by Lou Harper
“So I see. Did she tell you how to pose?”
“Nah, she just said to do as I want. I told her that you tie me up, but it didn’t trouble her.”
“That was stupid. Fuck, she might go to the police and tell them I kidnapped you or some other bullshit.”
“No, she wouldn’t. You just think the worst of everyone,” Jay said with his signature mix of naiveté and stubbornness that Sam found both endearing and exasperating.
“Not the point. I told you making friends wasn’t a good idea.”
”Well what the fuck am I supposed to do when you just disappear without a word? Where were you?”
“Taking care of stuff.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“You’re not my wife, you know,” Sam said brusquely.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious. I knew that,” Jay snapped back.
“What do you want?”
“What’s up with you? You’re tense as a pig at a barbecue.”
Sam took a deep breath. “I don’t know, I have a funny feeling.”
“Is it because of last night?”
“Maybe.”
“That guy could’ve killed you.”
“He didn’t even come close.”
“If you say so. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you.”
Sam realized that was another possibility he hadn’t planned for. “I’ll make arrangements so you get this place and the money if anything happens to me.” It’s not like Sam could leave either to anyone else.
Jay turned red from toe to hairline like he was already sunburned. “It’s not about the fucking money, you dickhead!” he shouted, jumping up.
Sam threw his hand up in a defensive gesture. “Hey, calm down!”
Jay glared at him with his hands on hips, mad as a hornet. Unfortunately for him, his dick-dangling nakedness ruined the effect. The sight at last punched through Sam’s bad mood—he couldn’t help but smile a little.
“Sit down, Tiger. You’re scaring the pigeons.”
Jay gave Sam another irate look but lowered himself onto the pillow.
“You know, sometimes I think I know you, but other times I have no idea,” Jay grumbled.
“There’s nothing to know.”
“Bullshit! You’re the most bewildering asshole I’ve ever met.”
“And you are the most unruly one.”
“We are together, right?”
“For now,” Sam replied reluctantly, because he was dealing with too fucking many unknowns.
Jay frowned unhappily. “How long?”
“I have no idea. It’s not up to me.”
“I’m not an idiot, you know.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
Jay’s expression clouded over. “I know that I keep falling for guys who don’t feel the same. And right now you’re just confusing the fuck out of me. One minute I think we are all hunky-dory, the next you’re somewhere far away.”
“I got a few things on my mind.”
“Please don’t tell me we’re just a convenient arrangement.”
“There’s nothing convenient about you, Tiger.”
“Was that a compliment?” Jay still sounded disgruntled.
Sam sighed and pushed himself off his perch. Kneeling to face Jay, he put his hands on Jay’s knees. “Fuck, I care about you plenty.”
“Really? Tell me more,” Jay said coyly.
Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re under my skin like…” He was lost for words.
“…flesh-eating bacteria?” Jay finished for him.
“Lovely image, but not far off. Like an itch that feels good to scratch.”
“You’re such a romantic,” Jay said, grinning like a lunatic.
“Look, I’m not good with words. All I know is I want to put a big fucking brand on your ass that says you’re mine, so everybody knows. Don’t look so happy. I mean it literally.”
“You know I’d have to keep dropping my pants to show it off.”
“I’m sure that wouldn’t be a problem for you. Now, let’s get off this roof—it’s dirty as hell, and you’ll burn, sunblock or no.”
As Jay scampered back down the skylight, Sam walked to the short wall that encircled the roof and took a searching look up and down the street below. He scrutinized the line of cars parked along the curb but saw nothing unusual. So why the fuck was he still feeling so uneasy?
Chapter Fourteen
NT: We’re in position, Boss.
JG: Bring that motherfucker to me, Nick. Don’t let me down.
NT: You got it, Boss.
Sam and Mr. Drake were arguing. To be exact, Mr. Drake was going on about something, and Sam stood there looking at him sort of amused, like Drake was an overexcited Chihuahua gnawing at his boots. Ever since the almost shooting, things had been strained between them.
Jay decided to go ahead and wait for Sam in the parking lot. He was already strapping on his motorcycle helmet as he stepped through the back door. He sensed something amiss the moment he stepped outside, but it took him precious seconds to realize what it was—the powerful floodlight that normally lit Ombre’s parking lot was off, leaving the almost-empty lot shrouded in semidarkness. Jay instinctively took a step back toward the door, but it was too late—a couple of dark figures peeled out of the shadows.
“Why, hello there,” a voice rasped.
While Jay turned toward the source of the voice, the other guy came up behind Jay and stuck something hard between his ribs. Jay didn’t have the slightest doubt it was a gun.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” the man said.
Jay had the sudden and startling urge to giggle at such a clichéd movie line. He realized it was a nervous reaction. As his eyes got used to the darkness, he could make out the face of the other man. Jay recognized him immediately. It was the man who’d stopped at the diner months ago and given him the heebie-jeebies, the one Sam called Nicky Torino. The guy sticking a gun in his back had to be Gino then. The seconds felt like hours as they stood there, frozen in their places. Jay thought he should be doing something, but didn’t know what.
They all turned toward the door as it banged open and Sam stepped out. Sam took a step forward and froze. The door clacked closed behind him.
“Hello, Rob, nice to see you again,” Torino said in a voice that was cold steel wrapped in velvet.
Sam’s jaw clenched. “Nicky.”
“You know the drill, let’s go.” Torino motioned toward a black SUV with his gun.
Sam stood his ground. “Let the kid go. He’s got nothing to do with this.”
“Maybe I will, later. If you play nice. Now get moving.”
Jay knew with absolute certainty that Torino had no intention of letting either of them go. It was in Sam’s eyes too—Sam glared at Jay hard like he was trying to transmit a telepathic message. The gun jabbed hard into Jay’s back, so he started walking. He knew their chances would get worse once they got into the car. Jay’s whole body broke out in a cold sweat as he tried to recall the lessons he’d taken with Bill. He remembered Bill’s advice to let his mind go and let his body take over. Muscle memory.
Gino was right-handed. Jay stepped forward with his right foot but then pivoted on his left. As he twirled into Gino’s body he swept his left hand along the gangster’s right arm and grabbed Gino’s wrist tight, forcing the gun to point away from them. At the same time Jay used the forward motion of his body to head-butt Gino. The motorcycle helmet thudded hard against Gino’s naked skull. Just for good measure, Jay also kicked the man in the nuts.
As Gino’s body crumbled to the ground, Jay could finally pay attention to the commotion going on next to him. Something similar had to have happened between Sam and his captor. Torino was on the ground, and Sam towered over him, holding Torino’s gun with one hand, his other curled into a fist and delivering a punch to Torino’s head.
There was a feral look in Sam’s eyes as he glared at Jay.
“Y
ou okay?” he asked.
Jay nodded.
Sam sprang into action. He took Gino’s gun and stuffed both weapons into his jacket, snatched his helmet off the ground and buckled it up as he sprinted toward the bike. Jay followed tight on Sam’s heels.
The bike’s engine roared as they shot out of the parking lot, jumping the curb. They sped down dark side streets, making several sharp turns. Eventually they slowed to a less attention-grabbing speed, but Sam stuck to the smaller streets. By the time they stopped in front of one of those budget self-storage places, Jay was pretty sure they were somewhere around LAX.
As Sam yanked the door to space 43 open, Jay was expecting to see something like in that scene in Silence of the Lambs, but the space was empty. Almost empty—there were two backpacks in one corner. Not the big ones that people use for hiking either. No, just regular, average-size backpacks. Sam picked them up and carried them outside, leaving the guns in their place.
“What’s in them?” Jay asked, taking one of the backpacks.
“Change of clothes, money.”
Before Jay could ask more they were back on the bike, headed for their next destination, wherever that was. It was hard to have a conversation on a moving motorcycle, especially when it was a big, loud Harley.
The hotel was dodgy but had Wi-Fi—for a fee. Jay was still getting his bearings and processing the night’s events, high on leftover adrenaline but also anxious. Sam, on the other hand, didn’t miss a beat, as if two gun-wielding gangsters hadn’t just tried to kidnap them merely half an hour before. Jay watched as Sam dug a laptop out of one of the backpacks and unplugged one of the night lamps to make room for the charger. Sam kicked his boots off and sat cross-legged on the bed with the computer on his lap.
Jay couldn’t hide his fascination. “A regular Jason Bourne, you are.”
“Who?” Sam asked without looking up.
“You know, the movie. Matt Damon plays this ex-CIA guy who’s on the run, and always cool under pressure and super resourceful,” Jay explained.
“Matt Damon? Really?” Sam gave him a brief, amused gaze.
Jay contemplated that for a second. He liked Matt Damon. But. “Yeah, you’re right. You’re way more hot.”
“Hah. In my day, Magnum PI was the cool guy,” Sam said, tapping away at the keyboard.
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
For all their banter there was a sense of nervous suspense in the air. Jay crawled up on the bed and lay down next to Sam. He tucked a pillow under his head and studied the frown of concentration on Sam’s face before speaking. “So we’re running again?”
Sam looked at him. “Yeah, sorry.”
“That’s okay, it’s not your fault.”
Sam gave him a look that said he had a very different opinion on the matter.
“So that was them?” Jay asked.
“Yes. That was Gino Rizzi you tangled with. I think you knocked him out cold.”
“I was wearing a helmet.”
Sam took a hand off the keyboard and threaded his fingers into Jay’s hair. “Sure, that was a lucky break, but you did well.”
“It was from all the training with Bill, and I still forgot to disarm the guy.”
“You didn’t lose your head, that’s what matters.” Sam’s fingers slid down Jay’s cheek and jaw, his whole palm pressing comfortingly to the side of Jay’s face.
“Gino”—Jay rolled the name around in his mouth gingerly like a bitter pill—“he’s shorter than I expected.”
“Joey likes them short and stupid—to make him look better by comparison, I guess. They make up for it in viciousness.”
“It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but not hopeless. We’ll be fine, I promise.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’m thinking overseas. You like France, right?”
That’s not what Jay expected. “How?”
Sam motioned toward the bag. “Look in there—inside pocket.”
Jay pushed himself up and searched the bag. He found two passports there, one for him and one for Sam. They looked very real. He was sure they were not.
“Are these forged?” He expressed his disbelief.
“Hundred percent fakes. The best money can buy.”
“From Phil?”
“I told you he was good.”
“So are you. You really had Plan B and C ready, didn’t you?”
“And now we also have two tickets to Paris,” Sam replied, folding the laptop shut.
Jaw crawled back on the bed. “So that’s it?”
“Try to get some rest. We’re checking out in an hour. The plane leaves at six fifteen, and there’s security to go through.”
Jay tried to sleep, but couldn’t. Instead he lay awake curled up to Sam, listening to the rhythm of Sam’s breathing. He knew Sam wasn’t sleeping either. Jay thought of leaving everything behind and starting again. There was a pang of regret, sure, but also a warm feeling, because for the first time ever he wasn’t going alone.
Sam drove the bike to the car park closest to the terminals and circled all the way up to the top level. He took both their helmets and hung them from the bike’s handle bars.
“You just gonna leave them there?” Jay asked, stunned.
“There’s no point taking them.”
“But they could get stolen!”
“So could the bike. It doesn’t matter.”
“But—”
“They’re just stuff. C’mon, let’s go.”
Sam headed for the stairs with long swift steps, so Jay hurried after him.
They picked up their e-tickets inside the gates and soon they were standing in a mile-long security check-in line. At least it was midweek and the lines were moving somewhat faster than a melting glacier. Jay didn’t want to know what it’d be like on a weekend. Surrounded by strangers, they couldn’t really talk. Not about the things that bothered Jay. Before leaving the hotel they’d changed, shedding the leather pants for regular jeans from the bags, their boots for sneakers. They’d left the boots behind. They would’ve been a bitch to take off and put back on at security, Jay consoled himself. At least he got to keep his jacket—the one Sam bought for him.
Jay watched Sam standing in line. He was the perfect picture of the annoyed, yet resigned traveler stuck at an airport, but Jay knew Sam better and didn’t miss the way Sam dragged his knuckles over that barely visible scar on his jaw. Sam was troubled.
They made it to their gate with time to spare—the boarding hadn’t started yet. They sat down on the uncomfortable plastic chairs and waited.
“Is it going to be far enough? Going to Europe, I mean?” Jay asked softly, so only Sam could hear.
“Eventually Joey will lose interest,” Sam murmured back.
“You said he never would.”
“A lot of things can happen. We stay out of the picture for a while, and who knows? Joey might get run over by a cement truck.”
“Right. What are we going to do in France? We don’t even speak the language.”
“I don’t know. Join a group of traveling gypsies?”
“You’re not being very practical.”
“Now you want to be practical?”
Sam put an arm around Jay and pulled him closer. A bald guy in khakis and plaid shirt stared at them, dismayed. Jay gave him his most dirty grin and winked. Mr. Plaid turned red, sprung up from his seat and scuttled away.
Sam gave Jay’s shoulder a warning squeeze. “Behave.”
“He was giving us the hairy eyeball. Doesn’t it bother you?”
“No.”
Jay looked at Sam cock-eyed. For someone in the closet so long, Sam was awful nonchalant.
Apparently, Sam was able to read Jay’s expression. “It was never what men in plaid thought that bothered me.”
Yeah, guys with guns had to be a bigger concern. Jay had gained a deeper appreciation for that.
When the boarding started, Jay was antsy to get on
the plane, but Sam pulled him aside. “Listen, Tiger, change of plans—you go alone.”
“What?” Jay cried out, loud enough that several heads snapped in their direction.
“Shhh. It’ll be fine. I’ll follow you. I just have to take care of something here first.”
“Bullshit!” Jay said angrily, but kept his voice low.
Sam put his hands on the sides of Jay’s face and looked deep into Jay’s eyes. “Listen to me. It’s not what you think. I’m not abandoning you. You matter to me more than anything else. You must believe me.”
“I believe you, but I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“Do you trust me?”
“I trust you.”
“Then get on the plane and wait for me in Paris. I’ll be there in a week or less.”
“How will you find me?”
“I was getting to that. Be at the bottom of the Eiffel Tower every day at noon. Even you get out of bed by then.” Sam’s voice was but a murmur, warm and intimate. It demanded surrender and Jay’s resolve wavered.
“It probably has a big ‘bottom’.”
“I’m sure there’s a spot where all the tourists enter before going up. I’ll meet you there. Meanwhile, get yourself a hotel, flirt with snooty French guys and eat fresh croissants.”
“Sam—”
“Please, Tiger. I need you to do this. Understood?”
Finally Jay gave in. “Yes, Sam.”
“Thank you,” Sam said simply, and kissed Jay right there in front of everyone.
Sam stayed, watching till Jay walked down the passage toward his flight. Jay had all intentions of getting on that plane, but as soon as Sam was out of sight, his resolve wavered. Misshapen fears whispered at him from the dark corners of his mind. He believed in Sam, he truly did, but something was wrong. Why would Sam need to stay in LA now? It was just like when he’d put Jay on the bus, back in Montana. Jay stopped and flattened himself against the wall to let the flow of passengers file past.
He had to talk to Sam, just to hear his voice and get a last assurance before getting on the plane. Jay reached for his phone, but it wasn’t in his jeans pocket where it should’ve been. Increasingly panicked, he tapped all his pockets, dug into them—even the ones that were obviously too flat to hold a phone. Reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket, his fingers bumped into something flat and hard. He pulled it out—it was an ATM card with a piece of paper wrapped around it. There was a four-digit number scribbled on it. Under that the name Adam Glass and a phone number. A terrible comprehension swept over Jay. Sam had left Jay his money and his brother’s number.
