Devil's Bargain Page 6

  On my way back to his bedroom, I try the doors, finding only empty bedrooms and one locked door. Probably a study.

  After finishing my apple, I have a shower and get dressed. I smooth out the bed and take one last look at it before turning away, putting on my shoes and collecting my tote, to call the elevator.

  I notice the key card in the slot and assume you need a key to unlock it. It arrives momentarily and when the doors open, I step inside and push the L for lobby.

  As they slide shut, I feel a strange sense of loss. Last night wasn’t what I expected. He wasn’t what I expected. Not the kind of man I thought he would be at all.

  And it didn’t end the way it began.

  Although what will this mean for Liza? A quarter-of-a-million-dollars is a lot of money to pay for a woman to scratch at you and turn into a whimpering mess when you try to get what you paid for.

  I shake my head, turn to watch the city as the elevator descends. More glass. I wonder if he ever feels like he’s living in a fish tank, exposed and vulnerable.

  No, of course not.

  There’s nothing vulnerable about the man I met last night.

  Digging into my tote, I find my phone and check the time. Almost ten in the morning.

  The elevator doors open and I hear the sound of the casino, already alive with gamblers at the slot machines, a lot of whom have probably been here all night.

  It’s too much, after all that silence of upstairs. A rude re-entry into the real world.

  That sense of loss is back again as I take a step forward, but then a man steps toward me.

  “Miss, your car is ready.”

  “My car?” I remember how rudely I was brought here.

  “Hawk—”

  That’s right. Hawk.

  I shake my head. “No, thank you.” Best to get back into my world as soon as possible. “I’m fine. I don’t need a ride.”

  “But I was told—”

  “I’m fine,” I repeat and walk out of the casino and into the summer heat. I walk down the street for a moment feeling like people I pass know what I did last night. My walk of shame.

  Around the corner, I have to sprint to make the bus. I only look back once at the building as we pull away from the stop. Only crane my neck to look at the penthouse level for a moment before I dig out my phone and call the shop. I leave a message for Deirdre to let her know that I’ll be late today. I don’t tell her why. I then read the text from Jim, my mechanic, telling me my car is ready.

  At least that’s one thing going my way.

  From the bus stop, I walk three blocks to the garage and when I get there, I see the old model VW Golf in the lot. I walk into the office, glancing at the lone car in the shade of the garage.

  Jim is inside on a call and nods in greeting when I enter. It takes him a few minutes to wrap up the call before he looks up at me.

  “Out-of-towners,” he says, shaking his head. “They expect everything for free these days.” He looks down over his reading glasses at the ancient computer screen and pushes a button. The old printer starts chugging. “And you, miss, you can’t keep driving that thing like you are,” he says to me, setting a printout on the counter. “Duct tape cannot hold a car together.”

  I’ve been known to do my own repairs now and again, but this car just needs to get me from point A to point B. House to shop and back. I can’t afford expensive repairs.

  “It’s fine for now, Jim. What’s the damage?”

  He hands the printout to me and explains what he did, which I don’t follow, but I trust Jim. I bought the car from him years ago and I’ve been coming to him for repairs since.

  “Okay,” I say, digging my credit card out of my wallet and handing it over to him. “Here you go.”

  Eight-hundred dollars is still more than I want to spend, but I have no choice. Besides, any other garage would charge me double that.

  When he runs it through the little machine, I keep my fingers crossed it’ll go through.

  I think about last night again. At the sound of Hawk’s voice calling out the quarter-of-a-million-dollars like it’s nothing. Spare change.

  Jim puts the receipt in front of me. I sign it, then take my keys but before I go, and for reasons I don’t quite understand myself, I lean over the counter and hug him.

  He’s obviously caught off guard, but he pats my back.

  “Thanks for everything, Jim. I really appreciate it.”

  “Anytime, kiddo,” he says, his old eyes worried when I give him a sad smile.

  No, I do know why I do it. I’ve tried not to think of Liza for years. Anytime guilt crept in, I pushed it away, going back to what happened. To the fact that she lied.

  We were in this together. We had a plan. But she betrayed me and when I got the chance to run, I took it.

  But leaving her there, that was my betrayal of her, wasn’t it? And a more dangerous one?

  I drop my tote in the passenger seat and start the car. The reality of Liza being here and what that could mean settles like a brick in my belly.

  I need to go to the hospital. I need to see Liza, make sure she’s okay. Make sure she hasn’t told Sean I’m here. But first I need to go home and change my clothes.

  Once I arrive at the little yellow house, I go up to my room and put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Then, before I leave the bedroom, I think of something.

  What if she’s called Sean? Or if she was unconscious, maybe the hospital staff would have found her identification and contacted next of kin. They did adopt her once I was out of the picture and it makes sense that they’d call him if she was unable to.

  Would she tell him about me being here? I want to believe she wouldn’t.

  Just in case, I take a duffel bag out of the closet and throw some clothes in.

  From the bathroom, I gather my toothbrush and a few toiletries, putting them in too. It’s just a precaution, I tell myself. I don’t want to leave. It’s just in case I have to.

  Things are different now, though. With the shop and so many people depending on me.

  And maybe I’m overreacting.

  Liza’s not my enemy. She’d know not to let Sean know where I am. And besides, she didn’t know exactly where to find me. If she had known, I’m sure she’d have come to the house or the shop by now.

  Leaving the half-packed duffel, I get back into my car outside to head to the hospital, my anxiety growing as I do. I’m not sure what I’m going to do. I have no plan.

  Once I arrive, I park my car and head inside. I walk up to the reception desk and think maybe I should have called instead of showing up here.

  “Can I help you?” the middle-aged woman behind reception asks.

  Too late now. “I’m looking for Liza Boyd’s room?”

  She looks down at her computer screen, punches some keys. “You just missed her,” she says, looking up at me. “Discharged. She’s being moved to a private facility.”

  “Oh. You said I just missed her?”

  “Yes. Her brother signed her out not half an hour ago and the private—”

  “Her brother?” I feel my face drain of color. Feel the weight of cement in the pit of my stomach.

  The woman’s smile fades. “Are you all right, hun?”

  “You said her brother?”

  She looks at her screen again. Nods. “Sean Boyd. I recognize him from TV. Nice guy.”

  No.

  No, there’s nothing nice about that guy.

  I turn in a circle, look around the lobby half expecting him to be here lurking in a corner.

  “Miss, are you all right?”

  I force my legs to move. Force my knees not to buckle. To hold me upright just a little while longer. Just until I get to my car.

  Then I can panic.

  There I can collapse.

  I’m in a daze as I make my way through the parking lot. Twice cars have to screech their brakes to stop before hitting me.

  The button entry doesn’t work on the old Golf anymor
e and it takes me three tries to get the key into the lock. Three tries before I’m in my car and my hands are on the steering wheel. The lingering garage smell fills my nose. Gasoline and sweat. I should roll down my window.

  I force the key into the ignition and start the car, taking a deep breath in before backing out of my spot and getting on the road.

  This doesn’t mean he knows about me. Sean being here, it’s not about me. She is his sister. And if she’s involved with people who beat her up, if she’s involved with men like Hawk, I can’t imagine that’s good for Sean. His political ambitions rival his father’s.

  Him being here is about that. It’s not about me. This is just damage control.

  It’s only when I’m driving away that I think I should have asked which facility Liza was transferred to. I can call and ask, although I doubt they’ll give me that information.

  The car behind mine honks their horn and I look up to find the light is green. I drive through the intersection.

  It’s fine. I’m fine.

  And I need to get to the shop. Deirdre has to leave by one. She babysits her granddaughter almost every afternoon until her daughter, who’s a single mom, gets home.

  It’s one of those drives that you have no idea how you got to where you were going but about half an hour later, I’m parked down the street from the shop. I look around when I climb out.

  Wrinkles in Time is a second-hand clothing store several blocks off the strip. I inherited it when the owner, Marjorie Adams, an old woman I met when I first moved here, passed away after a long illness.

  She asked me to keep it going, explaining it was important work. I had no idea she owned the shop outright or that she gave fifty-percent of any earnings to the homeless shelter. I knew she donated some of it, but I didn’t realize it was half.

  I also learned that the other half went to pay me.

  Mrs. Adams owned the building, which passed on to her children upon her death, and they were bound by her will to only charge me minimal rent as long as I kept the shop up. I’ve done exactly that for two years.

  The bell rings over the door when I enter, and Deirdre is standing behind the counter reading a tattered book. I recognize the title. A dark romance. I think she’s read it about eight times.

  “There you are,” she exclaims, checking her watch. “They called from the school and the little munchkin has pinkeye. Can you believe it? Poor kid.”

  “Oh, no, that’s lousy. I’d have gotten here sooner if I’d known. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. Pinkeye isn’t the end of the world, but I may not be able to come in tomorrow at all if I have to keep her at home.”

  “That’s okay. Just let me know.”

  She nods as she collects her purse. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, sold that fancy jacket this morning,” she says on her way out.

  “That’s great.” It was an old and rare designer item I had in the window.

  “Fifty bucks.”

  I smile, nodding as I look out onto the street through the glass storefront windows only half hearing what she’s saying as she hurries outside.

  Before I can lock the door and turn the sign around, two women walk in. I head behind the counter after greeting them. I pick up the phone, then put it back down again.

  I need to think this through. I need to go see Liza to find out what happened, and make sure she’s okay.

  I’ve reached out to her before, a little while after she’d left the Boyd house. I’d wanted to check in on her. Make sure she was okay.

  That had been a mistake, though. And the other times she contacted me, she was looking for money. More than once, I gave her all I’d managed to save up. I suspected it wasn’t to pay the rent like she claimed but I couldn’t say no. And each time, I’d felt a vague threat when she’d mention Sean.

  I changed my number after that last time.

  But there’s a part of me that can’t just ignore the fact that she’s in a hospital after being beaten. No matter what, she and I were close once. What happened to us, it did this to her. It made her the addict Hawk claims she is.

  I got lucky—if you can call it that. She didn’t. And I will always know this.

  It’s a risk though. I’ve managed to stay hidden for years. I know what will happen if Sean finds me. I know what he’ll do.

  I busy myself tagging new items, the day passing in a blur, my thoughts a whirl with everything.

  In my mind, I’m weighing options. If I leave here, I’ll need to get a new car. One that won’t break down on the side of the road. The Golf is fine for short trips in town where Jim is available if I run into trouble. It won’t make a long-distance trip.

  But what will happen to the shop?

  Deirdre could take it over. She’d like that, I think. Right? But there’s her granddaughter to consider. This is just a part-time job for her.

  And I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to start again.

  I don’t want to be afraid.

  I go back and forth all afternoon, deciding and changing my mind about everything again and again. All the while, thoughts of Hawk last night, of how he was, how gentle he became. How almost careful with me.

  But I will never see him again. Best to get him out of my mind. He’s not my prince charming and there won’t be a fairy-tale ending. Not for me.

  As much as I want to close up shop, it’s Saturday, my busiest day, and I need the money. By the time I leave, it’s half-past nine.

  I drive home remembering how the last time I’d walked into my house, Hawk’s men had been there waiting for me. That was just last night. It seems like so much has happened since.

  I think about Hawk and I wonder if I could go to him. If Sean were here, could I go to him and ask for help?

  But that’s ridiculous. He’s a criminal. A loan shark. That’s the reason I was in that situation at all. What happened after the auction, well, I should just keep my head down before he decides he’d like his money’s worth after all.

  Besides, for a man like him, that sort of transaction we had, it’s business. I wonder if he has someone else paying off their debt tonight.

  The thought makes me feel a little sick and I distract myself by switching radio stations.

  I pull onto my street and do a quick scan. Nothing looks out of the ordinary.

  At least not until I get near enough to my house to see the black sedan parked high on my driveway.

  My heart skips a beat and my hands grow sweaty on the steering wheel.

  It’s the same car as the other night. I think. Although it’s not like I saw the license plate. But I do recognize the man smoking his cigarette out on my porch.

  I park my car on the street and take a breath that should be calming but my heart is still thundering against my chest as I step out.

  The man takes a deep drag as he watches me walk up the cracked walkway to the front steps. My heels click as I go and although it’s not a quiet neighborhood, the sound seems too loud tonight.

  When I climb the stairs, he nods, reaches to open my front door for me.

  The lights are on and I step into the living room. I can see the small kitchen and find another man looking in my refrigerator. He’ll be disappointed, I think.

  The door closes behind me just as I hear Hawk’s voice.

  “Mother fucker,” he says. “Just make sure the family’s taken care of.”

  He ducks his head as he descends the stairs and when his strange eyes meet mine it feels like a thousand butterflies take flight in my stomach.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” he says, eyes on me as he disconnects the call and tucks his phone into the pocket of his suit jacket.

  The house looks tiny with him in it. Not to mention old and dusty.

  “How did you get in here?” I ask, taking a step back when he comes to stand just a few feet from me.

  He shrugs a shoulder. “That lock wasn’t keeping anyone out.”


  I look at the door and remember I’d only used the lock on the doorknob the other night.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll fix what I broke.”

  There’s that accent again. And it’s so subtle, I imagine most people don’t notice it at all.

  I turn back to find he’s moved closer. His gaze roams over my face, travels down to my chest, then back up to my eyes.

  “Get out,” he says.

  “What?” I ask.

  But then his men leave. He was talking to them.

  “Why did you refuse the ride this morning?”

  I step backward to give myself space. Room to breathe. I turn my attention to putting my keys and tote down on the table by the door.

  “I didn’t need it.”

  “You took a bus.”

  When I turn, it’s to find him in the same place still watching me. “What’s wrong with the bus? Men like you don’t ride it, I guess? Too good for public transportation?”

  He chuckles, shifts his weight to one leg. “Men like me?”

  I shrug a shoulder, hoping I look calmer than I feel because my heart is racing and in my mind are images of the way he looked last night. The way he looks under those clothes.

  Images of the way he looked at me.

  “I don’t mind public transportation,” I say, my voice coming out strange.

  “No, please, explain the men like you part?” he says, stepping forward.

  It takes all I have not to back up. “Don’t you have a stable of women available to you at any moment of the day?”

  He cocks his head to the side. “What does that have to do with public transportation?”

  I flounder. Why did I even say that?

  “Or are you jealous?” he asks.

  “Jealous?”

  “Of those women. My stable. Maybe you’d like to join—”

  “No. I…of course not. Just forget it. What do you want? Why are you here?”

  I swear he comes even closer if that’s possible. “Take better care with your words, Melissa Chase.”

  I note the emphasis on my borrowed last name. I wonder what he knows and why he’d care to know anything at all.

  “Where are you going?” He breaks away and I can breathe again.

  “What?”

  “Half-packed bag upstairs.”

  Shit. “You had no business going through my house.”