Say the Word

by Julie Johnson

  But the young man refused to recant his statement, despite immense pressure from his supervisor — and his supervisor’s supervisor. When they switched his patrol route to the heart of the South Bronx in a crime-riddled neighborhood with a murder rate twice that of the rest of the city, it came as no great surprise that Monroe was murdered one night — knifed and left to bleed out in an alleyway, his assailant never brought to justice. With little fanfare, Monroe’s name faded into the annals of NYPD history. And with his death, his far-fetched story about a suspicious club in the Upper East Side also died.

  The week following Monroe’s murder, the fledgling restaurant owner who’d placed that call to the police abruptly sold his property and left the city. The building was purchased and demolished within days. As soon as the dust had settled, the new owner broke ground on a fully enclosed parking garage, complete with tunnels connecting to the club next door. No truck would ever be carelessly parked in that alleyway again, and the newly-expanded Labyrinth now sat on a double-plot of land.

  I gripped the phone tightly in my right hand as it rang. Once, twice, three times.

  “Hello?”

  Deep breath.

  “Hello, is someone there?” Bash repeated.

  Fae whacked me on the arm violently. “Say something,” she hissed.

  “Hi,” I mumbled into the receiver, rubbing my smarting arm with my free hand. “It’s Lux.”

  There was a beat of silence over the line. “Can’t say I was expecting your call, Freckles.” I could hear a teasing smile in his voice. “Does this mean you’re giving in already? I have to admit, I was expecting a bit more of a challenge…”

  “Don’t be an ass,” I muttered. “This isn’t about us.”

  He laughed. “Oh, so you agree there’s an ‘us’ now?”

  “You’re impossible,” I complained, rolling my eyes. “Can you meet me tonight? I have something to ask you. And, before you get yourself all worked up, you should know — it’s for the story I’m working on. The one about the missing girls.”

  “Where?” he asked, his tone suddenly serious.

  “A coffee shop in the East Village. I’ll text you the address.”

  “I’ll be there. What time?”

  I glanced at my watch. “Seven?”

  “See you then.”

  I clicked off.

  ***

  “I must say, you’re looking remarkably healthy for someone with the flu.” Bash stared at me with raised brows as I approached him. He was standing on the sidewalk, just below the café awning.

  “The wonders of modern medicine,” I drawled, coming to a stop by his side. “Thanks for coming.”

  He grinned at me. “Your wish, my command.” I rolled my eyes as he pulled open the glass door and ushered me inside. “After you.”

  I made my way to the counter and ordered a chai tea. I looked around for the tattooed, eyeliner-wearing barista who’d given me Miri’s note, but she didn’t appear to be working today. Before I could pay, Bash placed his own order for a cappuccino and a croissant, handed a sleek black AMEX credit card to the cashier, and grinned down at me infuriatingly.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. “This isn’t a date. You’re not supposed to pay.”

  He laughed at me and shook his head, the bastard.

  I turned to the cashier. “Can you refund that chai? I have cash.”

  Bash looked from me to the cashier, who was watching us with wide eyes. “Don’t listen to her,” he whispered conspiratorially, nodding his head in my direction as he retrieved his credit card from her outstretched palm. “Her money’s counterfeit.”

  “Wha— Are you serious right now—Bash!” I spluttered as he led me away with one hand at the small of my back.

  “Just sit, Freckles.” He steered me toward a table and pulled out my chair. “I’ll get our drinks.”

  “I can get my own—”

  He cast a dismissive frown in my direction, before heading back to the counter to accept our drinks from the barista. I sat, tongue-tied, watching him and feeling spectacularly off balance as I took in the sight of his broad shoulders and well-toned arm muscles from behind. He was too gorgeous for his own good — mine weren’t the only set of female eyes on him at the moment – but he didn’t seem to notice the attention his looks drew. He tossed a quick smile over his shoulder at me when he reached the counter, and I heard two appreciative girls at a nearby table sigh in unison. Somehow, it was a comfort to know I wasn’t the only one left dumbstruck in his presence.

  Balancing two mugs and the small plate holding his croissant, Bash made his way back to our table and sat down across from me.

  “Thanks,” I murmured, accepting my tea mug.

  “Anytime,” he returned, smiling as he tore off a chunk of his croissant and popped it in his mouth. He chased the bite with a sip of cappuccino, swallowed, and adopted a solemn expression. “So, spell it out for me.”

  I took a deep inhale. “You know I’ve been investigating that old brewery down in Red Hook.”

  He nodded.

  “Well, there’s a bit more to the story,” I admitted.

  “I figured as much.” A wry smile twisted his lips.

  “It started with Vera.” My voice cracked when I said her name, but I forced myself to go on. For the next hour, I spoke without interruption, laying out the whole sordid tale as my heart pounded in my chest. The flea market, Roza, the tenements in Two Bridges, Miri, the significance of this very cafe, the note, Santos, Red Hook, the brewery, and, finally, Labyrinth. By the time I reached that portion of my tale, my tea was long gone and all that remained of Bash’s croissant was a small smattering of crumbs on the white ceramic plate. As I spoke, his eyebrows lifted higher and higher, the frown lines around his mouth becoming more prominent with each passing moment. He was quiet for a long time when I finally finished speaking.

  “Let me see if I have this right,” Bash muttered, his wide eyes intent on my face. “You want me to help you get inside a highly-secure, tightly-guarded, entirely dangerous secret society, and then gather incriminating intel on some of the most powerful people in this country.”

  I gave a hesitant nod.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” he bellowed, causing several people at surrounding tables to look in our direction warily.

  “Bash!” I protested quietly. “Calm down.”

  “Calm down? Calm down?” He snorted. “Yeah, I’m feeling extremely calm after learning you’re on some halfcocked mission to get yourself killed. These people are dangerous, Lux. You know that better than anyone. I can’t fucking believe you’ve been going after them alone.”

  “Well, if you come with me, I won’t be alone anymore,” I pointed out. “I need your help, Bash. I need to see what’s going on inside that club.”

  “And you don’t think, if these people are as powerful as you say, that they’ll notice a blonde sleuthing wannabe traipsing through their back rooms and looking through their computer files?” He laughed. “That’s optimistic.”

  “There won’t be cameras.” I pulled out a page from the dossier that I’d stashed away in my purse before leaving my apartment. I held it out so he could look it over, pointing to a highlighted section. “See? It’s apparently part of the club charter. Too many important people are members — they’d never feel safe if potentially illegal actions were being recorded. The only cameras are on the perimeter.”

  “You’re putting blind trust in the research of a guy you don’t even know.” Bash shook his head. “How can you be sure it’s accurate?”

  “I know Fae — I trust Fae,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “If she says we can trust him, we can trust him.”

  Bash stared at me for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. “You’re the same,” he muttered eventually, his eyes incredulous.

  “What?”

  “You haven’t changed a bit in all these years. You’re still stubborn as a mule —
set in your ways and utterly impossible to negotiate with once you’ve made up your mind about something. Pigheaded, really.” He cracked a smile.

  I glared at him.

  “Relax, it’s refreshing.” His grin widened. “Take it as a compliment.”

  “I’ll take it as a compliment if you agree to help me,” I suggested.

  “I’ll agree to help you if you go out on a date with me,” he countered.

  “I’m not going out with you.”

  “Come on, it can just be a friends thing. If we choose to get naked afterward, so be it.”

  “You’re terrible.” I tried to contain my smile, instead forcing a stern glare in his direction. “I think I preferred it when we were ignoring each other’s existence.”

  “Don’t you need my help?” Bash steepled his hands on the tabletop and leaned forward. “You should be nice to me if you want me to get you into Labyrinth.”

  “You really think you can get us in just because your family is on the list?” I felt the rush of banked excitement stirring to life within me.

  “It’s worth a shot.” Bash leaned back in his chair and let out a deep breath. “A photographer and a journalist whose last column detailed the many attributes of Channing Tatum’s physique, up against the most powerful people in the world. What could possibly go wrong?”

  “Have a little faith.” I laughed. “And it was Ryan Gosling, not Channing Tatum.”

  Bash snorted. “My mistake.”

  “So when are we doing it?”

  “Baby, we can do it anytime you like,” Bash said, a familiar heat filling his eyes.

  “Please, be serious,” I implored.

  “Fine, fine,” he said, laughing. “I guess we can go Friday.”

  “Friday’s no good,” I immediately countered.

  “Hot date?” he asked, his brows raised and his eyes suddenly serious.

  I laughed. “Oh yeah. Me and about three hundred Luster coworkers, affiliates, and sponsors, sipping champagne and toasting 100 years of success.”

  Comprehension flared in his eyes. “Centennial.”

  “You’re going?” I asked.

  “Pick you up at six,” he said, winking.

  “What?” I stared at him. “I don’t need a ride, I’m going with Simon and Fae.”

  “They’ll get over it.” Bash pushed back his chair and stood, reaching out to grasp my hand. “Those were my terms. I get you in, you go on a date with me. This is the date I’m choosing. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

  I allowed him to tug me from my seat. “I never agreed to a date, and I most definitely did not agree to a public appearance. There’ll be cameramen at the curb, photographing important people as they arrive. You, sir, are considered important — though for the life of me, I can’t fathom why.” I stuck my tongue out in his direction.

  “I see your insults haven’t improved with age,” he noted dryly. “And as for Centennial — take it or leave it, Freckles. You need me, not the other way around.”

  I deliberated for a moment. “Can we at least avoid the curbside cameras?”

  He grinned, sensing that I was about to give in to his terms. “I’ll consider it.”

  “We still haven’t picked a date for Labyrinth.”

  “Eager to see me again so soon, huh?”

  “You’re hysterical.” I rolled my eyes. “What about Wednesday?”

  “Tomorrow? No can do,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Hot date?”

  His grin turned wolfish. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  I would, actually, but I wasn’t telling him that. “Nope, couldn’t care less,” I said breezily.

  He laughed.

  “Thursday,” I suggested, following him out the door onto the street.

  “Works for me.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and brought his face closer to mine. “Where are you going now?”

  “Home.”

  “Are you sure?” He leaned in, hovering close enough that if I raised myself the slightest bit up onto my toes, our noses would brush. “We could continue our business meeting at my loft.” His lips skimmed my cheekbone.

  I pushed him away with a light shove of my palms against his chest. “Why do you keep suggesting that?”

  “Because one of these times, you’re going to say yes.”

  “In your dreams.” I let out an amused huff of air. “I have to go, I have things to do.”

  “Sure you don’t want a ride?”

  “I’m sure.” I began to walk away, but stopped myself. Turning back, I stared at him for a beat. “Hey Bash?”

  His eyes softened to that warm, glowing look I loved so much. “Yeah, Lux?”

  “This was kind of fun.” I admitted, surprise clear in my tone. “I mean, not the Vera stuff or the part where you called me pigheaded and told me I was ‘out of my fucking mind’…” My smile was irrepressible. “But the rest of it.”

  “You’re right — it was fun. You know what would be even more fun?” he asked, the warmth in his eyes beginning to build into a fiery heat.

  “Nope,” I grinned full out, taking a step backward as he began to advance on me.

  “There’s that pigheadedness,” he said, shaking his head at me. “Can I at least have a hug goodbye?”

  “Nope. See you tomorrow!” I called, giggling as I dodged his embrace and rushed down the sidewalk toward the nearest subway entrance.

  “Flying away again, Freckles?” Bash called after me.

  Without turning around to face him, I held my arms aloft at my sides and pumped them up and down, mimicking flight as I walked further away from him. His laughter chased me all the way to the platform and back to Midtown, where I let it envelop me like a warm blanket I never wanted to remove and lull me into a sort of temporary bliss. I knew this holding pattern of friendly bantering and benign flirtation couldn’t last forever between Bash and me — sooner or later, real life would overtake the fantasy we’d shared in the café this evening.

  It was as though, through some unspoken pact, we’d both agreed to set aside the past completely and live the life we might’ve had — two twenty-five year-olds on a coffee date, laughing and arguing good-naturedly as time ticked by and the world spun on without their noticing. We’d been isolated in that bubble of content self-deception for hours, our mirage so convincing we’d deceived even ourselves, for a time, into believing it might last forever.

  It wouldn’t last — it couldn’t.

  But for tonight, I’d hold the blanket Bash’s words had woven close to ward off the shadows of the past.

  ***

  I was late.

  My morning run had been painful — I’d been sincerely neglecting my workout regimen lately, and my sore leg muscles were paying the price. The three-mile loop I typically flew through with ease was a struggle for breath, each cramping stride a punishment for my lack of discipline. By the time I made it home and hopped into the shower, I was thirty minutes behind schedule.

  Hair still damp, I practically ran to the subway, stopping only briefly to grab a coffee from the food cart parked just outside the platform. I was in the process of dumping two sugars into the steaming brew when someone smashed into me from behind, spilling the entire scalding cup down the front of my blouse and eternally staining my outfit.

  There was no way I could go to work like this — I’d have to go home and change, which would put me even further behind schedule.

  “Goddammit!” I cursed in the loud, unabashed style I’d adopted since moving to the city, turning to face my assailant and unleash a can of whoop-ass on him. “Watch where you’re going buddy, it’s—”

  “So sorry, miss.” The smooth voice immediately drew my attention. My eyes traveled from the shiny black shoes, up two navy, uniformed legs, and came to land on the gleaming chest badge and emblem. Shit — I’d just cussed out a police officer.

  “No, officer, it’s my fault,” I apologized, raising my eyes to meet his. Another sentence was there, o
n the tip of my tongue, but it dried up when I realized that the face I was staring at was one I recognized. I’d seen it before — infinitely pixilated on the screen of my computer, furrowed into a frown outside the 6Th Precinct station in the Village, illuminated by the faint glow of a cigarette on the docks of an old brewery in Red Hook. I’d seen it every day for the last week, affixed to my wall — that permanent gloating smile, seeming to mock me from across the room whenever I glanced in the direction of the mosaic.

  Officer Santos.

  “Are you alright?” His pressed lips turned up in a small smile. “Looks like you really doused yourself.”

  I stared into his pale brown eyes, searching for something appropriate to say but coming up short. My mind was otherwise engaged, reeling as I tried to calm myself. All of my mental resources were occupied by one thought — this was no coincidence. Santos was here, following me to work, watching me buy coffee, and staging an interaction, all because I’d been careless. I’d been spotted somewhere along the way, whether at the brewery or on one of my surveillance trips to his precinct. And that meant…

  I was no longer flying safely below the radar. I was being watched.

  I comforted myself with the knowledge that, if I were seen as a true threat to these people, they’d have already eliminated me from the playing field. There were only two possible purposes served by this confrontation with Santos: either they wanted to warn me away from the story and let me know that they were surveilling me, or they were testing me — trying to see whether I was simply a dumb blonde, who’d stumbled onto their organization accidentally.

  For my sake, I prayed it was the latter.

  I forced myself to smile at him, emulating the pageant queens I’d seen every year at the Jackson Fall Festival growing up. I played up my Southern twang, pouring it on thicker than syrup on French toast and praying it was enough to convince him that I didn’t possess enough brain cells to spell sex trafficking, let alone investigate it.

  “Aw, jeeze, I’m such a klutz! Always spilling my coffee and tripping over my feet.” I let out a sunny peal of laughter. “My boss pretty much expects it by now. She won’t even notice this.” I gestured down at my coffee-splattered blouse. “I don’t think she’s ever seen me without a coffee stain somewhere on my outfit.”