Vonnie: Book Two of Broken Girls Series

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  Totally out of line.

  And for the record, no. No one was gonna come and take away my ovaries just because I couldn’t successfully do ‘cook’. He was just talking out of his ass like most guys (in my experience) tended to do.

  “It still hurt, though,” I told the tiny bit of fur in my arms, who was, at that moment, trying to drag her stuffed toy up onto my lap. I was getting the impression her monkey was more than a toy, though. More like a thing of comfort.

  My phone began skittering around the coffee table and I shifted to snag it before it dropped off the edge. Beta!

  “Hey girl,” I greeted, trying to keep my voice even and the Pookster calm. I’d discovered Rio’s pet really picked up on my moods and since she was inches away from her next nap, I didn’t want to upset her. “Whats up?”

  “Remember that Scottish heritage thing I was telling you about? The one where I get to break away from the classical and really rock the stringed stuff?”

  Okay, to fill-in the blanks…Beta was another one of my foster sisters and a classically trained cellist. So good in fact that she played in the burgeoning University of Colorado-Grantham’s orchestra and it’s highly-elite, stringed ensemble. She also taught a class at the university in music theory and, in her spare time, took on private students.

  Which meant she was just about as broke as I was—but with much less time to squeeze in a viable (read: well-paying and outside her field of interest) job.

  “Yep, I do. So it’s on?”

  “Totally!” When excited, my Beta tended to squeal. And I had to take the phone away from my ear in order not to lose my hearing, causing Pooks to raise her head from my lap. “So how many tickets should I bring tomorrow? Six or eight?”

  What the hell?

  Oh wait, I got it. The uni hadn’t sold enough tickets to the event and thought having the musicians pimp themselves out would help boost sales. “How much are they?”

  “Only ten each! Isn’t that a steal?”

  I looked to the fur-baby in my lap and couldn’t resist a long, slow caress of her half-curly, half-fluffy coat. “Put me down for two tickets,” I managed to mumble, mentally doing the math of the remaining cash Rio’d paid.

  “Ooh, a plus one,” she breathed, her voice dropping almost an octave. “And just who is gonna be your ‘plus one’, Miss James?”

  Fuck if I know, I shot back silently. “Don’t worry about it. Just put me down for twenty bucks, all right?” Something else occurred to me. “Who else in our crowd is going?”

  She didn’t answer straightaway, but I could hear her whispered counting. “Ten, including Ryker. But then, Phoebe doesn’t do anything anymore without him around.”

  That was the truth! And more than a little bit annoying in my book.

  “Maybe twelve, though.” Her voice sounded a bit strained. “That is if Ryker’s brothers return my call.”

  Uh-huh, fat chance of that. But it showed me my girl was under the gun. “How many tickets do you have to sell, Bey? And be honest.”

  “Only twenty this time. But Diane said we should make it a picnic, a potluck kinda thing. You know, good music, great company and food out under the stars—”

  “It’s outside?”

  “Yeah, in the gardens outside the arboretum. The uni is even renting outdoor heaters, in case it gets chilly.”

  Note to self: take blankets, buy a take-away, frozen dessert and wear my warmest outerwear, including hat and gloves.

  But I tried to interject some enthusiasm into my response, hoping Beta wouldn’t notice. “Great. Cool.”

  “So I’ll drop off your tickets tomorrow,” she replied, which told me she hadn’t noticed my flat tone (of dread), at facing the great Colorado outdoors in late summer, early fall. “How’s noon sound to you?”

  Rio was due back in town, but it was a good eight hour drive from Denver. So if she came by at noon, she’d miss him picking up his dog by a good four or five hours. “Works for me.”

  After we’d hung up, I looked to little Miss Pookie.

  She was dead to the world, despite (or maybe because of) my hands running through her mix of curly and fluffy fur along her spine. I only wished I could sleep so deeply, but in all honesty, I was a bit of an insomniac. Although I still needed seven hours of shut-eye whether I went to bed at ten p.m. or three in the morning.

  I just didn’t know what to do with her.

  Should I put her back into the nest or take her and her monkey into my room, to my bed?

  Well, there wasn’t a better person to answer that question than PK’s daddy. So I again lifted my cell, found one of his hilarious and kinda flirty texts (that were given in response to one of my own) and hit the call button.

  *.*.*.*.*

  After finishing his room-serviced dinner, Rio was at a loss as to what to do.

  He didn’t like TV, well most shows anyway. Re-runs of any kind of criminal show were okay, and he didn’t mind the comedy of those geeky, scientific guys…but the rest of it?

  Nope.

  Eyeing the king-sized mattress, he turned back to the TV and its blank, black screen.

  He couldn’t sleep yet.

  Or more rightly, couldn’t face what might or might not meet him there if he slipped into the deep rest his body was demanding, one that was supposed to be healing, comforting and welcoming according to his therapist. But one he’d never found.

  Sure, he was tired. Fucking bone-weary from driving all day and then anxiously awaiting Mr. Rodriguez’s acceptance and signature. But Rio already knew being tired and weary wasn’t enough to prevent the demons from returning.

  And they came every time…every single, frickin’ time he allowed himself to truly and completely relax. To delve into the deep, completely silent pool of sleep. The fact was, he hadn’t ever been healed, comforted or felt anything even smacking of comfort when he rested for goddamned hours. No. Each and every time he’d gone into the REM version of what the rest of the populace…the fucking world…called ‘sleep’, he was taken back there.

  Back into battle.

  To losing his friends, his frickin’ brothers, one-by-one.

  All in surround-sound and 3-D glory.

  His therapist told him all his war experiences would fade with time.

  Rio counted it as utter and complete bullshit since it’d been almost two years and night-time was still a battleground.

  And why he eyed the king-sized mattress in a three-starred hotel much like he would a cobra.

  Yeah.

  It was a ‘no go’ zone.

  So, grabbing his keycard from the desktop, he took himself down to the hotel’s version of a cocktail lounge. After all, it was only ten. Even Denver’s liquor laws would allow a former war-hero to drink until he was shit-faced until closing time. At least enough to find his oblivion on one of their elite hotel’s beds. Right?

  Better than calling the cops for the ruckus he was sure to make when one of his nightmares hit. Because upsetting the guests was a real fucking no-no.

  Taking a seat at the bar, Rio ordered two fingers of bourbon with water back. Basically the hotel’s idea of a watering hole was empty, only holding a couple of duos, a loud-mouthed group in one of the banquets. His eyes flicked up to the TV over the bar which was tuned to one of the sports channels, but even that couldn’t hold his interest for long.

  Still though, being around others, even if they were strangers he’d never talk to was better than sitting in his room as he forced himself to stay awake. And besides, he still needed to figure out where he was supposed to find a crew.

  His phone vibrated and he rolled to one cheek to nab it from his back pocket. “Ironcloud.”

  “Yeah, it’s me again.” The spitfire! “Just wanted to ask what I’m supposed to do with Poo…erm, PK at night. I’m made her a little bed kind of thingy on my couch but I was wondering if it’s okay to sleep with her. You know, like, take her to my bed.”

  Rio found his eyebrows rising even as the words ‘lu
cky dog’ rolled through his brain. “Why aren’t you using the bed I packed for her?”

  He could hear the sound of her moving before catching her whispered, “I didn’t see any bed.”

  A zipping noise came through the line as Rio took another sip of his bourbon.

  “She sleeps on a blow-up doggie bed? Seriously?” He more than heard a sneer in her voice as well as the sound of heavy plastic rustling in the background. And he understood it, as one dog-lover to another. “She sleeps on this icky thing at your place?”

  No, his little companion didn’t sleep on such a cheap piece of crap when she was with him. She slept next to him on the bed. Sometimes up by his head but more often tucked behind his crooked knees. He’d only bought the bed on a whim, in case whoever DB had hired to take care of his little darlin’ was picky about dogs on their mattress. But he wasn’t gonna admit that bit of info to his dog-sitter, for Christ’s sake. “I don’t have a problem if she wants to join you in bed.”

  Now why did that sound kind of dirty? Enough so the bartender gave him a side-eyed look.

  “Oh okay,” she breathed. “Just wanted to make sure since that portion wasn’t covered in your plethora of instructions.”

  Rio grinned around the edge of his glass. “Anything else?”

  One of the hotel workers fired up their vacuum cleaner and began to whisk it over the carpeted areas of the lobby.

  “What’s that noise?” The fact was Rio didn’t think Vonnie wanted to get off the phone anymore than he did.

  “Just the late night cleaners in the lobby.” He signaled to the bartender for another round and waited for her response. That she wasn’t rushing to fill the void of silence between them was interesting. “So tell me why you really called at 10.48 p.m.”

  “I told you. I just wanted to get your take on where she was supposed to sleep. I mean, I wouldn’t want to go against any Rio-type rules or nothing.” The snark in her tone had his grin morphing into a full on smile. “So why aren’t you in your room? Can’t you sleep?”

  Nosy little spitfire, aren’t we? He swirled the refreshed liquid in his glass, his eyes watching it slosh over and around the ice cubes. “Got a lot on my mind.”

  “Like what?” There was the sound of movement on her side before it got quiet, quiet enough for him to hear the little chuffing sound PK made when she was deep in her doggie sleep.

  “Like where to find bodyguards and other security experts to hire.” Let her chew on that! He thought with a twist of his mouth.

  “Holy shit,” she breathed. “What is it you actually do at Black Ice?”

  “I’m the head of Security Systems and Personal Protection.” Or would be if he could figure how to hire other people with the skills needed.

  She whistled low and soft. “Damn, dude. How’d you manage to snaggle that?”

  “Max and I were in the Rangers together.”

  Vonnie was quiet for a minute and Rio let her be, remembering how she needed time to think before responding. Or at least she had that morning when he’d dropped PK off.

  “Was it just you two or were there other guys with you?” Rio blinked down into his glass wondering about her question, trying to decide if she had no knowledge of the military or if she was leading up to something else. “Because if you did and they’re out like you and Max, why couldn’t you give them a call…or an email, or something…”

  Rio abruptly straightened, his mind catching on her suggestion. Because it was a good one, one he should’ve thought of himself, but hadn’t. And now that it was in his brain, he struggled to find any downside, any sort of ‘bad’ in it, but couldn’t. “Great idea, princess.”

  A fucking stellar idea actually.

  One that found him anxious to put into action.

  *.*.*.*.*

  “I’m telling you, that little teeny-bopper saw us, Anton.” Delmar Jones was almost beside himself with worry about what he’d seen out of the corner of his eye as he and his business partner made the hand off. “I think she even took our picture.”

  Anton’s dark eyes followed the woman, taking in her fast, though jerky, steps before she teetered around the corner. “Did you actually see the camera, Del? Or is this just you being paranoid again?”

  Del looked from the man opposite him to the empty sidewalk on the other side of the street. “I think I did.”

  “Think or know, Del? There’s a big difference between the two.” When Delmar didn’t immediately answer, Anton Novak made a point of looking at his Radu Thin-line ceramic watch. One which, along with his collection of Armani suits, Zegna ties and Paul Parkman shoes told the other members of Grantham’s City Council that he was a mover and shaker, a man of both means and taste. A born leader and someone to follow.

  “Dunno,” Del finally mumbled. “Should I follow her? Maybe see if she saw anything or took our picture? I’m almost sure she took a photo of us.”

  “You take care of this little package and do the normal shuffle of the others.” Anton’s answer included a nod towards the stroller between them. “Then see if you can figure out who she is and what she saw.”

  Delmar nodded and reached for the handles of the stroller, but was stopped when Anton placed a beefy hand on his arm. “Getting a little tired of you jumping at your own shadow, Del. Especially this late in the game. Need for you to stick with the program and stay cool. Only a little bit longer and this’ll all be done. Okay?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Just a little while longer and I won’t have to look over my shoulder all the fucking time.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Anton agreed, patting the arm he’d been squeezing. “Now run along and I’ll meet you Friday night when we do the hand off with the group from Missouri.”

  Del didn’t respond but he watched as Anton walked into City Hall calm as could be. Del knew he’d never be able to remain that collected if their situations were reversed. And was probably why Del did the grunt work while Anton made the deals.

  Brain and balls versus brawn and belly-aching.

  Del knew his role well.

  But that didn’t mean he liked it.

  Not a damn bit.

  Chapter Six

  Morning found me discombobulated and off my game all because of that god-awful dream. The one I’d been having off and on since I was a little girl. The same damn one which always found me waking up terrified, trembling and crying uncontrollably with my heart absolutely breaking.

  Although that morning I hadn’t awakened on my own. In fact, it was little Pookie who pulled me up and away from the scary images of a young boy yanking on my hand, pulling me, almost dragging me, begging me to, “Hurry, Ronnie! We gotta hurry!”

  I didn’t know who he was, but then I’d never gotten a good look at his face.

  Nor did I understand why he needed me to hurry, but I absolutely felt his urgency and his fear.

  Fear which usually chased me up into wakefulness.

  But not that morning, because it was Rio’s little dog who startled me out of my nightmare, pushing on my chest with her tiny paws, whining as if it was her heart that was breaking. Maybe it was because the full vision of the dream was interrupted or maybe it was due to my immediate need to comfort her, but I was calmer, not as frantic as I usually was afterward. And even more noticeably, I hadn’t woken up sobbing. Crying, sure, but not sobbing with the unknown, devastating grief the nightmare always left behind.

  “Did I scare you, baby?” My voice was quiet, but rough with sleep. “I didn’t mean to if I did.”

  Sitting up, I pulled her into my chest and tried to soothe her trembling body with soft strokes and gentle scratches, blinking as I tried to shake off the images, the sound of the boy’s voice. And was my normal way of dealing with the emotional aftermath; to push all that shit way down deep and try to pretend it never happened.

  Looking down at the fluffy pooch in my lap, I wondered if that was the best way to handle it, though.

  What if I (just this once) did as one of th
e therapists Diane hired to deal with my ‘night terrors’ suggested—and just faced the damn thing head-on? According to the doctor with the kind eyes, perhaps if I stopped trying to hide from whatever my brain kept churning up, so I could conquer it.

  As I relaxed and opened my mind wide, I realized in the clear light of day, the images weren’t so scary. It was just me (a much, much younger version of me) being pulled along by a boy who held one of my hands in a crushing grip.

  But what was in my other hand?

  I was holding something…something I didn’t want to let go of…

  My bunny.

  As soon as that image came to mind, my eyes shot to the bedraggled stuffed toy sitting in pride of place on my dresser, it’s back propped against the mirror.

  I’d had Mr. Buttons that long?

  With no memories of anything before the age of six, I didn’t remember when or how I’d come by the toy. But I’d carried it everywhere when I was younger, using it like other kids used their special blanket—to soothe and keep me safe throughout all the different homes I’d been placed in. And even long after it was acceptable to carry around in plain sight, shoving it into the deeper reaches of my backpack. Which meant I was able to keep it close without anyone seeing it.

  Holding Pookie against my chest, I stepped to the dresser and pointed to it. “See this? This is my special comfort, something important to me. Just like your monkey is to you.”

  Yeah, Pookie’s monkey had presented a bit of a problem the night before. Only I hadn’t realized the toy (or the lack thereof) in my bed was a big deal when the Pookster couldn’t seem to settle enough to go to sleep. Thinking she needed a quick potty run, I’d taken her outside (twice) where she’d just stood and stared at me, both of us shivering in the coolness of the nighttime air.

  The second time though, she dashed to the couch and caught one of the monkey’s dangling arms in her mouth. The damn thing was almost as long as she was, but the little dog didn’t waste any time dragging it back down the hall and into my room. Curious, I’d wandered slowly behind to see what she was going to do. After all, my bed was too high for her to jump onto by herself and, even if she could, there was no way she’d be able to do it with her damned toy in her mouth.