Hidden

by T K Barber

  The walk sign blinked on, and he stormed across to the sidewalk, lost in thought.

  Stupid gunshot. Stupid hospital. Stupid mob bullshit.

  He sneered and cracked his knuckles, then froze in place beside a decorated horse sculpture and stared at his clenched hands.

  Maybe he would be bad for her.

  A small flock of birds fluttered in his peripheral vision and he glanced up, past the cold steel and glass buildings, toward the darkening sky. Traffic from the main road hummed in the background, and he exhaled as he let his hands drop to his sides.

  She just didn’t understand.

  She just didn’t know how much he needed her. Every bad thought he had about himself went straight out the window when they were together. She was like, the perfect drug for him. And he’d be anything she wanted him to be.

  He swallowed. Except what he was supposed to be.

  He kicked a stick on the sidewalk and frowned in thought as he followed a small line of ants trudging along a crack in the concrete.

  What now? He still hadn’t been able to track down Charlie. That sorry turncoat must have skipped town when he found out what had gone down. Thomas scowled. He’d stay gone if he knew what was good for him.

  Damnit! Maybe he should start meditating. He snorted and shook his head, casting his gaze skyward again as the helpless smile that was all hers spread on his mouth.

  Maybe he should find Anna.

  The sound of a well-tuned engine pulling up to the curb drew a heavy sigh.

  “Can’t even have thirty damn minutes,” he grumbled and turned around, rubbing his forehead in exasperation.

  The tinted driver’s side window of the slick, shiny, black Bentley slid down, and a sour-faced, bald man leaned his elbow out. “You’re going to get me fired.”

  Heh. Might like to see that.

  Thomas sniffed. “Ain’t my fault it’s so easy to give you the slip, Booker.”

  Booker glared down the bridge of his nose and thinned his lips. “Why didn’t you just tell me you wanted to see her?”

  Thomas lowered his brow. “Maybe ‘cause I didn’t want ya to know! Also, you wouldn’t have let me. And how’d you figure I’d be here, you got a damn tracking collar on me now?”

  Booker laughed. “Tommy, you’re a color by numbers picture book. Wasn’t hard to figure out where you’d go the first chance you could.”

  Thomas fought the smile but huffed and gave in to it as he shrugged with one shoulder.

  Booker eyed him. “How’d she take it?”

  Thomas’s eyes widened, and he stared at a spot on the dash. He couldn’t tell anyone that guy recognized him. Shit, for that matter he probably shouldn’t have been walking down the street, right out in the open. Apparently, he was a dummy.

  He cleared his throat. “It was empty. Guess she was done for the night.”

  Booker grunted and shook his head. “Sorry man. And I doubt you’ll get another chance.”

  Thomas sighed. He figured as much. Still wouldn’t stop him from trying. He had to see her.

  “A’ight. So. What? Come to take me back home before I shrivel up from too much fresh air?”

  “Nah, Tommy. Hop in.” The door locks clicked. “Got different orders today.”

  Thomas froze and couldn’t fight the shudder. He’d be happy as hell when the only ‘orders’ he had to worry about were for coffee, or some kind of cookie, or something. The steady ache in his chest grew again, and he frowned as he grabbed the chrome door handle.

  “Fine by me. I’m sick of sittin’ around like an invalid.” He couldn’t stand being helpless. And resting was the worst, even if it was for his own damn good.

  He tried his best not to flinch when he dropped down to the seat. Mostly failed. Booker at least pretended he didn’t see as he chewed on his overly minty nicotine gum. He was more addicted to that junk that he had been the cigs.

  Thomas exhaled. “What’s on the agenda then? What does your crew do anyway?”

  Booker smiled then stroked his chin. “Not those kinds of orders, Tommy.”

  Huh. Why was he talking so low? He glanced over at Booker as the Bentley eased away from the curb and rolled down the cobbled street to the corner.

  My God, was he trying to be annoying?

  Thomas thrust his hand out to the side. “Well?”

  Booker dropped his hand down to his lap and looked at Thomas when they rolled up to a red light. “She wants to see you. Personally.”

  Thomas’s eyes widened, and his mouth dried. “Oh.”

  When the light changed, the car moved forward with all the smoothness you’d expect from a hundred-thousand-dollar car, like a flutter of silk in a breeze.

  He fucking loved this car. His brows launched up. What kind of car did Anna like? He grinned. Probably some sporty little number. She might have liked his old car, before his pop . . .

  His smile faded, and he cleared his throat. Booker glanced over at him, then back to the road.

  They detoured around Canderhall, a bypass road the city had insisted would bring more industry. Thomas frowned.

  No industry would come from a stretch of tarmac that’d been under construction for the better part of five years, and everyone knew it. The city was just too stubborn to cut its losses. Or the families decided they liked keeping a funnel in place. Maybe a bit of both.

  After riding in silence for three more blocks, they hit Tarsin Bridge, headed to the old money part of the city.

  At least these houses were nice to look at, even if they were pretentious.

  Booker’s brows lifted as he passed several quick glances at Thomas. “Just ‘Oh’? Not going to spend the next eight minutes griping and arguing about something? Or trying to talk me into pulling over ‘cause you see another imaginary stray cat?”

  Thomas snorted. “There was a cat, Mack. And it looked hungry. What was I s’posed to do, let it starve?”

  The car bumped over the double set of railroad tracks, and Thomas scrunched up his nose as he placed his hand over the scar. Booker thinned his lips and shook his head.

  “Quit calling me ‘Mack.’ And you’re supposed to let it go eat street rats and garbage like everybody else. “

  “Well, I ain’t like everybody else.”

  That drew a hearty laugh. “Understatement of the year, right there.”

  Thomas smirked as he slid down in the seat and crossed his arms. “Yeah, yeah. Just drive.”

  After several more blocks, they pulled into a long, cobblestone driveway and stopped in the turnaround at the front of the house.

  The stately, New England architecture caught Thomas by surprise. Square columns on either side of the wide front entrance, supporting a sizable balcony complete with white fence railing. Two large stacked stone chimneys flanked each side of the pale blue-shingled house and gave the whole place a stuffy feel.

  It was nice, yeah, but why’d it have to be so big?

  Massive windows covered the front and a three-car garage sat tucked away behind an ivy-covered arbor. There were lights on everywhere and the whole place sparkled.

  Thomas swallowed. Wasn’t like he’d never seen a fancy place before, but this particular one held a lady with some serious pull.

  “Wait here.”

  “Ridiculous. I ain’t a damn baby, you know. Gimme that gun, I’ll take care of my damn self and you,” he grumbled, mostly to himself.

  Booker pulled his .45 and smirked.

  “You sure, snookums? I can ge—”

  The word ended in a puff of air as Thomas’s hand shot across the car and whacked him on the stomach. Thomas smirked as Booker coughed several laughs and climbed out, weapon at the ready. He scanned the grounds and Thomas’s smile fell as he plopped his chin in one hand, drumming his other fingers on his knee.

  “Flippin’ ridiculous.”

  When Booker pulled on the handle Thomas popped out as quick as he could, stalking past him without s
o much as an eye twitch in his direction.

  “. . . some kind of . . . honestly.” He muttered and stomped up the three shallow steps, then straight to the front door.

  He gave it three good, loud bangs with his fist and crossed his arms. A twist to the back made him wince, and brought Booker into view, leaned against the car, inspecting his firearm.

  A twist the other way revealed several citrus trees out in a grove to the left, already blooming, with several songbirds chirping away on the branches.

  That explained that fruity smell. God, what was taking so long? Hadn’t she called him here?

  He sighed and raised his fist to pound again, but the door swung open, leaving his hand hovering in the air.

  “You can come in.”

  Thomas’s irritation and attitude drained from him the instant he saw her standing in the rear of the room, nearest the fireplace. He cleared his throat and ran a hand over his hair as he stepped over the threshold, with a nod to the door guard. “Uh, thanks, man.”

  The guard shrugged and moved to close the door.

  “Rico, please wait outside.”

  Rico held her gaze for one second longer than Thomas thought he would before he nodded and stepped out, closing the door firmly behind him.

  “Hey, uh, sorry. For bugging out on Booker.”

  She smiled. “It’s fine. It was a good excuse to bring you to see me.” She beckoned. “Come on in.”

  Thomas obliged, crossing the room quickly. She held out her arms and he stepped into her warm hug with a strangled swallow. He’d been hugged more in the last couple months than he could recall in his whole life before combined. Except from his Gran, maybe. And they were all great, sure. But Anna’s were the best, hands down. The warmest. The softest. Just . . . the best.

  His heart ached as he pulled back. “Good to see you, Ms. Price.”

  She put her hands on his cheeks and gave him a warm smile. “Marianna, Thomas. No need for formality when it’s just us.”

  He smiled back and nodded. She gave his shoulders a brief squeeze before gesturing to one of the wingback chairs that cornered the massive stone fireplace.

  “So, uh . . .” Thomas dropped down into the chair and leaned over with his elbows on his knees, hands hanging loose between them. “Thanks again for, well, ya know.”

  She dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand and reclined regally in the other chair, ankles crossed to the side. “How are you feeling? Healing okay?”

  Thomas sat up straight and puffed out his chest, followed by a smirk and a shrug.

  “Great. Perfect, actually. In fact, I’m so good ya can call the hound dog home for dinner.”

  Pain flickered in Marianna’s eyes, and her smile faltered as she clenched a hand on the arm of the chair. Thomas lowered his brow, but she grinned and shrugged.

  “Booker is just doing his job. And no. It’s even more imperative for him to stay with you. Now.”

  Thomas thinned his lips. “Figured you’d say somethin’ like that.”

  He glanced around the warmly decorated room, eyeing all the family pictures and felt the pang of heartache again. He cleared his throat and refocused on her.

  “Seriously though, I’m doin’ great.”

  “I’m thrilled to hear that.” She brushed down the edge of her skirt and shook hair off her shoulder as she folded her hands in her lap, fixing him with a smile. “What about the Marcet’s? Do you still want to stay there? If not, I could find another safe house.”

  Thomas grinned. “If they don’ mind, I’d love to stay there a bit longer. I mean, I am doin’ great but . . . I mean, it couldn’t hurt to have, uh, more help, right?”

  Marianna put her hand over her heart, and Thomas caught that same pained look again, but she glanced down at the floor before looking at him again.

  Why was everybody always making that face around him? Was it that hard to just be happy?

  “I have it on good authority they adore you. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

  Thomas chuckled and rubbed his neck. “Mrs. Becca makes the best waffles I ever tasted and that’s the gospel.”

  “I see. So, is making waffles what it takes to win your admiration?”

  Thomas shrugged. Making waffles. Or being a drop-dead gorgeous eighteen-year-old named Anna with an ass like—

  He cleared his throat. “Man’s heart, man’s stomach, all that.”

  They shared a silent smile, and just as he was considering asking what came next for him, a series of clicks sounded from the other room.

  Thomas popped up to his feet. “Expectin’ company?”

  Marianna held up a hand and nodded. She opened her mouth, but the back door bumped open.

  “Mom? We’re here. Is Rico hovering around? These stupid bags are heavy!” A deep male voice piped up behind her. “We don’t need Rico. They aren’t that heavy.” Thomas heard her scoff, then squeak, followed by an amused whispered: “Cut it out!”

  “Yes, he’s here, Scarlet. I’ll send him in.”

  Marianna rose gracefully and crossed to the door. She gave it two sharp raps and it swung open.

  “Rico.” She smoothed down her shirt. “Go help Scarlet, please.”

  Rico holstered his gun and stepped over the threshold. Despite Marianna taking a step out of his way, he was somehow right in front of her. He smiled down at her and nodded.

  “Sì, signora.”

  He stepped around her, just barely brushing her arm with his, and trotted to the kitchen with a grin. Marianna’s gaze followed him as he called out to Scarlet.

  “Hey, piccola. Did you bring any macaroons this time?”

  Thomas walked over to her and spoke on an urgent whisper. “Mrs. Pri—Marianna, I thought my being alive was s’posed to be a secret.”

  Marianna smiled and placed a hand on his cheek again. “It is. They don’t know who you are.” She raised an eyebrow and regarded him coolly. “And I think you might find this very informative.”

  She passed him, leaving a delicate wake of rosemary perfume. Thomas frowned and crossed his arms. Might as well see what all the fuss was about.

  He scratched the back of his head and turned around to follow her. When he stepped into the large, gourmet kitchen, he saw Scarlet standing with some large guy with black hair. They were unpacking several paper grocery bags, but both froze, matching wary gazes locked on him.

  Marianna quickly gestured to the room. “Alexander, this is my daughter, Scarlet, and her fiancé Nick—” she flashed a swift look and caught Thomas’s gaze— “Lange.”

  Thomas hadn’t even had time to process that Marianna knew his middle name before his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. A fraction of a second later he applied his best smile.

  Thomas

  Thomas stepped forward and clasped Nick’s hand, giving it an exuberant shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you, man!”

  Nick’s brow lowered and smile faltered as he passed a glance to Marianna. “Is that right?”

  Thomas smiled wider and nodded. “Hell yeah! You took out that Steven punk like some kinda ninja sniper, or a cowboy assassin. Somethin’. Anyway, it was awesome.”

  Nick shot out a laugh and gave Thomas’s hand a friendly squeeze before releasing it. “Yeah. Felt good, for sure.”

  Thomas moved on to Scarlet and her amused expression. “I ain’t heard that much about you, being honest and all that, but I bet you’re awesome. You got the best example ya could probably have in your mom. She’s a real nice lady.”

  Scarlet chuckled and shrugged with one shoulder. “Eh, I’ve heard it both ways. But, thank you.”

  Thomas moved on to Rico, who hesitantly took his offered hand. “Good to see you again, man. Sir. Mister Rico?” His voice hitched with the question, and a smile crept up on Rico’s face as he returned the handshake.

  “Rico is fine. Good to see you, too.”

  Thomas took a few steps backward and grinned at
the room. Good. That went great. There’s no way they knew who he was.

  He rested his back against the counter and glanced at Marianna. It didn’t occur to him until she hid her smile that she might have wanted him to pretend not to know them.

  Well. He swallowed. Oops, then.

  Maybe he could fix that?

  He cleared his throat. “So, I heard talk of macaroons?”

  He playfully patted his stomach but winced, catching Nick’s attention.

  Scarlet chuckled. “Yes, we have macaroons.” Adding a grumbled, “Never heard that word so much in my life as these past two months.

  She produced an adorable pink, square box from the smaller of the remaining brown paper bags. Did Anna like pink? Probably. Even if she didn’t, it’d look good as hell on her. Anything would.

  Scarlet opened the lid, and everyone leaned in just a little. Thomas let out a low whistle. “Those are nice lookin’. You think they’re hard to make? Where’d you get ‘em?” He reached in and plucked out the center one, holding it between his forefinger and thumb.

  He could probably figure out how to make them. Especially if Anna liked them. He grinned at the delicate, fluffy pastry, turning it over to see what the bottom looked like. Seemed easy enough.

  Rico’s thick fingers grabbed a blue one and held it out to Marianna, who tilted her head. He blinked, then dropped his hand to the counter and his gaze to the macaroon. Marianna looked at him another second, then grabbed her own and cupped her other hand under it, to catch crumbs.

  Thomas lifted his brows. Oh. Maybe he should do that too? He sure as hell didn’t want to make a mess.

  When he did the same thing, Marianna cut her eyes to him and a small smile hit her mouth. Nick snagged one and handed it to Scarlet without even having to look at her, then took one for himself.

  “You guys have had these before, right? Are they like, cakes? Or donuts? Or something? I mean, I’ve seen them before, being my pop’s favorite desert and all, but he never let me have any so . . .”

  He trailed off and pretended not to notice the pity that swept their features, especially Marianna’s, followed by that damn pained look again. Well, he hadn’t planned on going down that road.