by Haus, Jean
A hand pulls the back of my t-shirt and whips me around. My eyes round. He leans over so our noses almost touch. “You can do whatever the hell you want,” he says in a low voice, “but you’re not taking them on any more suicide missions, Miss Bond. Anywhere they go or anything they do has to go through me.” He steps back. “Do you understand?”
Startled by his hostility now, I nod.
“Good.” He turns away.
In the bathroom, I take out my anger on my toothbrush. Imagining Ping or Chang hurt, I wince. He’s right. I shouldn’t have taken them. How was I to know Smith would show up with a gun? How was I to know Mali had found their apartment? Okay, I should think things through better. He just didn’t have to be such a condescending asshole about it.
Back in the room, the first thing I notice is Jai’s pants and shirt folded across the chair. Great. He’s lying on the bed with his hands behind his head. The bulge of his chest and the muscled rope of his arms are visible above the blanket. Exhausted and still shocked, I hadn’t thought about sharing a room with him when we checked in. Now, staring at his skin, I’m thinking about it. I toss my things in my bag trying to ignore my stupid, stupid hormones. That’s all it is because there’s no way I still have a crush on this criminal, this would-be-kidnapper. I’m not that much of a loser.
Jai doesn’t look away from the ceiling when I sit on the bed.
I sigh. Unless I reveal my duplicity, his version stands. “I’m sorry. I should have talked with you and I shouldn’t have taken them.” He doesn’t respond as I slide in between the sheets. “I just had to do something. Waiting in your apartment, I felt like…well, I felt like I was just waiting, that I had no control over anything. But if Ping or Chang had gotten hurt, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.” His jaw tightens. He doesn’t look at me. “Does this mean tomorrow’s plan is void?” I ask in an almost whisper.
“No.” His eyes stay on the ceiling. “If you recall we planned that together.”
His cynicism stings, probably because I deserve it. “Right, well…goodnight,” I say and switch off the light.
I burrow under the shabby sheets and roll away from him. I fear sleep will never come with him so close, yet so exhausted my mind shuts out the thought of him in his underwear and I’m soon dreaming of driving with my dead chauffer.
Chapter 28~Envy
She sneers at her reflection. Heavy kohl lines her eyes. In the mirror, a young body is visible through the translucent linen dress. Brown skin shimmers. Blue, red, and turquoise stones gleam off the collar on her neck. The gold scarab in the center shines. She raises a hand to her cheek. Smooth skin kept young hidden from the Egyptian sun.
Her hand slides from her cheek to her arm. In the reflection, the limb is straight, healthy. Outside the reflection, she grasps her arm then twists until the girl in her reflection releases a silent scream. Glass trembles. She twists more. Together she and the reflection lean over panting. The reflection’s face contorts with pain. She stands while the reflection drops to her knees. The gold bracelets on the reflection’s arm quiver as she cradles her limb.
She turns from the mirror and stretches both of her arms. A look of satisfaction crosses her face as she shakes out her uninjured limb. She slides an ancient copper mirror etched with Egyptian symbols back into its tissue and box.
Turning, she scowls at her reflection.
Youth has disappeared. Wrinkles crisscross her face and her neck. She clenches her hands. Nails dig into her palms. Blood drips to the floor.
She needs youth.
This time the scream isn’t silent, and it doesn’t signify pain, rather fury.
Chapter 29~Snow
I darken my eyeliner and step back with a grin. Powder hides the fading bruise under my eye. My reflection is perfect for a day of shopping. I toss the left over hair bleach into the garbage, pack my newly acquired makeup and gel from the drug store next to the Laundromat, and open the battered bathroom door.
Jai sits facing the wall. He rests on folded knees with his hands clasped on his lap and his bare muscled back is still. In the meditative stance, it’s hard to tell if he’s even breathing. His motionless makes the room unbearably silent. I debate returning to the bathroom—watching him seems like an invasion of his privacy—then park myself on my lumpy bed and face the other way. While my mind keeps wandering to the other side of the room, I study the stains on the wallpaper as if they are clouds. One looks like a profile of a witch with a tall hat, another like a plane.
I’m visualizing a tree when I hear, “What the?” from behind me. I can’t help grinning at his stunned expression. “You like it?”
His fingers brush my short locks and accidentally—I think—brush my bare neck. My skin sizzles before he drops his hand. “It’s different.”
“Good,” I say, ignoring the yearning that his touch brings. “They’re not searching for a punk girl with short, white, and spiked hair.”
“No, but they’re looking for me too.”
I pat my bag on the bed. There’s one unused bottle inside. “We could bleach your hair.”
With a shake of his head, he steps into the bathroom and closes the door. In seconds, the shower’s spray sounds.
I snatch the remote up and pull a rickety chair in front of the TV. My finger channel surfs while I attempt to ignore the idea of Jai on the other side of the door, showering. After flicking through the five channels several times without paying attention, I grab Jai’s phone from the side table. I have to find something to get him off my mind. I’m a little shocked when the Internet comes on. The Wi-Fi must be from a business nearby. I can’t imagine this scrubby hotel providing it.
I go right to Google. Mali’s supposedly already rich so I’m wondering just how well her consulting firm does. I find the home site of Taggart Consulting Firm right away. After scanning through most of the website, the company not only looks legit but with offices in several other countries, it looks like business is booming. At an end there, I go back and carefully read the history of the company. A woman named Patricia Taggart started the company forty years ago. And the current CEO, Mali Hartell, inherited the firm and made it into the global company it is today.
I decide to run a search on this Patricia, a woman I’m guessing is Mali’s mother, though I’ve never heard of her. Several newspaper articles show up about her death. My fingers grip Jai’s phone while I read. Obviously, her death was major news at the time. Most likely because of the sensational events of her demise. Her remains had been found in a state forest reserve up north. The cause of her death, a knife wound to her chest. Although, the police knew that she’d been dumped in the woods, they had no leads or suspects. Yet her seventeen-year-old stepdaughter, Mali Hartell, had inherited everything.
I drop Jai’s phone on the bed.
Though twenty-four years apart, a murdered stepmother and a kidnapped stepdaughter doesn’t look like coincidence. It looks like murderous greed. But this isn’t proof. It’s speculation. It’s circumstance. I need to find something stronger to tell my father, something to make him believe there’s a contract on my head.
Jai steps out of the bathroom and breaks my thoughts. With his skin moist and his hair damp, he looks good. Real good. When doesn’t he look good? I frown. Since he opened the door with the fruit basket, I‘d been captivated. Now, nearly murdered, hiding in a hellhole in northern New York City with my would be kidnapper, and on the run for my life, the sight of him still fills me with wistfulness. I am an idiot. My stepmother is probably a greedy murder and I’m busy checking guys out. Well just one guy but still I need to get a grip.
I violently yank my bag off the bed. “You ready?”
“Just a minute,” he says, sweeping the snacks and cans off the dresser then goes to the door separating our room from the next. The sound of a blaring TV fills our room. He pops his head in. “Do not leave. Do not open your door. We’ll be back in a couple of hours. I mean it.” He shuts out their argument with the snap of the d
oor.
Outside, I warm up the car while Jai pays for more hours—the classy motel lets you pay by the hour—and search the GPS for somewhere nearby to shop. I find a mall five miles away. Perfect.
Jumping in, Jai glances at the GPS. “Will it be open?” He sets a steaming coffee in the cup holder.
“Not yet, but I’m going to stop along the way and call my dad.” I hope between Mali’s broken arm and Harrison’s body he might believe me.
Passing me a can of Coke—geez he’s getting to know me—Jai raises his brows. “You sure you’re up for that?”
“No,” I say and flip the tab open and hit the road. A gas station near the mall has a phone. Pay phones are hard to find these days, but I’m afraid Mali might be able to trace a cell phone from my dad’s phone bill. I pull the Mercedes close enough to stay in the vehicle. Jai goes into the store and leaves me alone. My father answers on the first ring.
“Hey Dad,” I say not sure how to start.
“Finally. Nivi, where are you?”
“Um, at a payphone.”
“You took the Mercedes.”
“Yeah well it’s supposed to be mine in two more months,” I remind him of his promised birthday gift.
“Not to run away with!” He lets out a harsh breath. “You need to come home. I haven’t gone to the police. Mali and I agreed to give you time to come home on your own but this has gone on long enough.”
“Ah yeah. How’s Mali’s arm?”
He pauses. “What are you talking about?”
“Her arm, it’s broken right?”
“What?”
How could he not know? Were they still stuck in the basement? “When’s the last time you saw her?”
“Fifteen minutes ago, she just left for work.”
My forehead scrunches in thought. “Then she’s hiding it from you.”
“A broken arm?” he gasps. “Ah, I don’t think so. Nivi, you’re not thinking straight. How would you know if she did break it? Just please come home. Let us take care of you.”
Disbelief erupts in me. “I saw it. I practically heard it break when she tried to kill us yesterday.”
“Tried to kill you? You’ve lost your mind!” I hear him let out a long stream of air. “Are you…have you been taking drugs?”
“No. Well, except for whatever Smith injected me with.”
“Ah, yes, the injection. If you come home, we can talk about it. I’ll get rid of Smith just come home.”
“I think you’re in danger too.”
“Nivi…”
“Could you tell me one thing?”
He sighs. “Sure.”
“Who gets your money if you…die?”
“So this is your new take? Mali’s doing all of this to get my money?” he shouts then lets out another sigh. “Nivi, it all goes to you. I was going to have the lawyer change the will and award Mali half. She refused. So now, what’s your imagination got?”
Fat flakes of snow bead on the hood. I try to think of something. She’ll get him to change the will once I’m dead? The money has to go to her with both of us gone? I know that would be very difficult and long without a will in her name. Then there’s the will I found that awards everything to me. The flakes melt and turn into beads of water as my mind scrambles for a connection. “Okay, you’re right. It doesn’t make sense. Yet, I’m positive they killed Harrison. Call the police, find out.”
He groans. “Will you please, please just come home?”
I take a deep gulp of icy air. “I’m trying but not yet.”
He’s silent for several long seconds. “I know you’ve had a hard time since last May. I’m aware I haven’t come close to replacing your mother,” his voice cracks, “but I do love you. I can try harder. I can be better. Please, please let me.”
His words slowly seep into me causing my throat to burn. “You can start trying by believing me,” I squeak as my eyes begin to water. I’m not sure if my father has ever verbally told me he loves me. Sure, the birthday cards with a big check each year had it above his signature. Him actually saying it? I can’t recall a time ever.
“Oh Nivi,” he says in a dry voice, “come home and we’ll work this out.”
A tear drips off my jaw. “I can’t. I’m trying to work this out. Please be careful. Think about what I said. I love you too. Bye.” I set the phone down and lay my head on the steering wheel. Two more tears and I control the flow, but I can’t lift my head. Not even to push the window closed and stop the cold air from entering.
The door creaks open and I sit up. With one look at my face, Jai passes me the napkin wrapped around his coffee cup. “You okay?”
I draw in air and nod. In the rearview mirror, I use the napkin to fix my makeup.
“Should we shop?”
I lean my head back. “You want some new underwear?”
“Yeah, new scibs would be nice.” I can hear the smile in his response.
“Good, I need some different clothes too.”
I shift into drive and go find an inconspicuous parking spot. Jai waits with a look of anticipation as we drive around the mall. I search through my tangled emotions for what he wants to hear. We’d both come to the conclusion that she’s after money but nothing’s adding up. I take a sip of Coke trying to piece my thoughts together. “He says her arm’s not broken.” Jai’s expression turns confused. “He told me he left everything to me. He told me she insisted.”
Jai lifts his cup and sets it down without taking a drink. He glances at the mall, at the car next to us, before he looks back to me. “Then what the hell is she after?”
I don’t have a clue.
Chapter 30~Snow
Jai drives along the lane and quizzes Ping about his fake OCD. The trees thin and the building comes into view. Brian’s House. Contemporary and sleek with horizontal and vertical angles, the building gives the impression of a Brady Bunch house for the young insane. I can’t figure out how this fits into Mali’s deranged plans so I hope the visit will shed some light.
“I should go with you,” Jai says, parking in front of the never-ending steps.
I put on a pair of yellow tinted glasses. “Who would you be?”
“A brother?”
I frown at him. Shaking my head, I glance in the mirror one last time. Nice. The caked on makeup does make me appear older. Almost half a tube of cover-up covers my skin. The red lipstick, dark blush, and thick bronze eye shadow help too. I pop a piece of gum in my mouth. Gold loops jiggle at my ears as I pull my coat sleeve over murdering Mali’s bracelet. It doesn’t go with my getup, but I still can’t get the damn thing off.
“Ready?” I ask Ping.
He holds up his phone. “Don’t worry Jai. I’ll keep you posted.”
Jai’s hands grip the steering wheel. “I’m not sure that’s going to help if there’s trouble.”
“Just wait in the parking lot.” I shut the door. My high-heeled boots click up the stone steps and my white parka swishes, but my white jeans don’t make a sound. They’re too tight.
Ping grins at me. “You’d be a hot step-mom.”
I almost bash him with the ugly two-hundred dollar purse in my hand. “Shut up and start acting like a disturbed thirteen year old.” I grab the door handle. “Okay, that was disturbed but you know what I mean.” We step into the warm foyer and I almost gag on my own perfume. Breathing through my mouth, I taste flowers. Even at thirty, I wouldn’t wear this crap and the stench is so not helping my nerves.
“Hello may I help you?” a receptionist asks from behind a desk. With her short brown hair and large collared blouse, she looks like a librarian.
“Yes, you can.” I prop the sunglasses onto my spiked hair. Walking over to her, my heels click on the tiled floor. Ping follows me. “I, well we,” I glance at Ping in disgust, “have an appointment with Dr. Brewer.”
She studies her book. “Mrs. Lee?”
I nod and push Ping forward. “And Steve,” I say while inwardly cringing at the view of my lo
ng red nails on his coat.
“Yeah, I’m the nut,” he says with a sneer.
Ooo, he nailed it.
Her smile’s weak, but she seems to be buying our charade. “Let me see if he’s ready.” She pushes a button on the phone. “Your two o’clock appointment is here.”
“Send them in,” a voice from the speaker says.
The receptionist rises. “Follow me.” She leads us into a stark hallway as I try to calm my nerves and hopefully pull this off. At the end, she swipes a card and the door pops open. “Second door to the right,” she says, pointing.
I chomp my gum and breeze past her.
“Welcome, Mrs. Lee, Steven,” Dr. Brewer says as soon as we enter the dark office. Tall and old, he looks like a doctor should. With its leather chairs across from the desk and shelves of books, the office looks like a doctor’s should too.
“Just Steve,” Ping snaps while the gray haired man shakes my hand. I ignore the nervous jitter along my spine and meet his gaze like the adult I’m supposed to be.
He turns. “Pardon me, Steve. “ He holds out his hand. Pings sneers at the outstretched hand. The doctor lowers his hand. “Okay, shaking hands isn’t necessary. Why don’t we all have a seat?”
“I’ll stand,” Ping declares.
“Oh you’re just being difficult,” I say. “Sit down!”
Ping curls his lip. “I don’t know who’s been in that chair!”
“It’s okay Mrs. Lee. We’ll sit. Steven can stand.”
“Steve!” Ping snaps and opens his phone.
Sitting and crossing my legs, I secretly smile. Jai had been right. Ping is perfect for this. His abrasive attitude is making it easy to act this out. And I have a feeling he’s enjoying riling the doctor up.
The doctor appears flustered while moving around the desk. “Ah, yes, accept my apologies.”
I drop my purse with a thud. “You see, this is why I called you. Everything is always so difficult with him. Germs everywhere, sit on the left, only eat with a spoon, only white towels can be used, shut lights off and on five times each, and always the texting, but to no one.” Actually, he is texting Jai. “It’s crazy!”
