Cutting Loose

by Westlake, Samantha

  Or maybe she’d just drag me off the moment she laid eyes on me, rather than give me the chance to slip away again.

  Someone had suggested to Rudy Beale that he put my mother’s name on the guest list. “Rudy!” I screamed out, hearing the hint of ragged panic in my tone.

  He turned around, once again looking briefly irritated that I’d pulled him back before he could go frolic further in the chaos of party preparation. “Yes?”

  “Who suggested her?”

  “Who, Constance?”

  My teeth scraped together. “Yes, her.” I couldn’t say her name still. “Who thought to put her on the guest list?”

  He frowned. “Your partner, in fact. Sawyer said that this was the perfect opportunity for her to attend. I totally agree – he’s very on the ball, that man.”

  “He was about to lose his balls,” I growled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” I hadn’t realized I’d spoken out loud. “Thank you,” I forced out to Rudy, before spinning around and stalking off. I didn’t look back to see if he caught any hint of my shift in tone, and I didn’t care.

  I was going to find Sawyer, and I was going to eviscerate him. What the hell had he been thinking? Was he trying to naively reunite our family, as if the gaping chasm between me and my mother could be fixed with a couple passionate speeches and a hug? Or perhaps he just didn’t want to deal with me any further and wanted me out of his life? If that was his goal, I had to admit that handing me back over to my family was a pretty solid way of disposing of me. There’d be no second escape.

  I stormed through the Institute, blowing past several other merchants and vendors who had setup questions. I knew that I’d need to go back and provide answers, but I couldn’t do it right now. My anger burned brightly, an ember on the verge of bursting into flames, and I clung to its painful heat.

  “Sawyer!” I finally spotted him, standing in the main entrance vestibule and frowning up at one of the security cameras.

  He turned to me, pasting on a fake smile that soothed my anger about as much as a single raindrop on a house fire. “Alice! Is something wrong?”

  I came to a stop in front of him, lifting a finger and thrusting it towards his face. “Is something wrong?” I repeated in shock. “My mother! You invited my mother!”

  His smile stayed in place, but the rest of his face seemed to slightly detach from behind it, leaving it on its own and looking slightly lost in its new situation. “Ah, you saw that. Trust me, I have a plan.”

  “A plan? A plan to get me hauled off to some mental institution, or locked back up with her for the rest of my life? A plan to ruin my only chance to get away from my family?”

  “A plan to try to help you move forward,” he said.

  My eyebrows shot up and I started to open my mouth for another tirade, but he managed to speak first. “Look, your sister managed to find you. If she can pull it off, so can someone else. I didn’t say anything to you, but I started talking to a couple of friends of mine in the business, and they say that a couple private investigators are looking for a young woman about your age and appearance. Could be nothing, but it could be your mother searching for you.” He looked directly back at me, somehow staying totally calm. “You can’t keep running forever, Pom.”

  “Don’t call me that,” I muttered, but he’d taken most of the wind out of my sails. I knew that he had a point.

  Sawyer knew it, too, and he pressed his advantage. “This is your chance to confront her when you’re at your strongest. You’ve built this new life here, and you have friends. You have a job. You have a chance to not just confront her, but stop her from continuing to pursue you.”

  I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to convince my mother to truly leave me alone, but the annoyingly logical part of my brain pointed out that Sawyer did have a point.

  “You have me,” he added.

  Somehow, that helped, as if Sawyer’s charm and deviousness was some sort of match for all the political power of the Melton machine. I almost believed it. Suddenly, all that fiery anger was gone. The rain had been enough to douse the house fire, after all.

  “I’m still upset with you,” I said, although I knew it was a weak response.

  Sawyer just laughed. “Go back up to the security office,” he said. “Your other friend is waiting up there.”

  Other friend? I frowned and headed off to see who he meant. Behind me, Sawyer beamed up at the security camera, gave it a cheery wave.

  Chapter Seventeen

  * * *

  Five minutes later, I got another surprise when I walked into the Institute’s small, cramped security room.

  “What are you doing here?” I exclaimed to Eastman, who stood behind the security guard at the monitors, wearing his normal rumpled suit and unsatisfied frown.

  He glanced up at me. “If Sawyer’s going to make some sort of move, he’ll pull it off tonight,” he answered, as if this was the obvious conclusion as to why he was standing in the middle of the office and peering over the shoulder of Hank, the elderly security guard. “I’m not going to let him get away with any of the art.”

  “So what are you doing here now?” Another thought struck me, and I moved closer to him, joining him in looking at the monitors. Sure enough, I could still see Sawyer, smirking straight up at the cameras. “You know that he knows you’re here, right?”

  Eastman didn’t immediately answer, and I saw his lips moving slightly as he worked through this confusing statement. “I figured that out when he started waving at me,” he finally said, shaking his head a little. “Not that he’d be so stupid as to blatantly slip up. He probably always assumes I’m watching.”

  “Creepy. You two kind of have a cat-and-mouse thing going, don’t you?”

  “Sooner or later, the mouse screws up. The mouse needs to get lucky all the time. The cat only needs to get lucky once.”

  After a second, Hank twisted in his chair, looking back at the pair of us. “Are you the mouse or the cat?” he wheezed.

  Eastman groaned, but didn’t answer. After another couple seconds of quiet, I decided to get back to dealing with setup, and stepped out of the room.

  Before I could make it more than a couple steps down the hallway from the security office, however, I heard footsteps behind me. Eastman lightly caught my hand to make me pause. “Hold on a second,” he said.

  I turned and looked up at him. He looked a little frustrated, like he was wrestling with a problem. “It’s probably not my place to ask,” he said after another second or two, “but you got upset about something. I saw it on the cameras, although they don’t capture any sound, so I wasn’t sure what it was about.”

  “Yes?” I waited for him to ask.

  He lingered, clearly split between curiosity and not wanting to appear that he’s prying into my affairs. He looked so torn that I took pity on him, like giving a crust of bread to a golden retriever that’s been patiently waiting, eyes glued to you, throughout the entire meal.

  “My mother,” I gave in. “She’s coming here to the gala.”

  “For you?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think she knows that I’m here. Sawyer said that he’s heard that there might be a couple of private investigators snooping around and looking for me, but he’s diverted them. A nice thing for him to do,” I added, emphasizing the word ‘nice’.

  It didn’t faze Eastman. “He just doesn’t want a monkey wrench thrown into his plans to steal something. She’s coming here tonight? What are you going to do?”

  I groaned, slumped forward. “I don’t know,” I admitted as my chin fell towards my chest. “Sawyer wants me to confront her, but…” I couldn’t finish. I wobbled a little, tried to catch my balance.

  Eastman caught me before I could lean too far in one direction. He stepped forward, slipped his arms around me. In the moment, I clung to him like a life preserver in a storm. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmured to me, as my arms tightened around him in return.


  With Sawyer, I’d managed to keep my emotions in check. I’d had a flare of anger, but I hadn’t really thought about how things might end up, about how scary it would be to truly confront my mother. But with Eastman, I couldn’t hold back those emotions, and I found myself sobbing into his shirt.

  “I’m ruining your outfit,” I got out between sobs, which only made me cry even harder.

  “It’s fine,” he answered, and I knew that he didn’t care in the slightest about his shirt. “It’s okay. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

  I tilted my head back enough to look up at him. “How do you know?” I demanded, somewhere between petulant and heartbroken.

  He looked down even at me. How did he always manage to seem so strong and in control? Was that just a gift that came with being a man, along with the hard muscles and the strong body? “I know because I won’t let it happen,” he answered. “Come on, Alice. You’re my partner in all this. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  I tried to suck snot back into my nostrils without looking too gross. I don’t think I succeeded. “Partner?” I repeated.

  He nodded – and in a rare occurrence, he gave me a smile. “Of course. Hell, I’ve probably spoken more to you than to anyone else in months. I’m not going to let anyone – no matter how much influence they have – take you away.”

  “Okay.” I felt a little better, although I now realized that I probably looked like a total mess. I let go of Eastman, tried to surreptitiously check if my mascara was running too badly.

  He looked at me for a moment longer, like I was a puzzle he wanted to figure out. “I’ve got something for you,” he said suddenly.

  “What?”

  He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulled out something that jangled with the sound of metal on metal. “This.”

  I took the item from his hand. It was intricately worked, stiff metal wire half a centimeter thick, wrapped into three complex and intertwined shapes. “What is it?”

  “It’s a puzzle,” he said. “See the little heart?”

  I lifted the metal and looked closer, saw that a little metal heart dangled from a ring in the center of the three larger, intertwined pieces. “What about it?”

  “The goal is to get it out,” he said. “It’s not too hard, when you figure out the trick to it.”

  I tried turning the puzzle around, shifting a couple of the metal pieces. I could see how they moved and changed to different configurations, but I couldn’t see any way to get the heart and its ring out. “This is going to drive me crazy until I figure it out, you know.”

  “Good,” he said, and when I looked up at him, he was smiling. “After the gala tonight, once I’ve apprehended Sawyer for whatever crime he’s planning on committing, you can sit with me and try to solve it.”

  Eastman looked much better when he smiled, I thought as I smiled back. The expression softened up his hard features, brought more light to his eyes, warmed the whole attitude he projected. I liked seeing it; somehow, that smile gave me more confidence about tonight than any of Sawyer’s assurances that I needed to just confront my mother and it would all work out.

  “That sounds nice,” I admitted.

  “Let’s call it a date,” he replied.

  And then, Eastman did something that I hadn’t known was possible for the FBI agent.

  He blushed.

  It lasted only a fraction of a second, and then he was turning away. “I need to finish reviewing the security cameras,” he called over his shoulder, keeping his face turned away. “I’ll probably see you around during the rest of the day, but I likely won’t have time to talk until after.”

  “Okay,” I said, still trying to figure out if my eyes had lied to me. Eastman could blush? Had it just been a trick of the light, or maybe slight embarrassment at a poor choice of words? He’d said date, but was there any sort of romantic undertone to that comment?

  He ducked into the security office, and I found myself alone in the employees-only corridor of the Institute, the little metal puzzle still in my hands. I looked down at it, fiddled with it a bit more despite my agreement that I’d wait until tonight with Eastman to try and solve it. I still didn’t see how the ring could come free. All three of the metal pieces looped through it, holding it in place.

  I tucked the puzzle carefully away into my purse. Later, I told myself. After the night’s gala had ended, I’d solve it with Eastman. Maybe we’d grab a beer at that dive bar again, sit shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip. Maybe he’d slip his arm around me as he leaned in to give me a hint.

  All of that would happen. I wouldn’t get dragged away by my mother or any of her goons, because I had a date with Eastman. I tried on a smile, found that it didn’t feel as fake as I’d expected.

  Maybe – no, things surely would work out for the best. I had both a charming thief and a determined FBI agent on my side. I had proved that I could make it out in the real world, that I didn’t need to rely on my family’s money or connections. My mother wouldn’t be able to bring down my defenses this time.

  I raised my head a bit higher, essayed a tentative smile. I walked back to the vendors and the chaos of setup. I wasn’t fully filled with confidence, but some small level of belief in myself had returned. Sawyer had defused my initial burst of anger, and Eastman’s quiet confidence quelled my rising panic and fear.

  And besides, I pointed out to myself as I stepped back into the main area and immediately found myself mobbed by representatives from two vendors, both of them demanding answers to the questions I’d answered half a dozen times already through emails and phone conversations, I still had hours until the gala even started. Plenty of time for me to think of other strong arguments for why I should be left alone.

  The rest of the day flew by in a whirlwind of frenetic activity. The vendors arrived at uncoordinated hours, and each one seemed happy to, without any instruction, set up according to their own half-witted, crazed idea of how the gala might actually be taking place. It was up to me to corral them, try and herd, cajole, and bully them into putting their equipment in the spots I’d designated, follow the order of events that I’d laid out in schedules, to insist that they couldn’t do a half-assed job and slink away without adding any of the final touches.

  Bit by bit, the party began to take place. The Institute closed its doors to the public in early afternoon, and security guards patrolled through the exhibits to shoo out any lingering visitors and make sure no one was hiding out and attempting to sneak into the party. Once the visitors were all gone, we moved into high gear, putting out tables and chairs, roping off some of the exhibits that we’d deemed off limits, and taking care of other tasks. Some of the museum staff came out to move specific art pieces that Rudy most wanted to highlight into prominent positions, where the guests would have no choice but to see them.

  A couple of times, I spotted Eastman, skulking around and watching the events unfold. He barely seemed to acknowledge me, but he probably had a lot on his mind. I also saw him talking with a couple of other gentlemen standing around, all of them wearing mostly black outfits and looking uncomfortably out of place. It wasn’t hard for me to peg them as plainclothes cops or agents, called in by Eastman to give him extra coverage. They didn’t seem to want to talk to me and shied away whenever I tried to sidle closer.

  Sawyer, on the other hand, seemed to be in high dudgeon. He ran back and forth, happily shouting out orders, waving his hands at any vendors who didn’t hop to attention fast enough. Between my instructions and detailed drawings of how I wanted the gala laid out, and Sawyer’s exuberant bullying, we managed to get most of the vendors, staff, hired personnel, and assistants all doing the things we needed.

  “It’s actually working,” I muttered to him in amazement on one of the times our wild, veering paths crossed each other.

  “Of course it is!” he replied merrily. “This is the most fun part! Don’t you remember?”

  “Remember what?”


  He beamed at me. “It’s all the pieces falling into place, just as you anticipated! All the planning is done, all the pieces are in motion, and the only thing left to do is watch, go along, and see if it all comes out as you expected!”

  “That sounds so stressful!”

  “Yes, definitely!” he agreed, as if this wasn’t a total contradiction. “Don’t you feel alive?”

  I did feel alive, I had to admit – but the kind of exuberant life that comes from running along the edge of a cliff. I was alive, but also acutely aware of how easily this could all come crashing down.

  And then, suddenly, it was all done.

  The wild Brownian motion dance came to an end. The tables were set up, the decorations were hung, the little place cards had been carefully put down in the precise order I’d specified on my charts. The vendors began to melt away, their jobs complete. The staff settled into position. When I looked around, things weren’t a frantic beehive of activity.

  Amazingly, it looked… professional, I thought with wonderment. Everything came together, just as I’d planned and imagined in my notes and binders. I stood in the middle of the main room, looking around with wide eyes and a mouth hanging slightly open.

  Sawyer, of course, abruptly ended the moment. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

  “Oh!” I jumped, looked around for my bag. The party was about to start, and I was still in messy jeans! I needed to change!

  Everything was about to happen!

  Chapter Eighteen

  * * *

  Thankfully, I had enough time to change and fix my appearance before the party started. In fact, I had more than enough time, considering one tragic constant of the upper class – their lack of punctuality.

  I rolled my eyes as I stood near the entrance to the Institute, finishing off a chicken satay skewer that I’d nicked from one of the waiters assigned to appetizer duty. It was my fourth appetizer. I told myself that I was eating them all to make sure that they came out properly, but the grumbling in my gut betrayed the real reason for my repeated “inspections.”