by Cathy Pegau
Tonio nodded. “Good. I’ll send you the personnel file and our travel schedule tomorrow.” He reached into his jacket and offered me a card. “Here. You’ll need to get some clothes and such. Have them shipped to your new address, under the name Olivia Baines.”
I took the plastic square. “Oooh, an alias and new clothes. High-class job.”
He stepped into the hall. “Definitely not our usual gig.”
We stared at each other for a moment. No, this whole thing was becoming more and more unusual. We were thieves, loners, not extortionists who worried about their interfering mothers.
Tonio nodded toward the bedroom. “I hope everything works out. Good night, Liv.”
“Good night.”
He disappeared into the shadows of the stairwell.
I closed the door, threw the locks and slumped against the frame. “Yeah, I hope it works out too.”
Chapter Five
Sunlight reflected off the neighboring building, cut through the smears on the living room window and smacked into my half-opened eyes. I rolled over to save my retinas, hoping to slip back into sleep. No such luck. Something under the flimsy couch cushion dug into my side. I groaned and tried to shift into a more comfortable position. The lump seemed to grow in size and in its determination to bruise a rib.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.”
I jerked upright, and a thin blanket that had been covering me slid to the floor. It took my brain a few moments to recall who else was in my flat. And why she was there.
My mother came around the end of the couch and set a mug of coffee on the table. “Strong and black,” she said, sitting next to me. She tucked her bare feet under her. “Just the way you like it.”
Actually, it was the way she liked it, but I wasn’t in the mood to quibble. Besides, I’d run out of Kreemor two days before.
“Thanks.” I wrapped my hands around the cup and sipped the potent brew. The only thing Mom and I had in common, other than committing felonious acts, was the ability to make good coffee.
That first swallow infused itself into my system as I watched Mom out of the corner of my eye. She’d changed out of her travel clothes at some point and now wore a pearl-pink peignoir over a matching nightgown. Her hair was neatly combed, and she wore little, if any, makeup. This close, I noticed blue-grey shadows under her eyes.
“Sleep okay?” I asked and took another sip.
Mom smiled a little. “I did, thank you.” She sighed and shook her head. “I tell you I won’t be a burden and first thing you know, you’re sleeping out on the couch. I can just imagine what you’re thinking.”
What was I thinking? The first thought that had come to mind was she was up to something. Though I’d tempered that last night after her rant, it was still a viable option. Second was she needed someplace to hide. A distant third was that she needed the comfort of the only family she had. Not counting several ex-husbands, that is. She’d already dropped the first shoe by coming here. When was the next size six going to fall?
I didn’t verbalize those theories. Instead, I shrugged. “This isn’t the first time I’ve slept out here.”
That wasn’t quite true. I’d fallen asleep on the couch in the past but got up and went into my own comfy bed at some point. When Tonio and I were having problems, he was the one to sleep on the couch. Locking him out of the bedroom probably had a lot to do with that.
We stared out the grimy window, side by side, lost in thought and not speaking for several minutes. My main concern for the moment was figuring out a way to prepare for the Talbot gig without her catching on. I couldn’t dodge a natural-born snoop like Sabine Braxton in a two-room flat. I couldn’t dodge a blind man here.
“Sorry about last night,” she said softly.
I’m not sure which startled me more, Mom’s voice after our prolonged silence or her apology. Whichever it was, it kicked my defenses up a notch. “Too much wine?”
Maybe it was callous to echo the question Tonio had posed last night. As much as I hoped overindulgence was the explanation, deep down I knew it wouldn’t be that simple. With Sabine, it never was.
Still staring outside, she gave a humorless snort. A tear trickled from the corner of her eye. “Something like that.”
Double damn the void. My insides got all wiggly and restless, unsure what I was supposed to do. Running from the room, while an option, wasn’t very polite. She was my mother, after all.
She wiped her cheek with her fingertips and threw me a sidelong glance, probably hoping I didn’t catch the tears. Our eyes met, and we both looked away quickly.
“I didn’t want to drop this on you, Olivia. We’ve always been good about respecting each other’s privacy.”
If what she really meant was that we’d avoided being on the same side of the star system for the last nine years, then yes, we respected each other’s privacy. When I’d turned sixteen, nearly fifteen years ago, she’d left me to my own devices. That is, she no longer felt obligated to keep me clothed and sheltered. Which was fine by me. I guess I was supposed to feel “lucky” to have had her around for as long as I did.
“It’s fine.” It wasn’t. I had the feeling her other shoe was about to land on my foot. “You can stay here as long as you need to.”
Hell, I was leaving Pembroke anyway. The landlord didn’t care who paid the rent. As long as tenant activities didn’t attract lawmen, he was a happy guy.
She flicked a glance my way and gave me a wan smile. “Thanks, honey.” Then her brow furrowed delicately. “There’s just one thing.”
My toes cramped in phantom pain. “What?”
“I’m almost too embarrassed to say it.” She lowered her head, and her cheeks actually flushed. Either she was sincere about whatever it was, or she’d become one of the best players in the business. Either way, I was screwed.
“Just say it, Mom.” Just please, oh please, don’t say—
“I need some money.”
Shit. I knew it. Why couldn’t it have been something easy, like “I’m pregnant”?
“Not a lot,” she continued. “Just enough to get me by for a few months.”
“A few months? I’m giving you my flat. How much do you need?”
Mom had acquired some lofty tastes, if her clothing and the filmy peignoir were any indication. Pinkies extended as she held the chipped mug in both hands, she raised a slender shoulder. “I hadn’t really thought about a number.”
That was a crock of ore muck. Likely she had the preferred amount as well as acceptable alternatives in mind before she’d knocked on my door last night.
“Monty took care of the finances. He was very good to me until—”
“Until he fucked the pig farmer.”
Her body stiffened, and her lips pressed together. Slowly she leaned forward and set the mug on the table. Then she folded her hands in her lap as she turned to me. Her voice was quiet, more pissed than pained, but I got the feeling it wasn’t directed at me. “Don’t be vulgar, Olivia. I made a mistake with Monty. I let myself get too close. But it won’t happen again.” She smoothed back an errant strand of blond hair. “In the meantime, I’m asking you for help, after which I’ll leave you in peace. Gone. For as long as you wish. I swear on my mother’s grave.”
I’d never met my grandmother, though Mom had cursed her on several occasions during my misspent youth.
Mom talked a good game, exuding the perfect amount of self-recrimination, anger and determination. How could I resist the win-win situation of being the good-hearted daughter and not having my mother sniffing at my heels? Part of my brain wondered what the catch could be. There had to be a catch. Had to be. But I knew damned well I’d never figure it out before she had me completely ensnared. Best to keep her off-balance.
She’d opened her mouth, probably to continue her plea, when I asked, “How much?”
Her mouth snapped closed. She stared at me for a moment, eyes narrowed, wary that I’d caved so easily. Reading people was part of her job,
so I wasn’t surprised that she saw through my acquiescence. “I’ll pay you back.”
An offer of legitimacy? I wasn’t taking the bait. We both knew the chances of her doing so, or my finding her to collect, would be slim. “Just give me a number.”
“Ten thousand.”
My hands jerked, sloshing hot coffee onto my skin. My breath hissed in response to the pain, as well as her answer. Not the number I’d expected. I had just over half that squirreled away for my escape from Nevarro, or to keep myself afloat and out of sight if things went awry with the coming job and I had to go to ground. Hard-earned cash meant for a greater purpose than keeping my mother out of my hair.
On second thought, what greater purpose was there than family?
I swallowed back my natural instinct to deny I had any cash to my name. She’d see the lie in a heartbeat. Instead, I took a deep breath and said, “That’s a lot of money.”
Mom’s demeanor returned to embarrassed self-consciousness. “I know, and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it. Monty kept everything.”
Warning bells clanged in my head. “You didn’t have a pre-nup? You?”
Even if she liked the guy, Sabine Braxton-Zander-Kepler (Kempler?)-Montgomery was not one to leave herself open and financially vulnerable. Perhaps she was slipping in her old age.
She looked at me as if I’d grown a third eye. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I had a pre-nup. Monty’s terrashark of a solicitor found some ridiculous loophole that rendered it null and void. The bastard.”
I wasn’t sure if she referred to Monty or his solicitor, but she seemed to have copious amounts of anger for both.
“Mom, I don’t have ten thousand to give you.” I set my cup down and rubbed at the beginnings of a headache. “I can give you three or four, but it’ll take a few days to get it together.”
That is, I needed to have her out of my flat so I could expose my hidey-holes sans witness.
Her features softened as she gathered my hands in hers. “Oh, sweetie, I know I’m asking for a lot. And I do promise to pay you back.”
“Yeah,” I said, giving her a wry grin, “on Granny’s grave.”
Mom patted my hand. “Just don’t tell her that part if you ever run into her.”
Not trusting my mother alone in my flat, I called in sick to work. Rudy the Phlegm wasn’t happy, but I had days coming to me. Besides, I couldn’t have cared less if he fired me; I’d be nothing more than a bad memory by next week.
Mom and I were both cleaned up and changed when Tonio called with the address in Pandalus I needed for delivery of my new wardrobe.
“How’s your mother?” he asked after transmitting the information and our itinerary.
I flicked a quick glance at Mom rinsing the coffee cups and pot and turned my back to her. “Good. Better.”
“What does she want?”
Annoyance flared, but he’d heard the stories, stories I’d told him, so I couldn’t blame his suspicions. I had the same ones. “Nothing important. I’ve got it under control. Talk to you later.” I hit the disconnect and asked Mom, “Feel like doing a little shopping?”
She gave me a dubious look. “I thought you didn’t have any money.”
“I don’t. I’m spending someone else’s.”
Anticipation glinted in her blue eyes. “Even better. I’ll get my purse.”
Normally I would not have let my scheming mother in on any part of the job; I’m not that stupid. But as long as I kept it vague I’d be okay.
Shopping for fashionable, professional clothing was not my strong suit—it was my mother’s. Mom’s grifts often required a polished look. I’d gone for the more “dirty” jobs, preferring to blend in with the masses. She claimed I’d gotten that from my father. I had to take her word for it, as I’d never met the man.
PubTrans ran through Pembroke’s manufacturing and business zones, but access to the upscale retail district required a taxi ride. The posh did not appreciate the rumble of subterranean transport beneath their thousand-credit shoes.
“What kind of look are you going for?” Mom asked as we alighted from a taxi at the end of Meade Boulevard, the not-quite-so-pricey of the pricier rows.
A dazzling array of storefronts lined the very clean, pleasantly bustling street. Clothes, jewelry, salons, even a place to pamper your pooch. I’d never bothered to case this area; I was more of a smash-and-grab kind of gal. Establishments like these rarely dealt in cash.
I tamped down my fresh-from-the-mine stare and tried to act like I was used to the glitz. “Something an up-and-coming admin would wear, but nothing drab or boring.”
The idea was to catch R. J. Talbot’s attention on both professional and personal levels to gain her trust. Not a method I typically used, and never on another woman. Would Talbot be harder to string along than a man? Hard to say, but either way I needed to look competent, as well as attractive. Recalling the vids, I could emulate her style to please her on a subconscious level. Clean, classic lines that showed off curves but didn’t reveal much skin.
Willem had said I “fit the part,” which led me to believe I was the type of woman Talbot found attractive. That would make the job easier, even if I had to go beyond flirting. The idea of taking on a physical relationship with Talbot sent shivers up my spine, and not all of them were from worry. I shook myself back on track as Mom drew me to a halt in the middle of the walk.
“Let’s see.” She circled me, tapping her chin with a manicured forefinger and making “hmmm” and “tsk tsk” noises. “Good thing I showed up. You definitely need my help.”
I looked down at my long leather coat, lightweight sweater, faded trousers and scuffed boots. “It’s not like I’m dressed for the part just now.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Olivia, I’ve seen your closet.”
Okay, she had a point.
“Come on,” she said, grabbing my arm and guiding me toward Madam Alana’s, the nearest beauty emporium. At least it was for humans. I think. “First things first.”
The young woman staring back at me from the mirror in one of Madam Alana’s private cubicles was both familiar and strange. Sure, she had my coloring, my features—nothing short of a laser scalpel would have fixed the slight kink in the nose, a result of it being broken on my sixteenth birthday—but the even tone of the skin, the mahogany tint to the perfect-cut-for-the-face hair and the subtle makeup were all new. She was me, yet not me.
Watching my mother in the mirror as she spoke to the stylist, I couldn’t help but compare her blond hair, fair skin and blue eyes to my darker complexion. At first glance we didn’t look related, let alone like mother and daughter. But we had the same basic features, from the dimples in our chins to the slight tilt of our eyes.
Our eyes—blue and brown—caught in the mirror, and Mom smiled. Something warm filled my chest at her approval.
“You show her how to keep the hair and makeup, yes?” Madam Alana’s minion said to my mother in his New Brazilian accent. “I work verra, verra hard and would be devastated should she relops.”
Relapse. As if my lack of fancy grooming was a disease. The minion had apparently taken my former condition as a personal challenge. A plastic credit chit from Mom got me immediate attention without an appointment. He’d whisked us in like I’d required emergency surgery.
Mom took the man’s hand and pressed another chit into his palm. Where were these chits coming from? “Of course you would,” she said with pouty sympathy. “Trust me, I’ll make sure she maintains it all properly.”
The man, bald and not terribly pretty for a guy who styled hair and painted faces for a living, smiled at her and kissed the knuckles of each of her hands twice. “Blessings on you, madam. And thank goodness you got her here when you did.” To me, he said, “You are a lucky young woman to have such a loving and concerned mother.”
Yes, lucky, lucky me.
“Thank you,” I said with a smile.
He executed a curt nod and left the cubicle.
/>
I shrugged into my leather coat and followed him out. “Let me pay for this and we can get some clothes.”
“Already taken care of,” Mom said as she slipped her arm through mine and picked up the glossy shopping bag of new products. She steered me toward the door, smiling and waving at the minion as if they were old friends.
I’d thought the chits she’d passed to the minion were just tips. If she needed money so desperately, what the hell was she doing paying for my makeover? “Mom, you can’t afford this. I’ve got money.”
She patted my arm. “I had a little with me. If it makes you feel any better, you can loan me less.”
That sounded reasonable.
“How much did you spend?”
“Five-fifty.”
My feet and heart stopped at the same time. “What? On a haircut and some goop?”
At the rate she was going, I’d get one outfit and a pair of panties from the three thousand credits Tonio had given me.
“Sweetie, trust me. You said you needed to be a young professional. It’s important to look and feel the part.” Her lips curved into a smile and she touched me gently on the cheek. “And you look beautiful. Now, let’s get you some clothes to match that face. I promise we’ll hit the bargain racks.”
We stayed clear of the more expensive shops and did, indeed, find some decent deals. Though that required me to try on an almost endless stream of clothing, it was worth it. In the more exclusive boutiques, Mom informed me, they had holographic dressing rooms, where you could strip down to your skivvies and have the computer overlay your body with images of the garment you were considering. There were even sensors that let you “feel” the material against your skin.
As much as I disliked shopping for clothes, I had to admit, Mom and I had a good time. We never had the opportunity to spend that kind of money when I was growing up. Not that I would have tolerated hours of dressing and undressing as my mother shook her head or made pursed-lipped faces at my choices. She had better fashion sense than I did, it was true, but I managed to throw in a little bit of my tastes. Hey, I had to wear the stuff.
