by KB Winters
O’Keefe stared for a long moment, and for a brief flicker, I thought that I’d actually gotten through to him.
Then, he began to slowly shake his head.
“I really didn’t want to do this, Rosen, but you’ve left me no choice.” He reached into his dark blazer and pulled out a tri-folded stack of pages. He took a step closer to me and I stiffened.
“What is this?” I demanded, reaching for the papers.
“It’s a contract.”
“For what? Do you have some kind of mental defect? I just got done telling you I’m not interested in your offer.”
Mother fucker sure liked going in circles.
He smiled, predatory and cold. “It states that you’ve signed over all rights to the museum, the property, and planes to me.”
I laughed and made to tear the pages in half.
“I wouldn’t do that…” I paused. “If you don’t have these signed in three days, I will be going to the authorities with a very juicy little tidbit.”
“Really? Are we back to that again? Fuck, O’Keefe, one little bruise on the side of your head doesn’t prove a damn thing. We’ve already had this discussion, remember? Maybe I hit you harder than I thought…” I sneered.
He only flashed his maddening smirk again. Completely unfazed. “No, no. This would be in regards to Rick Tutor, your smuggler buddy.”
My heart dropped to my toes. How the fuck did he know about Rick?
He laughed. He knew he had me.
Damn him.
“You don’t think that a tail is all I had on our dearly departed Talia. No, no, that wasn’t enough for that slippery little minx. I had a bug sewn into every bag that bitch owned.” He fished a hand back into his pocket. “Now, don’t get excited, this isn’t an original. Just a copy. I thought you might like to hear it first. That it might help you make your decision about whether or not you want to sign your name on the dotted line.” He handed me the small memory card.
“I never mentioned Rick by name,” I said, taking the card. The question slipped past my lips before I could stop it.
“You didn’t have to. I had the location and let’s just say it was pretty easy to connect the dots. Remember, Rosen, you were a soldier, not a spy. And thank goodness for that. You’re not very good at covering your tracks.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He pressed the fob and headlights flashed twice from across the lot. He’d parked his expensive luxury car in the farthest corner from my house. In the dark, there’d been no way to see it, and even when Jack had pulled up the long drive, the headlights hadn’t reached that part of the lot.
“Goodnight Rosen. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon.” He turned and started across the lot, his cadence casual and unburdened. Meanwhile, on the first step to the porch, I felt as though a cement truck had unloaded its contents on top of me. I was frozen in place and crushed by the weight.
I clutched the memory card in my hand. What the hell was I going to do?
I had three days to figure it out.
* * * *
“Son of a fuckin’ bitch…” O’Keefe had followed through on his subtle threat. When I opened my blinds the next morning, the protesters had doubled. If he couldn’t get my land out of my hands by bribery and blackmail, he was going to get it by tanking my business.
I’d been up all night, unable to sleep in bursts of more than half an hour, each time waking up in a sweat coated panic. I’d examined every angle, listened to the recorded conversation with Talia a dozen times, and come up empty handed every single time. Either I could sell him the business outright, and pocket a lump sum. Or, I could wait, and risk him getting me tangled up in some charges against my old buddy Rick. And if that failed, I’d likely be left with no resources to keep my business—assuming I still had one—going and rebuild after the second scandal ripped through in less than a month.
My friendship with Rick wasn’t incriminating on the surface. I’d never participated in his scams, but I’d known a little about his illegal activity, smuggling goods—and occasionally people—in and out of Mexico. And even though I wasn’t sure what charges the police could get to stick against me, that didn’t really matter. O’Keefe had already shown he had enough power to dig something up and I knew that Rick would go away for a long, long time. I didn’t want to be the one responsible for him getting caught.
I heaved a heavy sigh and let the blinds slap closed again. I hummed a dull tune as I massaged the back of my neck with my good hand, working out the kinks that had balled up from several nights of uncomfortable and restricted sleep. My side was healing but the process was slow and tedious. The injury made everything more difficult and being drugged up all the time only made it harder to think.
Boomer and Holly arrived in time to save me from pure insanity as I stalked through the house, wracking my brain for ideas on how to get out of the trap I’d unintentionally stumbled into. Jack drove us all down to Holiday Cove and we went to Carly’s coffee shop.
“Hey handsome!” She shouted, ignoring the customer at the counter for a brief moment to greet me as I walked in behind Holly. “Hey guys!”
We all waved and got in the back of the line. The morning rush was in full effect and it took a good ten minutes for her and her part-time employee to get us through the line and to the register.
“Whew. What a morning! Is there a convention in town that I don’t know about?” She asked, sagging against the counter for a moment.
Jack smiled. “Well after today you’ll have two less people to worry about. Holly and I have to get on a flight home.”
“Aww.” Carly looked at me, a flash of concern in her eyes. “That doesn’t make me feel better. I’d happily wait on you two all day. At least this one’s back up and about.”
Jack clapped me on the shoulder and we all put in our order. We stayed at the counter as Carly worked, shuffling to the side when a new customer came in and the part-timer took over the register.
With our breakfast in hand, we made our way to one of the few cleared tables. “I bet you guys are happy to be going home,” I said, setting down my oversized muffin and cup of coffee.
Holly lit up. “I miss the babies.”
I laughed. “I bet they’re going crazy without you.”
“Yeah,” Holly chewed her lower lip. “Knowing Hunter, we’ll have quite the bill for damaged toys and furniture…”
Jack laughed and wrapped an arm around her chair. “Princess will be there, keeping him in line.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“You gonna be okay here?” Jack asked, shifting his attention towards me.
I shrugged. “Sure.”
When I’d woken up, for the tenth time, I’d decided not to tell Jack and Holly about my late night visitor. There was no need to worry them when they had a full day of travel ahead of them. I’d tell them once they were back in Germany. By then, I’d be closer to making a decision and would have more to offer.
Or…I’d be in jail on a homicide charge…
“I’m gonna miss this place,” Jack said, looking around the bustling place. “I think we should move here when we get back from Europe.”
“Works for me,” Holly said, smiling up at him and then over at me. “I’m sure Player won’t argue.”
I offered the best smile I could, hoping they took my lack of enthusiasm as nostalgia over their upcoming departure.
We all finished our breakfast and coffee and then headed out to Jack and Holly’s rental. Holly stopped at the counter to give Carly a goodbye embrace. The ride back up the bluff was silent other than Holly’s subtle sniffles. She and Carly had become very close over the past month which made their goodbye a lot harder.
When we got back up to the house, Jack and Holly glanced at the protesters. “That’s still going on?” Jack asked, turning to look at me in the passenger seat.
I shrugged. “Yeah. I’m sure they’ll be gone soon.”
“Hmm
.”
We all got out of the car and they followed me up to the porch. The three of us stood there awkwardly for a moment, before Holly broke the ice and gave me a gentle hug, avoiding my injured side. “Take care of yourself, Player.”
“I will.”
She pulled out of my arms and wiped away more tears. Jack took her place, wrapping one arm around my shoulders. “Call if you need anything,” he said, backing out of the embrace. “And hey, come visit one of these days. Maybe we could do Christmas over there? I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”
“Sure,” I nodded enthusiastically. Or, at least as much as I could muster. “Sounds good. You two better get out of here though. Don’t wanna miss your flight.”
Holly gave me one more quick hug before they got back into their rental and took off.
Once they were gone, I turned my attention back to the group of people outside the museum and sighed.
Time to face fucking reality.
I trudged over to the museum and found that only Lana and Daniel, one of the other pilots I’d hired, were there. “Where’s everyone else?” I asked them as I walked in the side door and found them standing at the counter, both staring blankly at the crowd outside the doors.
“They turned around when they saw the swarm,” Lana replied, her tone flat and listless. It was odd for her to be so low. Her bubbly, go get ‘em attitude—while helpful—was often the biggest annoyance of my day.
I suddenly missed it.
“Probably for the best. Doesn’t look like we’ll have any customers today…not with them out there.” I gestured to the doors.
“I doubt it. We had three dozen calls overnight. Most of them were people cussing us out and calling you a murderer,” Daniel said matter of fact, as though that were a normal accusation. “All my tours are canceled. Look at the calendar.”
I caught Lana flashing daggers at him as I turned my attention to the computer.
“Fuck…” I breathed, flipping through virtual page after page. All of the reservations had big, red canceled labels on them. “If I’m gonna murder anyone, it’s gonna be that shit stick, O’Keefe.”
“O’Keefe?” Lana perked at the name. “The land developer? Oh my gosh!” Her hands flew to cover her mouth. “That’s where I know her from! I’ve seen her picture on all those signs, but I couldn’t make the connection. She was Mr. O’Keefe’s girlfriend.” Her eyes were darting between me and the protesters on the other side of the glass. “Oh, Mr. Rosen, this is so very, very bad.”
“Gee, ya think?” I pushed off the desk and stalked towards the back of the museum. Moments later, I heard Lana’s clunky ass shoes slapping the floor as she chased after me. “Lana, go home. Send Daniel home too. We’re closed until further notice. If any of the other staff call, let them know I’ll make sure everyone is paid like normal. This is my fault…you guys won’t be punished for my mistake.”
Her squeaking shoes stopped and after a long second, I heard them retreat in the other direction.
Good, I thought to myself as I continued to my office. I’m not fit to be around.
Chapter Ten
My pulse thundered like I’d just finished a marathon as I stood in the doorway to the hangar, my finger on the light switch, hesitating over the cool plastic as I stared into the pitch black cavern. I hadn’t been into the hangar since the night Talia and I had boarded the Cessna, but I’d exhausted all the possible tasks I could complete in my office and it was barely noon. I had to find something to keep me busy or I’d risk losing my friggin’ mind entirely.
The hangar wasn’t the ideal solution. I knew that as soon as the lights were on, the ghosts waiting for me wouldn’t be contained anymore. It was hard enough keeping my mind off of what had happened. The images of Talia’s head hanging over her shoulder, the blood, were a constant presence, waiting for me to close my eyes to assault me again.
“Come on, Rosen. Get your shit together.” My words came out barely above a forceful whisper. “Don’t be a fuckin’ pussy.”
My fingertip quivered and then flipped up.
The fluorescent lights burst on, one by one, overhead, bathing the whole place in a soft glow that grew brighter as the bulbs warmed.
It was odd how the place that had once been my sanctuary was now my own private hell.
I could almost hear the sound of Talia’s heels clicking across the concrete, the sway of her sultry hips, the way she’d smiled at me from across the room the first time we’d been there together.
I forced myself into the room, taking clipped steps across the space, and went to the last project I’d been working on. I had another mechanic on staff, but he worked on the more tedious tasks that I didn’t want to fuck with. The special cases—intricate, complicated, puzzles—were left exclusively to me. And the one I’d left unfinished was still nowhere close to being ready for flight.
Not that it matters, my subconscious reminded me, pulling up an image of O’Keefe’s snarling face.
If he had his way—and at the moment, I had no idea how he wasn’t going to get it—all the planes in the room would belong to him. I should just take a crow bar to all of them and tear them down to nuts and bolts and scrap metal.
Then again, that was likely what O’Keefe was going to do with them anyway. No need to give him a head start. A memory tugged at me, back from the day he and Talia had come to the museum. As we’d gone around the museum, O’Keefe had displayed at least above average knowledge of planes. Perhaps his whole aviation interest wasn’t pure bullshit. Maybe there was hope the planes would end up with proper homes, displayed like the beauties they were.
I could only hope.
I shook the depressing thoughts as far from my mind as I could manage, locking them down in a far corner, and turned my attention to getting in a good day of work. It was likely the therapy I needed to get myself back together again.
My plan quickly went south.
Working on the plane was more challenging than I’d anticipated. With only one good hand and the nubs of my fingertips on the other hand as they stuck out from my cast, it was nearly impossible to get anything done. At least, not in a hurry.
Not to mention the part where anytime I twisted or contorted my body left me gasping for breath from the sharp stab of pain in my side as the stitches pulled tight.
When the screw in my hand slipped for the third time I lost it.
“Fuck!” I roared, screaming so loud my lungs burned. I channeled my voice into action, chucking the wrench in my hand so hard it banged into the opposite wall with a loud, pinging, thud of metal on concrete.
I raked my hand through my hair as the sound echoed and died. My eyes burned but I wouldn’t release the hot tears that sprung up.
Instead, I stalked back to the light switch, smashed my hand against the row of switches and watched the room get swallowed back up by darkness. I was done with the museum for the day. Between the angry horde outside, the red canceled signs on the schedule, and the empty, echoing showroom, I was over it.
I sneaked out the side door, locking it behind me, and crossed over to the house, hustling as much as I could, to avoid detection by the protesters.
I wondered if O’Keefe paid them extra if they managed to get me on film. I snorted at the idea. God only knew what O’Keefe had paid them to picket the museum. He was a dangerous man with seemingly endless resources.
It was a real shame that his specialty was fucking shit up.
I bypassed the house and went into the free standing garage my father had built with his own hands as an addition several years ago. Inside, I climbed into my old Army Jeep that I’d rehabbed, and tinkled the keys around on my master key ring until I found the right one. I jammed it into the ignition with the lingering frustration that I hadn’t worked out in the garage, and fired up the engine. The familiar hum settled over me, and to my surprise, I felt my heart rate slow and even out.
I sat there for a long time, staring blankly over the dash, out at the long driveway. I
hadn’t driven since the crash, and although it was vastly different than a cockpit of a plane, I found myself frozen in place. I mentally cussed myself out, my mind screaming at me to push the shifter into gear and move. I knew that staying still wasn’t going to help, but it didn’t matter.
I was locked.
Trapped inside my own tortured mind.
As my fingers reached for the keys, ready to admit defeat, go inside, take meds, and pass out, my phone buzzed from inside my jeans pocket. I fished it out and saw an unlisted number flash on the screen. “You can go fuck yourself, O’Keefe,” I muttered, silencing the call. “I have two and a half more days until I have to deal with you.”
I pushed the phone back in my pocket and killed the ignition. A new buzz alerted me and I pulled the phone back out.
Whoever it was had left a voicemail.
I dialed in and pressed the phone to my ear. “Hey, Aaron, it’s Gemma…from the hospital.” I smiled at the sound of her voice, and the way she reminded me who she was. Like I could forget. “I was hoping to catch you. I’m going to that place you recommended. Harley’s? No, Harvey’s. Yeah. That was it. Anyways…uhm…I just wanted to see if maybe we could get a drink or share a basket of wings. Call me back.”
She ended the message by rattling off her number. I searched for a pen, but the interior of my Jeep was clean of clutter for once. I thought about going inside and calling her back, but then flicked the engine back on, and with ease, pulled down the driveway.
* * * *
I saw Gemma before she saw me. She was sitting at a table near the bar, nursing a dark beer in a tall glass. I hesitated in the doorway. God, she was beautiful. She was so…free. I’d observed hundreds of women in bars. Most of the time they were busy pulling up—or down—the top of their dress. Fluffing their hair. Pretending to check their phone while scoping out who was watching them. Talking with their friends loud enough that anyone around them could hear how amazing their life was.