I laughed, trying to relax into the situation. “You really put a lot of thought into this, huh?”
Sloan pulled a brilliant blue rhinestone-studded scarf from the bag and flung it around her neck. “If we have to leave our real lives behind for a bit,” she said, her eyes twinkling, “the least we can do is make the fake ones interesting.”
***
“Please do be more careful.” Sloan hovered beside the men as they hauled boxes out of the vehicles, cringing at every little jostle. “Anything broken will be sure to come out of your paycheck.”
The men largely ignored her harassment as they hustled. I did catch one errant sneer, though. He continued on quickly. No one asked any questions or dared respond.
I stood awkwardly to the side, fiddling with the fake nose ring Sloan had forced on me. While definitely not my style, it was sort of fun to feel like someone else. And I was pretty sure even I wouldn’t recognize myself.
Sloan directed her glare on me. “Maybe you should be helping too, rather than standing around twiddling your thumbs?”
So it begins. “Right. Of course.” I cast around for something to grab, my face reddening. She was going to enjoy this a little too much, maybe.
I chose unwisely and struggled up the sidewalk with a box much heavier than it looked. I was anxious to get inside, curious what lay ahead in the downtown two-story Victorian we were now to call home. But a crack in the sidewalk halted my efforts. I tumbled to the ground on top of the half-spilled carton of books.
I hopped up quickly, hoping no one was paying attention. Perhaps my character was just a klutz? Yes, that would work.
A shadow darkened the pile as I bent to retrieve the contents. “Can I give you a hand?”
I looked up to find a dark-haired young man, not much taller than myself. His cute boyish face was partially hidden under dark-framed glasses that were a close match with my own. “That looked sort of painful,” he said, his smile sympathetic.
“Not really.” I gazed back uneasily, not ready for strangers. “Umm. Who are you?”
Now his smile was amused. I followed his eyes down to his blue uniform and the sack on his hip. The mail carrier. Obviously. “Oh. Right.”
He ignored my embarrassment and squatted next to me, swiftly refilling the box. Flaps reclosed, he straightened and held out his hand. “Just moving in? I’m Levi.”
A quick panic rushed over me. We hadn’t discussed cover names. Surely I can’t be myself. My finger reached to touch my nose ring, absently searching for inspiration. I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Daisy?” I grabbed his hand. “I’m Daisy.”
Daisy?? I did not feel much like a Daisy.
“Interesting name. Welcome to the neighborhood, Daisy.” The shake lingered a moment while he smiled intently at me.
A loud throat clearing nearby startled me. Lucas stood a few feet away, watching. Glowering. I quickly withdrew my hand.
“My noble director,” Sloan exclaimed from behind, rushing toward Lucas. “So excited you’ve made it.”
Lucas remained silent, reading our faces. Letting it play out.
Sloan grabbed his arm and turned him away, speaking a mile a minute. “As soon as they’re finally done we can get right to work. I have loads of ideas. This place is an absolute goldmine.” She pulled him toward the house, beginning a non-stop chattering. She turned back at the door. “Whenever you’re ready,” she called back to me irritably before disappearing inside.
“Director?” Levi said. “What is all this?”
I shrugged and nudged at the box with my foot, trying to buy myself time to think. “She wants to make a movie?” I glanced up at the house, looking for a hint. “A horror film. That’s why we’re here.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re an actress?”
No need to look quite so skeptical. “Personal assistant to Her Highness.”
“Ah.” He smirked. “Looks like a blast.”
I couldn’t help but smile back.
“And sounds like we both better get back to work,” he said, finally breaking our eye contact.
“I think you’re right.”
“But I guess I’ll be seeing you around,” he continued. “Downtown, we hand-deliver. The box is at your door. And I’m usually here around this time.” He turned away, flashing me one last grin as he headed down the sidewalk. “So . . . I guess you’ll know where to find me.”
THIRTEEN
Sloan said nothing as I entered. But I knew from her expression there would be questions later. I didn’t necessarily have answers.
I dropped my box on the floor in the grand two-story foyer and shrugged at her. Lucas caught our silent exchange as he entered from the hall to the left. We both looked away.
He stepped closer and pinched a golden strand of Sloan’s wig, inspecting it with a grimace. “Already scheming little roleplay games, I see.” He shook his head. “That really won’t be necessary, seeing how you’re both going to be staying put. At all times.”
Sloan scoffed. “We never discussed all that. We have our own interests to pursue. We have lives.”
“Not anymore, you don’t.” Lucas's face was stern. “Your job is to stay here and be safe.”
I looked to Sloan, not prepared to argue with him or the rest of the muscled men running around. She was busy staring Lucas down. Choosing her words.
Finally she broke the silence, her expression serious. “Fine, I’ll make you a deal. You can send a team with us. They can follow us wherever we go, 24/7. But we go where we want, no questions asked.”
Lucas opened his mouth to rebut. Sloan swiftly held up a finger to stop him. “In exchange,” she continued, “we’ll stay out of our normal lives. Play these characters, be somebody else while we’re here. We already can’t work. It’ll just be a hobby.”
Lucas glared back, but did not immediately respond. A tiny muscle twitched in his jaw.
Sloan reached out and gently touched his bicep, her voice soft. “We have to have something to hold on to. Let us have our fun. Nobody will pay any attention to these silly nobodies that moved in here.”
Lucas appeared to be softening, but still raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”
She sighed. “Pretty please?” She put on what was clearly a well-practiced innocent face. Her bottom lip puckered ever-so-slightly as she gazed up at him hopefully like a puppy begging for a treat.
Two can play that game. When he glanced to me, I affected the same naivety, making sure to bat my big eyes just a little as I gazed up at him.
Lucas finally grimaced and looked away. “Fine.” He dug into his pocket, pulling out several sets of keys. He shoved two of them in Sloan’s hand. “But you’re not here to make friends.” He glanced at me. “Or flirt with the neighbors.”
I averted my eyes.
“We’re here to keep you out of trouble,” he continued. “Friendly people lead to questions. We don’t need questions right now. We need privacy.”
“Fine,” Sloan replied, indignant. “But speaking of privacy—no cameras. Not in the house. If we could hack into them, so could someone else. That’s not negotiable.”
I admired the way Sloan had no difficulty standing up to him. There was no way I had the nerve to speak to him like that. At this point I was lucky to speak to him at all. When my mouth would move properly.
Lucas stared her down again, eyes narrowed. “I’ll cancel the install,” he finally mumbled through gritted teeth.
“Great,” Sloan said cheerfully. She turned to me. “Shall we check the place out before we run some errands? Might need to pick up a few things.”
“If you insist on going out, the guys’ll drive you,” Lucas growled. “But no funny business or I’m locking you both in here. I mean it.”
We watched as he turned and stormed back down the hall. I
hoped Sloan wasn’t also admiring the view as he disappeared. The man sure knew how to make an exit.
“Forget all that,” Sloan said, waving a disinterested hand in his wake. “He’s just grumpy he has to deal with all this. He’d rather be skulking around in the shadows somewhere, talking to no one.”
Her comments did nothing to quell my fascination with the mysterious alpha-male with a clear soft spot for my maddening friend.
I nodded and took another look around, anxious to see the rest of what looked to be quite the spacious hideout. “Well, he’s right, anyway. This place definitely looks like an upgrade for me.” I reached down to grab up the too-heavy box again. “Oh, we’re here making a horror film, by the way.”
Sloan gazed up at the winding staircase behind us and touched a finger to her lips, thinking. She smiled. “That could work. Extra campy, I think.”
***
“I . . . don’t think they’re gonna like that.” The dark-skinned man in the driver’s seat gazed disapprovingly at us in the rearview mirror. He looked torn as to how hard to argue.
Know what you mean. I wasn’t sure I approved, either. Having just gotten into the idea of hiding behind a disguise for a while, I was hesitant about already ditching those covers.
“It’s just for this afternoon, I promise,” Sloan responded to both of our concerned faces. “Then we go right back to our roles. But we can’t do this next part under cover. It’ll never fly.”
Before we could argue further, Sloan flung open her door and hopped out. I hesitated only a moment before doing the same. The tall, menacing fence of the regional jail loomed ahead across the parking lot.
“Will you at least finally tell me what we’re doing here?” I hadn’t even been able to unpack and settle in before she had whisked me into another vehicle, setting off on our next ‘operation’ with zero details. This better be about finding Grant.
“It’s the finger,” she said. “I got word about the print. The previous owner of the severed digit is not deceased, as we had assumed. He’s in jail, awaiting trial. And we’re going to pay him a little visit.”
She began moving toward the building and I hustled to catch up. “He’s here? Who?”
“An old friend we spent some time following a while back. He’s quite the entrepreneur, if you recall. You particularly enjoyed his alfredo. Not so much his hospitality.”
My throat constricted as her meaning dawned on me. “Salvatore?” I croaked.
“The very same.” She glanced at me. “I’m curious to hear the story of how he happened to gift his own finger to you. Apparently he’s not talking to the official investigators yet.”
“I do want to know—but aren’t we going to start working on Grant’s disappearance? That’s all I’m worried about right now.”
“It’s all the same thing, remember? We’re pretty sure Grant planted the finger. So whoever sent him to do that could be behind his kidnapping.” She turned to face the building ahead, resolute. “We need answers.”
***
“Sorry, no can do.” The prison security officer shrugged in the doorway of the interview room we had been waiting in. He did not look at all sorry. “Nothing I can do without an authorization.”
“But they were supposed to get us the authorization,” Sloan argued. “I was told it would be all set.”
He glanced down at the clipboard in his hand again and shrugged. “All I know’s it’s not here. It’s bureaucracy, what are you gonna do? You the guy’s lawyers?”
“Not exactly,” Sloan grumbled.
“Then you’ll have to try again some other time. Can’t bring him out today.” He motioned for us to leave the room.
We both followed silently, Sloan sulking beside me. We could see several empty interview rooms through the plexiglass we passed. An irregular jangle rang out from the hallway ahead, echoing off the dingy cinder block walls. The sound chilled me.
The jangle continued closer and turned the corner, bringing with it an orange-clad prisoner, chained and led by a guard. I stopped in my tracks as recognition took hold immediately. Salvatore. I stared, breathless, as my companions came to a stop as well.
Sal’s eyes moved from the floor as he sensed our presence, and he halted. His beady eyes glinted as he studied our faces, his own recognition setting in.
“Keep moving,” his handler barked.
Sloan reached her hand out. “Please, just a second,” Sloan said. She turned to our guide. “This is who we came to see.”
Salvatore’s eyebrows raised as he watched, silent but interested.
“It don’t change a thing,” our guard replied, indifferent. “No auth, no visit. Says right here.”
“Just let us have one minute, right here,” Sloan implored, directed to both of the guards. “Who’s gonna know? Please.”
The guards exchanged uneasy looks, silently considering the request. But apparently Sloan’s pleas were undeniable, for the second time that day.
I really needed to learn her tricks.
“One minute,” the drill-sergeant guard snapped. “No touching.”
Sloan wasted no time. She turned to Salvatore, hand on her hip, her eyes now matching his icy glare. “What’s with the games, Sal?”
His expression turned amused as he studied her face and beyond. “Games? I’ve taken up a little chess lately. Maybe some shuffleboard. But if you have something more fun in mind . . .”
Our eyes caught on Salvatore’s hands as he gestured, hands outspread. The left was missing an index finger.
“What happened to your finger?” Sloan said. “I don’t believe it was missing the last time we saw you.”
He raised his hand to inspect, curious, as if just noticing the absence. “Oh, this. This is nothing. An accident.”
“An accident, huh? And where’s that finger now? You see a doctor?”
He shrugged. “I have friends. They take care of me. Really, it wasn’t a big deal. I have nine more. You shouldn’t worry about this poor old man.”
“Yeah?” I said. “Then who should we worry about?”
“Why do you ask me?” His eyes narrowed. “Curious girls like you probably have plenty of reason to watch your backs. Clearly I can’t do anything from here.”
“But apparently your lost finger can.” I inched closer, my eyes narrowed. “It somehow paid us a visit.”
I watched Salvatore’s face closely. There was a momentary spark of curiosity, then recognition, in his eyes. Understanding. And possibly amusement.
He quickly tried to hide it under a mask of disinterest. “Yes, the police asked me about that, just as you do. But I didn’t know who found my poor finger. Haven’t seen it since we parted.”
“Well, we have.” I glared at him. “So what do you think that could mean?”
He shrugged. “Probably nothing.” His hands spread as far as the chains would allow. “But if I were the one pointing fingers, sending people to prison . . . well, I’d have trouble not seeing the irony of it.”
“Funny, that’s just what the note said.” Sloan said. “Definitely something about pointing fingers.”
“Interesting. The police, they didn’t say anything about a note. But great minds do think alike, I believe they say.”
“So do devious minds, apparently.” Sloan was becoming irritated. “But that clever little threat ended up getting her coworker kidnapped. He’s now being held for ransom after delivering it.”
“This can’t be, no. Surely they would know you’re a terrible ransom. You could never pay. If I recall, you’re poorer than my gardener, who I sadly just had to let go.”
“Well, his wealthy family might have something to do with it,” I spat.
Salvatore looked away, considering. He mumbled something softly in Italian. When he looked back up, his face was serious, almost concerned. “I don’t know an
ything about this. I can’t help you.”
“So if you had nothing to do with it,” Sloan said, her tone now conciliatory, “surely you’d want to help. Might even earn you some goodwill towards your own troubles, I’d think.”
He considered. “Tell you what. I’ll ask around, I get any visitors. What’s her name?”
“His name’s Grant,” I said. “Grant Parker.”
“Grant Parker, your coworker.” He raised his eyebrows. “Not your boyfriend?”
I shook my head.
“Ok, then, you have my word. I’ll pass his name around. See what I find. You’re right, maybe I can . . . improve relations a little.” He flashed a hopeful smile. “A little good press couldn’t hurt.”
“Alright, time’s up,” Salvatore’s guard called out. “Gotta go.”
A voice boomed from down the hall behind us. “What the heck is going on here?” Footsteps rapidly approached, echoing off the cold walls. “Who are you and why are you talking to my client?”
We turned toward the sound. A middle-aged man in an expensive suit gaped at us, livid. Then what looked like recognition set in.
“You two,” he snarled.
“You’re right.” Sloan flashed a smile at the guards. “Time’s up.”
FOURTEEN
“I believe him.” Sloan dropped her mug to the table with a sigh. “Darn it, I think he’s telling the truth. He doesn’t know anything about this.”
I pushed aside my discarded creamers and picked up my own cup, desperate for my regular fix of Joe’s coffee. “But Sal certainly knows who had his finger. There was no accident.”
“True.” She pointed a finger my way in agreement. “I don’t believe that for a second. Something happened. Maybe a fight. Or better yet, a warning.”
“So the question is, who would he cover for? Why would he want to help the person that did that to him?”
She shrugged. “Probably just some criminal-code thing.”
I considered. “No rats, you mean.”
“Right.”
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