"What are you up to?"
"What are you up to?" I said. "You scared the crap out of me."
"Look," Bishop said. "I'll make you a deal. There's something you need to know, and I'm willing to tell you." He crossed his arms. "But first, you've gotta tell me what's going on."
"What kind of thing?" I asked. "What do I need to know?"
"Trust me. You'll want to know this."
A trickle of sweat ran down my back, a remnant of our physical struggle. With the confrontation over, the cold crept up with a vengeance.
I thought wistfully of the hot chocolate, wishing for another. The gas station was probably still open. Maybe they had marshmallows. They definitely had whipped cream. I'd seen it in the dairy case next to the chocolate milk.
"Stop it," Bishop said.
"Stop what?"
"Stop thinking about mochas."
"I wasn't thinking about mochas." I looked at my shoes. They were worthless, as bad as bedroom slippers in the snow. "For your information, I was thinking about hot chocolate."
"Mocha, hot chocolate, what's the difference?"
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," I said.
"Fine by me," he said. "But we're not leaving here until you tell me what you're doing here. And trust me, I can hold out a lot longer than you."
He wasn't lying. He looked impervious to the cold. He looked impervious to just about anything. I wrapped my arms around my torso and shivered.
"Here," he said, pulling me close. He wrapped his arms around me and said, "Now, tell me what's going on."
He felt amazing, even better than I remembered. His hard, lean body was heavenly. Nice and warm too. I gave another little shiver. But this one wasn't from the cold.
He whispered into my hair, "Still cold?"
I shook my head.
"Good," he said. "Now start from the beginning."
I gave him the briefest of rundowns, avoiding the mention of anything that sounded remotely risky. Probably, I feared a good tongue-lashing, and not the fun kind.
I definitely didn't want to trigger his overprotective streak. If the little he did know was prompting him to follow me around Riverside, what would he do if he knew the full story? Chain me to his bed?
I considered that possibility. As interesting as it sounded, it probably wouldn't help me find Edgar. Still, it had a certain appeal.
My thoughts drifted back to that whole tongue-lashing thing. I recalled his lips on my thighs and tongue on my clit. And then, there was that thing he used to do with his fingers.
"Hey," Bishop said. "Snap out of it."
"Hmmmm?"
"You're thinking about hot chocolate again."
"I am not," I said, jolted into reality. "Anyway, the story ends with some psycho dragging me off the porch."
He gave a low laugh in my ear. "Psycho, huh? You have no idea."
"Actually," I said, "I do. So anyway, that's everything."
"I seriously doubt that," Bishop said. "So, you wanna know why I pulled you off the porch?"
"Why?"
"Because there's someone in the house."
"Edgar?" I said.
"I don't think so." Releasing me, Bishop headed toward the edge of the pines. He motioned for me to follow. Together, we peeked out from the trees.
"See the snow on the back patio?" he asked.
"Yeah?"
"See anything interesting?"
I studied the patio. "Oh crap. Tracks into the house?"
"Yup. Two sets," Bishop said. "Fresh too. Whoever it is, they probably got here just before you."
"Edgar and a friend?" I said.
"In the dark? Through the back door?"
"If it's not Edgar, who is it? Burglars?"
Bishop shook his head. "If it were a simple robbery, they'd have been in and out by now."
"With a computer under each arm?"
"Something like that."
"So you're saying it’s not a robbery?"
"It's not a simple robbery," he clarified. "What I’m guessing, is they’re looking for something specific."
"Like what?" I asked.
"I'll make you a deal," he said. "You go home now, and I'll find out."
"No way," I said. "You go home, and I'll find out."
His jaw tightened. "You're not serious."
"I'm not sure," I admitted. "But I'm definitely not going anywhere."
"Like that's a surprise." He glanced toward Edgar's. "Then here's the plan. We'll wait for them to come out, and we'll just ask 'em."
"Yeah, I'm sure they'll be all eager to tell us," I said. "Besides, what if they already have what it is they're looking for?"
"In that case," Bishop said, "we'll take it from 'em."
"You serious?"
"Sure." He handed me my gun. "If you need it, use it."
"I won't need it," I said.
"Then why'd you bring it?"
I stuffed the gun into my jacket pocket. "For self-defense. You know, just in case."
"Sometimes," he said, "the best defense is an offense."
I gave him a dubious look. "Oh yeah? Like when?"
"Like now." He glanced toward Edgar's house. "You got at least two guys in there. You already know they're criminals. You don't think they're carrying?"
"We don't know they're criminals," I said.
"If they're in the house without permission, they're criminals." He gave me a hard look. "What are you planning to do? Reason with them?"
"If you're just gonna hassle me," I said, "maybe you should go."
"Yeah, like that's gonna happen."
"Be honest," I said. "You're carrying too, aren't you?"
"You gotta ask?"
"No," I said. "But promise me something."
"What?"
"That you'll keep it in your pocket, or wherever."
He gave me a hard smile. "My gun, or–?"
"Yes. Your gun."
"And if they pull guns on us?" he said.
"That's pretty unlikely, don't you think?"
"Just answer the question."
"Then that's different," I said.
"Just remember you said that."
Sure, his plan was nuts, but I didn't have any better idea. We could simply leave, but then what? I was dealing with too many things that made no sense. It was giving me the creeps. At this point, I was desperate for answers.
So together, we stood at the edge of the pines, watching the house in silence. I shivered and dug my hands deep into my pockets. When I shivered again, Bishop slid behind me, wrapping me in his arms and pressing his body close to mine.
A sea of memories came flooding back, some with clothes, and some without. Leaning back into him, I tried not to think about it. But I couldn’t help myself. My body ran hot, and then cold when I reminded myself this wasn't a social visit. Tonight, I'd be sleeping alone.
We stood like that for nearly an hour. But even with the benefit of Bishop's body heat, the weather was getting the best of me. My feet were freezing, and I'd lost the feeling in my nose. I was about to suggest calling it quits when a door creaked.
Bishop tensed. Slowly, he released me. We waited in silence, watching two darkly clad figures emerge from Edgar's house. They cut across his back yard, briefly disappeared from sight, and then reappeared a moment later on the sidewalk one street over.
Where were they headed?
And then I saw it, a big four-door Chevy with no license plate.
Bishop noticed it too. Motioning for me to follow, he skirted around the far side of a neighboring house. Together, we headed toward the vehicle, cutting through yards and keeping to the shadows.
We popped out onto the shrubbery-lined sidewalk just a few feet from the Chevy, beating the intruders by a full block. They were headed straight toward us, walking at a steady pace. Bishop took my hand in his. Together, we walked toward them, just another couple out for a midnight stroll.
Bishop stopped to nuzzle my neck. "Don't worry," he whispered in my ear.
"I've got you." Nibbling on my earlobe, he added, "Remember, you're supposed to be aroused, not nauseated."
I took the hint and giggled like a drunken bimbo.
"Perfect," he whispered. "Or are you that happy to see me?"
"You wish." I leaned back to look into his eyes. His pupils were dilated pitch black, and he gave me that old, familiar smile. I caught my breath. I knew that smile. Oh boy. I was in big trouble, and not because of the guys coming toward us.
From the corner of my eye, I studied the men headed our way. One was a massive barrel-chested man with deep-set eyes. The other was smaller, but no less intimidating. Both wore black stocking caps and plain black jackets. Something about their demeanor suggested they'd welcome a fight and fully expect to win.
What the hell was I doing? I stopped myself in mid-thought. If I wondered too much, I'd lose my nerve. And I didn’t have a lot to begin with. So Bishop and I waited, blocking the sidewalk, just two lovers oblivious to the world. The seconds ticked away as the footsteps drew near.
Bishop pulled me close, shielding me in his steady embrace. My heart thudded against his chest. I held my breath. And then, the men were right on us.
Bishop’s grip on me tightened. The men didn't miss a beat. The larger man plowed through, shoving us aside with the easy indifference of someone used to getting his way. The smaller one followed in his wake. "Go on, fuck her already," the smaller one called over his shoulder. "We did."
"Yeah, both of us," the larger man said.
The smaller one added, "And a waste of time too. She wasn't half as good as she looked."
Okay, I thought. Was that a compliment? Or an insult? I reminded myself to focus.
The men pushed onward with no further commentary. They didn't even bother to look back. The encounter had taken mere seconds. My heart raced a mile a minute, not because of what had just happened, but because of what would happen next.
I didn’t know the game plan, but I knew Bishop. That was enough.
Chapter 57
Before the two men traveled beyond arm's reach, Bishop made his move. In one fluid motion, he pulled a pistol from who-knows-where. He turned and pistol-whipped the larger of the two thugs, hitting him in the back of the head with the butt of his gun.
Before the man hit the ground, Bishop had the pistol trained on the smaller man.
I gasped. This was so not happening. I stood, rooted by shock, as the scene played out in front of me.
The larger man lay on the ground, groaning. With his gun still trained on the smaller man, Bishop kicked the larger man in the side. The man gave a small peep, and was quiet. Bishop turned his full attention to the guy in front of him.
"Jesus, mister," the man squeaked. "We didn't mean nothin' by it. I'm sure your girl's real nice." He swallowed hard. "And probably a damn good lay too. Jesus."
Bishop reached out and slapped the man on the forehead. Quickly the man added, "Not that she looks like no whore or nothin'."
Lying in the snow, the larger man stirred. Desperate to keep Bishop from doing something worse, I pulled out my Ruger and pointed it at the guy. My hand was steady, but inside, I was shaking like a leaf.
That fucker had lied to me. This was a total nightmare, and it was all my fault. I should have never trusted him. Apparently, I never learned.
In front of me, the big guy on the ground remained still. Could I shoot him? I knew I couldn't – unless he shot first, assuming he even had a gun. And then, it would be too late. I willed him to remain motionless. Because if he moved, I'd probably piss myself before I'd ever pull the trigger.
Again, Bishop slapped the smaller man on the forehead.
"Fuck!" the man squeaked. A thick layer of sweat formed on his upper lip. "I already said I was sorry. Can't you take a joke?"
"No," Bishop said, flicking his head toward me, and then toward the man on the ground. "Search him."
I swallowed hard, but there was no turning back now. Slowly, I knelt in the snow next to the man, whose eyes remained closed. Holding the Ruger steady in my right hand, I patted down his pockets with my left.
I found nothing, no wallet, no money, no keys, nothing. But he was wearing a holster on his hip. The thing was empty. I looked up, giving Bishop a perplexed look.
Bishop gestured to the smaller man, stiff as a board, his face soaked with sweat. Silently, I searched him too. This time, the results were more interesting. I found a small pistol, a set of keys, and three cassette tapes, the old-fashioned kind that I'd seen in Edgar's shanty.
I stood and held up the gun for Bishop's benefit. Not knowing what else to do, I shoved the gun and the car keys into my jacket pocket. Finally, I held up the tapes for Bishop's inspection.
"Those are mine," the man insisted. "I got my music on 'em."
Right. Like anyone carried cassettes these days, when you could fit hundreds of songs on a digital thing the size of a snack-cracker. Plus, I'd seen Edgar's name, hand-written, across at least one of the tapes.
Keeping his pistol steady, Bishop took a single tape from my hand. He pressed the tape hard into the man's face. "Read it," Bishop said.
The man gulped. "Edgar Kreezak."
"Why'd you take them?" Bishop said.
The man remained silent, and Bishop slapped him again. The man glanced at me, and I tried not to throw up.
The man gulped. "I don't know who you guys are," he said, talking too fast. "But I'm telling ya, I don't know nothin'. We got a job. Pick up some tapes. Nice and easy. That's all I know. You want the tapes? They're yours. Take 'em. Take 'em. Jesus."
"Who hired you?" Bishop asked.
"I don't know," the guy said. "Honest. We get a call, do the job. We don't meet in person. It's bad for business. Fuck, if I'd have known this was serious shit, I'd have got more money. Honest, they ain't paying me enough. I don't know nothin'."
Bishop flicked his head in my direction. "Keys," he said.
I dug into my jacket and pulled out the guy's keys. I dropped them into Bishop's outstretched hand. He jingled them a couple times and gave them a long throw. They landed in some thick shrubbery across the street.
"Now the gun," he said. Silently, I handed it over. Bishop put it in his own pocket. "This, I'm keeping." He shoved his own pistol into his jacket and turned to leave.
"Hey!" the big guy said. "What about my gun?"
"That too," Bishop said.
"Fuck," the man muttered.
Turning to me, Bishop flicked his head toward the way we'd come. Together, we slunk into the shadows. Before we disappeared around a two-story Victorian, I glanced back at the two men. The smaller thug helped the larger one to his feet.
Silently, Bishop and I cut through yards, staying in the shadows until we popped out three streets over. Bishop's vehicle was parked at the curb. Together, we scrambled into it and drove off.
When we were alone, he was gonna be in big trouble.
Chapter 58
Inside the vehicle, it was cold enough to see my breath. But to me, it was an oven. I unzipped my jacket and fumbled for the power window button.
When the window slid down, I leaned my head out. Waves of cold air washed over my hot face. I took deep, gulping breaths until, at last, my heart rate slowed.
"You okay?" Bishop asked.
I whirled on him. "What the fuck!"
His eyebrows rose. "Is there a problem?"
"You promised not to pull any guns."
"No," he said. "I promised not to pull my gun." He reached into the back of his pants and pulled out a big black pistol. "And I didn't." He gave it a little wave. "See?"
"You know exactly what I meant." I gave a small shudder as I rolled up the window. "That was bad."
He gave me a look. "Not as bad as the alternative."
"What's that?"
Wordlessly, he jerked his steering wheel to the right and pulled into an empty parking lot. He shifted his vehicle into park and turned sideways in the seat to face me. "You sure you wanna hear this?" he said.
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"Probably not."
"Too bad," he said. "What happened back there? You think that was my first choice?"
"I don't know. Was it?"
"No," he said. "My first choice was dragging you the fuck out of there."
"Dragging?" I said. "Seriously?"
"Except you wouldn't have stayed there. You'd have gone back. And you'd have kept going back until something bad happened to you."
I glowered at him. "Like getting dragged off by some psycho?"
He ignored me, and his voice rose. "And if something bad is gonna happen? Yeah, I'm gonna make it happen while I'm there to handle it, before I'll wait for it to happen when I'm not."
"God, why are you so mad?" I said. "That whole thing was your idea. You started it. Did you see me pistol-whip anyone? Did you see me stealing anyone's gun? No, you didn't."
He pushed a hand through his hair. "You make me crazy."
"I can tell."
"You wanna see crazy?" he said. "You try that again."
"What? Leaving a note?"
"You know exactly what I mean," he said. "Yeah, there was risk. To me?" He shrugged. "No big deal. But when it comes to you?" His voice softened. "I don't like it."
Something in his voice made my heart ache. It conjured up too many memories, and not all of them bad. "It was fine," I said. "I'm fine. You're fine. Let's just go, alright?"
Wordlessly, he shifted into drive and pulled out of the lot. "Where?" he asked.
"I think I've got an old cassette player somewhere in my apartment," I said. "If it still works, I'd better see what's on those tapes."
Bishop nodded. "I'll take that as an invitation."
At the coffee shop, he parked in the alley behind my Mustang. Together, we crept through the store and up into my apartment. Bishop gave my apartment the once-over.
"So, you stay here much?" he asked.
"Sometimes." I kicked off my frozen shoes and placed them next to the heat register, not that it'd do any good. It wouldn't be emitting heat any time soon. "Mostly, I spend an awful lot of time on the road."
"Why?" he asked.
"Because there's no direct flight," I explained.
Bishop shrugged out of his jacket. "No, I mean why do you come back here so often?" He sank onto the sofa. "For the money?"
Illegal Fortunes Page 22
