by Aden Lowe
I must have fallen asleep quickly, because the next thing I knew, my phone was screeching with the alarm I set earlier. I rolled over with a groan, shut it off, and dragged my ass out of the bed. A hot shower worked wonders, soothing stiff muscles and waking me up the rest of the way.
No texts or calls had come in while I slept, and I resisted the impulse to text Lauren, just to check in. If I appeared too attached, her alarms would start going off, and the mission would be even more screwed than the mess I'd made of it so far. So, I got dressed, and headed out to find food.
Several choices lay within walking distance, so I left the car and took a little extra time to get to know the area. Quirky little shops sat between small apartment buildings, and a couple of huge houses that had seen better days. Kids played everywhere, and older people sat on stoops and talked. A couple of teenagers had turned the front steps and hand rails of one building into a skate park.
It might not be an affluent area, but the sense of community came through loud and clear. I could see why Lauren liked it. All around me, blacks, whites, and Hispanics made a place in the world together, and it worked. Yeah, definitely not a place an uptight asshole like Richardson would like. Had he tried already to force Lauren to move? She'd mentioned he wanted her to. I admired her for resisting the pressure. The place must be important to her.
A couple of blocks from the motel, I found a little Mexican restaurant, and went in. Even though it was small, the quality of the food made me wish I could stay forever. I took my time eating the chimichangas, savoring each bite, and thinking. The traditional music and low lighting made it easy to get lost in thought.
I needed a plan for the rest of this mission. My emotions kept getting the better of me, and making me act without thinking. Not a good combination. What was it about this job? Normally, I never acted on impulse. Interfering with Richardson today could very well have cost me the entire thing, and my life, to boot.
Hell, I'd been in war camps in various places around the world where women were routinely captured, beaten, and raped. Although I didn't like it, I managed to look the other way to protect the mission. Then, when the time came, I made sure to kill the bastards. I needed that kind of compartmentalization with this job.
I was there to convince her to leave, or force the issue if all else failed. She absolutely knew the fucker abused her, but for some reason, she refused to acknowledge it, or do anything about it. My keeping him from hitting her would not solve that issue. So where did that leave me?
And what the fuck possessed me to kiss her? Touch her? Fuck, I knew better than that shit. She was strictly work, hands off. Too bad my goddamn dick refused to listen to reason. Every time I saw her, caught her scent, or even thought about her, the damn thing stood up and paid attention. I had to get control of that shit immediately.
I also needed control over who guarded her. Even with McKinley's reaction to my news about Richardson hitting the client, I couldn't be sure anyone else would step in if things got bad. And there it was again. My unreasonable need to interfere and protect her. Maybe if I had better control of the situation, I could gain a little distance.
Dinner and beer finished, I had no reason to hang around the restaurant any longer, so I left a good tip and headed out. The street had quieted a little while I ate, but people still moved around and socialized with neighbors. The place simply had a good feel about it, and if I could tolerate living in a city, it was exactly the sort of neighborhood I would choose.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. Rufus. "Yeah."
"Doin' all right, man?"
"I need more control of the situation. Not sure who will tolerate what." A sudden idea sparked my interest. "Think we could get a couple more guys here? Pretty sure with a good background they could get on with the same firm." I continued walking, keeping my voice low and trying not to be too specific.
"I can arrange that. Need them on the same detail?"
"Yeah, around the clock. Too many guys been looking the other way, you know."
"Yeah, I got it. Okay, I'll get Flag and X-Man in there. They're still in the neighborhood anyway." Rufus laughed a little. "Dude, you're getting seriously involved here."
Leave it to him to call me on my bullshit. "Yeah. I am. Not sure why, but it's important. You know I'm not one to call in favors, man, but I'm willing to on this one." The truth of my words took a moment to settle into my brain. Fuck. I didn't call in favors. Always said they could owe me for something big.
Was this the something big?
Chapter eleven
Every time I tried to get into the book I'd so looked forward to reading, Trick's face superimposed itself on the pages. Was it wrong that he crept into my mind every few moments? It had to be. I was unofficially engaged to another man. Trick had no business in my thoughts. But the memory of his touch continued to scorch me from the inside out.
My apartment absolutely sparkled by the time evening rolled around, from my efforts to keep thoughts of Trick at bay. Several emails awaited responses on my laptop, so I forced myself to sit down and try to focus on the task. The first one came from a name I wasn't familiar with, so I opened it, only to find a sales pitch from a florist wanting to do my wedding flowers. Delete.
But even with the email gone, my thoughts refused to leave the topic. Did I really want to marry Jared? Could I? I mean, sure, with the nature of national politics, I could mostly avoid him if I needed to. But what woman wanted to actively avoid her husband?
I always imagined the fairy tale wedding, followed by the American Dream life. A man who worked hard, and took good care of me and our children. A quiet home, maybe in the suburbs, maybe in a rural area, but a safe place to raise our family.
But Jared made it something entirely different. At first, he filled my head with dreams of the fabled Camelot life John F. and Jackie Kennedy built in the White House. Gradually, I realized those dreams would never come true. My life as First Lady would be something entirely different. Jared's choice of a woman to marry had as much to do with his political aspirations as it did about his personal feelings and desires, maybe more so.
The thought made me feel a little dirty. Early on, he swept me off my feet and made me feel beautiful. Now, though, it was all about what I could do to further his bid for election. Almost as if he'd been choosing a running mate, instead of a potential spouse. A scene from some old movie crossed my mind, of women standing in a line while men inspected them, searching for the ideal wife. About the only difference was, Jared hadn't forced my mouth open to check my teeth.
Tabitha obviously dug through my entire background, searching for some flaw, or something that could come up later to surprise Jared at an importune time—like right before a big primary. Before I cut off contact with my family, my mother said my old pediatrician's office had called her out of the blue. They had suffered a break-in, and mine were among the records they couldn't find in the aftermath. Now, I understood that likely meant Tabitha had someone steal my health records, but at the time, it hadn't crossed my mind.
I wondered if my records from high school and college had been stolen as well. Probably. She'd probably had all my old friends questioned, too. Thoroughly creeped out by the idea of someone combing through my past, judging my worthiness based on things like whether I had certain health issues as a kid, or whether I was a good friend, I closed my laptop.
I needed to do some serious thinking about my future. Lists always came in handy for me to keep track of thoughts, so I dragged out a legal pad and a pen. One bold line down the center of the paper set the rules. Pros on the left, cons on the right. It didn't take long for the cons list to far outweigh the pros side.
The notepad landed on the coffee table with a loud smack, and I sat back. Now what? Everything I thought I knew about my future lay in a shambles on that sheet of paper. Nothing was what it seemed.
But the biggest question of them all came down to just me. Did I really, really love Jared? Enough to spend the rest of
my life with him?
By the time I became acquainted with the cold, ruthless side of his personality, I'd already agreed to date him exclusively. The part of him that took his anger and frustration out on me came later. Would he ever go back to the sweet, attentive man who pursued me relentlessly when we first met? A huge part of me seriously doubted it, but my experience with men was hardly extensive, either.
The memory of Trick's touch came back to haunt me. He left me wanting more. Much more than I should want. He affected me more with just his fingers and a quick touch than Jared ever had, even during sex. My entire body had clenched with need. Nothing like that ever happened to me before. Sex was…okay, but not some sort of essential thing for life, the way some people made it seem.
But if Trick touched me like that again, I might be forced to reevaluate that viewpoint. Even the memory was addicting. I wanted to replay it over and over. And his voice. Gooseflesh erupted on my skin every time I thought about the way he sounded when he spoke to me. His voice made my body react like a physical touch.
God, I should not be thinking about Trick's voice, and his touch, when I was in a relationship with Jared. No matter how Jared treated me, thoughts of another man like that were simply wrong. But Trick refused to leave my head. So what did that make me? And what should I do about it?
One thing was glaringly apparent. I needed to end things with Jared. The consequences terrified me, but I couldn't continue like this. How would he react when I told him? Self-preservation warned I should break things off by phone, rather than in person.
Sitting there in the safety of my home, I tried to prepare myself for what would happen. The conversation played out in my head.
"Jared, I really need to re-evaluate my future."
"What do you mean, darling?"
"I've been thinking a great deal, and I just don't love you the way I would need to in order to build a future."
Who was I kidding? His anger would overcome him, and even if I broke up with him by phone, he would be here in minutes, fists ready to express his fury. No matter how I chose to tell him I wanted out, it was going to be bad.
Almost as if the thought had conjured him, my phone rang and his name flashed on the screen. I answered, with my heart in my throat. "Jared." My voice sounded weak, shaky.
"Lauren, I need you to make a change in your schedule. The fundraising trip to Texas has been moved up. We leave tomorrow at eleven a.m. Tabitha will be by in the morning to help you pack and make sure you have suitable attire. I'll see you at breakfast. Goodnight, darling." And just like that, he hung up.
I didn't even get a single word in. How could I break up with a man who refused to let me even speak?
His words suddenly sunk in. The departure for the Texas trip. Nothing that came from my mouth now would make the slightest difference. The rest of the primaries rested heavily on this trip, and Jared wasn't going to let something as insignificant as a failing relationship sidetrack him. My bombshell had to wait.
Now that I realized the depths of his ruthless ambition, real fear of his reaction set in. If having me on his arm at the Texas events meant enough to him, he could do anything to prevent me from missing it. Even if that meant seriously injuring me, and blaming a mugger from my 'bad' neighborhood, to draw the sympathy factor when I had to miss it.
A chill raced over my skin, leaving me shivering in response. Oh my God. Until the last few weeks, he constantly pressured me to move to a safer area of town. The constant demands finally stopped, and I thought it meant he realized my neighborhood was perfectly safe. Now, though, I wondered if he hadn't found the perfect out for himself, just in case things between us didn't work out.
I sat there, trembling with fear, and the implications of various things Jared said over the past few weeks. 'We can make our engagement official once I've secured the nomination.' 'We'll worry about living arrangements later.' In retrospect, it sounded almost like he wanted to postpone discussions of anything regarding our relationship. Maybe as if he knew I was only a temporary prop in his bid for the White House.
Where exactly did all that leave me? Entirely cut off from friends and family. No one but Jared in my life. Well, I had Poppy, but he didn't really count. He was just a whacky neighbor Jared would hate, and probably figure out a way to push away from me. I truly had no one but myself to find a way out of this.
Except maybe Trick.
He opposed Jared on my behalf earlier. Would he risk it again? Sure, he said if I needed anything, to call him, but I took that for simple politeness. Besides, if he were harmed because he helped me, I couldn't live with myself. I would rather go through an eternity of black eyes and split lips.
I stood up, pacing back and forth in my tiny living room, trying to come up with a solution. It occurred to me that if I survived breaking up with Jared, I would probably have to move. I'd come to love the place and my second hand furniture, but especially, I loved the little trinkets I collected from the neighborhood.
A quirky shelf in the corner behind my couch held dozens of items the children in the area had given me as I walked to and from work. A wall shelf held cups and saucers, and figurines, all things I picked up at rummage sales. A stretched and framed quilt hung behind the couch, handmade by an elderly lady down the street.
I didn't want to leave any of it behind, especially not the people. That was going to happen either way, whether I liked it or not. Eventually, Jared would insist I move to a place more fitting with his standards if I remained in the relationship. Maybe making the change through my own choices would feel better than being forced.
I wanted to scream with frustration. Going over and over it all in my head was doing absolutely nothing. I needed to talk to someone, but I no longer had friends. I wondered if Poppy were home, but he only came to his apartment to sleep lately. I shouldn't disturb him.
Screw it. I marched over and unlocked my door, bent on waking Poppy and making him listen to me. The man who relieved Trick sat in a chair on the landing, fast asleep. Maybe I should have woken him, but instead, I closed my door softly, and let myself into Poppy's apartment with the spare key he gave me.
"Poppy? You home?" Darkness bathed the apartment, and the eerie silence gave me pause. I felt a little like a cat-burglar, tiptoeing though his apartment. I shouldn't be here. I turned to go, and a glimmer of something dark on the floor caught my eye.
Fear tightened my belly, insisting I should just ignore it and leave. Instead, I moved down the hall, one hand on the wall to guide me. Barely-existent light came from the bathroom, and the shiny item on the floor lay near the mostly closed door.
I paused for a second, long enough to make out that the darkness on the floor was actually liquid. My heart jumped into my throat. Blood. Poppy could be hurt! I pushed the bathroom door open, until it met heavy resistance.
Pushing harder, I managed to get my head and torso inside. Poppy lay on the floor, his eyes wide and staring in the glow from his cellphone screen.
A scream tried to work its way past the lump in my throat, but failed. With my eyes squeezed shut, I got my head out of the bathroom as quickly as possible.
Surely I must have been seeing things. Poppy couldn't be dead. No way. He was a good person. People liked him.
Help. I needed to get help for him. He would be okay.
My butt slid down the wall to the floor, and my hands started shaking uncontrollably. I fished my phone out of the waistband of my yoga pants, and frantically tried to think who to call. Nine-one-one was the obvious answer. But what if they thought I had something to do with him being hurt?
The habit of considering how everything would look to voters took over. I couldn't be associated with any unpleasantness, even a burglary.
I scrolled through my contacts, searching for someone to call. Trick. His name on the screen felt like the perfect solution. He would make sure Poppy was okay. I hit call.
He answered on the first ring. "Hi Lauren."
"Trick, please, it's
Poppy. I'm in his apartment. Something's happened to him." The words practically choked me.
"I'll be right there." Just like that, no questions.
I sat there in the silence, trying to keep my sobs from escaping. Crying would mean acknowledging how very bad this could be. No, I had to stay strong. Poppy would be okay. Trick would help him.
Chapter twelve
The sheer terror in Lauren's voice spurred me like the hounds of Hell. Her call came as I was only three blocks from her building, just strolling around and checking out the area. I broke into a dead run, desperate to reach her. What if something happened to her? Fuck! Where the hell was her security man?
At her building, I pounded up the stairs three at a time, until I reached her floor. My relief sat there in that fucking chair, sound asleep, even with all the noise I made. Furious, I slapped him, hard. He slumped to the side and spilled from the chair, landing on the floor with a thud. Dead.
FUCK!
I pulled my 9mm from the back of my jeans, grateful I'd brought it along. Striving for silence, I tried Poppy's door, and found it unlocked. It swung inward and I slipped inside, closing and locking it.
Inside, only the sound of Lauren's choked sobs broke the silence. "Lauren? You okay, baby?" Speaking aloud, with no clue about any threats that lay ahead, was a fool's move, but I did it anyway.
"Trick?" She hiccupped a little.
"Yeah, baby, I got you. Everything will be okay." Stupid. I shouldn't promise things I couldn't deliver. But something in my chest broke with every sob that came from her. I found the light switch and turned it on.
Lauren sat on the floor by the bathroom, her face tearstained and reddened. Beside her foot, still-wet blood pooled on the floor. That didn't look good.
I helped her stand. "Where?"
She pointed to the bathroom, and her lip quivered.