“You told them you dumped me?”
“Does it matter how the fallacy ends?”
She took a drink and ignored the question. “Let me make Dad a plate.”
Ryan stood and helped her clear the table, making the kitchen as orderly as possible.
“He even had dessert set up.” She went to the drawer filled with junk by the phone and jotted down a note. She set it on the cake’s plastic wrap in the fridge:
We’ll share this tomorrow.
Missed you.
Ryan set the covered plate of dinner on the shelf beneath the cake. He didn’t like it. This made no sense. He didn’t have any glimpse into the inner workings of Dr. Ted Hartt’s life, but he couldn’t imagine a man changing something as traditional as Christmas dinner with his only daughter. Surely there’d been calls that he’d farmed out or arranged to have covered in previous years.
Eve closed the fridge and faced him. The space between them was too small. It couldn’t fit all his overwhelming feelings. He wanted to pull her against him.
“Sorry he wasn’t here.” He looked at her feet. Okay, really he looked at her tits while pretending to look at her feet.
“Thanks for filling in.” She patted the center of his chest.
He couldn’t help it—he put his hand on top of hers. Stupid, because she was vulnerable. Her hand was small compared to his huge paw, and soft. The fact that she’d killed God knew how many people with it gave him an inappropriate hard-on.
She sighed. “Ryan.”
It was admonishment. He knew what was coming and gave her the words before she had a chance to say them. “Ryan, this isn’t going to happen. I want to be friends, but if you’re going to turn everything into something more…I know. I know what you’re going to say.”
She patted his chest again beneath his hand. When he found her eyes, they had sympathy and a hint of a smile.
“You saved me,” she told him. “And I don’t have many friends. But I don’t want to be the queen of your friend zone. You tell me what you need.” She didn’t take her hand back. She just waited.
“I need to be part of your life. And I’m not going to lie about my feelings for you. I think there will be a time when I need to distance myself. But that’s not yet. Not for me.”
She finally did pull her hand away, but stepped in for a hug. He gratefully accepted her and rested his chin on her head.
“At least you’re my guilty pleasure,” she mumbled into his chest.
If his hard-on had been running the show, she’d be the pinwheel petals and his dick would be the peg spinning her around. “And you’re my pleasure that I wish had more guilt about,” he told her with a sigh. He patted her back and then stepped away so as to not turn it into a horribly timed sexual advance. “Let’s lock up—unless you want to open the presents under the tree?”
“No, I couldn’t do it without Dad. But wait.” She led him to the living room and knelt in front of the tree. While she dug around underneath it, he checked out her ass, then looked at the ornaments. There were the regular array of balls and lights, but in between were some distinctly handmade ones. A little girl named EVE in all caps had framed pictures and cut out felt shapes. Obviously Ted had cherished the ornaments and kept them in good condition over the years. There were even two tiny clay-sculpted people holding hands. The man had a stethoscope, and the girl held a flower. She rose from her knees, and Ryan cast her in a thousand porno movies featuring him and her.
He was such a dog in his mind. He reached out and touched a set of glittery walnuts with a piece of yarn hot-glued to serve as the ornament hanger.
“Did you make that set of sparkly nuts for your dad?” He pointed to the center of the tree.
She slapped his arm. “Never once have those been a dirty thing before.”
“Sorry. Thought it was the obvious joke.” He cupped the nuts and wiggled his eyebrows at her.
She burst out laughing. He took them off the tree and held them at the correct height to become improvisational testicles. She laughed so hard she crouched.
He loved her laugher. He wanted to bury his dick in it. He added a song to his new bouncing nuts, singing “Silver Balls, Silver Balls” in his best Nat King Cole impression. She swatted at him, wiping tears from her eyes.
He hung them back on the tree and jammed his hands in his pockets.
When she caught her breath, she admonished him, “Now you’ve ruined a childhood memory for me.”
“You’re welcome.”
She held out a small wrapped package. “I left it here because…”
He nodded. He knew why. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s nothing, really.” She shrugged.
He nodded and opened the wrapping, crumpling it in his fist as it came undone, so as not to make a mess. It was a wallet. It made him laugh because he needed one desperately.
“It’s just a wallet. I just thought…” She trailed off again.
He opened it and tucked in the billfold was a small picture, a printed version of the selfie they’d taken on her phone in front of a sunset when they’d been “dating” while she infiltrated the Vitullo organization.
On the back she’d written “For my friend.”
He nodded. “This is great. I really needed it.” He meant the picture, but he motioned toward the wallet.
“Great. I was figuring you’d finally remembered to get a new one two days ago.”
“Nope. You know me, I only think of it for the second I’m paying for something and no other times. This rocks.” In his truck he had three other wallets, all brand new from this morning: one from his mom, one from a neighbor, and the other from Trish. He was half expecting the Trish one to explode.
He looked at the ceiling as she bent down to rearrange the presents she’d disrupted. Dangling from the ceiling fan was a clump of mistletoe. He gave it the finger, and quickly replaced it with his pointer finger when she stood up.
He had to say something and lamely offered, “Your dad like kissing himself?” Shoot me.
“Uh, no. When I was younger my Barbie dolls and Ken dolls loved playing under the tree and with the ornaments. We actually had a little manger, so then the baby Jesus was involved. It got crazy. Anyway, I was pretending that a little cutting from the tree was mistletoe so the Kens had to kiss the Barbies, and Dad got me the real thing. He’d do it every year for me—guess he still does. I think it’s his way of trying to make me his little girl again.”
Ryan exhaled, and Eve stood right underneath to look up at it.
“I think it’s fake actually, or some sort of cemented, laminated nonsense.” She put her hand on his shoulder and went to her tiptoes to take a closer look. “It’s lived forever.”
Ryan thought his balls might sprout opposable thumbs and try to hitchhike their way into her pants if she brushed him with her breasts one more time.
“Nope. It looks fresh,” she reported.
He reached up and touched it gently, using his height to answer her question. “It’s fresh. He must buy it new each year.”
He looked down at her. She was just a few mistakes away from his lips, so close that he actually watched as her love for her father passed over her face. She was usually such a fucking panther. Making her laugh and seeing her love made his resolve so weak.
“He’s a great guy.” She took her hand from his shoulder and parted her lips as she looked at his.
He pulled her to him gently, allowing her every opportunity to push back. His lips touched her forehead as he inhaled the scent of her hair.
“He raised an amazing lady. Merry Christmas, Eve. Damn, your name is spot-on for the season.” He stepped away from her and got her jacket.
She looked so happy that he’d not made a pass at her. Remaining under the mistletoe she asked, “We’re really going to be able to be friends?”
“Were you testing me, January?” he asked, lapsing back to her pseudonym.
“A little.” After turning o
ff the tree lights, she nodded. “Okay, fine. A lot. I just don’t want to give you up, but I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Same here. Let’s Harry and Hermione this shit then.”
She laughed again as he held the door open for her. “That’s amazing.” Locking the door quickly, she slipped her arm in his as they walked to their cars.
“Text me when you get home?” He nodded at Taylor’s car.
“Sure. You do the same.” Eve got in her car while already texting someone else.
Ryan knew who. He watched her leave and then got in his truck. He had no plans for the rest of the night, and if he was being honest, he’d hoped he’d be going home with company.
Once Eve was out of his field of vision, his cop instinct rumbled up from his subconscious. A man who bought fresh mistletoe every year wouldn’t miss dinner with his daughter. Traditions mattered. Tapping on the steering wheel, he considered the possibility that maybe Ted was angry with Eve for living with Taylor. Or maybe some other perceived slight. But it didn’t click. He didn’t like it.
Dr. Ted Hartt knew where he sat was remote. Or at least soundproof. His eyes were covered, and he tried to assess his injuries but a strong wave of nausea interrupted his process. With his hands tied, it was difficult to figure it out anyway. The pain reminded him that this wasn’t a bad dream, but he held on to the hope that Eve was untouched by the zealous fervor of this insane person.
He’d expected her when the knock on the door had halted his Christmas preparations.
Forgot her keys was all he’d had time to think before the doorway was filled with an unfamiliar man. He’d been well dressed. Impeccably even.
“Pardon me, sir. Do you own this apartment building?”
It had never occurred to him to deny it, and he doubted whatever else he’d thought to say would have changed the outcome.
“Yes. Ted Hartt.” He held out his hand to the man. “Is there an issue?”
“I’m so sorry to trouble you on the holiday.” The British accent made the man’s outfit seem even more expensive. He slid off his glove and completed the handshake. “I’m Nicholas Rodgers. Pleasure to meet you. I’m in the area visiting family, and this plot of land adjoins their property. Have you ever considered selling?”
Ted invited the man inside. He’d actually considered selling a few times, and his mind had begun to turn. But instead of worrying about his safety, he’d been calculating how many people in the building would have difficulty if the property changed hands.
After the door closed, Nicholas’s English accent fell away.
“Dr. Hartt, I’m going to need you to do three things for me.”
He’d stared at the man in front of him, suddenly remembering his beat down not quite a year before.
“No, you’re going to leave.” Ted had stood tall. The man certainly hadn’t looked like a thug.
“You will help me.” Nicholas had smiled. “Because your daughter is on her way over, is she not? It’s tradition? Your special dinner with your girl? Smells lovely in here.”
Ted had said nothing as Nicholas put his gloves back on.
“The first thing I want you to do is call work. You’re going to tell them to clear your schedule for the next week. Claim it as personal time. Don’t explain.” Nicholas lifted Ted’s cell phone from the side table where it was charging like he knew ahead of time it would be there.
“And here’s a script.” Nicholas had handed Ted a piece of paper with the typed message. “I’ll have it on speaker, so I can listen. Just know that if you sound any alarm, Eve will be here before the cops. And I will do my worst on her. While you watch. And I will leave and never be caught. This is what I do for my employer.”
He had dialed Ted’s phone and held it out. “Toni Lynn will be answering. She’s astute—so be convincing.”
Ted had told the sweet hospital receptionist exactly what he was supposed to.
Nicholas had never even shown him a weapon, he realized now. But he’d had too much information for Ted to risk Eve. In that moment he’d decided to follow the man’s orders as long as he could.
Nicholas had turned off the oven and the heat under the pots. “Next, you’re going to write this exact note to your daughter.” He’d held out a sheet of lined yellow paper, just like Ted took all his notes on, and a pen.
The man had watched patiently as he penned the note.
“Very good,” Nicholas had said, nodding. “And last, we need to leave. Quickly now, I’ve a report that your daughter is only four blocks away. Your car has been removed from the garage below.” Nicholas had slipped off his large overcoat and handed it to Ted, who put it on. He took the hat from his head and released a fall of red hair from under it, completing the disguise. “Look down,” he’d instructed. “And let’s go.”
After taking a seat in the back of the man’s long, black Lincoln, he’d been blindfolded.
He should’ve done things differently. Now he was at Nicholas’s mercy.
Ted had felt the air chill as a sliding door was opened. Then it was shut tight and locked, judging from the noises. Finally his blindfold was carefully removed, and Nicholas waited as Ted’s pupils adjusted to the light. The room was indeed padded, and the sliding door looked very industrial.
“Dr. Hartt? I apologize for bringing you here today. I tried every method I could to avoid this unfortunate event, but apparently, you’re the only one in possession of the information I need. I’ve a healthy respect for a man of medicine, so I’ll make this brief.”
Nicholas went to the table in the corner and opened what looked like a tackle box. He pulled out a syringe, tapping the bubbles out of the already-loaded delivery system. “This is a bastardized version of scopolamine, so the truth doesn’t have to hurt. Right?”
Ted knew the old-fashioned “truth serum” was illegal and wildly dangerous. But it was pointless to struggle, as his hands were bound behind him, and his knees and feet were pulled together as well.
Nicholas seemed to relish acting as a professional with the injection, wiping the skin with an alcohol swab first, wearing gloves.
The needle barely pinched as it slid under his skin, and the burning of the drug being administered was the least of Ted’s concerns. Before it could take effect, he tried to find out some truth of his own, seeing that Nicholas seemed so good at chatting.
“You’re good at that,” Ted noted.
Nicholas beamed. “My mother would have loved it had I gotten my doctorate.”
“Actually, my nurses are far better at injections than I.” Ted smirked. Nicholas didn’t need to know that was actually a compliment. He watched as the man’s demeanor hardened. “What of Eve?” Ted asked next.
“Your daughter? She’s safe for now. Rodolfo has plans for her, but that’s none of your concern.”
Ted’s lips and the tip of his tongue were going a bit numb. Soon enough the words out of his mouth would not obey his need for discretion. Though what Nicholas wanted, he couldn’t imagine.
“So, years ago your daughter was involved in a car accident,” Nicholas began. “How did that make you feel?” He pulled a chair up in front of Ted.
It took a few blinks to focus now, and when he did he stared at the little red light across from him. He was being recorded. “Sad. Worried. I did not want my baby to die.” His words fell heavy from his lips.
“Your baby? You mean Eve’s baby, right? Got anything salacious to confess?” Nicholas raised an eyebrow.
“Eve’s my baby girl. She always will be. Twice I’ve seen her on a gurney. It’s two times too many.” Stop talking. Say no more.
“That’s right, twice. I’m thinking about that first time. Her records state that she miscarried. And needed a hysterectomy, am I correct?”
“Confidential. Patient confidentiality.” He was wildly thirsty.
“Okay, I understand, but you can tell me anything now, can’t you, Ted?” Nicholas frowned.
Ted’s eyes closed almost completely, and
the racing of his panicked heart had slowed. He was as calm as if he were just about to fall asleep. Nothing about Eve. Say nothing about Eve. “Fuck you.” He felt some saliva slip from his bottom lip.
“Don’t drift off on me, Ted. Then I’ll be forced to encourage you in more unpleasant ways.”
“Scopolamine is a pain killer, so you’ll have to do double the work,” Ted said. It was like Nicholas kept waking him up for school when he was a kid. He just wanted to sleep.
“You know what I think? I think you need a little more.” Nicholas readied another syringe.
“Already had more than a milliliter. Any more and you’ll kill me.” Ted’s chin touched his chest.
“I just need some truth, Ted. That’s my ultimate goal.” Nicholas came and went so fast, or maybe it was just that Ted’s reflexes were slow. “Where did you store the tissue you extracted from your unconscious, nineteen-year-old daughter, Ted?”
Shame should have flooded him, like it did every other time he’d thought of that night. But emotions seemed too heavy now. He couldn’t even form the thoughts. “A favor. It was a favor.”
“Was it? Your daughter doesn’t know about her ovary, does she?”
“She’s never needed it yet. Only if she needed it. Got married, happy. I’d have a possibility for her.” No, say nothing. Say nothing.
“That’s some sick shit, my friend. But luckily for you, you’re going to have grandchildren someday. And that’ll be nice.”
“I love Eve. Should have told her.”
“You should have, but because you haven’t, my job just got so, so much easier. So I’ll thank you for that. Now tell me, who extracted the ovary?”
Nicholas’s voice kept waking him up. He wanted him to just go away. The words made him quiet for a second. For a minute. For an hour. “I did. My friend did me a favor. She was against it at first.” No more. Ted bit his tongue, but felt no pain even though he tasted blood.
“Where is Eve’s ovary, Ted?”
Was it the first time he’d asked? Tenth? The answer was so clear in his mind, and he was losing the danger signals his brain usually gave him. It was the drug’s effect. Ted knew that.
Saving Poughkeepsie Page 13
