“That’s a good one! I’ll have to tell Em. Don’t be surprised if you find her raiding your fridge tonight.”
“Are you heading up to the bus stop by the grocery store?” Nick asked Terry.
“Yeah, the last bus leaves in about twenty minutes.”
“We’ll walk with you,” Michael said as the men fell into step. “And thanks for coming over last week and helping rehang the bedroom doors, Terry. I love our Foursquare, but these older houses need their fair share of TLC.”
“It’s no trouble,” Terry answered. “Thanks for passing my name on to your architect friend. I’ve picked up two more jobs in Langley Park this week.”
Nick’s phone pinged. He held out the text for the men to read.
Lindsey: Can you also pick up some marshmallows and cornichons?
“What are cornichons?”
Michael chuckled. “Ask poor Terry. Em has been eating them by the jarful. She told me she got you to try them.”
“They’re not half bad. A little sweet for my taste,” Terry answered.
“Em had them in France. She lived there and studied music for a while when she was a teenager. They’re like little pickles.”
Nick pocketed his phone. “You can show me where to find them in the grocery store.”
“Do you have any kids, Terry?” Michael asked as they crossed over Langley Park Boulevard and made their way into the town center.
“Yeah, a daughter. She lives in Nebraska with her mother.”
“How often do you get to see her?” Nick asked. Little banana wasn’t even born yet, and he couldn’t imagine a day without her.
Terry stopped. He didn’t make eye contact all that much, but he lifted his chin. “I need to tell you something. I want to be straight with you both. I appreciate all the work you’ve thrown my way, but I have something I need to say.”
“Of course,” Nick said, sharing a glance with Michael.
“I don’t think anyone’s run a background check on me. But with all this work coming in, it’s only a matter of time.”
Nick crossed his arms. He had spent the last several nights working side by side with Terry. He’d never gotten the vibe that something was off.
“When I met Lindsey in the hardware store, I told her about my daughter and how I don’t get to see her much because I didn’t make the best choices when I was younger.” He switched his toolbox to the other hand. “I’ve got a rap sheet. Nothing big. Some petty theft. But where I really fell into trouble was after I hurt my shoulder. The hospital sent me home with all kinds of painkillers. Bottles of them. The shoulder healed, but I couldn’t stop taking the pills.”
“Are you using?” Michael asked.
“No, not anymore. When the pills became too expensive, I switched to heroin. Heroin landed me in jail and jail is where I cleaned up.” He raised his chin a fraction. “I’ve been clean and sober for five years. I’ve got a sponsor. I go to meetings. I support my daughter. I wanted to be the one to tell you that. I probably should have told you sooner. It’s just really hard to drum up work after you tell somebody you used to pop pills and shoot up.”
Michael put a hand on Terry’s shoulder. “It’s more common than you think. I was just helping a family adjust their trust to pay for their grandson’s opioid addiction treatment.”
“I’ve even seen the effects of addiction at the airport. People who can afford it often charter planes to shuttle family members to rehab facilities. Addiction doesn’t seem to care if you’re rich or poor, young or old.”
Terry shifted his toolbox again.
“We’ll vouch for you, Terry,” Nick added.
“Absolutely,” Michael said. “You can always use us as references.”
“I appreciate that. Thank you, Mr. Kincade and Mr. MacCarron.”
“It’s Nick and Michael,” Nick said. “You’ve taught me how to install shutters, and you’ve eaten tiny pickles at Michael’s house. I think we’re all on a first name basis.”
The hint of a smile pulled at the corners of Terry’s lips as the bus rounded the corner and stopped. He nodded to the men and jogged up the steps. The doors whooshed shut, and the bus rumbled down the darkened street. A couple walked out of Pete’s, and the cold rush of air-conditioning followed them out onto the street.
“We’ve got two hungry, pregnant women at home. We better hop to it,” Michael said, gesturing to the door.
They roamed the aisles, silently procuring the strange assortment of items. At eight o’clock on a Thursday night, Pete’s was virtually empty. Nick opened the freezer door and tossed a pint of rocky road ice cream in the basket.
“I hadn’t thought about the downtown airport being affected by drugs, but it makes sense,” Michael said, throwing a box of saltines into the basket.
“It’s becoming a real issue for smaller regional airports. We don’t have the police presence like the larger airports do. And then, you get people who think if they charter a flight, they can do whatever the hell they want to do with it.”
Pete’s had four registers, but only one was open.
“Working the till tonight, Pete?” Michael asked, shaking the young man’s hand.
The original Pete of Pete’s Organic Grocer opened the store in 1935. The family still owned and operated the independent grocery store, and a string of Petes, all named after the founder, had successfully run the business for over eighty years.
“That I am,” the man answered.
Michael gestured with his chin. “Pete, have you met Nick?”
“I’ve seen you in here. You’re new in town, right?” Pete asked with an easy smile.
“Yeah, I’ve been here a little less than six months,” Nick answered, but his attention was pulled to a small television Pete had rigged up next to the checkout.
“Oh, sorry about that,” Pete said. He reached to flick it off, but Nick stopped him.
Nick pointed to the screen. “I recognize that guy.”
Pete had the TV tuned to a cable news station. The caption, Authorities Make Arrests in Opioid Distribution Ring, scrolled across the bottom of the screen. The television was muted, but it was easy to tell that the man with an angry red face and wild brown eyes was swearing at the federal agents, spit flying from his mouth, as they escorted him out of a building and into a shiny black SUV.
“That guy was trying to get one of the chartered flight pilots to take him to an unregistered airfield.”
Michael let out a low whistle. “You weren’t kidding about small airports being impacted by drug trafficking, were you?”
Nick stared at the screen. The story ended, and the network went to a commercial.
“I caught the beginning of that,” Pete said, loading their items into a reusable bag. “A whole ring of doctors have been arrested for selling opioid prescriptions for cash and even forging signatures of other doctors to get their hands on more pills. It might even go as high as pharmaceutical sales reps getting in on the action. I think they said the raid spanned several states.”
“That’s a damn shame,” Michael said. “It’s no wonder I have to alter wills and trusts to account for rehab. This stuff is everywhere.”
Nick shook his head. Jesus, had he been that close to drug trafficking? He made a mental note to meet with the airport’s security team. This story hit too close to home to ignore. They had policies and procedures, but he wanted to let his whole staff know how close they had come to a suspected drug trafficker.
“Yeah, it’s crazy,” Nick said, paying for his items.
He followed Michael out of the store.
They crossed back over Langley Park Boulevard and turned onto Foxglove Lane. The heady scent of lilacs carried on the late spring breeze. Nick was going over the exchange he’d had with the doctor when Michael interrupted his thoughts.
“Looks like you got your Langley Park Foursquare,” he said.
Nick could make out Michael’s cheeky grin.
“I got a lot more than that.”
“We haven’t gotten that far yet. With the baby coming, everything is kind of up in the air.” Nick shifted the bag of groceries to his other shoulder. “How about you and Em? Ever thought of tying the knot?”
“I think we’ll get there eventually. She says it’s just a piece of paper. I try to explain to her that my whole profession is built on pieces of paper. Lots of fucking pieces of paper. In fact, if the entire law profession disappeared in a poof of depositions and motions, it would probably end deforestation everywhere.” Michael’s expression softened. “But, Lindsey’s doing all right?”
Nick looked up at the Foursquare he now shared with her. “Yeah, she’s doing great. I think you and Em being so kind has helped. And then there’s Rosemary. If it wasn’t for her, I can’t even imagine where Lindsey would be now.”
“Have you asked Lindsey about going to the police? About filing formal charges?”
“I’ve tried, but she wants to move on. She feels safe here. We’re together. And it’s her choice. As much as I want to go and kill the bastard, it would only cause her more pain in the end. So we’re focusing on the future.”
Michael nodded. “Well, I for one am glad you guys are next door. Did Em tell you, our moms were pregnant at the same time in these very houses? We were born on the same day. She’s like three minutes older than me and will never let me forget it.”
“It’s five minutes, and I’m starving,” came a voice calling out from Michael’s front porch.
“Duty calls,” Michael said with an amused grin.
Nick padded up the steps and unlocked the door to the Foursquare. The deadbolts Terry had installed were good, and Langley Park was a safe place to live, but he was still going to have a security system put in. He closed the door behind him and pulled out his phone to make a note to do it. When he looked up, Lindsey was standing in front of him, white as a ghost.
She bit her trembling lip.
“Linds, what’s wrong? Do you feel sick?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m fine. The baby’s fine. It’s just…Rosemary called. She’d been gone the last couple of days visiting her sister.”
“Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. The shelter in Houston left a message on her home phone. She didn’t get the message until she got back.”
“What did the shelter want?” He set the bag on the ground and took her into his arms.
“Claire, you know, Brett’s sister-in-law, she called the shelter multiple times saying she needed to get into contact with me. The shelter relayed the messages to my contact person—that’s Rosemary.”
“Okay,” Nick said, rubbing tiny circles across her shoulder blades. “Did Rosemary say anything else? Did Claire say there was a threat or that you were in danger?”
Lindsey shook her head against his chest. “No, I don’t think so. Rosemary just said that Claire needed to speak with me.”
“Do you think she might just want to make sure you and the baby are okay? She helped you, right?”
“Yeah, she did help me.”
“Do you want me to call Claire for you? Do you want me to let her know that you’re safe? I don’t have to tell her who I am. I can say I know you, and I know that you’re all right.”
She looked up and met his gaze. “I want you to drive me to Wichita.”
“Wichita? Why there?”
Lindsey pulled open a drawer, leafed through some papers then pulled out another drawer.
“What are you looking for?”
A half-empty roll of quarters sat idle next to a handful of paperclips. “The last time I called Claire was from a diner in Wichita. That’s where I want you to take me. There’s a pay phone there.”
“There are pay phones all over Kansas City, Linds. Why do you want to go to that pay phone in Wichita?”
She was shaking again. “Because it’s safe. Because even if Brett checks her phone records, Wichita is far enough away.” She closed her eyes, and tears ran down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Nick. I didn’t want to fall to pieces.”
He took her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “I love you. I love all your pieces. And I never want you to hide any of them from me.”
“Then you’ll take me?”
“I’m your copilot for life, Linds. I’ll take you anywhere you want, anytime you want. The sky’s not even the limit when it comes to us.”
22
It was close to midnight when they pulled into the Wichita diner’s parking lot across from the bus terminal. The low thrum of the radio mingled with the reassuring purr of the engine running idle. Lindsey tucked her feet beneath her and stared at the building. It was like looking at a piece of someone else’s past, like dipping into their darkest parts and pulling out something light.
Nick went to cut the engine, but Lindsey stopped him. “I just want to look at it for a minute.”
He laced his fingers with hers. “Okay, take your time.”
A beat passed.
“I never knew the name,” she said, staring up at red neon letters spelling out Lucero’s.
There was nothing remarkable about this diner. A squatty rectangle with blond brick and a bank of windows running along the front. But when she’d stepped off that bus nearly two months ago, walking into this little diner was like hitting the last mile of a marathon.
“It must have felt unreal finally getting here,” Nick said
“It was the first place I went after I got off the bus. I remember sitting in a booth. I think it was that one,” she said, pointing inside the restaurant. “I kept checking the license plates of all the cars in the parking lot. None of them were from Texas. Something about that kept me together.”
Lindsey dropped her gaze to where her left hand was resting on the console, fingers laced with the boy she had loved since she was a girl. In the darkened car, the sapphire of her engagement ring flashed midnight blue, and the cluster of cloud-like diamonds winked each time the high beams of a passing car illuminated the cab of Nick’s SUV.
“That life seems a million miles away,” she whispered.
“That life is a million miles away, Linds. That chapter is over. No one will ever hurt you again.”
There was an edge to Nick’s voice—a conviction, stronger than a promise, weaving through each of his words.
The first bars of an acoustic version of “Fast Car” played over the radio, and Nick smiled. “Do you remember this song?”
“No, should I?”
In the light of the car’s dashboard, Nick’s grin grew sentimental. “This song was playing in the bus when you fell asleep on my shoulder on the way to Camp Clem.”
“Was it?”
“Yeah, you told me you liked it. You mumbled it under your breath just before you fell asleep.”
“You still remember that?”
He cupped her face. “I remember everything. That strong girl still lives inside of you. I see her every time I look into your eyes. Nobody, not Brett, not your father, could ever take that away from you.”
The shriek of brakes sounded off behind them. Bleary-eyed passengers filed off a bus, adjusting backpacks and duffle bags. Lindsey shifted in her seat to get a better view of a young woman clutching a large tote bag to her chest. She was wearing an oversized sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. It cast her face in a shadow.
“That’s what I must have looked like,” Lindsey said.
The woman crossed the parking lot and entered the diner. She slumped into the same booth Lindsey had taken refuge in all those weeks ago. A waitress held up a coffee pot, and the woman nodded, still clutching her tote to her chest. She turned away as the server delivered the steaming cup. For a fraction of a second, Lindsey thought she had caught the young woman’s eye, but the woman’s gaze flitted over the parking lot, seemingly unaware of Lindsey and Nick parked less than twenty feet away.
The young woman reached into her bag and pulled out a compa
ct. Shoulders hunched forward, head hung low, a gust of wind could have carried her away. She checked her face in the mirror, wincing when the makeup pad made contact with her cheek. The hairs on the back of Lindsey’s neck pricked to attention. How many times had she gazed into a tiny, circular compact, trying to mask the evidence of her abuse?
“You’re stronger than you think.”
“Do you think she needs help?” Nick asked.
Lindsey met his gaze. “Did I say that aloud?”
He brushed a chestnut lock of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, you did.”
A car pulled into the stall next to them, and before the driver had shifted into park, an older woman emerged from the passenger seat and ran into the diner. The driver, an older gentleman, followed close behind. The car was still running, the headlights shining a spotlight on the young woman. Through the glass, Lindsey could see the older couple sprinting toward her. The young woman turned and flung herself from the booth into the woman’s arms. The older gentleman wrapped his arms around both women.
“We don’t know her situation, Linds,” Nick said, brushing a tear from her cheek.
“I know,” she whispered.
“It looks like she’s got people who love her.”
The gentleman threw a few bills on the table as the older woman guided the younger woman out of the diner and settled her in the backseat of the car. Lindsey could have rolled down the window and touched her. She was that close. Tears streaked the young woman’s freshly powdered cheeks, and an angry purple bruise stretched from the corner of her eye back to her temple.
I was you once. I lived your life. I felt your pain. I know your fear.
Before Lindsey could even blink, the door closed, and the car pulled away. Its taillights blurred in the distance then disappeared into the darkness.
Lindsey brushed away another tear. “I wish I could do more, Nick.”
“You are doing more. You’re helping raise money and awareness for the Rose Brooks Women’s Shelter. What you’re doing will help many, many women and children. You are doing more. Linds,” Nick reiterated, giving her hand a little squeeze. “Are you ready to go make that call?”
The Complete Langley Park Series (Books 1-5) Page 72