He felt a little bad about scaring her. “I’m sorry, dollface. I know we’re not supposed to tap the glass. But are we allowed to tap fine, fine bank teller ass?” He let his two winning dimples come out to play again.
Shannon snickered and tried to look disapproving. His eyes twinkled, and he knew she forgave him.
“How can I help you, sir?” she asked.
Beckett pulled out his wallet and sifted through a few different licenses with his mug on them until he found the one that worked at this bank. He slid the New York ID under the little pass-way to the other side. Shannon entered the information with her quiet keyboard.
“I need to close a few accounts, Shannon.” Beckett put his mouth a little closer to the circle of air holes punched in the barrier between the money and the customers and settled his elbows on the counter in a friendly gesture. Without the glass, they’d be very close to each other.
Shannon glanced from the license to the computer monitor to his ridiculous biceps. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Taylor.”
Beckett could tell the moment the total of his first account appeared on her screen. She kept her mouth closed in a testament to her professionalism, but her eyes widened slightly. After a few more clicks, she handed his license back to him.
“Sir, let me call the manager. I’m sure she’d like to handle this herself.” Shannon looked like she would gnaw off her own leg to get an on-the-spot promotion.
Beckett sighed. Merkin or Mouse usually did his banking for him. He kept his elbows on the cold marble. Fuck. This is going to take forever.
In just a few moments Bank Manager Diana Grint motioned him to her office and closed the door behind her. Beckett endured her endless verbal gymnastics after he told her the purpose of his visit. He let his eyes go numb and daydreamed about his plans.
Beckett wanted his money out where he could hold it. Eve deserved everything he could give her. Watching her lay herself open in front of him had cracked his iron resolve to exist solely for his brothers’ protection. Beckett knew Kyle and Livia were sure things for Blake and Cole. It was a feeling in his gut, so that decision was made. He’d give bonuses to his employees and cut out of town with his whole fucking family and everyone who mattered to them.
Diana slid a piece of paper with his total liquid assets circled across the desk, and even Beckett was impressed. Plenty enough money to support some crazy commune of his favorite people. He knew his plan was a little spur of the moment, but for crap’s sake—it was all he really needed.
He tuned back in to Diana in time to hear her say, “Your associate, Jim Hern, has done a wonderful job with your investments over the years. Does he do that professionally?”
Mouse. I haven’t thought of his real freaking name in a million years.
“Did he now?” Beckett said.
Diana tapped a few more keys and turned the thin monitor to face him. “See here? And here? This was the starting sum. And this is where you’ve ended up.”
Hot damn. “He’ll get a big-ass raise, I promise.” Beckett felt a rush of love for the squeaky-voiced henchman. Mouse wasn’t a brother, but damn, he was close. He was definitely a friend.
“So when do I get my paper bags filled with money? I’ve still got a lot to do this afternoon.” I gotta do Eve in the shower. Eve in a bed, swirled in sheets like cotton candy. Eve in my arms so I can whisper in her ear.
Diana seemed done begging and pleading for him to reconsider his withdrawals, but she now gave him some solid advice. “Mr. Taylor, I highly suggest transferring these funds. If you want some cash to work with, I’ll be more than happy to bring you whatever amount you desire. But I suggest we set you up with an overseas account. Traveling around with this kind of money…” Diana shook her head. “I just can’t recommend it. I’m sure Mr. Hern can assist you on a more personal level with the overseas funds.”
Beckett knew how to listen to expertise, and he thanked her for offering it. He still got quite a large wad of cash in an envelope, but he also took along all the new account papers he needed to look over with Mouse and Eve.
Beckett was surprised by the twilight when he came out the front door of the bank. His transactions had taken some time. He shook his head, realizing no one had dared say anything to him about the bank needing to close. He looked at his watch—it was nearly six—and smiled to himself as he trotted around the building toward the Hummer.
Then he heard an explosion. The dread climbed up his legs, slapped at his balls, and clung to his neck. Another explosion sounded. Now he could see the smoke. It created a thick, black freight train across the sky, right above his mall.
Eve’s in the mall. He ran for his Hummer as a third blast rocked Poughkeepsie.
Beckett wanted to call her, but he needed both hands to drive the Hummer as the crow would fly to his den of evil, especially in the gathering darkness. Beckett tore through front lawns, crushed pretty fences, and maneuvered around dogs. His headlights bounced wildly, and he could barely see the ground around the image in his mind of her sitting behind his desk watching him leave. Don’t be in the mall. Fuck!
Beckett careened into his parking lot. The entire structure of the strip mall was a seething, angry monster of flames. Its heat would melt the sun.
“EVE!” Beckett screamed as he leaped out of the Hummer. Where the fuck is everybody? “EVE!” Beckett ran for the building, only to be thrown back by an onslaught of fire.
When he picked himself up off his ass, he couldn’t hear the roar of the flames anymore. Actually he couldn’t hear anything but a muffled silence. His ears had quit working. He looked at the building, trying to find a way in, but there wasn’t even a hint of the doorway, no trace of a window.
“EEEVE!!” He had to trust his mouth to do its job, even without proof it was working—or that anyone was around to hear him.
Beckett dropped to his knees in the parking lot. He knew he was too close to the fire. His clothes were so hot. His skin prickled with pain as he rose and geared up to join her. He had to find her, even if she was gone.
31
The Sunset has a Flavor
THE SUNSET WAS GLORIOUS: orange and purple and red. But Blake’s mind reeled. Standing in the sunlight, battling his glass skin, he tried to find the positive. The rays felt so beautiful on his face; Blake thought he could taste the colors. The red was his fear, the orange was hope, and the purple—the purple tasted of tomorrow. He just wasn’t sure he knew what tomorrow would bring anymore.
Stupid piano. He wished he’d never gone back inside Livia’s house. But maybe it was better he knew how she really felt. He slid the mask back on even though there was little sunshine left now. His mind refused to stop blaring the worst parts of what he’d heard over and over again. “Dad, Blake and I have only known each other for a few weeks. It’s a brand new thing. It might not even last.”
Blake wondered why Livia hadn’t told him she studied psychology at her school in the city. But deep down, he knew. A glass-skinned, cardboard piano-lover had to be an amazing case study. A sure-fire way to make a name for yourself—or at the very least a professional challenge too tempting to resist. Had she been taking notes all along? While I was counting smiles, was she proving her thesis?
Blake knew he needed to calm down. He needed to think. Over his shoulder he noticed a small car following him too slowly. He hopped a fence and let his inner tramp take over. He picked through backyards and driveways with about as much concern for human boundaries as a squirrel would have.
Blake bit his tongue. Of course she’s not perfect. Of course she has ulterior motives. God, she was good at pretending. The soulful gray eyes. The tender heart drawn on his back. He had to admit he would never have guessed. Stupid, trusting, loyal Blake.
Hasn’t life taught me well enough? Love is not mine to find. I’m a fool. Damn it to hell.
As his thoughts raced, Blake picked up his pace. Without realizing where he’d been going, Blake soon stood at the top of the stairs to the tr
ain platform. He shook his head at his stubborn, still-believing feet. While his brain was numb with pain, they’d brought him back to where it all began, as if that could somehow make things better.
Psychology. How could she not tell me?
The only reason he could fathom was deception. It was such a small piece of information, until it remained unspoken. Then it became everything.
“It probably won’t even last…He scared me once…”
Blake trotted down the steps and pulled off his mask. He’d have to return it to Mouse. He’d done fine without it before her. He just needed to go back to being what he was.
He stood in his shady spot, which was ironically the brightest place on the platform once the lights came on at night. Against his better judgment, he considered his possibilities. I could be her guinea pig—let her try her best on me. She could strap me to a board in the sunlight in the center of town. At least maybe I could still kiss her. Maybe I could still touch the soft skin inside her elbow.
Blake knew Livia had given him more than pain, more than a mask. She’d given him worth—such soaring worth, he’d been wealthy with it. Even now he still had a little to draw from. He had enough not to make himself an experiment for her.
He dug in his jacket pocket and pulled out his heart-shaped stone. When he’d found it after she kissed him that first time, he’d taken it as a sign. Even his woods knew he was in love and had given him a present. He’d used a knife at Beckett’s place to scratch the B+L on its face.
Beckett had eyed him with suspicion as he worked. “A chick got you by the balls? Or is it a dude? You know I’m not a hater, baby.”
Blake had told Beckett all about her and the kiss.
“Good for fucking you,” Beckett said, pounding him on the back. “If I told you once, I told you a million times: you’re a handsome motherfucker. I’m almost gay for you.” Beckett pulled out a wad of cash. “Now, you go spoil that pussy.”
Blake waved his hands, rejecting the money. “No, Beckett, I’m telling you, I really think she might like me. Just me—the way I am.”
Blake rubbed his finger over the stone. Now it was testament to a broken dream. It was just a rock in the right shape, not a message from the universe. She did want him just the way he was: a diseased brain she could try to fix.
He set the rock down in his spot. He needed to give her something to tell her he knew. He knew it was over. Livia would find the rock when she came to the train station. She would know he’d been there, and that he was gone.
Maybe she’ll be proud I could walk away. Maybe she’ll know that’s a good thing.
He turned from the spot as the train pulled loudly into the station. Distracted by his thoughts and the roar of the train, Blake barely noticed the dazzling brightness that appeared for a moment in the sky. A second and third flash and accompanying rumble got Blake moving. Rain must be on the way. He trotted up the steps. There was one more thing he had to do. It would cleanse him. He had a new purpose now.
A short jog later, he peeled back the fence to the woods past Firefly Park. A little ways down his familiar trail, he stopped at the tree with the hole in its trunk and dug out a coffee can that kept a few things safe for him. By the time he got to the clearing, the moon was high enough so he could see. This is good. I can say goodbye.
Livia had ruined this clearing for him. He could never again be here without picturing her hair fanned out around her. He’d never find peace here now. He’d always picture the love he’d seen in her eyes when she’d taken off his mask.
Thought, he corrected himself. Thought I’d seen in her eyes. Blake felt the lump of wool in his pocket. This very mask.
He would start with that. Blake pulled it out and clicked open the lighter he kept in the coffee can. The yarn took a while to catch and was mostly disappointing in its smoky smoldering.
He pulled out his piano. No. It’s all I have, his mind screamed. But she’s in here. All the songs I wrote, all the hope I had. It’s all in here, he argued back.
He tried to make his heart hard as he smoothed it out on his knee. He held the very top corner and clicked the lighter on the bottom. The cardboard went much faster than the wool. An angry red line preceded the flame, as if warning his beloved cardboard of its eminent death. Blake pictured Livia’s smile as the cardboard blackened and curled.
He tried to remember the feel of her hand when she’d shaken his. “I’m Livia McHugh. It’s nice to meet you.”
Smoke poured from the cardboard as he remembered his response. “Blake Hartt. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He’d said his name, but what he’d been thinking was: She touched me. I am someone. I count.
Blake held the piano until the flames licked his fingers. Then he dropped the tiny, glowing piece, and it landed on top of the smoky pile of mask.
He felt no relief. He felt no closure. He knew then he would have to leave Poughkeepsie. He’d go very far away so he wouldn’t be tempted to come back. He looked down at the ash that had been his piano and missed it. He missed it already.
His sadness slowly solidified into anger as he scraped piles of leaves together with his feet and lit them with the lighter. He kept going until the center of his clearing had a floor of flames.
He watched the yellow and gold with tears forming in his eyes. The flames had a taste. They tasted like Livia never really loving him at all.
32
Trust No One
EVE LET THE MOTORCYCLE have its head. She felt her tears drying into itchy, salty tracks on her cheeks. This was everything she’d dreaded. She blew through a red light without even looking for oncoming cars, desperate to outrun her pain.
She felt a wave of disgust. She’d reacted the way she’d trained herself to do—Find something and destroy it. Feel something else, so pain won’t be the only thing inside—but blowing up the strip mall had not been gratifying. It hadn’t even been worth the trouble. And now she should want to find him and kill him, which she could easily do. But she couldn’t. Even if he’d used her and thrown her away. She sped by an empty parking lot. She couldn’t end someone she loved, even if she hated him.
Through her anger, something in Eve’s mind twitched. An empty parking lot. Where was she even headed? An empty parking lot!
Eve whipped the motorcycle around in an intersection. She only registered the swerving cars to avoid them. Fucking Merkin.
It all clicked together like a stack of Legos. Beckett would never have told Merkin to clear the lot before he fired her. Beckett didn’t believe in crying wolf, especially about the cops. And he’d never send Merkin to fire her. He knew she’d be likely to kill the messenger. I’m so stupid. Damn it.
She’d let her worst fears cloud her vision. She hadn’t seen Merkin’s deception. Eve raced back to the strip mall, something guiding her to the fury she’d just left. She pulled in just in time to see Beckett blown backward by an explosion inside the blazing building.
Son of a bitch. The motorcycle clattered to the ground on its side, and Eve sprinted to him as he pulled himself up and screamed her name. He looked at the wall of fire tensed like a runner on the starting blocks.
He thinks I’m in there.
The heat stung Eve’s skin and sirens wailed behind her as she reached Beckett and wrapped her hand around his throat, the most immediate means she could think of to stop him. He stiffened, then relaxed as she molded herself to his back and began pulling him away from the flames.
Irregular pops and explosions punctuated the ongoing blaze as the weapons inside the building discharged in the heat. But Beckett never flinched. She felt his throat vibrate as he sighed her name with relief. He tilted his head back until it rested on hers.
“Don’t ever die in my head again. Please, never again,” he told her, his voice raspy.
Eve continued to guide Beckett until they stepped backward over the firefighters’ hose and the air began to cool. When she released him, Beckett spun to face her. He didn’t smile until he met
her eyes.
She pulled on his hand. “Come on, baby. We’ve got to get out of here.”
Beckett dropped her hand and grabbed her face, his big thumbs tracing her cheekbones.
“IS EVERYONE OUT? DO YOU KNOW WHO DID THIS?” he shouted at a volume too loud even for the fire-ravaged parking lot.
Eve realized then he couldn’t hear. She mouthed silently, “Everyone is out.” Then she pointed to the discarded rocket-propelled grenade launcher in the parking lot, back at her own chest, and finally at the mall.
“YOU BLEW THIS SHIT UP?” Beckett looked puzzled, then smiled.
She nodded.
“EVE, I LOVE YOU. I LOVE THE HELL OUT OF YOU. YOU’RE ONE CRAZY BITCH!” Beckett would not be pulled from the spot.
With the mall fire blazing high in the sky behind him and the emergency vehicles’ lights dancing across his face, he swept Eve into an I-just-got-off-the-boat-after-the-war-style dip kiss. Finally he set her on her feet and smacked her ass. He strolled over to the firemen and police officers.
“GENTLEMEN! THE BUILDING IS EMPTY. PLEASE STAY CLEAR AND LET IT BURN TO THE GROUND. THERE ARE DANGEROUS WEAPONS INSIDE.” He nodded when they gave him thumbs up.
Beckett waved away a paramedic who gestured toward a waiting ambulance, and Eve picked up her scratched motorcycle. Beckett threw himself into the seat of his Hummer, and they tore out of the parking lot.
They were a few miles away when Eve pulled ahead, then signaled him to pull over. Beckett parked alongside her on the shoulder. He stomped over to the motorcycle and stood in front of her with a huge, winning smile. She started speaking immediately. “Merkin’s a traitor. We have to find him—get everyone together. I don’t know what he’s up to. Can you hear me?”
“When your lips move, it makes me want to take my pants off right here.” Beckett went in for a kiss. He spoke loudly, but he wasn’t screaming anymore, which Eve took as a good sign.
Poughkeepsie Page 27