re safe all the time, or I might go crazy.”
She stares into my eyes. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she whispers.
“I lost you once,” I say. “I’m not going to let it happen again.”
Sara climbs out of her chair and straddles me on mine. Her lips meet mine with a softness and warmth that’s a total contrast to our usual manic passion. I wrap my arms around her as she lowers her lips to my neck, tracing tiny, warm circles with the tip of her tongue.
“I want you so much,” I sigh in her ear.
“Not as much as I want you.”
She climbs off me and leads me by the hand to the electric blue bed. I strip off my shorts and shirt as she frees herself from her tank top and yoga pants. We turn down the coverlet together and lie down, gently stroking each other’s bodies.
“You have to get used to me taking care of myself,” she says.
“I know. And you have to get used to me worrying about you.”
She smiles. “You were the only one who ever worried about me. I was always worried about Grace, or Mom, or getting a beating from my father, but never myself. And I always felt safe in your arms.”
“I actually did go kind of crazy when you turned me away that night,” I say. “It was like the only thing I could ever count on in the world was suddenly taken away from me, as if it had never existed. If I hadn’t had the Marines to carry me through, I don’t know what would have happened to me.”
I see the tears pooling in her eyes and reach out a hand to stroke her face.
“Shhh. There was nothing you could have done; I know that now. I just wanted you to know that’s how I felt about you.”
“Sending you away was like slicing myself open with a rusty blade,” she husks. “I was never the same after that.”
Jesus, now I’ve got water in my eyes, too.
“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”
She giggles in spite of her tears. “Yeah, we’d make a therapist rich. Well, you would, anyway.”
“Excuse me?” I say with mock indignation. “You’re just as screwed up as I am!”
“Yeah, but I don’t have any money, so I can’t make anyone rich.”
We grin and go back to making out. It’s slow and wet and warm and luxurious. Sara strokes my cock gently with the tips of her fingers as I gently massage her breasts.
“We should talk about money,” I say.
“Yes, we should. But not right now.”
<
br /> Her hard nipples poke my chest as she reaches over me to turn off the lamp on the rickety nightstand.
“Now,” she says, “it’s time to serenade the neighbors with another bedspring concerto.”
99
62. SARA
I drop my knife and fork to my empty plate with a faint clank and push my chair back from our table. The Rest-All motel may be shit, but the breakfast here at the attached diner is incredible.
“God, I needed that,” I say with a sigh that turns into a belch.
Chance cocks an eyebrow at me. I smile sweetly.
“You put a ring on it, baby,” I coo. “It’s all yours.”
He pops his last scrap of toast into his grinning yap and chews.
“We definitely worked up an appetite last night,” he says. “I’m surprised none of the other guests called the manager on us.”
I glance around at the rest of the diner’s clientele. Most of them look like fifty bucks a night is stretching their budget to the limit. More than a few look like they’ve been rode hard and put away wet.
“I have a feeling they’ve got other things to worry about.”
Chance chugs down the rest of his coffee. “What time are you meeting your sister at the farmer’s market?”
“In about an hour,” I say, glancing at the clock on my new phone.
“You remember the drill?”
“Yes,” I sigh. “Wear sunglasses, watch my six, keep to crowded areas, bolt into the crowd if I see trouble.”
He gives me a sheepish look.
“Like I said last night, I need to know you’re safe.”
“I know,” I grin. “And I love you for it.”
Suddenly we both freeze. My heart feels like it’s waiting for something before it beats again. I can feel the blood rushing into my cheeks.
“I mean,” I sputter. “You know, just that –”
“I know what you mean,” he says, taking my hand. “I love you, too.”
Okay. Now it’s out there. We said those words to each other all the time as kids, but we’ve both been avoiding it since all this craziness started.
We stare at each other anxiously for several long moments. Sara’s the one who finally breaks the silence.
“That’s a good thing, right?” I ask tentatively. “For a husband and wife to love each other?”
“It’s the best thing. It’s the only thing.”
We sit there holding hands, stroking each other’s fingers with our thumbs like shy teens on a first date.
“You know,” I say. “I’ve still got a whole hour before I have to meet Grace…”
He pulls me out of the chair and tosses a fifty on the table. In a few seconds we’re taking the stairs to our room two at a time.
So much for the shy part.
I sidle up to Grace by a booth where a long-haired man in his sixties is selling shirts made out of hemp for a hundred bucks apiece. For that price, he better be making them by hand.
Says the wife of a man who drives a Bugatti and flies her to Bora Bora on a private jet. Then again, I drive a fifteen-year-old Camry right now, but we’ll address that as soon as all this craziness ends.
Assuming all this craziness ever does end.
“Don’t react,” I whisper from behind her. She flinches, but doesn’t turn around. “We’re just two old friends who haven’t seen each other in a few months.”
She plays her part well, turning and giving me a mild “Hey!” and a half-hearted hug.
“If I’d known you were such a good actress, I would have taken you into the field with me on cases,” I say, smiling.
“This is seriously fucked up,” she says with a smile of her own. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Me, too.”
We leave the hemp shirt emporium behind and stroll down a concourse lined with everything from late-season corn and healing crystals to Indian food and mini-donuts.
“How do I look as a blonde?”
“Like someone on the run,” she says. “Sara, what’s going on?”
I give her more details on why we’re hiding out and my meeting-slash-rumble with Pearce and his friends last night.
“Holy shit,” she breathes. “That’s insane.”
“Tell me about it. How are things at the office?”
“The Steins are asking if we have anything new on their daughter, but for the most part it’s been quiet.”
Shit. I was following up leads on Ashley Stein when I got that first call from Pearce. God, it feels like a year ago now. I can’t believe it hasn’t even been a month.
“Tell them how sorry we are, and that they’re the top priority once I get back to work.”
“So you are coming back to work?” she asks.
“Of course. Why would you wonder?”
She shrugs. “You get married without telling me, take off for days to the other side of the world, go underground. How am I supposed to know what’s going on in your head?”
I sigh and wrap an arm around her shoulders.
“Not being the best big sister right now, am I?” I whisper. “I’m sorry about all this, Gracie.”
“I don’t think it’s you who should be sorry,” she says.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean Chance seems to be the common denominator here. He’s the reason you’re getting caught up in all this craziness.”
I stop her with a hand on her arm. “That’s not fair. He’s just trying to save his company, not to mention his freedom and reputation.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing else going on?” she asks as we find a bench in the shade of a boulevard tree and take a seat.
“What are you getting at? Spit it out.”
“Look,” she says. “I’m just saying Tre has a different story. If he really believed Chance was innocent in all this, why is he switching allegiances to Quentin Pearce?”
That question has been in the back of my mind since Grace first told me about it. I can’t believe Tre would betray his best friend like that, after all they’ve been through together. And I haven’t told Chance about it, because I know it would crush him.
“Maybe you should ask Tre that, not me,” I snap. “I thought I knew him. Guess I was wrong.”
Grace scowls. “He’s still the same guy he always was. He told me he wishes you’d never gotten caught up in this stuff, and he really thought it was crazy for Chance to propose to you like he did. To be honest, so did I.”
“Look,” I say. “You’re just going to have to trust that we know what we’re doing. Is that too much to ask?”
She thinks it over for a few moments before nodding.
“All right,” she says. “I’ll do that for you, if you do something for me.”
“Fine.”
“Just think it over. Isn’t it possible that there’s something to what Tre said? I mean, you know him. He’s not the kind of person to switch sides for no reason, especially against his best friend. Maybe you need to ask yourself how much you really know about Chance and his past.”
I want to dismiss all this as just more of Grace’s nonsense. She’s always lived in a fantasy world – I was the one who kept our father from going after her and took the beatings myself. I shielded her from the worst of Mom’s illness. Hell, I gave her a job and let her live in my apartment! She has no idea how the real world works!
But do I really believe that? Or am I willfully ignoring some of the things I already know about Chance?
“Sara?” she says with a wince. “Are you mad at me?”
“No,” I say. “Not at you. Look, I’ll think over what you’ve said as long as you agree to keep an open mind about Chance. I mean, he is your brother-in-law.”
“For now, anyway,” she says glumly.
100
63. CHANCE
“Well, look who randomly showed up!”
I grin at the joke just like I always have as Tre’s mom opens the back door to her house for me.
&nb
sp; “That one never gets old, Mrs. C,” I say as she ushers me into her kitchen. “Just like you.”
She giggles. “And you never get any better at lying, Chance, but I appreciate the effort.”
I wish I could say she’s right about my ability to lie, but she’s not.
Once we’re inside, she pulls me in for a hug. Natalie Carter is a big woman, with big hugs, and she always smells of rose oil. To this day, it’s one of my most powerful memory triggers, taking me back to my days of sleeping on the couch in her house in Philly.
The one Tre bought her here in Chicago is small and old-fashioned, but she loves it and that’s what matters. It’s also very close to the Rest-All Motel, which I why I chose it.
“Sit down, take a load off the floor,” she says, waving a hand at the kitchen table. “Coffee?”
“You read my mind. So how are you?”
“Oh, you know me,” she says, placing a pair of cups on the table and taking a seat opposite me. “I’m always good.”
She watches me take a sip of my coffee. I savor it for a few seconds, knowing full well what’s to come.
“You all settled?” she asks.
“Yup,” I say, wincing. “Let me have it.”
“Are you out of your fool-ass mind, boy?!” she hollers. “You go off and get married without inviting your Mama C to the wedding? To Sara Bishop, of all people! I haven’t even had a chance to see the child since she came back, and now she’s your wife!”
I nod. “I deserve all of that. And I’m sorry. All I can say right now is that we were victims of circumstance.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes, I know, classified work stuff and all that. But why didn’t you bring Sara with you today?”
“She was busy with work,” I say, proving that I do indeed know how to lie. “But her sister Grace is planning a party, and you’ll be the guest of honor. How’s that?”
She eyes me up sternly, but can’t keep the grin from her face.
“I suppose that’ll do.” She raises a warning finger. “For a start.”
“Whew,” I say, wiping pretend sweat from my brow.
“I’m just so happy for you two,” she says. “Finding each other again. I always thought it was a damn shame the way you two broke up back in Philly.”