by A. S. Green
I glance toward the bathroom, questioning, then back down at the discarded box. A tingling sensation washes over my shoulders, and a part of me wants to run.
I don’t. Instead, I wait. When Natalie finally emerges, her earlier look of apprehension has been replaced by one of personal contentment. “There’s a pregnancy test in your trash can.”
She blinks once, and the sweet smile drops off her face. “There is?” She comes closer, then glances down into the trash.
“Is there something I need to know about?”
“What?” she asks, sounding confused. “No. I never noticed. It’s not mine.”
“Who else would have put it there?” I’d get it if she was afraid of scaring me off. I’ve given her every reason to expect that of me, and frankly, I am fucking terrified.
“Uh… Melinda?” she says. “I haven’t been eating here or really using the kitchen, so I haven’t needed to empty the trash yet.” She stops like she’s considering something. “Probably best we don’t say anything to Denny about it.”
She sounds convincing, but she’s always been a natural. Her ability to tell a believable lie is why I’ve involved her in so many jobs. “You’re sure?”
“Positive,” she says. “I mean…” Her eyes quickly dip toward the trash can, but only for a second. “It isn’t positive, is it?”
“Don’t know. Just saw the box.”
“Oh.” She looks relieved. “Well. None of our business, I guess.” She shrugs and walks toward the door. Apparently this conversation is over, and—thank God—it really is no big deal.
“Natalie, wait.”
She turns, eyes wide and looking confused. “I thought you wanted to get to work.”
I step closer and slip my hand around the back of her neck, drawing her closer. After that kiss last night, it’s the only thing I’ve been able to think about and the main reason I couldn’t wait to see her this morning.
When her mouth touches mine, tentative and unsure, I make her sure. I lift her off her feet, and she obliges me by wrapping those legs around my hips. I take a step toward the kitchen counter and set her ass down on it, then I pull back so that I can really see her face.
It’s silhouetted by the morning sunlight blazing through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind her. The light, however, glances off her red hair, outlining her in bronze and gold. It draws a bright line around the curve of her shoulder and backlights the goose bumps and fine raised hairs on her arms.
I stroke them smooth, then take her mouth again. While our lips move against each other, my mind repeats the lines Charlie was feeding me all night. You can do this. Be the fucking grown-up here. You’re worthy of her. You can be a better man with her.
So long as she doesn’t mind I’ve still got a dead man talking in my head. God, I’m fucked.
The kiss ends with Natalie giving me the sexiest smile, then she hops down off the counter. Her body slides along the length of mine until her feet hit the floor.
I glance down, noticing for the first time what she’s wearing: tight black pants and heels, a silky black blouse, and a leather jacket. Her own rock-and-roll version of our monochrome office uniform.
“You’ve been shopping,” I say.
“Got a good job,” she says, then she grabs her purse off a hook and heads for the door with me trailing behind.
Chapter Forty-Three
Natalie
Jax and I take the subway to work together. We walk into the command center. Together. Holding hands, even. As easy as you please, if you don’t count that he’s crushing my fingers in a vise grip. He’s trying though, and that’s what counts.
He escorts me right up to my desk. The room falls silent. His gaze dips to my mouth, then reluctantly returns to my eyes. “Gotta shower,” he says, so close I can feel his warm breath against my lips. “You better get to work, babe.”
“Yes, boss.”
His mouth tightens at the corners, then he makes an about-face without making eye contact with anyone. By the time he rounds the corner and heads down the hall toward his apartment, all the gawkers have wisely turned back to their computers, though they do nothing to mask their smiles. I hope their amusement doesn’t ruin things for me and Jax too soon. He is obviously riding a razor’s edge with this new level of affection, and I’m riding the soap bubble that his edge could so easily burst.
I clear my throat, tuck my hair behind my ears, and get to work.
Later, after Jax and I have returned from a quick lunch we grabbed at a food truck, Denny passes my desk and squeezes my shoulder with a whispered, “You done good, kid.”
At first, I think he’s referring to the file I’m working on, but when I look up he’s staring across the room at Jax.
…
At three o’clock I overhear Jax talking to someone in the hallway. When he’s done, he says, “That should do it, Mo.”
There’s an audible gasp from Nisi, and several people look around. At first I don’t understand, and then I realize Jax just called Mo by his nickname.
“What voodoo did you work on that boy?” Nisi jokes. “What’s next? Pigs gonna fly?”
At that exact moment, Jax rounds the corner and says, “Don’t you have something better to do, Nisi?”
Nisi throws her head back and barks out a laugh. I smile up at Jax, remembering the man I once knew—who now, perhaps, might be fighting his way back to life.
…
Over the next couple weeks, Jax makes a point of being around me. A lot. Nisi doesn’t look up from her computer anymore when he stops at my workstation in the morning, or after lunch. But today, when Jax strolls away in search of Mo, she spins around in her chair with a speculating look in her eyes. There’s also a glittery mini pumpkin barrette clipped into her hair.
“What’s with the pumpkin?” I ask.
“It’s October,” she says seriously. All business. “The real question,” she says, glitter hair ornaments forgotten, “is how good is the somethin’ good you’ve been getting?”
“That’s probably not an appropriate discussion for the workplace.” And the disappointing fact of it is that despite how much more attention Jax has been giving me—with the exception of a few stolen kisses—we haven’t got back to the really good stuff yet. He hasn’t come to my apartment again, and he hasn’t invited me to his. It’s like he’s teasing the edges of a secret he’s not ready to tell.
Nisi scootches closer and rests her forearms on my desk, then peers at me through the gap between my computer and stacked monitors. “Oh, and Mr. Sparke lip-locked with my girl outside the break room this morning was ‘appropriate’ for the workplace?”
My eyebrows shoot up. We thought we were being discreet.
“Yeah,” she says, answering my surprise. “I saw that.”
“Don’t tell anyone.” That might be the last kiss if she does.
“Of course not. But just to say, I’ve done my share of fantasizing, wondering what one of these muscle-bound guys would be like all trussed up in ropes and leather.”
I grimace and look around to make sure no one’s listening.
She adds, “Now I want the deets.”
I lean toward her across my desk. “No ropes. No leather.”
She nods like she didn’t really expect that. “But naked, right?”
I look around again, then raise my eyebrows suggestively, thinking, at least Jax and I will always have New Orleans.
“Oh, yeah,” she says, temporarily satisfied. “Good and naked. What else?”
“Nisi, I’m not giving you a play-by-play.”
She doesn’t look surprised. “You’re right. Whoever’s with Mr. Sparke has to know how to keep her shit tight.”
I crumple up a piece of paper and throw the ball at her head. It bounces off and lands on the floor. Nisi smiles huge, and we leave it at that.
Chapter Forty-Four
Jackson
The Next Day
I’m coming out of the interview room where I�
��ve been meeting with a new client when my phone rings. I’m hoping it’s Natalie (she called in sick this morning), but it’s not her. It’s the opposite of her.
“Debra,” I say woodenly.
“Thanks for picking up,” she says.
“What do you need?” I nod at Mo as he comes out of the break room and passes me in the hallway.
Debra exhales sharply. “I just wanted to talk to my boy.”
A muscle tics in my jaw. I don’t have time for this. “Stick to the truth. It’s more attractive.”
“You need to give your mother the respect I deserve.”
“You deserve nothing.”
“Then why d’you keep taking my calls?”
Her question stops me in my tracks. Jesus. Now isn’t that the question of the century. The answer is Gram, of course. If I hadn’t promised her I’d take the high road, hadn’t promised her I’d do what I could for my mother, I sure as hell wouldn’t be on the phone right now.
Debra makes a scoffing sound in the back of her throat when I don’t have the answer. “You were always so arrogant. Even when you were a little boy. Turning up your nose like it killed you to come visit me. Then your grandmother dies and I never see you again.”
“Are you insane, woman? I was overseas.” I can’t believe she wants to go there. Why is she even calling?
“Oh, yeah. Such a fucking hero. Had to bring that same attitude back here. Acting like you walk on water.”
“You need professional help.”
Schmitty looks up from his desk at me, but when I catch him looking he gets back to his work.
Debra exhales as if this call isn’t going in the direction she’d planned. Her voice goes soft. “I told you I got myself clean, Jaxxy.”
I roll my eyes, and they land on Natalie’s empty desk. She thought she might make it in by the afternoon. I hope she’s okay. I should call her.
“I want to see you.”
I head back to the interview room and close the door so no one else has to hear this.
“I got a job, Jaxxy, but—”
“But you lost it already.” This is not unexpected. When she’s managed to get herself employed, it’s never lasted more than a couple weeks. I pull up an empty chair, sit, and swivel it to face the wall.
“I didn’t lose it.”
“But you still need money. That’s why you’re calling, right?”
“I got paid, but I didn’t get to keep it.”
“Why’s that?” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, my fingers in my hair.
“What’s with the twenty questions?” Her voice escalates again.
I don’t respond, and she settles her shit down, which means she’s getting desperate. “I owe someone money, so I endorsed it over. Okay?”
“To your dealer?” I can practically hear her bristle at the mention of the guy. “Or do you have a pimp these days, too?”
She huffs into the phone. “I had a little problem with law enforcement. I needed someone to post bail, okay? It was no big deal, but you would have made a big deal out of it.”
“Get back in rehab, woman. Real rehab.”
“I’m not using. Just meet with me so you can see for yourself. I just need something for groceries until my next payday.”
I bow my head and mutter, “Jesus.” It’s the only prayer I’ve got.
“Meet me at Diego’s. You know the bodega a couple blocks from you?”
“I know it.”
“I won’t take much of your time. You can see how good I look so you can tell I’ve turned things around. You can even buy the food so you know it’s not going to anything else.”
I consider this. It’s about the most reasonable thing she’s ever said. “Fine. But this is the last time.”
After this, no more. I need to focus on my own life. My life with Natalie. Just the two of us. There’s not enough room in that equation for Debra or anyone else. I’m not going to subject Natalie to her twisted mind games.
“Ten o’clock okay?” she asks, brightening.
“Why so late?”
“I told you. I’m working. I’m on the late shift. I can take the C train and be there by ten.”
“Getting off at Chambers?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says, letting the word drag out. “Why does it matter?”
“It doesn’t.” But it does. “Ten o’clock then.”
I head immediately to an empty computer in command and pull up the court’s online system. I search for “Debra Sparke,” but I don’t see any recent file numbers or records of arrest. That would normally be a good thing. This time it means she’s lied. And I have a feeling I know why.
Chapter Forty-Five
Natalie
Later That Night
I’m working late, making up for this morning when I called in sick. I don’t have any current surveillance assignments, so I’m updating the equipment list like I’ve been meaning to do for a few days now. The empty desk next to me is covered in warranty materials for the three new stun guns that came in this week. I’m cataloging serial numbers and filling them with nine-volt batteries.
Benson and Schaeffer, the two guys from the night crew, have shown up. They’re in the break room sharing a pizza before their shift starts. Other than them, it’s just me and Mo. He’s focused on the three monitors in front of him.
As I get up for a glass of water, I pass Mo’s desk and recognize the view on his first monitor. It’s focused on Diego’s, the same bodega where I bought groceries my first day here. The image is so sharp I can see the cat in the doorway.
I also see Jax.
“What’s he doing?”
“Waiting to meet his mother. She’s supposed to show at ten.”
“Why is he on surveillance?”
“Because he doesn’t trust her.”
“To show?”
“No, he doesn’t trust what she’ll do if she does show.”
“So he set up three cameras?” I glance at the other two monitors. One is angled on the sidewalk leading up to the bodega. The other is by a subway entrance.
“Cameras A and B were already mounted on our roof. No setup. Tech only had to set up Camera C this afternoon.” C is the camera pointed at a subway entrance.
“Look,” Mo says. “There’s Titus.” He points to where a tall black man is leaning on the railing around the subway steps. I can’t see any signs identifying the station, though it looks like it might be the one where I get off.
“Chambers Street station,” he says as if he read my thoughts.
That means Titus is four blocks from Jax. I don’t know the man well, only that he’s another ex-military guy with so many muscles his ears look strong. I’m uneasy with the thought of Jax doing something, anything, that would require Titus for backup.
“Three cameras and Titus just for Jax to meet his mother? What exactly is he worried about?”
Mo glances up at me, looking totally relaxed like this is nothing. “With Debra? Just about anything. Mainly, he’s worried about her claiming they got in a fight and he hit her. Assault charges won’t do JSI any good, and she’s usually got at least one bruise going on any given day, so she’d have more credibility than a junkie should have. Even if she didn’t file charges, she could blackmail him. The cameras are just a precaution.”
I watch monitor A. Jax is leaning up against the building near the mouth of the alleyway. Monitor B is random pedestrians. The sidewalk in this part of the city isn’t as crowded at night as it is during the day. On monitor C, Titus turns toward the subway entrance and rests his forearms along the railing. He’s looking down into the stairwell as if he’s waiting for someone.
“If the cameras are the witnesses, what’s Titus for?” I ask, leaning in to get a closer look.
“Supposedly Debra’s taking the C train to come meet Sparke tonight. Titus will trail her from there.”
“Jax thinks he needs physical protection from his mother?” That seems a little extreme.
Mo glances up at me like he thinks I might be kidding. When he realizes my question was sincere, he says, “Titus is there to make sure she’s coming alone.”
Oh. I didn’t think of that. My nerves are ramping up again.
Mo leans into his radio. “I have you both in position. Copy?”
There isn’t any response from either Titus or Jax, but Mo doesn’t seem worried.
“You two hearing me okay?” he asks. “Over.”
Neither Jax nor Titus are reacting to their in-ears.
“Sparke? Titus? You read me?” Mo asks. “Dammit. We checked these before they went out.” He pushes his chair back and stands up. “We must’ve lost signal. Keep your eye on the monitors. I’ve got to make sure we’re on the right frequency. If you see something that looks off”—he gestures toward the overnight crew, who have just come into the room—“tell Benson or Schaeffer.”
Mo heads for the equipment room. That’s when I see a tall, bald man on monitor B, heading south toward the bodega. There are a number of other pedestrians, but this man stands out. One, he’s alone; two, he’s walking fast; three, he keeps looking over his shoulder like he doesn’t want to be followed.
“Natalie!” Mo calls, his voice carrying from down the hall. “I’ve got to check something downstairs in utility. Keep your eyes on them.”
“Got it!” I yell back.
The bald guy stops suddenly, half a block away from the bodega. My eyes jump to monitor A. Jax is still leaning against the building, looking left and right. Checking his watch. Waiting for his mother.
“Oh, God.” I don’t know why I know it, but something’s not right. Baldie is not your typical pedestrian, moving so quickly, then stopping on a dime like that. He’s not hailing a cab or even talking on his phone. What is he doing?
My eyes go back to Jax. It’s after ten now. He’s shifting around, probably losing patience with his mom for being late. Titus is still on monitor C, looking down into the subway as a steady stream of people come up the stairs. I can tell he’s looking for Jax’s mom, but it doesn’t appear that he’s caught sight of her yet.
