by Kara Parker
I sighed and looked down into my coffee cup, trying to divine the answers in the milky liquid. I knew Garrison was right and knew that more than a bit of my red-hot southern blood was showing. I'd never been a weak woman, contrary to what my ex-husband had said and done to me. There had always been a rebellious part that had been suffocated and buried under the physical and verbal abuse. Apparently, that part was trying to scratch its way to the surface. I knew it had a lot to do with Lisa, but even more to do with me.
A part of me thought that I'd caused it, that I'd been the one delivering the blows. No amount of therapy could change my reaction to seeing someone near me hurt. Only time would help.
I shook my head and looked back at Garrison. "What is your plan then? Going in with guns blazing on a suicide mission?"
He gave me a toothy grin. "I'd hoped not to die, sugar."
Southern men were just as dangerous as southern women in the seductive department. It was in their voice, in their manners, and in their very souls. A good southern man had the charm of the Devil but the heart of an angel, while a southern woman had the heart of an angel and the mind of the Devil. "How can I help?"
"You can't." He folded his arms on the table. "The information you've given me is help enough."
I shook my head and leaned forward until I felt his breath feather across my cheek: peaches, cream, and coffee. "No. They hurt one of my own. I'm helping."
His eyes narrowed, and I saw more of that army-man in him. I wondered which branch of the military he'd been with. The look in his eyes didn't just come from the badge at his waist, it came from seeing war first-hand, up close. "This isn't vigilante work, ma'am. What they did to your friend was terrible, but to them it was being generous."
Hardell's words came back to me. A shiver snaked up my spine because I knew that, even then, he hadn't been joking. Lisa got off light, and that was just awful. He caught the shiver and the subtle shake in my shoulder immediately and said, "You could die."
I leaned back and smiled coolly. "Do you think I'm afraid of death?" I wasn't. I'd stared death in the face plenty of times when I'd been with Yanik. Death wasn't hard, living was hard.
Garrison looked at me like he could see every single bruise Yanik had ever inflicted on me, the casts that had covered my broken bones, and the tears that had stained my face as I'd rocked my dead baby girl. He shook his head slowly. "No, ma'am. I don't think you are. But, there are worse things than death."
I looked away, trying to focus on everything and nothing in the small dinner, so I wouldn't retreat into the past. My voice was soft and willow-wisp thin, as I said, "I know."
The waitress, Virginia, a kind woman in her mid-forties, came then. She smiled, cleared the table, and tried to make small talk with us. Neither I nor Garrison responded past a few murmured words and a nod. She got the hint and left.
I could hear that tick again. It was the clock behind the counter over the soda machine. Always that damn clock. Time ticking away. Garrison drew me back. "Have you seen anybody meet Hardell that wasn't part of his gang? Anybody that seemed out of place?"
I thought about it for a second, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. About once a month, a man—I think his name is Leo—comes and speaks to Garrison alone. I'm not always there when it happens, but it's usually one of the last few days of the month."
I thought harder, and a memory rose up to the surface. "Once, I saw a group of about eight of them. Hardell had me clear out the bar entirely and close up early so they could chat. I got the feeling Hardell didn't really want them there—on his turf, I mean. It felt more like he was trying to show them that they could trust him. If that makes sense."
Garrison looked at me for a long time, and I wondered if he was weighing my words, trying to decipher whether I was telling the truth or lying to him. I didn't blame him. Enemies came in all shapes and sizes, told sweet lies and inconsistent truths. I didn't fault him for the stare he gave me, as if he was trying to ferret out my secrets. I just knew it was useless.
I didn't try to hide the marks on my skin with long jeans and shirts. I didn't try to mask the pain in my eyes with laughter and smiles. I was who I was. Battered and broken, but still me. My soul was not in my body. It was my body, it was me. He could stare as long as he wanted, ask every question in his little interrogation manual, but nothing would change. I saw the second he came to that realization.
"So, you think in about ten days, give or take, there's going to be another meeting?"
I nodded. "And I can tell you when it's happening, how many people are there, and what they're doing. I could even install a recorder and camera."
He smiled while nodding. "That's not a bad idea."
Virginia came back with the check. "It was so nice having you." She smiled brightly.
I returned the smile, but mine was a tad strained. "Did you see us, Virginia?"
Despite the town of Turtletuck being three towns away and an hour and a half from Mountain Grove, it was still close enough for Hardell to hear that I'd had lunch with a special agent of the FBI. Her smile slipped, and I saw steel behind those old, gray eyes of hers. Virginia hated the Hardell gang just as much as I did. In a small town, word that a special agent was there would spread like wild fire. She knew who I was sitting with and knew who we were discussing. Every single person in the diner did.
Virginia raised her voice and looked between us. "I only saw Mrs. North and Mr. North. I didn't see Chelsie Rivers or that FBI agent."
A few grunts rang out in the restaurant and I knew everyone was in agreement. I spared another look around the place, a last precaution. The gang didn't come here, choosing bars and underground nightclubs as their scene. But still, better safe than sorry.
I moved out of the black-vinyl booth and stood up. Garrison followed after slapping a couple bills on the table. I reached for my wallet, about to do the same, but he stopped me with a warm hand on my arm. I raised a brow, but the look in his eyes said he'd rather eat glass dipped in lemon and salt than let a woman pay for a meal. I knew he wasn't being a macho-man or even a misogynist, it was simply the culture. I missed that about the South, that sort of inbreed courtesy to women that you just didn't find in the North.
I smiled and dropped my hand away from my wallet. "Thank you."
He nodded, and we left.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was three days later when I heard from Garrison again, but it wasn't in the sort of way I expected at all. It was a lazy Tuesday morning, and I was the only one in the bar. I was tired, too. I couldn't stop yawning, as I leaned my elbows on the bar with my chin cupped in my palm and watched a talk show on the corner TV. I usually opened at eleven on weekdays and twelve on weekends, but I'd woken up early after a fitful night’s sleep and had decided to just open the bar at nine and wait it out.
I was yawning, tears in my eyes, as a woman on the TV talked about some new diet when the door opened. I pulled myself away from the counter and smiled at the door. Jerry, the mail man, walked in quickly and set a long box on my counter.
I peered into the clear, plastic top and noticed the box was filled with yellow lilies. "Who's this for, Jerry?"
He pulled out a slip of paper and a pen then slid them across the counter to me. "You, Chels."
I shook my head and smiled absently. "Probably for Lisa, but it just got sent here. You heard she was discharged, right?"
He tucked the paper and pen back into a satchel at his waist. "I heard, and I'm glad. I, uh, visited her the day she got out."
I smiled at that. Jerry and Lisa had a light flirting relationship. "That was nice of you," I said, putting the flowers on the counter behind me. "I'm sure she liked that."
He nodded his head vigorously before turning on his heel and heading out. "Bye, Chels."
I waved even though he couldn't see me, calling after him, "Bu-bye, Jerry."
The minute the front door closed, I turned and frowned at the box of flowers. It wasn't like everyone in the town didn't know where Lisa
lived, but I didn't know anyone who would buy such expensive looking flowers. Curiosity got the better of me, and I undid the white satin sash holding the box together and pulled off the cover. Delicate yellow lilies with long stems were grouped and tied together with a baby blue ribbon. At the end of the box, near the bottom of the stems were two little boxes and a note. Out of politeness, I opened the note, needing to confirm with my own eyes that these were for Lisa.
It was a quick scrawl that had nothing to do with Lisa and had definitely been written by a man.
Thought these would help. You don't need to pay me back, but we are having dinner. Eight o'clock. Blue Elephant.
G
I rolled my eyes at how pushy Agent Garrison sounded, but I also knew it had to be him. The two little boxes at the end housing a mini camera and recording set proved it. I wasn't stupid, I knew he wanted a date. I knew I could always call him and make up some excuse not to meet him. After all, he had done this all at the last minute. However, I didn't really want to do that. Garrison was nice, and he reminded me a lot of home. I hadn't been on a date in ages, and I knew that at the very least it would be a good opportunity to iron out our plan.
I smiled the entire time, as I set up the recording device and camera and waited on patrons who came in for a drink. I was out the door by three. I was dressed, showered, and fully made up by six, and yet I was still half an hour late when I finally made it to the Blue Elephant.
I rushed through the doors and up the elevator to the hotel's only restaurant. I fixed the strap on my red stilettos as the elevator climbed the levels and checked my teeth in the reflective silver panels around me. I had on a cream colored dress with a sweet-heart neckline that pulled tight around the waist then flared out in a twirl at the bottom. The dress came to just above my knee and was tied behind my neck so my shoulders were naked. I'd grabbed a multi-colored shawl that I’d hastily shoved in my purse, and my strawberry-blonde hair was a tumbled mess around my face. I knew I looked a bit frazzled; but, then again, I was.
It had been almost four years since I'd been on a date, longer since I'd been with a man. I wasn't a young girl anymore, and already I could see gray and silver strands in my hair. True, they were few and far between, but they were still there. I was just nervous, and I realized that; but, the realization didn't make it any better.
I spotted him at the bar, nursing a drink, and rushed to his side. "I'm sorry, I'm late."
He opened his mouth to say something, an easy-going smile on his lips, but then he stopped. I watched him turn slowly, rake me over with something that was more than an assessing look. I knew this one, it was the look a man gave to a woman when he was picturing her in less than appropriate positions.
I tried not to blush, as he started at my peep-toed heels then worked his way up to my eyes. His gaze lingered on my hips and breasts. "You look incredible."
I pushed back a strand of hair, not used to it being down and around my face. "So do you." And he did. He was relaxed in a pair of dark blue, low-slung jeans, a navy button down, and a tasteful silver watch.
He shook his head ruefully. "Not like you do, darlin'."
I blushed harder, feeling like I was eighteen instead of twenty-eight. "Should we go sit?"
He blinked like he'd forgotten why we were there. Then, he turned, grabbed his drink, and walked me over to the hostess stand with a hand at the small of my back. The teenage girl behind the stand smiled at us before grabbing two menus and walking us through the somewhat empty restaurant. The Blue Elephant was a fancy place, the kind of restaurant you went to on a first date or for an anniversary.
We were seated near floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Turtletuck Lake. It was beautiful.
I opened my menu, trying to focus on the words as I started the conversation. "I'm curious. Why did you invite me out tonight?"
I saw his shrug over the top of my menu. "Because I'm interested in you."
I could feel his hazel eyes on me, but I tried my best to focus on the dinner selections. "Why?"
"It's what I see in your eyes."
That got my attention, and I looked up. However, the waiter choose that moment to interrupt, and I was forced to order a drink. Garrison swirled his glass at the waiter to show that he was fine, then the man left to fill my order.
“Hmm…” I scanned the menu, marinating on what Garrison had said. “So, what branch of the military were you with?”
I didn’t like talking about myself, about what I had gone through. The memories might still be fresh in my mind, but I didn’t want to give them a life by speaking about them out loud. He smiled, and I watched his biceps bulge and flex as he crossed his arms. “Army.”
“Soldier?”
He nodded sharply. “Captain.”
My drink came, and we ordered. I went for some kind of creamy pasta that sounded heavenly, but that I had no clue how to pronounce, and Garrison went for the steak. “You seemed like an army man,” I said after a while.
“And you seem like a battered woman.” There was no anger in his voice, no malice or hurt. He just gauged my reaction.
“I am.” My voice was flat, something I’d perfected over the years.
“I’m sorry.”
I shook my head and took a sip of my drink. “What’s past is past and can’t be undone.”
The conversation was easier after that. Garrison talked about the FBI, how he’d gotten involved and what he did at the agency. His father had been the sheriff in their small town of Sunshine, Louisiana. He’d always wanted to work for the government and serve his country in one capacity or another. I commended him for it.
Garrison had done two tours and started a military career. However, after one of the women in his troop had been assaulted, and her assailant had gone free, he’d left. His eyes had darkened as he’d talked about the event, about how he’d joined the army to protect people but couldn’t even protect those closest to him.
I’d talked a little about Yanik, leaving out the loss of my child. I talked about growing up in Georgia with the sweltering summers under the shade of a magnolia or peach tree. We laughed as we reminisced about the South, about things that no Northerner would know. By the end of it, my accent was thick, we were talking freely, and I was laughing nearly constantly.
Hardell wasn’t even a topic of discussion, though it was always on the edge of the conversation. Talking with Garrison was nice. It brought back good memories and made me feel… happy. I didn't recognize the emotion immediately because I hadn’t felt it in a while. I’d been living, but it wasn’t a happy life.
The bill came after the food was taken away. I’d barely eaten anything, having too much fun talking, while he’d wolfed down his steak like he hadn’t eaten in days. I didn’t even try to touch the check, as he pulled out a credit card and paid.
I smiled softly, reached out my hand, and placed it on his jean-clad thigh. “Thank you, Garrison.”
He eyed my hand for a long minute, and then he took it, twinned our fingers, and raised it to his lips. He looked at me, keeping my gaze as he kissed my palm and then my fingertips. “It was my pleasure, sugar.”
I sucked in a breath, and he let my hand go. My heart was thudding in my chest, though I wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or fear. No, I amended myself, I knew what fear felt like. My heart wasn't fluttering from fear. It was fluttering from anticipation, from feelings that I hadn't felt since I was a teenager asking Rick Logan, the hottest jock in school, to the Sadie Hawkins dance. I didn't realize how much I'd missed the feeling.
In no time, we were out of the restaurant, riding the elevator down. Garrison’s hand was at my waist, a gentle weight, and my shoulder was brushing the fabric of his shirt. I took a breath in the small confines of the elevator and smelled something earthy and male, something that made me think of a log cabin, thermal sheets, and a bottle of half-empty bottle of red wine on a nightstand.
"Would you like to go on a walk with me, Chelsie?" Garrison asked suddenly.
/> I smiled and tucked a wayward strand of strawberry-blonde behind my hair. I'd noticed throughout dinner that he called me by my full name. I hadn't been called Chelsie in a while, and I'd never heard my name said in that slow drawl. It was like Garrison was tasting the words.
"We might be seen by Hardell's men."
He barked out a laugh. "Not here, sugar."
I knew he was right, but I was a little scared to agree. It had been a few years since I'd been alone with a man. Actually, it had been a few years with everything I'd done tonight— laughing, talking about myself without my guard being constantly up, letting a man kiss my palm. Another shiver crawled up my spine, and Garrison immediately pulled me closer to the warmth of his body.
"I should have brought a jacket," he mumbled as his hand moved to my arm and briskly moved up and down to try and warm me. "I'm sorry."
