Hidden Scars

by Amanda K. Byrne

  Tony had been in contact with Sam, then. “Do you want to talk to him?”

  “I don’t know about talk to him, but…I’m grateful to him. Sam taking the initiative to call his parole officer about Tony contacting him brings more scrutiny on Sam, but it means the police are taking the threats seriously. There was a patrol car in the parking lot last night, and Fallon said there’d be one there again tonight.”

  Knowing someone had Sara’s back soothed some of his restlessness. “I’m okay, Taylor. Really.”

  Taylor took the beer his brother handed him and paced to the window, staring unseeing at the little park across the street. “I’m here another day, then I’ll be home.”

  “Your flight gets in around one in the afternoon, right?”

  “Yeah.” And he couldn’t wait to see her. “I love you.”

  She inhaled sharply. “Say it again.”

  “I love you.”

  She made a sound, sort of like a choked sob, and he tightened his grip on the bottle. “Figures the first time you said that to me you’d be on the other side of the country.” Her voice wavered, like she was fighting tears, but he heard the smile, too.

  “I have terrible timing,” he agreed. The words had spilled out of their own accord, though. He’d have rather waited until he could see her face.

  Her wet sniffle made his stomach clench. “I love you, too.” She said goodbye and hung up, and he drained half his beer with the phone still in his hand.

  “Aw, tru wuv. What’s next, mawwiage?” Jamie snickered as Taylor shot him the finger. “You’ve got it bad, man.”

  “Yup.” A little more relaxed now that he’d spoken with Sara, he wandered over to Jamie’s couch and sprawled out, bottle dangling from his fingertips. Marriage. The thought didn’t scare him as much as he’d thought it would. “Think I’m gonna propose.”

  Jamie paused with his beer halfway to his lips, mouth hanging open. He snapped it shut with a sharp click. “Shit. For real? How long have you been with her?”

  He thought back to the tournament game, and all the weeks leading up to it. “A couple months.”

  His brother lifted a brow. “Kinda fast.”

  Taylor finished off the beer in a few gulps and leaned forward to set the empty bottle on the coffee table. “She’s it.”

  Jamie shook his head, lifted his bottle and drank. “You’re both making me look bad.”

  “Who, me and Sara? She’s supposed to.”

  “No, not Sara, though you got a picture? I’d like to see the woman who’s got you professing your love over the phone.”

  He grunted in response and fished his phone back out of his pocket, thumbing through the pictures until he came to his favorite. He’d taken it the night the two of them and Krista had met Paul for drinks and pool. Sara was laughing at something Paul had said, Krista next to her with her palm slapped over her mouth. She’d been trying to avoid spitting her drink out all over the table. Sara’s eyes were shining, even in the picture, and he was hit with a sudden pang. He wanted this woman for life. This beautiful, outrageously sexy and strong woman loved him, and he’d do anything to keep her happy.

  He got up to get another beer and a glass of water, passing the phone off to Jamie. “Jesus, she’s cute,” he said. “So’s the blonde. Maybe I ought to come out to Portland.” He tossed the phone onto the table and it skittered across the surface. “No, I meant you and Matt. He’s serious about his girl, too. Living together and everything. Ma’s been hinting around at wanting grandkids.”

  Another pang, though this one struck deeper and harder. He sat on the couch with a thump. “How is he?”

  Jamie regarded him as he took another swallow of beer. “Good,” he said finally, licking his lips to collect the stray drops of beer. “We flew out for his graduation last year, met his girlfriend. Her name is Courtney. His limp’s gotten better. Courtney says it only bothers him in the winter, when it’s really cold out.” He sat forward and put the bottle on the floor, his hands linking together between his knees. “You tried talking to him recently?”

  Taylor shook his head. “My last attempt could be categorized as an epic fail.” It’d been over two years ago. Matt had given monosyllabic responses to his questions, and Taylor had given up after a few minutes. “At this point, I figure if he wants to talk, he knows how to reach me. I can’t force him to do something he doesn’t want to do.”

  “You ever think maybe you ought to just fly in and get in his face?”

  He tipped his water glass at him. “That’s more your style.” Jamie wasn’t afraid to force a confrontation if he thought it would get the point across. While Taylor would never back away from one, he didn’t go looking for them, either.

  “Try it, Taylor. Matt’s had what, over ten years to get a handle on this?”

  “It’s not an easy thing to get over, you jackass. Sean could have killed him. He almost did, and if it hadn’t been for me, it never would have happened in the first place.”

  Jamie stood up and walked slowly around the coffee table. He was built more like a brawler than either Taylor or Matt, inheriting their father’s broad shoulders and solid build, and he cut an imposing figure, towering over him. He smacked Taylor on the back of the head. Hard. His head snapped forward and back from the impact, the sting ringing through his skull. “I’m not saying he doesn’t have a right to be angry. But if he’s still angry over that, truly angry, he needs to let it go. It’ll only ruin him in the end. Go. Bring Sara. Maybe that’ll make him sit and listen.”

  Taylor glared at him. “Could have made your point without violence, you know.”

  “Nah. Only way to get it through your thick head. Both of you are being thickheaded, actually. You made a mistake. It was a big one, but you’ve stayed clear of Tony for a decade. Matt wasn’t ready to listen to your apology back then. He’s in a better place now. Maybe this time he’ll listen.” Jamie picked up his beer and polished it off. “I’m ordering pizza. You sticking around tonight?”

  “Yeah,” he said absently. He wanted to see his youngest brother, wanted to see for himself that he was doing better than okay. Calling Matt gave him the chance to hang before Taylor could say a word. Maybe Jamie was right. Maybe he needed to get in his face.

  The flip phone vibrated, and Taylor stilled. When it stopped buzzing, he pulled it out, conscious of Jamie’s eyes on him. The text just had a date, time, and address. Reaching for his phone, he pulled up Nance’s number.

  “Agent Nance? Patrick’s made contact.”

  Chapter Twenty Six

  The parking lot was half empty, as usual. No patrol car yet that evening. Sara stayed in the car while she scanned what she could see of the lot. The sun hadn’t dipped behind the trees, but the shadows were growing longer. For the tenth time since Taylor had been gone, she questioned whether his apartment was actually safer than her house. It didn’t matter the building was secure, or that her house had been broken into. She had motion sensors and an alarm system straight to the police. Taylor didn’t.

  But she hadn’t seen anything out of place, either. It surprised her how seriously the police were taking the threats. She couldn’t imagine it was normal for them to waste resources like the patrol car that sat in the lot once it was dark out.

  Satisfied no one was going to jump her, she got out of the car and walked toward the front entrance. Taylor would be home tomorrow, and she could talk to him about his place versus hers. Maybe permanently.

  Her stomach flipped and quivered at the thought. She was ready for it; she’d gotten used to waking next to him in the morning, riding in to work together, grabbing coffee before they started their day. But while she knew how he felt about her, she wasn’t entirely certain he was ready to live with her. Or rather, she wasn’t entirely certain she was ready to live with him. She’d fought long and hard to find the security and confidence to live alone, and frankly, sometimes she liked coming home to an empty house after a particularly aggravating day.

  Hope
fully her aggravating days were behind her. She grinned as she fitted the key into the front door. She’d handed in her notice yesterday, and the desperate look on Larry’s face balanced out the fact she wouldn’t get to see Taylor at work anymore.

  She heard footsteps behind her, and she twisted the key and cracked open the door before glancing over her shoulder. The air in her lungs escaped on a whoosh. The man looked familiar, in a vague, creepy sort of way. He wasn’t someone she recognized from the building, though. Safety trumped rudeness, and her gut trumped everything; this guy didn’t belong. Tugging the key free of the lock, she slipped inside, pulling the door closed behind her, heart racing.

  He caught it, fingers trapped between the door and the frame. The only indication it hurt was a minute flinch.

  She ran. She kicked off her heels and ran down the corridor to the rear entrance, the entrance she’d avoided specifically because it faced the back of the property and it was easier to sneak up on someone in the back.

  He thundered behind her, and she thought about dropping her bag. She’d need her phone, though, and her keys, once she made it outside. She could scream.

  “Sara.” She heard a sharp, distinctive click. “Stop.”

  What was the click? A gun? All her training deserted her, her mind blank, body on autopilot. She was prepared for fists, strength, for knives. Not guns. She didn’t know how to defeat a gun. She ignored his command and fumbled with the doorknob. The metal was cool under her fingertips. Cool and slippery and she couldn’t get a grip.

  A hand slapped over her mouth as she drew in air to scream. Cigarettes. A smoker. He smelled of cigarettes and he was so big, broad and huge, dwarfing her. Then there was more metal, this time pressed against her head, and she knew the click she’d heard was the safety releasing on a gun. “Try to run again and I’ll use it. Now turn around slowly.” He released her and took a small step back.

  Her legs wanted to collapse. But she needed to remain standing. She couldn’t get away if she sat. She did as the man asked, turning in a slow half circle.

  He almost looked…bored. Bland expression, eyes flat and focused on her face. He lowered the gun a fraction, pointing it at her chest instead of her head. “You’re not going to die. You will get hurt, but you’ll live. Tony needs to ensure Taylor’s cooperation. It’s just business.”

  And before she could dodge, he reached out and wrenched her arm behind her back, pain singing through the limb.

  * * *

  Taylor stared out the window as the cab sped through the city. The last meeting with Nance hadn’t gone well. Though the meet with Tony in the basement had gone off without a hitch, Nance had gotten greedy, and he’d pushed to get Taylor into the mule operation. Taylor turned him down again. Griffin would show for the meet Patrick had set up, and Taylor was out. As soon as he got back to Sara, he was calling Tony to refuse the job.

  He couldn’t kick the unease and doubt. It seemed like the Feds were getting ready to make a move, but it might not be soon enough, and Taylor knew Tony well enough to picture what would happen. Tony would wait. He’d wait, then he’d go after his family. Taylor was putting his trust in people who’d failed him before to lock Tony down before that could happen. Someone was going to get hurt, and it’d be his fault. Again.

  Tonight, though, he’d put it aside. He’d allow himself one night to just be. One night with Sara, and then he’d take out the problem tomorrow and try to find a solution.

  His mood rose as they drew closer to his apartment. She’d be home by now, barring overtime. Was she standing in his kitchen, head bobbing along to Thieves as she fixed dinner? She was supposed to pick him up at the airport tomorrow, but he’d been impatient and changed his flight after promising his mother to come back that summer with Sara.

  The cab rolled to a stop in front of the building, and he climbed out, retrieving his bag from the trunk. No patrol car. He swore Sara had told him there was a patrol car parked in the lot during the evening.

  Once inside, he climbed the stairs to the third floor. There was the usual noises in the hall, laugh tracks and newscast theme songs and muted conversations. He paused outside his apartment, listening. It sounded like Sara was watching TV. Possibly the news. Sara never watched the news. She occasionally read the paper, but avoided TV in general.

  Then he heard it. The moan, barely audible over the TV. A man’s voice, low and indistinguishable, blending in with the blathering from whatever show was playing.

  He hadn’t gotten so lucky after all.

  Busting in could likely hurt her more. He quietly set his bag on the floor, picturing the layout of his apartment. There was no real entryway; it opened onto the living room, the kitchen a straight shot back. If whoever was in there with Sara was facing the door, he’d have no element of surprise.

  Element of surprise. What a fucking joke. All he could hope for was the TV drowning out the lock clicking open.

  The sounds inside intensified, and he forgot about stealth and fucking elements, unlocking the door and letting the sound rush into the hallway. Patrick had Sara flush against the wall, arms twisted behind her back as he held a gun to her head.

  His vision narrowed to the gun and what he could see of Sara’s face, Patrick blocking most of her body from view. Struggling to think past the void of noise and the red edging his vision, he knew he had very little time to react. He didn’t think Patrick would use the gun to fire a shot, but the butt could do a good deal of damage.

  Patrick glanced over his shoulder, shock freezing momentarily on his normally blank face. “Taylor.”

  Taylor lunged forward, vaulting over the couch and launching himself at Patrick. In the same instant, Sara twisted out of Patrick’s hold and darted away, toward the dining area and the balcony door.

  He crashed into him, slamming him into the wall where Sara had been seconds before. He grabbed for the gun, grunting as Patrick tried to push him away with an elbow to the stomach. Ducking a head-butt, he managed to get his hand around Patrick’s wrist and jerked it down, pointing the gun at the floor. Not good enough. He needed to get it out of his hands completely.

  Patrick kicked out and connected with the side of his knee. Pain vibrated down his shin and up his thigh, and he stumbled backward, trying to stabilize his leg under him. Patrick didn’t give him a chance, though, coming at him with the gun still in his hand. He straightened, willing his leg to hold, and twisted to the side as Patrick came in close, smashing his elbow into the other man’s face.

  The gun went off. His right shoulder felt warm and numb at the same time, dampness spreading. Patrick lost his blank look for a second time, surprise drawing his features tight. He glanced over Taylor’s shoulder and shifted to the right.

  Move. You need to move. The door’s still open.

  He shot out his good arm, catching Patrick across the chest as Sara came out of nowhere to land on his back. Knees locked onto his hips, one arm banded around his neck, she was trying to get grip on his hair when Taylor focused on her hand. It was swollen and dotted with scrapes. Exactly like it’d been when she’d punched the wall of her office.

  Fury raced through him, a fiery, burning pain taking over the numbness. This close, the angle was shit, but he lifted his foot and kicked the side of Patrick’s knee. Patrick danced to the side, still upright, Sara still clinging to him despite the tears streaming down her face. He kicked out again, connecting with a satisfying crack.

  Patrick went down, Sara rolling clear of his back. She scuttled away as the gun came up. “Move again, girlie, and I won’t care how much noise this makes.”

  Her choked sobs hurt worse than his arm. He’d done this to her. Years of successfully avoiding deep, complex entanglements because he knew it could lead to this. He’d walked Sara right back into her nightmare.

  “Taylor. Help me up.”

  He stayed where he was, hand curling into an impotent fist.

  “It wasn’t a request. Help me up, or I will shoot her.” As if to prove his p
oint, he pushed himself up with his free hand and readjusted his aim, the gun level with her chest.

  There was still a chance. Her damaged hand wouldn’t hamper her too much if she scrambled sideways. Patrick was counting on his love and need to see Sara safe to save him from another attack from behind. But this was Sara’s call, Sara’s life, because Taylor had no doubt Patrick’s orders were to kill one or both of them if they didn’t cooperate. Which meant he’d driven across the country, to avoid airport security. Patrick was the security guru for the bank heists. He could plan a getaway in his sleep.

  Taylor looked at Sara. Her tear-stained cheeks were flushed, eyes wide and wet, on her hands and knees. She met his gaze, and he nodded to Patrick, lifting one foot slightly, hoping she understood what he wanted.

  No second guesses. He lurched forward, landing hard on Patrick’s back as the gun went off for a second time. Patrick’s arm gave out from under him and the force knocked the gun from his hand. Taylor went down on his knees and sprawled across him, ripping the gun from Patrick’s feeble grip.

  Sara. Where was Sara? Huddled against the wall, knees to her chest. He could see her shaking from here. Patrick groaned beneath him, his head hitting the floor with a soft thud. Shouts and footsteps drifted in from the hallway. He could see her shaking from here. “Sara.” He shifted his weight, tried to lever himself off Patrick, hesitating when she shook her head.

  Heart in his throat, he pushed up. “Don’t,” she said hoarsely. “Please don’t move.”

  No. Every cell in his body yelled at him to get up and go to her, hold her close, make sure she was okay. “Don’t,” she repeated. Limbs turning to lead, he nodded, lowering his full weight on top of Patrick.

  She unwound herself and inched toward them. “We can’t let him get away.” She reached out, brushed her fingers along his jaw. “I’m okay. Are you?”

  A police officer burst through the door, gun drawn, and Taylor had the strangest urge to laugh. Christ. What a homecoming. “I will be.”