Four Seconds to Lose: A Novel

by K. A. Tucker

  Now Sam has Cain’s name. How long before he has more? “No.” My hand has never shaken as badly as it does now. I don’t even have the steadiness to push it through my hair.

  Why did Cain have to do that? Why? I had to fight the gasp from escaping my mouth today when I came out to find my phone in his hand and that strange, inexplicable look on his face. It was like a punch to my stomach.

  And then he started questioning me, as I’ve dreaded him doing for weeks. I didn’t know what to do, what to say, so . . . I turned it all back on him. As if he were to blame for all this.

  I could tell he was angry with me. Worse, by the look in his eyes, I could tell he was hurt. When he turned his back on me and walked out, I did the only thing I could think of. I walked out to the street and hailed a taxi.

  “Does he know . . .” Sam’s voice trails off, deceptively calm.

  “No!” That comes out strong and fast and unmistakable. “Nothing.”

  “Then how did he have my name?” Suspicion. I hear it dripping from his voice. He thinks he caught me in a lie.

  “I was drunk. I let your name slip. It was something harmless, though, about birthdays and—”

  “Nothing is harmless!” he snaps, and I flinch. With a breath, he adjusts his tone, though there’s no mistaking the ice. “You are down there for a reason. You will do what I ask and you will follow the rules! And, if you don’t feel that you owe it to me for giving you all that you have, then do it for your friend’s sake because, if I have to come down there, I’ll make sure he isn’t causing me any more problems. Do you understand?”

  Dread seizes my lungs. Somehow I don’t think a simple conversation with a teenage boy—as he most likely had with Ryan Fleming—is what Sam has in mind now. “Okay,” I manage to get out in a raspy voice.

  “Good thing, little mouse. Right away.” The line goes dead.

  Quickly logging in to the Gmail account, I find the draft folder. Sure enough, the instructions are there.

  Ten tonight. Eddie and Bob. Fuck . . . Bob. How is that going to go? I have to hope he realized his own mistake after he sobered up. Maybe he’ll apologize?

  Maybe I’m the biggest moron in the world.

  I have to get out of work tonight. I wonder if Cain even wants me there anymore.

  If Sam gets hold of him, he’ll wish I’d never walked through his door.

  ■ ■ ■

  I never noticed how heavy that black door at the back of Penny’s is.

  I could have just phoned Cain. Or texted him.

  And yet here I am, walking toward it, aching to see him, ready to crawl on my knees to beg his forgiveness. I can’t think much beyond right now, except that I need to see Cain. And that I’ll be doing the drop tonight, to make Sam happy. To find some reprieve.

  After that . . . I can’t think about it. I know what needs to happen and I just can’t face it right now.

  On the third knock, the door opens and Nate’s giant body fills the doorway. His face immediately splits into a wide grin when he sees me. Hope sparks. Maybe Cain doesn’t hate me after all. If Cain hated me, Nate would know about it.

  I walk down the hall toward Cain’s office, butterflies stirring, preparing to give an award-winning performance on deathly female cramping—complete with hands pressed against abdomen and hunching over. That’s the only thing I can think of and, given that my period is due any day now, it should work well.

  I push open the door to find China, with her skirt hiked up around her waist, straddling Cain’s lap on his chair, her lips locked onto his.

  And the butterflies drop dead.

  chapter thirty-three

  ■ ■ ■

  CAIN

  Fucking perfect.

  I was one second away from forcefully removing a brazen China from my lap because she wouldn’t get off voluntarily—after leaping on, uninvited—when she decided to plant her lips on mine, crushing my dismissal.

  And of course that’s the exact moment that Charlie would show up unannounced. Because that’s the kind of luck I have.

  By her wide eyes and hanging jaw, I can tell that Charlie is both surprised and hurt.

  And I can’t blame her.

  In one quick motion, I remove China from my lap—trying not to shove her too hard as I push her off—and I stand, straightening out my pants. Charlie’s eyes drifting down tells me that the bulge in my pants is noticeable. Dammit! That wasn’t from China! That was because, while China was working on a basic math problem, I was eyeing the silver tie hanging on my door, remembering how I walked in to find Charlie wearing it—and only it—a few nights ago.

  This is exactly why I should never have sex in my office.

  Clearing her throat, her voice is strangely calm. “Sorry, I should have knocked. I came by to tell you I need the night off. I’m not feeling well.”

  Not feeling well. Bullshit.

  Neither am I. Fuck, China!

  I stall. “What’s wrong, exactly?” Stupid question.

  “Female issues.” Her eyes avert to the floor and I know without a doubt that she’s lying. But what can I say, except, “Sure, okay. I’ll drive you back to my place.”

  “No. That’s okay.” She threw that one back fast. She begins to turn and my hand instinctively flies out, clasping onto her forearm. Not tightly, but enough to keep her there. “That wasn’t what it looked like, Charlie. I promise.”

  She responds with a tight smile. Twisting out of my reach, she turns on her heels and briskly walks out. I hear the heavy exit door slam shut a moment later.

  And that’s when I explode. “What the fuck was that?” I spin around and settle a deadly glare on China, who has the decency to keep her eyes on the ground as she bites her lip. “What made you think that would be okay?” Picking up my glass from my desk, I swig back the last mouthful, those few seconds of emotion on Charlie’s face replaying in my mind. “Dammit, China!” The empty glass is sailing out of my hand and toward a far wall before I realize that I threw it. It detonates into countless shards.

  I’ve never lost my temper like this with an employee, but, tonight, I can’t help it. I look like a more polished but equally slimy Rick Cassidy.

  It takes me a moment to stop my shaking, and then I finally make myself turn around to face China again.

  And my heart sinks.

  There she is, backed into a corner behind my desk, trembling, her shoulders pulled in tight as she cowers. All color from her face has vanished. The China who works the crowd like she’s got puppet strings affixed to their backs is gone, replaced with a pitiful young girl whose father used to scream and throw dishes at her. Right before he raped her.

  My hand flies over my mouth as I realize what I’ve done.

  Shit.

  “Christ . . .” I start to rush over but when she shrinks farther, I slow my steps, holding my hands up in surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you.” I approach her with extreme caution, until I’m close enough that I can wrap my arms around her shaking body and pull her against me, all while the thickness in my throat grows. I smooth her sleek black hair back with my hand as her tears start to flow, dampening my shirt.

  “I’m sorry,” she offers between sobs, her voice so pitiful, so weak, so childlike. “I’ve only ever wanted to make you happy.”

  “I know.” She needs to get back into therapy. She was doing so well. Then she started focusing on beating her learning disorder and she let the therapy part slip. She shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have let that happen. China still needs professional help. And lots of it.

  When she quiets but stays pressed against my chest, I ask, in as gentle a voice as possible, “What made you do that? We’ve already talked about this. I thought you understood.”

  There’s a long pause, during which she reaches up to wipe away some tears. “I don’t know.”

 
“China.” Playing clueless has never suited her.

  “I just thought you needed it.”

  I heave a sigh and curse my fucking dick for starting this. The girl makes her money sniffing out hard-up guys with cash to burn. Hell, she’s got erection radar.

  “What I need, ” I say as I pull China away from me to look directly into her pleading green eyes, “is for you to accept that I will never use you like that.”

  She drops her gaze to my chest and nods. With pursed lips, she whispers, “Do you love her?”

  Of course. I should have known that this is what it was about. I don’t avert my gaze as I say very slowly, “I don’t know yet. Maybe.”

  She can’t keep the tears from welling in her eyes. “Why her, Cain? Why not me?”

  Ahh . . . fuck me . . . I’m still angry with her but my pity trumps it. “I don’t know. These things are beyond our control, sometimes.” Pulling her to my body as she starts crying again, I mutter to myself, “I’m not sure it’s going to matter either way, now.”

  I give her ten more minutes of my time.

  And then I hand her off to Nate—who is not too happy about the prospect of a sobbing China on him—and I go after Charlie.

  chapter thirty-four

  ■ ■ ■

  CHARLIE

  I so badly want to pick up that phone.

  My hand falters, picturing the other end pressed up against Cain’s stubble.

  The slow but heavy rhythmic beat of my heart speeds up with thoughts of him, of what happened between us, of seeing him with China. He claimed it wasn’t what it looked like—and it looked like China was giving him a lap dance while her tongue was down his throat. I almost buckled, the sight like a punch to my stomach.

  I feel like a fool.

  Has that happened before, between them? Has that happened since he’s been with me? My arms curl tightly around my body at the crushing thought. Has he been lying to me this entire time?

  Do I have a right to be angry with him, given all the ways in which I’ve lied to him?

  Maybe Cain would be better off with China. Or a woman like China. Or anyone other than me, really. Anyone who wouldn’t be putting him in danger as I have, by being so selfish, and so stupid as to believe I could have a future with him. My cluster-fuck of a life feels ready to explode, right here in this gas-station parking lot.

  I didn’t go home. I couldn’t. Cain would track me down and then I’d fall apart into a mess of sobs. Maybe I’d even be brainless enough to tell him everything.

  And that would put him in real danger.

  I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

  chapter thirty-five

  ■ ■ ■

  CAIN

  “I hope you enjoy it,” the young woman behind the counter offers, flashing me a teasing smile as she hands the key lime pie to me, intentionally grazing my fingers. She’s pretty, but she can’t be more than eighteen years old and that’s way too young for me. Plus, I highly doubt I’m what she’s looking for, unless she has daddy issues.

  “Thank you,” I offer politely. I don’t recognize her, but I ­haven’t been to this café in months. It has the best key lime pie in the city and I’m on my way to see Storm. I don’t know what to do. Charlie’s not at her apartment, she’s not at my condo. She’s not answering her phone. I’m going out of my fucking mind.

  As I walk out the front door and pass by the patio, I note the newly occupied tables.

  A pretty doll face catches my eyes.

  It’s Charlie’s twin.

  She has the same nose, the same big brown eyes, the same wide mouth. Only her hair isn’t blond and curly, it’s jet black and long, like China’s. My feet slow of their own accord as I blink several times. I’ve finally lost it. I’ve finally become so obsessed with Charlie that I’m seeing her everywhere.

  She’s hunched over at a table, sipping a lemonade, opposite a large graying man in a red golf shirt. I can’t see his face, but whatever he said must be funny because she tips her head back and laughs.

  Just like Charlie does.

  I know I should move on, but I stand there and watch as she slides that straw into her mouth for another drink, letting her eyes skitter over the tables around her, to a television up in the corner, to the walkway.

  To me.

  All the color drains from her face. Her jaw drops as recognition flashes in her eyes.

  And I instantly know that I’m staring at Charlie.

  chapter thirty-six

  ■ ■ ■

  CHARLIE

  This can’t be happening.

  Of all the places in the world for Cain to be right now, the goddamn café where I’m meeting Jimmy should not be one of them. This is beyond bad. The only thing that could make this worse is . . .

  This.

  My pulse begins pounding in my ears as I watch Cain step onto the covered patio. It takes everything in my willpower not to squeeze my eyes shut and pray. Pray that he’ll keep walking. That this is all an illusion. That Cain’s not really here. That I’ve finally gone crazy.

  “Charlie, how are you?” His tone is so smooth, as if there’s nothing at all unusual about this situation. That I’m not at a café, wearing a wig, clearly trying to disguise myself, instead of at home with a hot water bag and a bottle of Midol. He’s used my name and there’s no inflection, so there’s no question. He recognizes me.

  “Hi,” I manage to get out, unable to pull myself together to act blasé about this entire situation. There’s nothing blasé about this situation.

  This could blow everything apart.

  There’s a pause and then Cain shifts his attention to Jimmy, who, though I can tell by his sudden shifting in his chair and his sidelong glance at me is uneasy, is not downright disturbed, as I am. Sticking his hand out, he gives Cain a toothy grin. “Hi, I’m Jimmy. Charlie’s uncle.”

  Cain’s eyebrows shoot up. “Uncle . . .” It’s a moment before he accepts Jimmy’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m—”

  “Dylan.” It comes out in a shout. When I speak again, I make sure that I adjust my tone. “Uncle Jimmy, this is Dylan.” I hazard a glance up at Cain to see steely eyes on me.

  Please go along with it.

  “Yes . . .” Cain says, the word drifting off as his mouth twists slightly, his eyes never leaving my face. “Though some people call me Cain.”

  My heart spasms in my chest. I should have known. Cain is not afraid to give his name out. He’s not afraid of anyone.

  I wonder if he would be afraid of Sam.

  Without prompting, Cain leans back to grab a chair from the table next to us. Swinging it around, he takes a seat. I finally notice the key lime pie in his hand as he sets it down on the table. It makes me think of Storm. He must be going to see her tonight.

  “Do you live around here, Jimmy? Or are you in town for a visit?” Cain’s voice is so smooth. He doesn’t seem at all awkward and I don’t know why, seeing as I want to peel my own skin off and run away right now.

  Jimmy gives that jovial chuckle of his. “Oh, just in from New York for the week on business.”

  Nodding, Cain asks, “And what is it you do?”

  “I own a construction company down here. Focused mainly on commercial sites.”

  I watch as the two of them casually chitchat back and forth, Jimmy fluidly lying to Cain and Cain accepting each lie without any expression at all, though I know he doesn’t believe a word. I wonder if the real Charlie Rourke even had an uncle. I have no clue. But I’ll bet Cain will find out, if he doesn’t already know.

  All I know is that this conversation needs to end now. I just don’t know how to end it. Lying just isn’t coming as easily to me as it used to. Not since I met Cain.

  Jimmy is as aware of the clock as I am. The hotel drop site is ten minutes away and I need to
be there in twenty minutes. There can be no delays. I don’t want to give Bob another reason to be angry with me. He slurps the last of his lemonade rather rudely and then announces, “Well, it was nice to meet you, Cain.”

  Yes, Uncle Jimmy knows I was lying about the name. He’s mentally sizing Cain up right now, noting his height, his weight, his hair color, eye color, the scar on his brow, the tribal tattoo on his bicep peeking out beneath the gray golf shirt.

  Maybe even the one on his neck. If Jimmy tells Sam about that one . . .

  That was a farewell from Uncle Jimmy if I ever did hear one. The problem is, Cain isn’t accepting it. He slings his arm over the back of my chair and stretches his legs out, as if getting comfortable. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was fully aware of the attempted dismissal and is politely giving Jimmy a “fuck off.” I’m surprised he hasn’t handed him a business card.

  “Yes, it was nice to meet you too, Jimmy.” He turns to look at me, his eyes rolling over my wig for a moment before settling on mine. As if he’s letting me know that, yes, he’s noticed my wig. In case there was any doubt. “Let me give you a ride back home?”

  I’m going to be sick. I feel the blood draining from my face. “No, I’m good, I drove here,” I answer in clipped tone. I’m not even allowing myself to feel the sting of the China incident right now. I just need Cain to be gone. Him being here, talking to Jimmy, is enough to cause me a seizure.

  “So, how do you two know each other, again?” Jimmy asks, cold, flinty eyes drifting between me and Cain’s arm on my chair.

  I clear my throat, scrambling to think of something. I can’t give Cain a chance to answer. All Sam has right now is a name. He can’t find out about Penny’s.

  “We have a mutual friend,” Cain answers before I can cough up a lie. It’s not a lie, but it’s such an intentionally vague answer. Thankfully, Cain has no more interest in Jimmy knowing about him than I do.

  “Oh, really . . .” Jimmy scratches his wiry beard as if in thought. “What’s this friend’s name? Have I met him? Her?”