Bulletproof Princess

by Craig, Alexis D.

  Mack felt strangely exposed and vulnerable. “What do you know about that?”

  Cassie shrugged and pulled a pick out of the shoulder strap. “I saw a picture, wondered. You looked happy.”

  He wondered where the hell she’d seen that, since he’d done his best to expunge his existence from his room. “Most people look happy in pictures. That’s the point in taking them, to commemorate happy occasions.” Even as he said it, though, he could hear what she wasn’t saying. It wasn’t exactly a secret he and happy didn’t really see too terribly much of each other anymore, especially here.

  “If you say so.”

  She’d be wrong, though. He had his life, his poker every Tuesday night with his buddies when he was in town, shooting pool at the dive bar down the street and picking up slumming grad students in the mood to blow off steam. It was a pretty idyllic existence in his estimation, though seeing it from her perspective did give it a somewhat hollow ring. He wasn’t, however, in the mood to justify himself to her, or himself really, so he went for the diversion as he pulled the chair over from the harp to sit across from her. “What about you? I mean, other than the piano and the guitar.”

  Chapter 8

  Cassie shrugged and put her pick on the bench beside her. Starting slowly and gaining speed, she picked her way through the opening of Dueling Banjos. “Well, I can play the banjo a little, not as well as I’d like, but I’m learning. Pedal steel, slide guitar, and dobro, mostly. Never been much for a bass guitar, but I can’t say I’d count it out. Basically, if you can play the blues on it, and play country music on it, I can play it in some capacity.”

  “Harmonica, too?” he teased. She liked the way he smiled when she surprised him, and it appeared she did so often.

  She continued to play, but couldn’t help teasing him, “Eh, it’s been known to happen.” Finishing the song, she gave him a penetrating look and liked the way he squirmed under her gaze. “You don’t expect much from me, do you?”

  Mack, the Federal Marshal, blushed. Cheeks flamingly red, he ducked his head and laced his fingers together. “That was true at one point,” he admitted with a chagrined shrug. At least he didn’t deny it, though she didn’t want to think about why it hurt to know he saw her that way. He rushed to follow up with, “I am continually surprised by you, in a good way.” He hung his head on a sigh. “That isn’t much better, is it?”

  She shook her head and laughed, nudging him in the shin with her foot. “It’s okay, I’m used to it. People see me and they expect...big personality, little brain? I don’t mind proving them wrong.” Maybe she misread the situation earlier by the pool, but she thought maybe he’d started to see her as herself and not her media persona. Cassie hated being wrong. “I was raised on old school country and delta blues. My father insisted on it.”

  Mack’s gaze shifted from chagrinned to openly curious. “You don’t talk about your family much.”

  Her fingers paused as she realized her error in giving him that opening. She shrugged and switched from bluegrass to straight blues, trying to shake off the sudden stiffness in her fingers from the anxiety of talking about her family provoked. “After a year of it being in the news, I didn’t think there was much else to mention.” Her father’s betrayal and the subsequent circus that surrounded what should have been a private, family affair still churned her stomach up as if it were fresh. Clint stepping in the way he did saved her, in more ways than one.

  Mack had the decency to look uncomfortable as he shrugged. “Fair enough.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but shook his head and stood up. “I’ll leave you to your work. I’ll be around if you need me, er, I mean, anything.”

  His cheeks flamed again before he turned to leave, but she didn’t feel like tormenting him further. “Thanks, Mackenzie.”

  He nodded and left without comment. She watched the closed door for a moment before opening her notebook.

  The upside of writing music was it allowed her to work through her emotions during intense situations. The downside was the life of a musician provided a wealth of those situations. The benefit of her current circumstance was she had time to get it all down on paper. Small mercies.

  * * *

  Mack couldn’t get out of there fast enough, he fretted as he tore down the hallway toward the main part of the house. He almost told her everything, about his family, about Clint, about his growing feelings for her beyond simple protectiveness and duty, none of which she was prepared to deal with right now. Honestly, he was pretty sure he wasn’t prepared to deal with any of it himself. Feelings and fallout were two things he did poorly, and he only had to think of his ex-wife for verification.

  He and Marisol had been young, starry-eyed, the best part of the love story. But being in love and being married were two different things, especially when they were fresh out of college and he had just gotten on the PD in Phoenix. The demands of the job, his young wife, he hadn’t been prepared to cope, and when it came down to it, he’d sacrificed his personal life on the altar of his job. First of several times to come. The relationships that followed were quick and easily shed, he stayed honest on his end which made for little drama on their end.

  Cassie was anything but short term, and Mack knew that the moment he saw her. Even if he didn’t know a thing about her recent tragedies, or have a more than passing knowledge of her romantic trials, she deserved more than an emotionally unavailable committed bachelor. The secrets that were part and parcel of his job notwithstanding, he had had no business even pondering taking that path with her if he couldn’t give her what she needed.

  “You look like a man who’s halfway up a mountain.”

  Conchita’s voice cut through his thoughts and jarred him back to reality. His musings, and probably his stomach as well if he was being completely truthful, had led him to the kitchen which was now filled with the amazing scents promising dinner would be incredible.

  “Halfway up a mountain?” Mack rummaged in the fridge for a slice of watermelon and a bottle of water. He leaned against over the sink to keep from making a mess as he watched her move deftly about the kitchen.

  She hummed and didn’t look up from her chopping. “It’s as far back as it is forward, and it only gets harder from here.” She scraped the minced veggies into a clear glass bowl and started on another set.

  He frowned and spit a seed into the sink. “That’s disheartening.”

  The older woman wiped her cheek on her shoulder and rubbed her nose on the inside of her wrist before returning to her task. “Not really. You’ve come this far, Mackenzie.”

  Nodding to concede her point, he turned on the faucet to wash the remains of his snack down into the garbage disposal. “It’d be easier to turn around and go back.” In more ways than one, he thought as he cast a quick glance down the hall from which he’d come.

  Conchita met his gaze with a smirk. “You, mijito, have never done anything easy in your life. Why start now?”

  He couldn’t help but grin. This is the woman who practically raised him and truly knew him better than he did himself. With one last look down the hallway toward the conservatory, he turned back to Conchita and switched to Spanish just in case the other occupant in the house might overhear. “Mamita, I have a problem.”

  “Just the one?” she replied with a raised eyebrow. The oven dinged and she pulled a whole chicken on a rack from its depths. It smelled unbelievable, and though he just had a snack, his stomach growled in happiness.

  Yep, she truly did know him better than anyone else. “For the moment, actually, it’s one big problem with several layers.”

  “Cebolla,” she muttered as she set about dismembering the chicken and stripping it bare of its meat.

  “Precisely. Her friend got killed. In front of her.”

  Conchita hissed in sympathy and gestured for him to continue without looking up from her task.

  “And he brought it on himself. He had outstanding gambling debts, large ones, to some very bad people.” />
  “You shouldn’t play if you can’t pay,” she intoned with a shrug. It was something he heard a great deal growing up, her way to temper his more impetuous nature. “How is this her problem?”

  “He was stealing from her, her business, to cover some of them.” Even saying the words tasted horrible, and he looked down the hall to make sure they were still alone. “He was still behind and the guy they sent to collect doesn’t take IOU’s.”

  “Does she know?”

  Those three simple words had him moving from his spot leaning against the counter to a stool at the breakfast nook near Conchita. “No.” She was in mourning, she was in shock from the trauma of watching her friend gunned down in front of her, and he just couldn’t bring himself to add to that.

  The older woman lay down her knife and fixed him with a hard look. “You need to tell her, mijo. She deserves the whole truth, it’s only right.” She watched him as though she expected the words to stick to him and absorb through his skin before returning to shredding the chicken.

  “But she’s grieving, mamita. Shouldn’t I let her heal before I go adding to her sorrows?” He watched her work over the meat with two forks, and snuck a hand over to try and snag a piece when she wasn’t looking.

  Without even breaking stride she reached over and smacked his hand away. “Mackenzie, you are a good man, and I know you would never intentionally inflict pain on someone you care about, but she has a right to know the whole story. Yes, it may change how she feels about the situation, but that is not your decision to make.” She set her utensils aside and took his hand like she used to when he was little. “Mijito, you have feelings for her, yes?”

  He nodded and looked down at their joined hands.

  “And you have a job to do, yes?”

  He nodded again, feeling like he was eight years old after he got into his first fight on the playground.

  “Then you know what to do. Let one inform the other, do your job, and take care of her. It will work out.”

  Her faith in him was heartening, even if the idea of breaking Cassie’s heart again made him nauseated. It was infinitely preferable to him to take a shot from a sniper’s perch than deal with a crying woman. He never managed to say or do the right thing and usually managed to make the situation worse. Still, Conchita had a valid point—like she usually did—and he knew he was delaying the inevitable.

  “It smells incredible in here!” Cassie appeared in the doorway looking like she belonged there, smile bright and unforced, seeming lighter overall. She corralled a stool next to him at the breakfast bar and immediately snagged a piece of chicken that he’d been denied.

  Conchita gave them a knowing smile and moved the bowl of chicken to the counter out of their reach. “If you are going to sit in here, then I’m gonna put you to work. You don’t just get to snack until you’re too full for dinner.” It took a few minutes, but they both had cutting boards in front of them along with the requisite knives and vegetables.

  The conversation was fun and carried over into the meal itself. His almost-mother was more than happy to dish dirt on him from his rough-and-tumble childhood days. Broken bones from horseback riding and football, fights in grade school, and the entirety of his high school career. All of it they did together because his sisters took up his parents’ time outside of their work and his father’s dalliances.

  He was their throwaway kid, not quite perfect enough, even if he did carry his father’s name. Conchita saved him, in more ways than one, and gave him the love and stability his own family couldn’t be bothered to, and he loved her more than anything else. She truly was the first woman in his life, but watching her now with Cassie was an eye-opener. She was actually more comfortable with his witness than she’d been the whole time he’d been with Marisol. The easy kinship between them warmed his heart. And that probably was not a good thing in terms of his ‘duty versus his heart’ debate. The heart clearly smoked this battle, valves down.

  Somehow they managed to kill half a batch of flautas with all the trimmings. When it came time to clear the dishes, Mack and Cassie kept Conchita at the table and took care of the heavy lifting. It was only appropriate.

  When Conchita finally got up from the table, she made a show of stretching and yawning. “You kids are wearing me out. I’m going to my room to read and then head to bed. You know if you need anything—”

  “We’ll come get you,” Cassie and Mack finished for her, laughing. She waved off their giggles as she headed down the hall to her section of the house. Mack refused to call it ‘servant’s quarters’ on general principle.

  Before she disappeared behind her door, her eyes met Mack’s and he knew what she was silently trying to convey. He nodded and turned back to Cassie who was finishing up washing the dishes. Apparently he was behind in his drying.

  Grabbing a dishtowel, he got to work as Cassie looked him over as she leaned back against the counter next to him. “We need to talk.” He kept his eyes on his task to avoid meeting her pointed cerulean gaze.

  She nudged his shoulder with hers. “Sounds serious.” He could hear the smile in her voice, which only made his heart twist in his chest.

  He nodded, but still kept his eyes off her. Mack knew if he looked at her, he’d lose his resolve. After putting the last dish away, he led her to the patio and took a seat on one of the chaise lounges by the pool. When he looked up, he could see the worry in her moonlit eyes.

  “You’re scaring me, Mack,” she murmured, like the quiet of the desert might be disturbed if she spoke louder.

  He didn’t like hearing his nickname on her lips, a distinct abnormality. “I don’t mean to, Cass, really, but this is important, and I shouldn’t have kept this information to myself.”

  She narrowed her eyes and raked her hair back from her face with both hands, appearing both confused and agitated. “Is there an apology in there somewhere?”

  Feeling the anxiety spike in his blood, he bit down on the urge to start the conversation with a litany of his justifications for his actions, or lack thereof in this case. “Yeah, definitely, in a minute. We need to talk about Clint.”

  Her expression shuttered and she was instantly wary. “What about him?”

  Mack reached out to take her hands, giving in to the other urge he should have ignored. “He had a problem, Cass, a big one.”

  She snatched her hands back and stood, her voice rising as she paced. “I told you he did. I knew about his struggle to keep his gambling addiction under control. He was doing okay, he promised me.” Cassie walked to where the concrete ended and the desert began and stared at the edge like it was a precipice over an endless abyss.

  He rose and came over to stand behind her, but not touching. As much as she wanted to physically remove herself from the situation, and he didn’t blame her at all, they needed to have this out in the open between them. “He had it under control. Ange found evidence that he started back up again a couple years ago.”

  Cassie whirled on him with fire in her eyes and venom in her voice as she spat, “You’re lying.”

  Mack didn’t step back or flinch from her wrath. “I’m not. He tried to stay afloat as best he could on his own, but he owed money to a lot of people. A lot of dangerous people.”

  He watched her rein in her temper hard, chest heaving and cheeks streaked pink at the far edge of the floodlights. “What are you saying, Mackenzie?” she demanded slowly, deliberately, with only the barest hint of a tremor.

  The scant distance between them seemed like a canyon as Mack chose his words as carefully as he could. “He had some trouble covering his debts, and was borrowing from you. Not enough to break even, but enough to buy some breathing room and to not show up on your radar.”

  Her mouth dropped open and her hand went to her neck. “He was stealing from me?” Her struggle to catch her breath worried him, and he escorted her to a lounge chair on the far side of the pool. She immediately sank down onto the cushions and held her head in her hands as she gasped f
or air.

  It was hard for him to sit next to her and not touch her, but he didn’t think she’d want that from him right now. “It appears that way. I’m so sorry, Cass.” He didn’t have the words to express the abject regret he was feeling at breaking her heart all over again.

  “He…” she sniffled, “he could have asked me! I would have given him anything, after what he did for me!” Cassie sat up and swallowed hard. “It was the least I could do.”

  The tear streaks down her face were almost too much, and he reached out and rubbed her back in an attempt to comfort her. “I don’t doubt you would have, but I need to tell you the rest.”

  “There’s more?” she all but wailed. Her voice silenced the coyotes in the distance and brought the thriving sounds of nocturnal desert life to a standstill.

  “The people he owed are dangerous, and,” he hesitated as he pondered if he should underscore that with an example, but decided against it given her firsthand knowledge. “And they don’t appreciate a running tab that was only growing. I think the concert was a setup.”

  Cassie reared back and turned to face him. “What kind of setup?”

  Mack took his hand back and laced his fingers together between his knees. “I haven’t quite worked that part out yet, but my first two thoughts are that the concert was a way of paying down his debt to Salazar.” His second thought made more sense, but he really didn’t like the implications of it.

  “And the second?” she whispered.

  “That Salazar wanted the concert and set it up as a way to get his guy and Clint in the same location to facilitate the hit.” He hung his head and stared at the ground between his feet, not daring to look at her. Either way, she was a pawn in a game, the object of which was the death of her friend and her life overturned. She whimpered, but didn’t reply. “The problem with both of those is you.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked on a watery breath.

  Steeling himself for the coup de grace to her emotional stability, he flexed his jaw and stretched out his fingers before lacing them again. “You being in that hallway, seeing the murder and who did it, being able to place him at the party with Salazar, talking to him, makes you a high value target.” The kind that should have gone into WITSEC immediately under other circumstances, he left off, though she was probably thinking the same.