by M. S. Parker
“I think sleeping with you is going to make him more easily distracted,” Ryan said.
“I’d step in front of a bullet for her.” The words left me before I’d even realized I was going to say them.
One by one, they all turned their heads to look at me.
Suddenly feeling out of place and stupid, I moved back to the table and threw myself down in the seat. It was a miserable, ladder-back affair, the kind they put at a formal dining set and it had about as much bend as Jake’s rigid spine. For a minute, I was able to focus on eating and ignore them. Or I at least pretended to ignore them.
“So...”
Carly’s voice was soft.
I looked up at her and saw that she’d settled down in front of me, her gaze speculative.
I scowled. Shit. “Look, don’t go thinking I’m ready to pick out wedding rings. You...” I jerked my shoulder. “All of y’all...well, it’s been a while since anybody has...” Now my face was really burning up. “Shit.”
I kicked back from the table and moved over to the window. I’d always hated talking about anything of substance, avoided it as much as I could. Hell, I’d never even let Leah that close and she’d had my kid. Now I was about to talk about how I felt to three people who I barely knew.
But they deserved to hear it.
“There was no reason for any of you to offer me this job. No reason for any of you to do anything except let the cops haul me away after I broke Jake’s arm. But you gave me a job...” I snorted, then added, “Bought me clothes I’m not ever really going to need again, but hell. I can sell them. EBay, right? Anyway. You gave me a chance, and I got enough money now that I have some breathing room while I try to find another job. You’re decent people. I won’t forget it.”
Miserable now, and self-conscious to boot, I continued to stare outside.
There was the faintest noise behind me and I turned. I wasn’t surprised to see it was Ryan standing there. Everybody else was louder when they moved.
“You know, I think you just might be willing to step in front of a bullet for her. Another reason why you’ve done so well at this.” He shrugged, a faint smile on his face. “Some people are just good at this sort of thing. You’re one of them. Although, the idea of you two being in a relationship does present a problem.”
“We don’t have a relationship,” I said quickly. I wasn’t about to saddle her with the baggage that’d come with a relationship with me. I wouldn’t do that to anyone.
Carly was at the table, and from the corner of my eye, I saw her stiffen.
Then she eased back in her chair, a sunny smile on her face. “Hear that, Ryan?”
He shot her a look.
There were undertones going on here that I just couldn’t wrap my head around. “What’s going on?”
“We already told you.” Jake pushed back from the table and went to pour himself some coffee. His gaze came to mine, held it for just a moment. “We need a new man on the team. Somebody permanent.”
I frowned at him.
For some reason, the solemn look in his eyes made my skin go cold.
“I’m dying,” he said quietly. “I’ve got pancreatic cancer.”
Fuck.
I felt like all of the air had been sucked out of my body.
This man who loved Carly like a daughter was dying and he was taking the time to make sure she was taken care of.
And he wanted me.
“You heard what he said, Ryan.” Carly’s voice was pithy. “There’s no relationship.”
The words felt like a slap, but I didn’t let myself react to her. I was too busy trying to figure out how in the hell to respond to all of it.
They wanted me to do this for real. For permanent. As in leave Louisville. Leave Kentucky. Leave home and move to California to be one of Carly’s bodyguards.
Because Jake was dying.
“Yeah, I heard what he said.” Ryan’s voice was dry. “But I’ve been around you two all week. Sparks fly any time you two are within ten feet of each other.”
“We’re de-sparked now, Ry. Got it out of our system.” She stared out the window. We had another fund-raising dinner today, but she didn’t look like she wanted to go. She looked like she wanted to curl up and cry.
She kept shooting Jake looks and I wondered how long she’d known. Then she’d look at me, and I’d have to wonder just how much of her flirting with me had been a distraction. Probably all of it.
It explained how someone like her could be with someone like me.
Ryan looked at me and lifted an eyebrow.
I lifted a shoulder. “Don’t look at me for answers. I’m still trying to figure out if I should do this or not.”
“You should take the job, Bobby,” Carly said softly. “Get out of this place.”
I looked out the window, trying to imagine being somewhere else. Then I had to smile. I’d been someplace else...only that place had bars.
“I still can’t figure out why y’all think this is a fit.” I glanced at her, then at Ryan. “I’m an ex-con. I fix cars.”
There was a whole lot of other shit I knew how to do, at least in theory, thanks to all the classes I’d taken while in prison, but it wasn’t like I’d ever have a chance to put that knowledge to use. No one would hire me for anything other than manual labor.
“It’s a fit because it is. You’re good at this, kid.” Ryan shrugged, although his eyes were far less casual.
The kid had me frowning. Ryan wasn’t that much older than me, and I was pretty sure the things in my past had knocked the shine off me a long time ago.
I shifted my attention to Jake and saw that he was just watching us, all of us.
“What do you think about this?”
He shrugged. “It was my idea.” He looked down at his casted arm, and then gave me a crooked grin. “It’s not like you don’t have the ability to take care of her, that’s for certain.” He leaned forward then and pinned a hard look on me. “Let’s put aside your record and focus on a couple other things. You had a choice a few years ago. You could either do a job, one that involved harming a kid and a mom. You refused. Instead, you protected them.”
Heat climbed up my neck. “Look, that–”
“Bobby, shut up.”
For some reason, I did. Maybe it was the look in Jake’s eyes. It wasn’t a look I hadn’t seen before. It just wasn’t the kind of look I’d ever seen directed at me. A weird sort of amusement mixed with frustration and...what else was it? I didn’t know, but I didn’t know how to process it either. So I listened.
“You protected them, and I bet you did it without even thinking much about how it would affect you in the end.” He nodded his head toward Carly. “You did the same thing with her. Now after it was done, you thought plenty. You were all but crawling with the need to get away from the hotel that first night, weren’t you?”
I jerked a shoulder, tried to keep anything from showing in my face or voice. “It was late. I was tired.”
“Yeah. I’ve noticed how much beauty sleep you need, Bobby.” Jake rubbed at his eyes.
He could use some beauty sleep, not that it was going to do much more than rest his body for a while. I had a feeling that the disease eating him alive was already draining his strength. And I’d broken his arm. My eyes dropped to the cast, guilt twitching.
I wondered how much time he had.
“You’re a born fighter, Bobby.” Ryan’s voice drew my attention away from Jake and back toward him. “Guy like you, you might not look for a brawl, but when a fight comes to your door? Well, you fight. And you win. But more, you’ve got a streak inside you that makes you want to protect people. Now here’s your chance to actually put all of that to use.”
I opened my mouth, a hundred denials already forming on my tongue.
Ryan’s wide grin taunted me, dared me. “You go ahead, deny it all you want. But inside, you know it’s the truth. I’m the same way. So’s Jake. We’re cut from the same cloth. Which is why we’r
e good at this.”
“We’re nothing alike.” I slid my gaze over him, from his pricy haircut to his pricy shoes, and then shifted my attention to Jake. “You two, you might be might be a couple of cookie cutter do-gooders, but me? I’m just a bum with a record. I’m good with my fists. That doesn’t add up to much.”
“And I was a punk-ass kid from Compton, looking down a one-way road to nowhere. I got off that road because I wanted to, because somebody made me realize I could be something more.” Ryan paused and then asked, “Aren’t you tired of being just a bum with a record?”
Yes.
From the corner of my eye, I could see Carly, saw her legs shift as she uncrossed them and leaned over.
She touched my shoulder. My body, already primed to respond after last night, tensed at the light touch and I turned my head, stared into her vivid eyes. She was hurt and angry, I knew, but there was none of that in her words.
“It’s plain and simple, Bobby. Can you do the job? Can you handle the job? More importantly, do you want the job?”
Plain and simple, I thought. That was the way to look at it.
And that meant my answer needed to be just as plain and simple.
And I knew what it had to be.
“Yes.”
9
I hung up the phone and felt some of the knots in my gut unravel even as others started to tighten and tug.
It had taken three weeks, half the time it normally took, but Detoine had been able to push through the paperwork, approving my move from Kentucky to California.
“You keep your butt out of trouble, Bobby, okay? And drop me a line when you get a chance.”
Those had been his parting words.
Keep my butt out of trouble.
Yeah.
I was sure that would happen.
Now, I just had to pack up the pitiful little I owned – most of which was the clothing Carly bought for me – and then get to California.
First, I sent off a message to Ryan, letting him know the move had been approved. It was early there, so I didn’t want to call. Once that was done, I grabbed the larger of the two suitcases that had been delivered to my apartment two days ago.
I hadn’t ordered them. I couldn’t have afforded them even if I’d thought about ordering luggage. I’d planned to use the single duffel bag I usually used to cart my stuff around, and the rest I’d intended to just put in a garbage bag or box. I realized now how stupid that would’ve been, not to mention how it would’ve looked, showing up in California looking like some homeless asshole.
I was only halfway through packing the first suitcase when my phone rang. It was Ryan. He didn’t bother with any preliminaries. “I’ll have a car there at noon tomorrow. You’ll be ready to go by then, right?”
“Noon? What?” I straightened up and looked around me. It wasn’t like I had that much to pack. The few second-hand books I owned were already in the duffel bag I was going to carry on the plane with me. Beyond my books and clothes, there just wasn’t much else. I had a framed picture of my mom that would go in my carry-on because I didn’t trust airlines. Everything else that really mattered was either on my phone or in my wallet. That was it, but…noon tomorrow? That didn’t even give me twenty-four hours. Sure, I’d had three weeks to know this was coming, but a part of me had held back, always believing that things would fall through and I’d be stuck here.
“I want you out here. Out here and away from that dick.”
Somehow, I didn’t think he meant dick as in slang for detective.
Sighing, I looked around and then dropped down on the creaking excuse of a bed. “Yeah. I’m ready.” My gut tightened as I forced myself to ask the next question. “How’s Jake?”
“He’s...fine.” Ryan’s voice was carefully neutral.
I closed my eyes. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.” Ryan’s sigh drifted across the phone. “He’s tired a lot. Hurts more than he wants us to know, but I see the signs. He’s managing.”
I’d done a bit of research on my own. Pancreatic cancer was the kind that hit hard and fast. After watching my mom suffer, I could see both the cruelty and the kindness of such a diagnosis. “How long will he keep working?”
“Until he can’t,” Ryan said simply. “Carly’s his world. She’s like a daughter to him, and the guys, we’re his family. You’ll see when you get here, kid.”
He hung up after a few more minutes, talking just long enough to give me the details I’d need for tomorrow. I committed them to memory instead of writing them down. I’d always relied more on my memory than on my ability to not lose a piece of paper.
Once I disconnected, I laid down and stared up at the ceiling for what I hoped would be the last time. I’d spent quite a few nights pondering that water-stained ceiling.
No more.
Not after tonight at least. I doubted I’d get much sleep. I would’ve been too keyed up even if I hadn’t been freaking out about flying for the first time.
I sat up after a few more minutes and ran through the instructions for tomorrow. They were sending a car. I’d go to the airport. The driver would direct me to the proper place and then...
“Goodbye, Kentucky.”
“How’d you do it, Cantrell?”
I froze mid-stride and turned my head.
I should have known I couldn’t escape without seeing him one more time. Dale Mitchell had parked his car in the rutted alley that served as a parking lot for the apartment building I used to call home.
The driver Ryan had sent waited by the SUV, and when I shot him a look, he started to come my way. I held up a hand and shook my head. He stopped, hands crossed in front of him. But he didn’t back off and he didn’t make any attempt to look like he wasn’t watching us both very carefully. I briefly wondered if Ryan had suspected this would happen.
I turned back to Dale, my face blank. “Detective.”
“I just can’t figure it out, Bobby. How in the hell do you do it? You got some of the finest cops I know fooled into thinking you’re not a waste of space. You had your warden fooled into supporting your release. And now, you wrapped that Hollywood chick right around your finger. Look at you. You landed yourself in quite the bed of roses, didn’t you?” A smirk crossed his face. “You must be really good at something she likes. I wonder what it might be.”
I wanted to hit him so hard it’d knock that smirk into next year and his ass into the next century.
Instead, I just shrugged. I couldn’t, however, resist a smart-ass comment. “Maybe she just likes my pretty face.”
“She likes something. There’s no denying that.” He came closer and nodded at the suitcase in my hand. “What’s in there, Bobby?”
“Clothes.”
“Drop it. I want to see.”
The driver again started toward me again. Shooting him a dark look, I said, “I got this. Stay out of it or I’ll call Ryan right now and tell him he can shove the job up his slick lawyer ass.”
When the man lifted his hands and backed away, I knew I’d guessed right. That wasn’t just some rent-a-driver from a car service. He was too watchful; too...on. If this wasn’t one of the crew, then I’d eat the damn suitcase in my hand. Looking back at Dale, I set the suitcase on the ground. I didn’t kneel down, though. Like a well-trained ex-con, I waited for further instruction.
A bit of a smug smile curled Dale’s lips, and his eyes gleamed with the light of what he saw as a victory. “Open it.”
Now, crouching down, I did just that, and then stood up, folding my arms over my chest.
“Turn around.”
I resisted the urge to say something ugly, but when I started to turn, I saw something that made me stop half-way. The driver hadn’t come any closer, but he had his phone out. I stared at him. “What are you doing?”
Dale looked up, slowly straightening from the semi-kneeling position he’d been dropping into as he caught sight of what the driver was doing.
“What’re you doing
?” he asked, annoyance evident in his voice.
“Just trying to make sure there’s an objective record of what’s going on here, Detective. It’s for your benefit as much as it is for Mr. Cantrell’s.” He gave a slow, easy smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“There’s nothing going on here. Why don’t you put the phone away?” Dale’s voice was polite, but I could hear the edge underneath.
“If there’s nothing going on, then there’s no reason why I can’t record these events, is there?” the driver responded smoothly, the phone in his hand not wavering. “As I’m sure you are aware, Detective, it’s perfectly legal to record activities by the police in the state of Kentucky, providing I’m not interfering with your ability to carry out your job.”
Then he looked down, frowned a bit, and stepped so that he was standing by the trunk of the slick, shining Escalade that held my other suitcase and my duffel bag.
“Is this a reasonable enough distance, Detective?” The driver’s tone was polite, but cool.
“What’s your name?” Dale demanded.
“When you’re finished there, I’ll be happy to give you the name and number of my attorney as well as my card. I’ll be emailing him the file as soon as this is over.”
Five long seconds dragged out, and then Dale turned back to me. He glared at me as though imagining all the ways he’d like to tear me apart. I suspected blood, guts and dull, rusty objects were involved. Finally, he snapped, “Didn’t I tell you to turn your miserable ass around, Cantrell?”
Slowly, I did. I was facing the phone now, but I didn’t look at it. My face was burning with humiliation. As glad as I was to have things being recorded so Dale couldn’t do something like make me miss my plane, I was thoroughly disgusted with myself for needing it.
I held still as he dug through my clothes, and then I heard him moving around me and braced myself. The flat, hard glare he fired at me as he stepped in front of me yielded no response on my part.
“Get that shit up.” He practically spit the words at me. “Get out of this state. If you ever come back...”