Reckless Road

by Christine Feehan

  Preacher’s hand slammed down over the paper, locking it in place. “I told you I was buying that. Don’t touch it. I’m in a discussion here. Run along and find your broomstick. Sweep the shop or do whatever it is you normally do.”

  “Don’t be rude to my help, Preacher, or you will be leaving,” Hannah warned.

  “She was rude to me, and she tried to have me arrested. She called Jonas just because I’m a biker. Not for any other reason. She deserves to have someone put her in her place.”

  Hannah looked at her employee. Sabelia met her eyes and then looked away. “I’ll start cleaning the store, Hannah.”

  Hannah nodded. “I would like to finish with Player before we talk, Preacher. He’s here for a specific reason, and I’m working with him. If you’d like to wait, I’ll be happy to talk with you after we’re done. You’re welcome to sit at one of the tables and have a cup of coffee or tea.”

  “Try some tea, Preacher, something soothing,” Player suggested.

  Preacher glared at Player. “I don’t suppose you—”

  “No,” Player cut him off, exasperated.

  “I’m going to annoy the hell out of that little she-devil,” Preacher said. “So you’d better make it fast, Player. Otherwise she’ll call Jonas back here. If he catches his wife with her hands all over you again, he’ll shoot you for sure.”

  He started back toward the main counter.

  “Preacher.” Player stopped him.

  Preacher swung around, looking hopeful.

  “Take your things. You may as well pay for them. And don’t rile that girl up.”

  “You’d better not,” Hannah echoed. “Just for your information, she’s apprenticing.”

  Preacher looked horrified as he gathered up the various products and the wrapping.

  “It would never have occurred to me to take on an apprentice, but she’s special,” Hannah said. “Instead of fighting with her, you might want to make peace with her.”

  Preacher grinned at her. “Having way too much fun getting her all riled up. She tried to kick me. Haven’t had a woman try that ever that I can recall.”

  Player shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hannah. He really isn’t crazy. In fact, usually Preacher’s the one we can count on. It’s just that”—he looked around the shop—“I love music and working with wood. He loves this kind of thing. He needs it. The rest of us don’t have a clue what he does. He has his own chemistry shop, and we give him a bad time about it, but we don’t have a prayer of understanding what he does in it or the things he whips up in it. I can’t imagine what it would be like to meet someone like you after years of never talking to someone who could understand him.”

  He didn’t want her to think Preacher was insane or that he might harm Sabelia. Preacher was a good man and much more stable than the rest of them—most of the time. He always held it together for Lana. Player glanced across the room at him now as he dumped the paper and products all over the countertop in front of Sabelia.

  She made a face, glanced at Hannah and reached down to get a box.

  “I’d prefer one of those really nice baskets like Hannah gave Player,” Preacher said.

  Sabelia regarded him with narrowed eyes, gritted her teeth, as if she knew he was deliberately trying to provoke her. “You have to pay extra for the baskets.”

  “Are you implying you don’t think I have the money?”

  “No, sir, I’m not implying that at all. I’m informing you of the extra cost just in case you weren’t aware of it,” Sabelia replied in a bit of a superior tone.

  Hannah’s head came up, and her fingers ceased moving on Player’s arm.

  “He’s deliberately provoking her,” Player said. “He can be a real ass sometimes. The fact that you said she’s apprenticing under you probably made him jealous. Who knows what the deal is, but don’t embarrass her when he’s already poking at her. I think she’s handling herself quite well under the circumstances.”

  Hannah shook her head. “Once you work the cream in, using a deep tissue massage, let her rest for about fifteen minutes. Just keep her legs on your lap. At that point she should be feeling very good, all aches gone, and very connected to you. After fifteen minutes, offer her this drink.”

  She showed him two small glasses. They were beautiful. He recognized Lissa Prakenskii’s work. They were small goblets with twisted stems, tiny hearts embedded in the stems and floating in between the layers of glass. He couldn’t imagine how any glassblower, no matter how skilled, could produce that kind of work in something that small.

  Hannah had included two bottles of a liquid in the woven basket. “This is nonalcoholic.” She had a small bottle on the table he hadn’t noticed. She measured a small portion into a glass and added water. “You just use two tablespoons and fill the glass. You can use sparkling water if she prefers.” She handed him the drink.

  Player forced himself to try it. He wasn’t much on anything sweet, but Hannah had been really good to him, taking time to show him how to apply the lotion and cream. Even if it didn’t work the way Hannah thought it would, Zyah would probably like the foot massage after standing on her feet all day. In any case, there was no harm in trying. He took a cautious drink. The beverage tasted . . . extraordinary.

  “If Preacher gets ahold of this, he’ll decide you’re more than a goddess.”

  She smiled, clearly pleased. “Let’s hope Zyah likes it. It’s expensive, Player, because everything I do is made by hand, and it takes time to get everything right. I have to experiment.”

  He waved that away. “Believe me, I can tell without Preacher acting like a crazy man that you’re well worth it. I really appreciate it, Hannah. Did you include a list of everything so I can reorder if she likes it?”

  Hannah nodded as they both stood up. Preacher came hurrying toward them, nearly knocking Player down. “Are you finished?”

  Hannah exchanged a slow smile with Player. “I believe we are. Sabelia will ring the purchases up for you, Player. Thanks for coming in.”

  “Preacher, don’t keep her past closing time,” Player cautioned.

  “Don’t worry,” Sabelia said. “I’ll make sure he leaves.” She had followed him through the shop to put his packages on the floor beside the table.

  “Thanks, Sabelia,” Hannah said, forestalling any response from Preacher.

  The shop door opened, and Alena and Lana sauntered in. Preacher frowned at them. “What do you two want?” he demanded.

  “Tea,” they replied in a perfect duet, and then laughed.

  “I’m sure there’s another tea shop somewhere,” he groused.

  “This is my business,” Hannah reminded. “Sabelia will serve them while we talk.”

  Player left them to it. He hoped Lana and Alena would give Preacher some time with Hannah before they made him too crazy, but he wasn’t going to wait around to find out.

  FOURTEEN

  Some days were just longer than others. There was no getting around it. Of course, the fact that she hadn’t slept the night before might have attributed to the hours dragging on forever. Zyah glanced out the large windows for the millionth time. The view should have gone a long way to making the job bearable on a day like this one. The ocean was particularly moody. The moon was out, shining over the water so that she could see the choppy waves, dark and angry, an ominous portent of something evil coming.

  Dread had been building for the last hour. This was the store’s late night. The locals came in to shop in a steady flow, peaking around seven and then tapering off at eight. She stayed open until nine. Only another hour and she could go home, see Mama Anat. She couldn’t wait to see her. Her grandmother grounded her. No matter what was going on, no matter how chaotic, Anat made the world seem right. She needed her. She also wanted to see Player. She missed him.

  They both had slept for very brief periods of time, no more t
han half an hour, and maybe that was why he hadn’t woken with a terrible nightmare. She called it a victory each time he managed to sleep and there was no traumatic dream. At her home she slept in the guest room and rushed to him if he woke, already wrapped in the illusion, the White Rabbit present most of the time. Or he would be covered in sweat, fighting in his sleep, trying to stop his attackers. She detested those nights the most. She caught too many glimpses of what had happened to that beautiful little boy.

  He’d been such a sad child with his sorrowful blue eyes. She wanted to wrap him up in her arms and run, keep him safe. He’d had a mop of light brown hair, streaked with blond, not those white streaks like he had now. They looked like highlights he might have dyed in his hair, but she knew they were there naturally. He’d gotten them the hard way.

  She glanced at her watch. Half an hour. She could start shutting things down. She hadn’t had a customer in the last half hour. She was so lucky. The day had been crazy, with people streaming in steadily. Good for business. Over the last couple of weeks, she felt they were doing very well. Steady, returning customers. That, more than anything else, was what they needed to count on. She was getting a feel for what was needed. Many of those coming in had suggestions, and she took note of them so she could order and keep the right supplies on hand.

  A bright pink Cadillac pulled up to the curb with a screech of brakes, jumped it and bumped off with a loud grating noise. Zara recognized the car immediately. It was Lizz Johnson’s pride and joy. She made a show of driving it slowly up and down the main street of Sea Haven at least twice a week. She always drove it to Anat’s house but called ahead to ensure she could park her beloved vehicle either right out front, where everyone could admire it, or in the driveway of the garage.

  Francine, Lizz’s granddaughter, leapt out of the driver’s seat, doubled over with laughter. She slammed the door hard and came around the hood, still laughing, covering her mouth and shaking her head. She wore a tight skirt that molded to her slim hips and a low-cut blouse that framed her thin rib cage and showcased her set of breasts nicely. Her boots were knee-high, soft leather, a light tan, and worth a fortune. Zyah recognized the brand. Lizz definitely indulged her granddaughter in everything from clothes and shoes to jewelry and even allowing her to drive without her license. As she approached the door to the grocery store, she staggered for just a couple of steps, then recovered her balance, phone in hand, laughing as if it were funny. Clutching her purse, Francine made her way into the store.

  “Zyah. Just the girl I’m looking for.”

  Princess to peasant. That was Francine, and no one was around to catch her act. She was that genuine. She really did think of herself as superior because Lizz had a fortune.

  “Nice to see you, Francine. I see you have your license back. Congratulations. Mama Anat will be so happy for you. She was worried about how you would get around when the rains came.”

  Francine frowned and waved that subject off dismissively. Her driver’s license was clearly of no consequence.

  “I thought I’d take you to dinner tonight. I felt so bad that I went off with that loser biker. I shouldn’t have done that without at least texting you and giving you the heads-up.” Francine smiled, her white teeth dazzling against her red lipstick. She came closer to the counter so she could lean against it.

  “I love your boots,” Zyah said, not wanting to answer immediately. Francine’s good moods could turn on a dime if she was thwarted in her plans, and Zyah had no intention of going to dinner with her. “They’re absolutely gorgeous.” Francine was very vain when it came to clothes, shoes, jewelry and even makeup.

  Francine looked down at her boots, stuck the right one out to admire the soft leather and smirked at Zyah. “They’re so comfortable too. I love everything Jimmy Choooo.” She drew out the last name and then tossed her head laughing, bringing deliberate attention to her earrings and necklace.

  Zyah’s gaze was immediately riveted to the glittering star at Francine’s throat. It was an amazing blue diamond and very, very real, as were the stars at her ears. That was part of Lizz’s galaxy collection. Anat had told her about it and spoken of it in low tones, afraid of being overheard. What was Francine doing wearing a piece like that in public when there were known robbers preying on the elderly? Was she so selfish she would risk her grandmother to show off? Zyah was beginning to fear she would.

  “You’re wearing your grandmother’s blue diamonds. I thought she kept those locked up in a safe at the bank.”

  Francine stuck her hip out. “I talked her into letting me wear them to the charity ball next month. I told her I had to try a couple of pieces with different outfits to see what would go best. It’s such a shame to have such beautiful jewelry and then keep it in a vault somewhere and never even see it.”

  Zyah lowered her voice and looked around, although she knew the store was empty. She just wanted Francine to think she was entering into some kind of conspiracy with her. “Aren’t you afraid those thieves might target you and your grandmother?”

  Francine scowled. “I have a gun. I always carry a gun. Do you want to see it? You would never suspect I have one on me.” Her body swayed, and she gripped the edge of the counter to keep from falling. Before Zyah could answer, she leaned closer, giggling. “You should carry a gun, Zyah. Someday you’re going to need it.” That made her laugh hysterically. She pulled her shirt up to show the tight band around her waist that had the gun holster with the gun fitted to her. “If anyone tries to take me in, I’ll just shoot ’em.”

  “You mean rob you? Or your grandmother? Have you been worried they might? You haven’t seen strangers hanging around your house, have you?” Zyah asked, suddenly feeling anxious. Francine wasn’t making a lot of sense, but then she’d clearly had too much to drink. “Is that thing loaded?” Zyah glanced at the security camera. It made her feel a lot safer to know that there were two Torpedo Ink club members in the back. Someone was always watching.

  “Of course.” Francine dropped her shirt back into place, shook her head and then laid a finger across her lips, then looked around and beckoned Zyah closer. She waited until Zyah leaned across the counter. “I keep my grandmother safe. No worries about her. She might be an old bat sometimes, but I take care of her.” There was love in her voice. “She takes care of me. No one is going to hurt her.”

  Zyah sighed. There was no way she was going to get to go home and take a hot bath and soak in the tub. She was going to have to go to dinner with Francine and make certain she didn’t drive Lizz’s precious Cadillac. She’d definitely had too much to drink. Zyah pulled out her cell phone and texted Player to arrange for someone to get Lizz’s car and take it back to her. She would hate to have it left out all night sitting in front of the grocery store.

  She found it strange that the first person she would turn to for help was Player, when Keys and Destroyer were in the back room, probably watching on the monitor.

  “I think you should teach me to dance, Zyah.” Francine began to undulate her body. “If I learned to belly dance, I could be beautiful and sexy like you. Then I wouldn’t have to be such a whore.” She giggled again.

  Zyah froze. She was barefoot as usual and, although Francine had had too much to drink, she was still blurting out the truth as she saw it. “You are beautiful and sexy, Francine.”

  Francine shook her head. “No, I’m not. Not like you. My mother told me. She said, ‘Francine, you’ll never be like her. You might as well face it. You’ll never be beautiful or sexy. You were an ugly baby, an ugly child and you’re ugly now. Be a whore and go after the money. Men are lying, cheating bastards anyway.’”

  Every word was whispered, but Zyah felt as if they’d been carved deep into Francine’s skin. Branded into her bones. What kind of mother would say those things to a child?

  “Francine, that isn’t true at all. Look at you. You’re so beautiful. I don’t have a clue how to wear mak
eup. I used to try to copy you all the time. And you have great fashion sense. I never could find the right clothes to suit me. I gave up a long time ago. When we were kids, my grandmother would always comment on what a beautiful child you were.”

  “She did?” Francine’s voice wavered.

  “Ask her. I heard it all the time. And it was true. I was always chubby and had to fight my weight. You were like this beautiful little doll. I can’t imagine why your mother told you that, but it wasn’t the truth. Surely Lizz tells you how gorgeous you really are.”

  Zyah poured sincerity into her voice. Francine had been a beautiful child. She’d gotten hard as an adult, and she drank far too much. The constant alcohol was beginning to show on her, but there was no question that she was beautiful.

  “It would be fun to go to dinner with you, Francine. Thanks for asking. I’ll just let Player know. He’s with my grandmother right now. I’ll ask him to stay with her until I get back.”

  Francine frowned, tried to straighten and wobbled for a moment and then caught herself, waving her hand dismissively. “Why would Player be with your grandmother?”

  Zyah winced at the belligerence in her tone. Francine had wanted to be with a member of Torpedo Ink. She was a naturally jealous woman, and she would want what she thought Zyah had. All the points Zyah had made with her were lost that quickly. She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that Torpedo Ink was looking out for Anat while she worked, or that they were there at night.

  “We were going to go out tonight,” she said. “I just texted him and said I wanted to go to dinner with you.” She hoped that would be enough to placate Francine.

  “Invite him to come with us,” Francine said. “There’s no reason for him to be bored out of his mind staying with an old lady who will just talk his ear off when he could be with the two of us. We can go to Alena’s restaurant. He’d love to be with us; you know he would. Men like Player take on two women at once.”