Chasing Luck

by Brinda Berry

  “You okay today?” She takes two steps to the end of the bed and has a seat.

  Now I continue to eat a couple more bites because I don’t know what to say to that. I swallow the dry mouthful, take a swig of coffee, and grin. “Yeah. What’s up? Is there something bothering you?”

  “No.” She lifts her shoulders slowly. “Last night you seemed … I don’t know. Not yourself.”

  “Sorry about that. I should leave the booze alone. I don’t drink often. I was tense. You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “I didn’t mean that. It’s just…”

  She gives me this laser look like she’s mentally sending me the rest of her thoughts.

  “Just…?” I prompt. “Mal? I need the rest of the words if you want a response.”

  She lies back on the bottom edge of the bed. I’m both relieved and disappointed to see a pair of cotton shorts come into view.

  “You know you can talk to me.” Malerie turns her head to the side toward me. “I’m a good listener.”

  “Got it. I do want to talk about something.”

  “Okay.” She perks up and leans on both her elbows.

  “Plans for today. You and I make a run to pick up security equipment. We come back here and you work on researching what the hell that third box might reference. I can do the installations. Have you talked to Billy yet? When will he be released?”

  “Why do you want to know about Billy?”

  “Because … he should be out soon. He’ll come home.”

  “He’s already home,” she says, nonchalantly as telling me the weather forecast.

  I narrow my eyes at her, take a sip of my cool coffee, put the cup down. “Here? He lives here, right?”

  “I sent him to stay with his daughter.”

  “You what?”

  “He needs someone to take care of him while he recuperates.”

  “I guess I thought he’d stay here.” I don’t need her to see how much this disturbs me. If she guesses, she’ll wonder why, and it won’t take long to conclude I’m afraid to be alone with her. What am I, a girl? I can control my physical urges and that’s all it is. Physical.

  “We’re on our own,” she says. “I’ll be in the library if you need me. Let me know when you’re ready to go pick up the equipment.”

  “Be at the door in fifteen minutes.” The sooner I get my supplies, the better.

  * * *

  “What are you doing now?” Malerie studies the blueprint I’ve drawn up for the security cameras. She leans over my shoulder so close I can smell her shampoo.

  “Making sure I’m done with this part.”

  “Oh. Then what?”

  “Do you need something?” I don’t turn around, because I’ll want to kiss her. At least it would make her stop asking me questions.

  And make me stop thinking about kissing her.

  To maintain professionalism and friendship, I keep myself as busy as possible with tasks related and unrelated to the security setup.

  “What’s that?” She leans over the desk and places her index finger on the plan.

  “That’s your bedroom.”

  “I know that. But what is this thing? You’re putting cameras in my room?”

  Now there’s a thought.

  “Of course not. That’s where a dumb waiter was in the house a long time ago. Somebody sheetrocked over it. Did you notice I cut the sheetrock and installed a panel?”

  “No.”

  “Good. That means it’s not obvious.”

  She puts her hand to her throat and stands.

  “Hey, you okay?” I stand quickly and put my hand on her elbow.

  “That seriously freaks me out.”

  I can’t stop my laugh. “What’s scary about that?’

  “Every scary movie in the history of man has something boarded up in the house.”

  “It’s not scary. It’s cool. And I’ve come up with an idea to use it.”

  I explain about the wireless sensors set at all the entry points of the house—motion sensors that trigger to local emergency numbers.

  “It’s a new idea I never had a chance to discuss with JT,” I say. “You’ll love the panic room.”

  “In my room? In the wall? Nu-uh.”

  “No. The wine cellar. That cellar is awesome.” The idea came to me in a moment of brilliance. Also, I like the idea of hanging out in there with all those bottles representing wealth and fine living.

  “Cellar. Do you hear the scare factor in the name? I don’t like it.”

  “It’s perfect. I can make it double as a panic room. You lock yourself inside if you need to stay safe until the police arrive. You can operate emergency alarms for help and no one can disable them.”

  “It reminds me of a gas chamber down there.”

  Her face tells me there’s a little more to it than that. I wish I knew more about the bombing, but I’m afraid to ask.

  “Just humor me. Sub-contractors can reinforce the cellar door and we’ll practice how you get there from the dumb waiter inside of your bedroom closet. You need a way in if you aren’t downstairs.”

  “I won’t use it,” she says. She folds her arms and stares at the blueprint.

  “You’ll probably never have to, but we should practice. Okay? Say yes.”

  She gives me a small nod.

  The project itself couldn’t go better. Money gets work done with a quickness I couldn’t manage alone. All the workers meet me with a suspicious eye since they are positive I’m too young to find my ass in the dark with both hands. After they listen to me give specs, they realize I know what I’m talking about. A year of working with a well-established security business taught me a lot.

  I might bask in my success except for two things: Malerie can’t decipher the meaning of the third box, and I can’t quit trying to decipher why she is under my skin.

  “Teddy called,” Malerie says from across the room. She hangs back in silence, as if waiting for my reaction.

  “And?” I return my glance to the notes in front of me.

  “He says there’s nothing. He’s still looking through some old records, but he’s positive there isn’t a record of the sale from this year. He has an inventory database and it’s not there.”

  “I’m sure he’ll come up with something.” I gather my notes, list, and pen. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Ace?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you regret helping me?” She runs her finger along the wood of the threshold instead of looking at me. “Sometimes, I feel like you’re angry with me. Angry about being here.”

  I stand there half-ready to bolt. The professional footing we’ve established rocks on a precipice.

  “No,” I say neutrally. “Not at all. I like you and this job. I have no idea why you’d think that.”

  She folds her arms across her chest and her gaze meets mine. I feel she wants to say more, but she doesn’t. “Okay. Show me how to use the death trap.” At my look, she adds, “The dumb thing in my closet.”

  “You’re going to love this. It’ll be fun.”

  Her pale face tells me she’s not buying it. “I’ll do it for you.”

  “Don’t do this for me. You can handle it. Come on.” I resist the urge to fold her into my arms and instead lead the way to her room.

  “Can you go down with me?”

  “We both can’t fit.” I grab the hidden pull-tab that allows the panel in the closet to open. We stand so close I can feel the heat from her skin, her breathing a little faster than normal.

  “I can’t do it.”

  “You have to trust me. Nothing bad will happen. I’ll show you how to start it, and I’ll run like hell to the bottom to be there when you’re in the panic room. You’ll open that door and see me. Then I’ll show you how to lock yourself in.” I grab her hand and lean down to make eye contact.

  She breathes harder, and I’m afraid she’s going to hyperventilate.

  “Hey,” I say. “Why don’t you
sing one of your favorite tunes and concentrate on that while you’re in there? Something about girl power and how all guys are assholes. That kind of thing.”

  The corner of her mouth lifts. “I can do that.” She closes her eyes and inhales. “Ready.”

  * * *

  Later, I watch Braveheart for the one-thousandth time. It’s midnight, so I click the TV off and lie back on my pillow. I’m used to being alone, but there’s something solitary about not interacting with someone who is only yards away. Why did she ask me if I regret taking the job? Can she tell how it’s killing me to do the friend thing?

  The guy who thinks he can be friends with Malerie must be blind, deaf, and mute.

  I sit in this room and wonder if she’s awake. I wonder if she’s reading since I never hear a television. I wonder if she’s on her computer chatting with that Collin guy.

  Her door is always cracked. I could go see if her light is on. I get up from the bed and take a couple of steps to my door. If she’s awake, what am I going to do about it?

  I give a frustrated laugh and return to my bed. Call me a coward, but I don’t know how to do this friend-with-a-female thing.

  Later, there’s a scratching sound at my door and I’m relieved she’s breaking her silence.

  I open the door, but she’s not there. Tom, one of the Dobermans, stands in the threshold.

  “You want to come in?” I offer. He’s comfortable around me now, but I’m still surprised to find him here.

  An unfamiliar sound whispers down the hall. Tom steps back and pivots toward it, his sharp ears flick and he looks back at me once. I follow.

  Malerie’s door is ajar, and when I hesitate to invade her privacy, Tom uses his nose to push it open.

  Her light’s on so she must be doing something. I back away when I hear a knocking sound. There’s a bang against the wall—once, twice—and it stops, so I step through the open doorway toward the noise and see Malerie twisted in her sheets. The pillows and the bed comforter lay on the floor. She thrashes around like an insect wrapped in a spider’s web.

  The movement slams her headboard into the wall a third time.

  “Malerie,” I say in a normal voice. I wait for a sign she’s heard me.

  I say her name louder, and this time she whimpers. Tom scampers to the edge of the bed and licks her hand that hangs off the side.

  My instincts are to scoop up her body and hold her. Climb in the bed with her and chase away her demons throughout the night. I feel responsible for this nightmare. I forced her to practice going to the cellar in that dumb waiter, a tiny coffin delivering her to a place where all the monsters in her head live.

  I move to the edge of the bed, not sitting but hovering like some jerk. I won’t stay but a minute. Long enough to make sure she’s awake and long enough to comfort her.

  Instead of pulling her to me like I want, I shake her shoulders gently. I hold my breath when she opens her eyes. Her unguarded, sorrowful look filets me with a sharp blade.

  “You were having a bad dream.” My hand reaches out as if not paying attention to my brain. I stroke her cheek and she closes her eyes at my touch.

  “I’m going to die. You know that, don’t you? And if you’re smart, you’ll get as far away from me as you can.” She squeezes her eyes shut.

  “Malerie, baby girl, you know you’re thinking about your dream still, right?”

  She only nods but keeps her eyes closed.

  “Mal, nobody’s going to die.”

  She shrugs off my arm and sits upright, blinks hard and inhales. “Sorry. Go back to bed.”

  In spite of knowing it’s the worst move I can possibly make, I scoot closer to her and move a strand of hair out of her eyes. “You sure?”

  “Don’t shut my door when you leave.” Her gaze flicks up to meet mine. “Please.”

  I don’t leave.

  “I am not crazy,” she says, her eyes flaring. “I’m not.”

  “I know you’re not.” I pull her toward me for a hug and rest my chin on her head. She smells clean and sugar-sweet. Her hair is softer than anything I’ve had in my hands.

  I’m suddenly aware of her luscious curves pressed against my chest—firm breasts piqued in hard, perfect points. I’m aroused, as horny as a thirteen-year-old on his first date. Instantly.

  I groan into the top of her head. “Mal.”

  “Hmm?”

  “If you’re all right, I’m gonna head back to bed. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

  She gives me a final squeeze and nods. “Okay.”

  She scoots away and lies back down. The bathroom light is on, but I hope it’s dim enough she won’t see what she does to my body. Shit.

  “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.” I make my way to the door and remember to leave it open.

  I need to get laid in the worst way. The problem is, I don’t want anyone but her.

  21

  Malerie

  “We move slow and we move fast. Who knows if it will last. Take a ride, girl.” ~ Jelly Bean Queen

  “What the hell is this?” Ace stomps into the kitchen, barefoot and bare-chested, waving around a piece of purple stationary. His gray sweats hang precariously low on his hips.

  I don’t answer but continue to pour coffee into my favorite lilac mug. Next comes sugar. Last comes milk. The first sip burns my tongue, but I don’t mind. I savor this small pleasure he’s taught me. I enjoy the coffee almost as much as the view of his lean body.

  The slight indentions on the sides of his muscular hips make me a little swoony.

  I blink hard to rid myself of the stray thoughts racing harem-scarem through my mind. “Exactly why were you in my room?”

  He doesn’t seem to notice my straying eyes if I judge by his surly expression.

  “To ask if you want some breakfast,” he grumbles. “But this was on your night table.”

  “That’s private.” I don’t want to defend my list to him. Although we’ve established speaking terms again, I don’t want to tell him because he’s not going to understand my predicament or agree with my plan.

  Today is the date on the third box. Tomorrow is the date on the fourth. I’ve walked away from two incidents that should have left me dead. Two incidents that were predicted on the boxes.

  Ace doesn’t get it. He doesn’t see how that bombing should’ve killed me. That the gunman who killed JT also shot me.

  A threat hangs over my head, a ball ready to drop at the countdown. I know my days are numbered. There isn’t a fifth box. If Teddy’s father is some kind of prophet and my life is tied to the events of each box, what happens at the end?

  I’m positive I know.

  He straightens and begins to read it to me as if I don’t remember what I’ve written. “Go meet Collin in Chicago. What does that mean? You going somewhere?”

  I shrug and turn my back on him. The coffee pot is mostly full, so I grab it to make him a cup. It seems like a logical diversion until he stalks over and takes the pot away from me.

  “And how were you getting there? Were you going to tell me?” He slams the stainless steel pot back onto the coffee machine.

  “I don’t have to tell you. Your only concern is installing equipment.” It’s a low blow, but I can’t let him talk me out of going to Chicago.

  He bristles—his mouth tightens and his hands clench. There’s a slight tic in his jawline. “I’m unpacking that suitcase on your bed,” he says through gritted teeth. He whips around and heads up the stairs.

  “Wait.” My feet aren’t moving fast enough to catch up to him.

  “You said we’re friends, and friends don’t treat each other like the hired help.” He yells without turning around.

  I catch up to him as he flips the suitcase open. He snatches jeans and shirts in piles from the case and deposits them on the bed.

  There’s a moment of clarity when I realize he might be able to stop me. It’s not like I can run out of the house and drive away. There are four cars in the garage,
and I can’t drive any of them. My fear of leaving this place has crippled me at a time when I have to be self-sufficient. My idea to call a cab to pick me up here in the middle of nowhere or even hire a service seems stupid.

  I grab both his hands. He’s holding a stack of my panties and freezes when he realizes, staring down at them awkwardly.

  “You’ve got it all wrong.” I clear my throat and give a pointed look at the object in his hands.

  Ace drops the wad of silk panties from his grip back into the open suitcase, and I try not to blush. A lacey pink pair and an orange thong rest on top—evidence of my vivid imagination, my unlimited credit, and my addiction to online stores. I didn’t think anyone would ever see them.

  “I don’t understand what you’re doing,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and folding his arms. He stares at the pile of undergarments, his lips smashed together in one tight line of disapproval.

  “It’s something I need to do for myself,” I answer. “To prove I’m not afraid to go new places.”

  I’m helpless in deciphering the box, but going to meet Collin face-to-face is something I can do. He’s the only person I can actually call a friend, besides Ace. And he has Jelly Bean Queen tickets.

  My bucket list consists of three items. I only wrote two on the paper.

  I attempt to repack the array of underwear he’s strewn across my bed. It’s difficult to sound levelheaded when I’m horrified by the colorful assortment of bras and panties on display.

  “I don’t believe you. Or else you’d go anywhere. Your list definitely says it’s to visit Collin.”

  “And that’s a problem? I mean, it doesn’t matter to you, does it?” I close the lid of the suitcase and zip it.

  He narrows his eyes at me and frowns harder, almost an impossible expression if you’d asked me earlier.

  Standing over me and glaring, he asks, “What about the box? I thought we were trying to figure out the meaning of the third box.”

  “I was wrong. I’ve read too much into the boxes.”

  His suspicious study of me is unnerving. I feel like a bug under a microscope.

  “I’ll pack a bag.” Ace strolls to the bedroom door. “Don’t go anywhere.”