Rosa answered on the first ring, sounding out of breath.
“It’s Blake. Am I interrupting?”
“Nah. I just finished up a session with a client. What’s up?”
“I’m stuck here at Nick’s apartment for the moment. I thought I’d call and see if you could come over and give me another self-defense lesson. Nick’s offered to pay you, by the way.” He hadn’t, but he would have if he’d thought of it.
“Why come there?”
“Apparently I’m being followed.”
“Ahh. I’d like to, but I’m meeting the woman I mentioned, Angela, the one who came to the shelter the other day.”
“How is she?”
“She has a bruise on her face today, but doesn’t seem seriously hurt.”
“Where are you meeting?”
“At the shelter before evening services at the church. If you can, it’d be great if you came and talked to her as well.”
Blake nibbled on her lower lip. She’d have to feed Missy again and find somewhere to put her while she was gone. Not to mention let Nick and the other security personnel know that she’d be going somewhere.
On the other hand, she’d be helping someone else, being at least a little useful.
“All right. When are you meeting her?”
“About four o’clock.”
Two hours. That was plenty of time. And by the time she was done, Nick and Roland would probably be heading back.
“All right. I’ll see you there.”
“Sounds good,” Rosa replied and hung up.
Blake tapped her phone against her knee and looked at the cat. “He’s not going to like it.” The kitten pounced on the mouse in response and tumbled over onto her back.
Blake briefly debated on whether to take his Subaru or call Shane and see if he could pick her up in the limo. She hated to bother him, but she would feel better about going if he was close by.
He didn’t answer immediately with a text that said he’d be there, so she sent Nick a message telling him the plan.
As expected, he didn’t like it. He wanted her to wait, meet them somewhere later, when he could come with her.
Sighing, she called him.
“I need to do something,” she informed him without preamble. “I called Shane. You can let the security team know what’s going on. I can’t just stay on lockdown. He knows where I am anyway.”
“But you’re safer in my apartment than you are out on the street.”
“I know, but Nick, I need to do something. Rosa’s bringing a woman from the shelter for me to talk to. Maybe I can help her. I’d like to go see the kids at the hospital this week. I’m not going to hide away and do nothing.”
There was a long silence and then Blake heard Roland’s voice. “It’ll be all right. She’s tough and she pays attention.”
“All right,” Nick said finally, as if she required his permission.
“I’m so glad you approve,” Blake said sweetly.
He snorted. “Like you’d wait for permission.”
Blake nodded to herself. Damn right. She wouldn’t be stupid, but she didn’t wait for permission from anyone, not ever again. “As long as we’re clear.”
“I’d like to discuss it further tonight. Make sure we’re on the same page when it comes to permission.”
Blake heard Roland chuckle, and she flushed. Maybe there were times when she would wait for permission, but only if he made it worth her while.
“I’m looking forward to it,” she said huskily.
John Justice didn’t look like a criminal. He looked like someone who should play a hobbit in The Lord of the Rings. Short, with big eyes, a beak of a nose, and a curly mullet, he spoke with a great deal of hand-waving and shuffling of his feet. Nick had a hard time restraining himself from tying the twitching lunatic to a chair and demanding that he be still.
They’d been talking with Justice for over an hour, or at least they’d been listening as he tried to relive the good old days when Roland’s real father would run cons all over Boston. Before he’d been sent to prison, of course.
“And then there was the time he convinced the city that he’d invented a device that would keep the birds from shitting on all the statues. They paid—in advance—for this magical machine . . . and all your dad did was put these little umbrella hats on statues all over the city. He had balls, your dad.”
“No one had more,” Roland agreed, laughing and patting the man on the shoulder.
Once he stopped laughing, Justice wiped his eyes and said in a shrewd voice, one eye squinting at Roland, “Tell me something. You half as good as he was? Keenan says you are, but I don’t know.”
Justice was referring to Cliff “Crawly” Cozen’s pickpocketing ability. Legend had it that Crawly could steal the ink from inside a pen and still leave the pen in someone’s pocket. Nick had seen Roland do the trick on a number of occasions and several others, but he’d never met Roland’s real father and didn’t know how the two men compared.
To answer him, Roland held up Justice’s cell phone, and then his wallet, and then the gun that the little man had put in an ankle holster. The thief gaped like a fish while his guards, alarmed, rushed over toward Milton and Nick, drawing their guns at the same time.
Justice stopped them with a wave of his hand. “It’s all right. All right.”
He scratched his chin. “You got me. I’m not sure how, but you did. I guess what they say is true.”
Roland shrugged and handed the items back. Guards had taken Roland’s gun when they’d entered the building. “Now, John, you know I was taught by the best. Besides, you had your guard down. You know my father.”
Nick knew what Roland was doing, even knew how he’d taken Justice’s things without him knowing, but he’d never had any skill for it, not like Roland or even Milton or Blake. It was all about the subtle manipulation of nonverbal cues, tricking someone into not-seeing what you were doing. Roland said that Nick was too direct to ever be good at it.
“Know Keenan, too. Takes after him some as well.”
Nick watched Roland’s face and saw the momentary frustration in his friend’s eyes. Keenan did take after Roland’s father . . . in every negative way possible.
“You said you’ve seen him?”
Justice nodded, his face thoughtful. “Showed up about six months ago, maybe. Said he was working a job and needed some supplies.”
“What kind of supplies?”
Waving a hand, Justice indicated the boxes that sat in stacks in the warehouse. They’d met in an old food processing building that was supposed to be empty but had been occupied by Justice and his crew for over a year. Nick didn’t know what the man was shipping in and out in such volume, but he wasn’t going to push to find out until Keenan was in jail and Blake was safe.
“He needed weapons, surveillance equipment, computers. Everything in these parts goes through me now. You want something, you place an order. Why do you think I needed your software? I really appreciate it, by the way.”
Nick glanced at Roland. Software? The only software Nick could think of that would help someone like Justice was the encryption software that they sold. One of their first offerings, it was the software that had made Accendo a leader in the software security space. Why had Roland agreed to give it to this man?
“Nothing’s free in this life, Justice. You didn’t mention papers. What name is he using?”
“He said he had that taken care of.”
“Do you know where he is now?” Roland asked, almost casually.
Justice stuck out his bottom lip and his eyes twinkled. “He said you might ask and to tell you that he’d be in the pit, working uptown.”
Nick didn’t need to see Roland’s expression to know that the answer wasn’t helpful. It sounded like Keenan: clever, with a hidden meaning.<
br />
“That’s good to know,” Roland said mildly. “I don’t suppose you can tell me anything else after I’ve come all this way.”
Justice nodded. “For Crawley’s son, sure. He does have a woman with him, a blonde with green eyes. And last I heard, someone had seen him in Little Italy.”
“Why would he be in Little Italy?”
Justice shrugged. “He probably had business with one of the families. Maybe he went to them for papers. Or maybe he had other business. Heard he’s been working with the Russians.”
Roland nodded. “Well, thanks for the help, John. Let me know if you need any help with the software.”
“I’ll do that,” the man agreed. “Tell your dad I say hi, next time you visit.”
Roland nodded and handed the man his watch back. “It looks like I forgot something.”
Justice looked torn between chuckling and fury, but Nick understood Roland’s point. He was warning Justice not to step too far out of line, telling him that he was smarter, faster, and infinitely more clever. Nick hoped his friend knew what he was doing.
23
AFTER SHE’D TAKEN a quick shower and changed into her new jeans and Hugo Boss boots, Blake secured Missy in the kitchen for lack of a better option. She wasn’t entirely sure what kind of trouble the kitten could possibly get into, but she didn’t want to take any chances. She made sure the cat had water, access to the utility room with the litter box, a bed, and a few toys to play with, including the mouse and a length of rope.
Shane was waiting outside the limo when she stepped outside, wearing a polo shirt and pants. Tattoos ran up and down his forearms and could be seen peeking out from under the collar of his shirt.
“Hey, Shane, thanks for doing this for me.”
“It’s not far, Ms. Blake. Anytime.”
He held the passenger door open for her and she slid inside with only a slight roll of her eyes. It felt ridiculous to be riding around in the back of the limo by herself. Normal people didn’t ride around in limos.
She’d texted Shane the address earlier, so she was left with nothing to do but contemplate the chains that ran along the top of her boots and play blackjack on her phone as he drove through town. She couldn’t keep her attention on either one for long.
“Can I ask you for some advice?” Shane asked through the partition after they’d been driving for ten minutes or so.
He wanted to ask her advice? She was the biggest mess in the world—why would he want her advice? “Sure.”
“So I’ve been around. My family’s no good. But I like this girl. She’s smart; she went to school like the bosses, but she’s young. Younger than me by a lot.”
“So? She has a problem with your age? Or you have a problem with hers?”
“I haven’t talked to her about it.”
Blake sat back in the seat and crossed her arms over her chest. “So you like her, you suspect that she likes you back, but you haven’t made a move because of her age?”
Her tone was perhaps a bit acerbic because he flushed. She could see his skin turn red against his tattoos in the rearview mirror. “Not just her age,” he muttered defensively. “She has to want more than someone like me.”
Tapping her foot against the floor, Blake fought the urge to throw her cell phone at him. “Why don’t you let her make up her own mind?”
He shrugged and met her eyes in the mirror. “Some women think they know what they want, but it’s not good for them.”
Blake studied him. Subtle, he was not. “You can’t protect her. It’s her choice, her mistake to make.”
He nodded. “Hard on me, though, if she decides maybe I’m not worth it after all.”
Frowning, Blake wondered whether they were still talking about Shane and this girl or about something else entirely.
“Just who are you worried about, Shane?”
“All of us, Ms. Blake,” he said. “We’re here.” He pulled up beside another parked car and checked the rearview. “Part of the security team is behind us and another team is already in the church. They promised to stay out of sight.”
“Okay, but Shane—” He’d already opened the driver’s door and stepped outside to open her door.
When he held out a hand to help her out, she took it, but impulsively hugged him instead of letting him go. “You should ask her.” She pulled away and gripped his shoulders. “Just do it.” She touched her neck, calling his attention to her scars. “I made mistakes. But I am who I am. I won’t say it’s worth it, but I don’t regret it.”
He patted her shoulder. “I’ll think about it. You be careful. I’ll be waiting close by. Just call when you’re ready to go home.”
Blake released him and headed for the church, but she turned around before she was halfway there. “Just don’t wait too long.”
The shelter in the old wing of the church wasn’t large, only able to house ten families comfortably in small rooms, but the common room had been decorated to feel like a living area, complete with comfortable couches, a TV, games, and several small tables for families to sit together. There was also a large kitchen with an attached dining area. Cafeteria tables were lowered during mealtimes and when the support group met on Tuesdays.
Rosa was sitting at a table next to a short woman with pale hair and terrible posture. Both of them had steaming mugs of what smelled like herbal tea. Blake would have preferred coffee, but she wasn’t going to complain.
“You made it.” Rosa stood and enclosed Blake in a brief hug. “This is Angela Wepsic. Angela, this is Blake Webster.”
Angela stood—she barely came to Blake’s chin—and she seemed to have trouble meeting her eyes. A bruise darkened her right cheekbone.
Blake shook her hand and struggled to keep her voice calm as she said, “It’s nice to meet you, Angela.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” the girl replied shortly and with little emotion, before sitting back down. She kept her gaze directed at the table.
Blake met Rosa’s eyes. How was she supposed to help? This girl was totally shut down and clearly not quite ready to open up or ask for help.
Rosa shrugged, which Blake took to mean: I don’t know. Talk to her and see what happens. She sat back down next to Angela.
Blake went to the counter and poured herself some tea, adding a little honey.
“So, where are you from, Angela?” Blake asked. She’d noticed a faint accent in the woman’s voice, and it wasn’t Bostonian.
“All over,” Angela replied. “My dad was in the Army.”
“Really?” Blake took a seat directly across from Angela. She still didn’t look up to meet Blake’s gaze. “I’ve never left Boston.”
“Me, either,” Rosa added.
The girl didn’t seem to give a shit. Blake could understand that. Sometimes this forced chitchat felt too much like an interview at a police station. Not wanting to push her, Blake directed her next comment to Rosa. “My friend Nick owns an RV that he had custom-built. I have a feeling that he’s considering stuffing me in it and dragging me across the country if they don’t find Keenan soon.”
The girl looked up at that, a faint frown between her hazel-green eyes.
Uncertain what had sparked her interest, Blake explained, “Keenan is my ex from a decade ago. He’s back in town and my friends are trying to help me stay safe until he’s caught.”
See? she silently told the girl. You’re not the only one with issues.
“Nice friends,” Angela replied with a faint sneer.
Blake winced internally. Riiiight. Not everyone had billionaire friends or a lover with the means and motivation to protect her. I am one lucky girl, Blake thought idly. But at least I know it.
“They are the best,” Blake agreed.
“You never told me how you met your ex,” Rosa prompted. “Or your friend Roland.” She sounded encouragin
g, like she wanted Blake to share. Maybe in the hopes of getting Angela to open up in return.
Blake didn’t want to talk about Keenan, but she would if Rosa thought it would help this girl open up and talk about her problems.
“We grew up in the same neighborhood,” Blake said simply.
Rosa gave her a flat-eyed stare, so she continued. “Roland wasn’t there all the time, just when he visited his dad in the summers. Keenan is his cousin. I lived down the street in an apartment with my dad. He didn’t pay much attention to what I was doing and neither did Keenan’s parents or Roland’s dad, so we wandered the neighborhood a lot, hung out with local gangs, got into trouble. Roland’s dad usually managed to get us out of it, but he was in trouble with the law himself a good part of the time.”
“Why didn’t your dad pay attention?” Rosa asked.
Blake shrugged. “He just didn’t seem to care about anything after my mom left.”
“What was it like before? When your mom was there?”
Blake scowled at Rosa. Whose counseling session is this? “I was his princess.”
Now, where had that come from? She hadn’t thought much during the past few years about how her dad had changed once her mom was gone. One minute he’d been there, and the next he’d been gone, like everything that had gone on before had been erased.
Angela was looking at her now, but there wasn’t much sympathy or even interest in the green eyes that regarded her. “I bet you’re always treated like a princess.”
Now, that wasn’t fair. “I’m treated well by people that actually care about me,” Blake tossed out. “It just took a while for me to learn that love and attention, that being needed and being valued, aren’t always the same thing.”
The woman met her eyes for another long moment before she looked away. Blake bit her bottom lip. She really wasn’t cut out for this counseling stuff.
“Sorry,” she said shortly. “Guess I’m a little touchy lately.”
After a moment, Angela nodded and Rosa turned the conversation to safer, more congenial topics.
A French Whipping Page 18
