by Carol Caiton
"Wrong again, my man. We were already married."
Kyle shook his head. A Bugatti. He and Jessica hadn't tried out a Bugatti. He didn't even know if he'd find a dealership that sold them here in Orlando. "Okay, you're on. Where and when?"
"Friday night work for you?"
Kyle supposed Friday night worked fine for him. He sure didn't have any plans since the woman he wanted to plan with wouldn't talk to him.
"Yeah, Friday's good."
"Okay then." Michael passed him a folded sheet of paper with printed directions on it. "Seven thirty. And bring Jessica. Rachel's gonna want to meet her."
Kyle frowned. "Why?"
Michael straightened and looked him right in the eye. "Because you're the closest thing to family I've got," he said. Then he turned and headed for the door.
"Michael."
"Yeah?" He looked over his shoulder.
There was a hell of a lot he wanted to say in response to Michael's remark, but he took a chance on something else instead. "How did you know Rachel was the woman you wanted to spend your life with?"
Michael turned around, hand on the doorknob, and stared back at him. The amusement in his eyes was gone and he studied Kyle with a thoughtful expression. "How many reasons you want?" he asked.
Kyle smirked. "How many do you have?"
"I don't know."
"Then give me the top three."
Michael shifted his weight. He looked down at the keys in his hand, then back up again. "The top three," he said. "Okay. Number one. I feel good when I'm with her—really good. I like who I am when I'm with her. She makes all the ugly shit fade away, like it happened, but it's done. In the past now. And I like her. She makes me think. And laugh. She makes me feel things I never felt before. And she needs me. Me," he emphasized. "She looks at me like I'm a hundred times better than the person I am and it almost makes me feel a hundred times better. I see all that love in her eyes, and I wanna give her the universe." He looked thoughtful for a minute, smiled a crooked smile, and said, "Life has a bigger kind of meaning because of her. It's important in a way it never was before. And I get . . . edgy when I'm away from her too long. I need to know she's okay. I know part of that's my past haunting me, but part of it's because of shit that happened to her, too. I don't want anything bad to touch her anymore. Ever." He smiled, jiggled his keys, then sobered. "She's the center of everything now. Everything I am revolves around her. How's that for starters?"
"Starters?"
"Yeah. That was number one."
Kyle laughed. "Jesus."
But he chewed over the things Michael said and wanted to think about whether or not any could be applied it to Jessica. He knew he was captivated, even fixated on her. But he sure as hell wasn't in love with her. He was curious, that's all. They hadn't known one another for it to be anything more.
Did he feel good when he was with her? Yes. And yes, she made all his shit fade to the background. But that was because he was so focused on her and the odd things she said.
Did he like her? Yes, he'd admit to that. He admired her too. She'd used her head, escaping a dangerous situation, moving money through God knew how many countries, and making her way safely to the States.
Did she make him laugh? Hell, yes. And that was an accomplishment because he hadn't laughed in a long time. Years, it seemed.
Did she make him feel things he's never felt before? Yeah. But not in the way Michael meant. True, he'd never felt fear when some woman wouldn't answer his calls. But that particular experience had never happened before, so he could cancel that one out.
Did she need him? No. She was financially independent.
But he thought about what a princess Rachel was and realized Michael hadn't been talking about financial need. So he took a minute to remember those tense situations when she'd needed rescuing. But wouldn't any man who stepped up to bat have suited her just as well? So no, she didn't need him.
But that didn't feel exactly right either. At Threshold, yeah. Anyone could have gotten her out of there and she would have felt safe. But when she slapped Asshole's face . . . they were his arms she'd rushed to for protection. She'd known he wouldn't let anything happen to her. She might have some genius IQ when it came to money, but she was young and small and vulnerable, and it was possible trouble might still be following her from the other side of the globe. So yeah, okay, she needed him—or someone—and she knew he'd take care of her.
He kept going down the list. Did she look at him like he was a better man than he really was? Yes. But that was the cop she saw—the white knight she knew she could depend on. And yes, it fed his ego, but she sure didn't look at him with love in her eyes. And no, he didn't get edgy if he didn't see her for a while. Well, fuck, maybe he did. He was feeling a little territorial right now. She wouldn't answer his calls, goddamn it, and . . . . Fuck.
He set his jaw. She wasn't the center of his life. —And she was looking for a husband. Wanted kids too. —No ma'am. No thank you. He wasn't going there. Not ever. He was never going to let any kid get that close again.
He gave Michael a wry smile. "That was about ten reasons, not one."
Michael grinned back at him. "Let me know when you're ready for numbers two and three." He opened the door. "See you Friday."
When the Lotus backed out of his driveway, Kyle sat down on his ugly-ass sofa. Why was it that every time he met up with Michael, he felt like raw meat afterward? And how was it that with each meeting something inside him felt . . . fresher? It was as though some of that raw meat was starting to grow a layer of skin and heal.
Ten minutes later he pushed up and strode to the bedroom and the ugly-ass desk where his laptop sat waiting for him to answer the last three e-mails his foster parents had sent.
Pulling out the matching chair, he sat down at the desk and logged on. Among other miscellaneous messages, there were two new ones. One from Derek and another one from Kathy. He opened Kathy's first.
Kyle,
At the risk of sounding like a nagging mother, it's been three weeks since you've been in touch and we're becoming concerned. You asked us not to phone and we haven't. But if you don't get in touch with Derek by the end of the week, we're both going to be on a plane headed for Florida, so move it, bud.
My love,
Kathy
Kyle reread the message and smiled. He'd been a nasty little bad-ass when he'd been brought to their home. But Kathy had looked him in the eye and promised him somebody would pay for causing the death of his mother. She swore she'd get millions of dollars for him. Yeah, right.
Then, when she'd left the room, Derek sat him down and told him if he so much as breathed wrong while in their care, he'd toss Kyle's ass in juvenile detention.
Kyle had told the guy to go fuck himself.
But Derek had laughed and said, "No, son. You're the one who's gonna get fucked—right up your skinny little ass if you end up in Juvie. So you think about that."
Kyle did think about that, because Derek would know. He was a cop. A fucking cop. And that's when he knew he was in deep shit.
But true to her word, Kathy had won those millions for him. The money had been invested and he'd only touched it once, to purchase a vacant lot, pave it, and turn it into a basketball court. He'd wanted to pay back the money Derek and Kathy had spent to put him through college too. But Kathy's eyes had turned all stormy and Derek had ordered him to apologize for insulting them.
Now, all these years later, those millions had nearly doubled. He thought about Jessica's father and his 'gift' to his daughters and figured she and Hannah probably had a few million as well. Then he wondered what his mother would have done if she'd been handed the kind of money he'd won in court. She would have moved them into legitimate housing, that's for sure. She hated not being able to look out the boarded up windows and see the sun. And she would have made certain he went back to school. But she probably would have hoarded most of it, knowing it wouldn't last forever.
His memories
of her were vague now, but she'd always been practical. Realistic. And after death? Would she have wanted Kyle to think of that money as her gift to him? Even after what he'd done to Joey?
Joey would have found that gun no matter what. Maybe not that day. But he was always snooping around . . . . And he still would have shot his fool head off because that's who Joey was. He never left anything alone. —The little shit.
He thought about Michael's words for a while. It would have been Joey, after a couple more years, who was breaking into Old Man Pelvine's attic and stealing those guns. And even then, Michael was right. He probably would have shot himself in the head, just playing around, being curious, whatever. Because no, Joey couldn't leave anything alone.
He clicked on the Reply button.
Kathy,
Sorry for slacking off, but there's no need for concern. And plane tickets to Florida are at a premium this time of year, so hold on to your money.
I'm still working construction. Don't know how long I'll stick with it, but there's something therapeutic about it for the time being.
I met a girl—girl being the operative word here. She's nineteen, speaks fourteen languages, and she talks circles around a car salesman. Unfortunately, she won't talk to me anymore. So goes life.
I've got some other news—about Michael. But I'll let Derek tell you about it so I don't have to type everything twice.
Kyle
He reread what he wrote, sent the message, and clicked on Derek's e-mail next.
Kyle,
Kathy's worried about you. I don't like it when Kathy worries.
Derek
Well, that was to the point. It didn't take much to read between the lines there. Derek was pissed. He clicked on the Reply button.
Derek,
I've apologized to Kathy for slacking. It won't happen again.
I finally talked to Michael. It was touch and go at first, with a lot of mistrust on both sides. But neither one of us seems able to ignore the other, so we're making an effort to bridge the past.
As suspected, he was abducted when he went after that kite all those years ago. Enough said. What matters is that he's put it behind him and he's built a good life for himself. He's married now. Go figure. His wife is uptown and gorgeous. She looks at him like he's a god, and he worships the ground she walks on. I'm a little envious. Like yours, his marriage is one of few I've seen that will probably last through the years.
He and I are going to do some drag racing this weekend on an official track. Guess he knows some people.
He's made me remember Joey in a different light. A better light. It's good to see him, Derek. It's good talking with him.
Kyle
He clicked on the Send button and sat back in his chair. Then he stared out the window and began plotting a way to get Jessica to talk to him again.
CHAPTER 16
He was dirty and sweaty when he walked into the administrative building on Wednesday afternoon. He now carried two packages of brand new white T-shirts in his jeep and the one he was wearing covered up a fair amount of stink. At least he hoped it did.
Once again, he'd been working overtime all week. This was the first day he'd gotten off early enough to make it to RUSH before Jessica's sister left. As it was, he only had about half an hour—if Hannah agreed to see him. He'd come down on her pretty hard last time he was here.
He gave his name to the same receptionist as before and, once again, walked over to stare out at the grounds while he waited.
Not surprisingly, Hannah wasn't as welcoming as she was the last time. He heard the soft tap of her heels on the marble floor, turned, and read the professional smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Hello, Kyle. What can I do for you?"
It didn't get past him that she hadn't invited him back to her office. So he kept his voice low.
"How is she?"
Hannah didn't pretend ignorance. She knew what he was asking. "She's fine."
He took a chance. "You're helping her out? Spending some time with her?" He didn't dare push harder than that.
But her professional demeanor relaxed and she sighed. "Let's go to my office."
It was more than he'd expected. He followed her through the arch to the first door on the left and waited for her to offer it before sitting down in one of the guest chairs.
"Jessica and I spent the weekend getting to know one another," she told him from behind her desk. "Saturday was a girl day—clothes shopping at the mall, dinner out. Sunday she came to my place for lunch and we spent the afternoon talking." She gave him a considering look. "Kyle, what happened the last time you and Jessica saw each other?"
He tapped his fingers lightly against the arm of the chair. She'd been gracious, telling him as much as she had, but he didn't want to talk to her about the details of his relationship with Jessica.
"Look. Hannah. You probably mean well, but we're getting into some private territory here."
She nodded. "Fair enough. But let me ask if you've tried to clear up a misunderstanding that might exist between you."
"Try? She won't pick up when I call, and she refuses to see me when I go downtown."
Again Hannah nodded. "I'm going to take a chance and tell you this because I believe you genuinely care about her, and I think Jessica misunderstood something you said."
"I'm listening."
"Okay. Jessica is under the impression that you want to take her to bed, then pass her along to someone else."
"She what?" He pushed up out of the chair.
"That's what I thought."
"What the hell are you smiling about? This isn't funny."
An icy male voice lashed out from the doorway. "What are you doing here again?"
Kyle swung around to find the same asshole in the doorway. "Don't you have any work to do?"
"Simon," Hannah interrupted, "it's all right—"
"Out. The asshole ignored her. He gave Kyle a drilling stare. "Now."
"Simon, please," she tried again.
Kyle turned back to her. "Don't. It's okay." He gave her a quick reassuring nod.
The last thing he wanted to do was get her in trouble. And he still needed an active membership if he was going to take the day off tomorrow and sit in Urns & Leaves, all morning if he had to, until Jessica talked to him.
"Thanks," he said, and headed for the door.
* * *
"We've got a spike."
Jeremiah Case heard the beeping alarm. "Scale?"
"Four point seven. No, make that a four point two."
Low-midrange, he thought. Probably not serious. "Name?"
"Employee. Jessica Breckenridge."
"Location?"
"Urns & Leaves. Inside."
That got his attention.
Spikes weren't uncommon. Stress levels soared for all sorts of reasons at RUSH. But this was the first one to occur inside a restaurant.
He pulled up a visual from one of the security cameras. The wide angle lens showed the entire dining room but everything looked normal. Calm. Half the tables were clean and available and the rest were occupied by no more than one person.
On another monitor he brought up the file on Jessica Breckenridge. Blonde. Hannah's sister. No current links.
He frowned. No current links. So what had spiked her stress levels to the point of sending out an alarm?
Turning to another monitor, he zoomed in on the restaurant's occupants. Some he recognized, others he didn't.
He spotted Simon who, it seemed, was onto something. He sat at a table holding a newspaper as though reading it, but his eyes were trained over the top edge, following the activity around him.
"Who's in the area?" Jeremiah asked the guard beside him. He'd just deployed six of his men to Threshold and another three were standing by over there.
"Cliff Portman's next door at The Deli, and Chuck Kinnerly's just outside Admin.
"Contact Portman and send him over there for the girl. Then put Kinnerly on the door.
"
"Got it."
Jeremiah zeroed in on Jessica Breckenridge and watched her approach Simon's table. Good. If Simon could keep her there until—
The steadily beeping alarm jumped in tempo.
"Five point six," the guard announced sharply.
Jeremiah stared at the monitor. Simon reached out a hand toward the girl's wrist and she jerked back . . . way out of range. She was afraid of Simon?
What the hell was going on?
* * *
Jessica carried the cup of black coffee, standard brew, on its china saucer across the dining room to where Simon sat by the window. Every morning she asked what he'd like to have, though his order never varied. But it wasn't a matter of one-upmanship any longer. Rather, it was a sort of friendly repartee.
He was late this morning, but that wasn't so unusual. He'd been late a couple of times before. He would still want a second cup of coffee and a wafer of shortbread. He never asked for pastries or anything more substantial. And when she brought it, he would reach for her wrist and demand that she sit with him for a time.
He always waited until her orders had been filled. She used to wonder why he bought a newspaper since he didn't seem to read it. But apparently he did. On occasion, simply to perturb him, she asked if he'd come upon any articles of particular interest. He would smile, knowing very well why she asked, then he would give an account of one or two that had caught his attention.
She'd actually come to like him quite well. Abrupt comments aside, she decided he preferred to choose the most efficient words to express himself, not necessarily the most cordial, but she no longer took offense.
Still, she didn't allow him to assume control without a contest of wills. She knew he would want her to sit with him and she generally enjoyed both his company and the chance to sit for a few minutes. But because it vexed him to have to snare her wrist and force her compliance, she particularly enjoyed wielding some power in that small matter.
