by K. C. Ale
I turn just in time to catch the back of his neck flushing beet red, as bright as the lively ink on his skin.
Carlson isn’t so bad. He’s grown on me. He might’ve been guarded and distrustful of me in the beginning, but I didn’t blame him for it. He was loyal and protective of his employer, and I was an unknown entity under his roof. It might be wishful thinking, but at times it seems like he might have transferred a little bit of that loyalty and protectiveness to me.
Eyes studiously on the road, Carlson dutifully flicks the turn signal. Carefully glimpsing at the rear then the side mirror, he cautiously glance over his shoulder before gently changing lanes.
Like a stinking driver’s ed instructor.
“He loves you,” Carlson says after a moment. “I don’t think he realizes it yet, but he does.”
I just roll my eyes. “That’s hardly the case. He barely knows me.”
“You still think that?”
My gaze falls on the back of his head, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Ask Mr. Hawkes some time.”
“Ask him what, exactly?”
“Say, ‘Brad, tell me about the first time you met me.’ See what he says.”
“I did.” Didn’t I? What had he said? He said he lost all thoughts… but I was sharing my thoughts on meeting him for the first time. He’d said the first time he saw me in his office. That wasn’t precisely the same thing. Plus, he seemed to know so much about me when I didn’t know anything about him. “Carlson. What are you trying to tell me?”
“Just ask him. Say those exact words.”
I’m not sure I’ll be saying anything to him anytime soon. Once he discovers I’ve taken off, he’ll write me off as a lost cause.
Fire me from his life the way he fired my dad from HC.
“You can just park in one of the guest spots.” I instruct Carlson when he pulls into the small parking area.
“Sure thing.” The car rolls to a stop. He cuts the engine and climbs out.
“I won’t be long,” I say again as he tugs the rear passenger door open. “In and out.”
“I trust you.” He shows me just how much by tailing me.
I stop short and glare at him. “What are you doing? I told you I’ll be right back.”
“And I’ll be right with ya.”
“Carlson.” I blow out a breath. “This is personal.”
“I won’t look.”
The face I flash him can best be described as exasperated and disgruntled. “Really personal.”
“More personal than that package I got ya the other night?” he says offhandedly, not one inch deterred.
That gives me an idea. “If you must know, yes, it is.” Feigning glancing around for eavesdroppers, I lower my voice. “It’s medication… for an area you don’t want to know about. I need other things too, but that’s absolutely at the top of the list. Too much activities lately. It aggravates th—"
Grimacing, he throws up a hand and actually takes a half step back in retreat. “Don’t need or want to know, Miss Warton. Go. You’re on the clock.”
It takes skills not to show any triumph. I nod solemnly instead. “I’ll be out in a bit.”
“Miss Warton,” Carlson stops me when I’ve only taken a few steps, brows furrowing with skepticism. “Why do you need your backpack?”
I only shrug. “How else would I carry my things out?”
He doesn’t respond, clearly wary.
I’m not running, but my feet are definitely moving faster than normal. Our apartment is on the ground level, and Carlson’s eyes track my every deliberate step while I casually extract my keys and let myself in.
As soon as he’s out of sight I slam all the door locks into place and swiftly run for my bedroom. As I expected, no one is home in the middle of a weekday. The envelope with Brad’s money is exactly where I left it. I immediately jam it in my backpack.
A few bottles of water and some snacks join the cash. I don’t linger but sprint for the rear patio. It’s a tiny alcove for potted plants and not much more. Jamie keeps an Adirondack chair out here, and I use it to boost myself over the chest-height patio wall.
I’m full on running now. It’s not smooth when I have a bursting backpack weighing me down, but my car isn’t far. It’s secure in the subterranean tenant parking. Praying it has enough gas to at least get me out of the city, I heave my backpack to the passenger seat and thump the door close.
Perspiration dots my forehead, my shirt clinging to my back, but I’m more concerned with pulling out of the garage unseen. The gated exit faces the front of the building, which means if Carlson turns just so, he might catch sight of me and give chase.
The rev of an engine in the garage gives me hope. A brief check of the dashboard clock and I struggle not to panic. In another four minutes Carlson will go charging into the apartment, ready to drag me out. I wait for the other tenant to pull up to the gate, the rusted metal clanging loudly, and hang for a few seconds before following. The driver in front of me checks for oncoming traffic judiciously before taking off, and I leisurely roll up. If Carlson heard the gate opening and glanced over, he would have seen the other driver and hopefully dismissed it.
Low in my seat, I inch forward. It’s ridiculous, since Carlson knows what I drive and doesn’t need to actually catch my face behind the wheel to realize I’m making a break for it, but it’s a self-preservation thing. I toss a hasty glimpse to find him on the phone and pacing, gesturing some.
Perfect.
I don’t gun it. I’m more subtle than that.
My compact glides out of the garage and turns at the first opportunity.
All in eight minutes flat.
Twenty-eight
Brad
“I’ll fucking kill you!” I lunge across my desk and make a grab for his scrawny neck. “You hear me, Jansky? You’re fucking dead!”
Mart erupts in alarm and frantically tries to drive me back with all his excess weight, but he’s no match for my fury. Scattered pens and paperwork fly off in every direction. I elbow him aside just as Todd ducks and scampers out of my office, squealing like the disgusting pig that he is.
“Brad!” Mart hollers over my seething rage, huffing and heaving. “He’s not worth it. I’ll have security escort him out, but you need to calm down.”
“Calm down?” I fume through my teeth. “Calm down? That motherfucker touched her! You want me to calm down?”
His lips stiffen. “Let me have Linda call security first, Brad. Sit down or you’re going to give yourself a heart attack.” He jabs a finger at my chair, his shirt soaked with perspiration. “Sit.”
“I should’ve fired that useless piece of shit years ago.” This ferocity won’t allow me to sit, but I’m not making Mart eat the carpet for being in my way. My phone rattles and shakes atop my desk, but I don’t bother glancing at the screen. I’m way too twisted up to manage a civilized conversation.
Loosening his edgy stance, Mart doesn’t say anything but proceeds to poke his head out of the door, muttering to Linda. He closes it after a few seconds and bravely positions himself in front of it like he’s afraid I’d tear out of the office after Todd.
He’s not wrong.
“Brad.” He levels me with a speculative look. “I’ve never seen you like this. Not even when we caught Stanley watching porn on the clock and swiping employees’ personal things from their desks off the clock.” A grave inhalation. “Is there something I should know?”
I stare at him darkly. “Other than your operations manager harassing the staff?”
He winces. “Okay. I deserved that one.”
It’s my turn to suck in a breath. “No, you didn’t. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but Todd Jansky’s.” I drop into my chair, the boiling rage depleting sluggishly. “He’s responsible for his own behavior. No one has ever filed a complaint or even hinted at a possible issue with Todd.”
“We didn’t actually see it happen from the recording. From the corr
idor, the angle of the camera was off. All we saw was a part of Gemma Warton’s body jerking and her turning to slap at something behind her. He claimed he was only removing a piece of tissue clinging to her.”
I can’t very well share with Mart that I know how that tissue got there and that the fucking thing certainly wasn’t on her ankle.
“You’re making excuses for him. You saw the back of her skirt stir as she was leaning over for the mouse.” The contemptible image ignites my simmering blood again. “Both her hands were on the desk. How the fuck do you explain her skirt moving so high? A/C? Was she angrily striking at air at the same time Todd happened to be removing something from her?”
Glancing away, he admits, “You’re right. The evidence is too damning. And he was acting pretty guilty when we questioned him. I should’ve been more vigilant in the management of my people. I just hope Gemma Warton was the first.”
Gemma never said a word to me. When that motherfucker terminated her, she called Carlson. Not me. She was tossing and kicking in our bed with the blanket clinging to her restless legs when I got home last night. By the time I crawled in with her after spending a good thirty minutes scrubbing myself in the shower, I was mentally and physically shutting down for the night. She immediately rolled over and attached herself to me like I was a giant body pillow, her fighting body finally calming.
Asshole clients or not, I would’ve dropped everything for her, but she clearly didn’t think so.
“Deal with it, Mart. He might be gone, but I’m sure he’s leaving quite the legacy.” This time when my phone goes off with Carlson’s name on the screen, I snatch it up. “What is it?”
“We just arrived at Miss Warton’s apartment.”
I gesture for Mart to step out. “For…?”
“She said she needed to get her meds.”
That kicks up my scowl another notch. “What medication?”
A hesitation. “Meds for… um… her lady parts.”
“What the fuck are you stammering about? Gemma doesn’t have ongoing medical concerns.”
“Well… these might be the sort women grab from over-the-counter.”
“Just spit it out, Carlson. I haven’t got all day.”
“Hell if I know the specifics, Hawkes.” Impatience snaps in each syllable. “I didn’t ask and didn’t want to know, all right? That’s for you to deal with.”
Muttering under my breath, I glare at nothing and no one in particular. “I’m trying to deal with all kinds of shit here, man. Like that goat fucker who terminated Gemma.”
“You want me take care of him?”
It wouldn’t be the first time Carlson has offered to take care of someone who pissed me off, and I know he’s perfectly serious. How he intended to accomplish that, I never asked, since I also never consented.
“You worry about taking care of Gemma when I’m not around.”
“Yeah… about that.” There’s a pause. “You know what? Never mind. It’s not important.”
“When did you become such a girl?” I’m shaking my head in irritation. “At the risk of repeating myself, just spit it out.”
A heavy exhale. “After Miss Warton’s class, she met two dudes for coffee.”
I chew on that. Carlson must think there’s something to it if he feels the need to mention it, but he’s also intentionally downplaying it. “Is that it?”
“There might’ve been baked goods involved too.”
“I see.”
“With some light flirting on the side.”
I glower at the far wall decorated with framed photos of HC projects. Maybe I will have Carlson take care of some people. “Gemma is a beautiful woman,” I reason, deliberately quieting my simpering temper, even if my jaw smarts from gritting it. “I can’t blame a couple of frat boys for taking notice.” I’m going to peel the paint right off that wall with my bare hands.
“It was pretty obvious Miss Warton encouraged them to take notice. I think she was acting out, what with you hooking up with strippers and all. She’s good and pissed, that one is. It wouldn’t shock me if she tries to sneak off to some dick twirling spectacle just to show you.”
Gemma at some sleazy man-meat club? Over my dead body. “I was not hooking up with strippers.” Fuck. “This is ridiculous. It was a club with half naked dancing women with fifty other men in the place. I didn’t touch any of them. What’s the big fucking deal? It wasn’t like I wanted to be there.”
“Beats me. She’s young, and some chicks are weird that way. I’m sure she’ll get over it. Just bring her some flowers or some shit.”
This thing between me and Gemma must be in pretty questionable shape if Carlson is giving me advise. “Carlson.” A quick glimpse at the phone tells me we’ve been on for nearly fifteen minutes. “How long has Gemma been in her apartment?”
“Shit. I forgot she was on the clock.” A sigh. “That girl of yours is going to send me to an early grave. Let me go get her.”
“Linda,” I call into the intercom as soon as Carlson and I disconnected. “Get me some flowers.”
A beat of silence. “Flowers?”
“Yeah.” Why does she sound so taken aback? “You know, like the kind you find at home improvement stores, not the kind you cook with.”
“Is it for a memorial service?”
I curse under my breath. “No one died. It’s for… a woman.”
This time the stillness is a full ticking minute. When she finally unburies her tongue, she says, “In that case, may I suggest blooms from a flower shop rather than a home improvement store?”
“Yeah. I guess. I don’t really care.”
“Any particular preference? Color, type, that sort of thing.”
Why is this so complicated? “Yellow?” Gemma likes yellow. She has that pretty pale buttery top that she wears.
“Sir, yellow signifies friendship.”
Good God. “Just get a bunch of different colors. That way I’m covered. And get different types. Roses, carnations, lilies.” Bend me over if I can name any other flowers. “Just throw them all in there.
“Sir…”
“Wrap a giant bow around it or something. Have it for me at the end of the day. And fresh!” I add at the last minute. “Make them fresh. Like right out of the oven fresh.”
“Out of the oven?”
I grab a tissue to mop the stress sweat suddenly dotting my forehead. “Yeah. Just… get them for me.” No sooner am I done with Linda then my cell is going off again. “Now what?” I bark at Carlson.
“She’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
“She took off, Hawkes,” Carlson retorts grimly. “Her car is missing too.”
Twenty-nine
Gemma
Nearly five hundred miles, two gas refills, and hundreds of bug carcasses on my windshield later, I roll into the dry desert heat of Sedona. Red, pink, and yellow bleed smoothly into grand rock formations surrounding the small town, lending the air a stillness and seclusion, as though life stalls and stirs in slow motion. The air is dense, heavily so, but beautifully refreshing.
Once you get over the scent of weed lingering in the air.
I suspected I wouldn’t be able to just breeze into the facility at seven o’clock, and that’s confirmed when I pull up to find the turquoise color front door locked and a vibrantly painted sign reminding wayward visitors of the regular hours. The entrance to the place looks more like an eccentric private residence than some swanky rehab. Just as well that it’s closed, because I need to find a place to crash for the night before it gets too late. Tourist season is just starting and Sedona is a popular destination, but I’m hoping luck is at my side. I didn’t dare make a reservation, not when I’d have to use a credit card. Besides, it’s the middle of the week, and I’m sure I can find vacancy somewhere.
Twenty minutes later I end up in an unexceptional motel just outside of Sedona and not too far from my dad. I had to dip into the envelope of cash, because even a tiny plain room here isn’
t on my affordable list, especially since I no longer have a regular source of income.
Upending my backpack onto the sterile bed, I shake out the few underwear, t-shirts, and shorts I was able to discreetly jam in while Brad and Carlson were out last night. If they bother to look in the dresser drawers, they’d find my textbooks where my clothes used to be neatly folded. Today was the last day of my finals, and I didn’t need those taking up precious cargo space in my backpack any more than I needed those guys to cram my style.
I have things to do. People to see.
“There are people over there, Lee. I’m going to jump over this wall and see them. You just watch.”
“What’s over there?”
“The promise land!”
“What ya gonna do on the other side, Gemmy? You won’t know anyone.” He had to holler over the squeaky springs. “You’re gonna get lost.”
“I don’t care.”
“You don’t mind getting lost?” he asked, dubious.
I shook my head, hair slapping against my cheeks. Excitement bubbled and churned in my belly. “I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”
Lee was grinning. “You want me to jump over the wall with you?”
“Duh! I won’t go if you won’t go.”
Staggering back a step, I gulp in a throbbing lungful. A tightness binds my chest and my trembling fingers clutch at it. Jerking around and around.
I can’t breathe.
Where had that come from?
Lee. He’s been haunting my mind for weeks.
My ass plunks down on the stiff, lumpy mattress – is this thing stuffed with vinyl bits? – reluctantly searching through that prevailing fog in my head. The memory, if that was what leaped in my head, wasn’t something I ever reminisced about. There were many, many things from my childhood where they’re more comfortable left covered in layers of dust.
It’s not that I’ve forgotten about Lee. I never could, even if I tried. He left me, after all, so why should I waste time thinking about him? Life is too short, as Lee proved himself.