Security Squad

by Nicolette Pierce

  My stomach twisted unnaturally. This was wrong. It felt so wonderful . . . and so wrong.

  “I’m very sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said. “I just wanted everything to be the same. I made it worse. I suppose walking in on me and the nurse didn’t help matters.” The corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile.

  I blinked away a forming tear and returned his smile. “Let’s talk a little later,” I said and then whispered, “There are ears.”

  He glanced at the men surrounding us, who were hanging on every word. “Can I take you out to dinner tonight?”

  I nodded. “Hank, is it okay if I leave for dinner in a bit?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I’ve got it covered,” he said.

  “But I want to hear about the nurse,” Mac said.

  “And why aren’t you hitting Evan?” Jack added.

  I grabbed my purse. “Come on,” I said to Evan. “Let’s go now before the interrogation really begins.”

  He slid off the stool and waited for me to walk around the bar to meet him. “Why does it smell like raspberries in here?” he asked.

  The looks that shot around the room on Evan’s announcement had me stifling a laugh.

  “Maybe it is contagious,” Jack said with a shake of his head and a smirk on his lips. “If I’m going to die, I’d like to be drunk.” He grabbed a hard-liquor bottle and four glasses.

  Evan led me outside. “Why does Jack think he’s going to die?”

  “I doubt he believes it. But the verdict is an aneurism.”

  He opened the car door for me. “That’s serious.”

  “Not when all four of them smell different scents,” I said, dropping into the passenger seat.

  “Did they smell raspberry?” he asked when he settled into the driver’s seat. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

  “No. I believe it was banana, lemon, coconut, and cherries. But to save you the headache of asking fifty questions, I put air fresheners under every barstool, table, and counter.”

  “All different scents?”

  “The dollar store only had so many of each.”

  He laughed. “Do you think they’ll still be standing when you return? Jack looked ready to get hammered.”

  “It won’t matter either way,” I said with a flick of my hand. It’s not like anything was happening at the bar anyway.

  It wasn’t until we were seated at a diner booth that Evan repeated his apologies.

  “I really am sorry,” he said, taking my hand from across the table, his thumb rubbing tenderly. “I was so wrapped up in work and school, and then you came along and I didn’t want it to end. I guess I was afraid that if we had this conversation that we would break up. I don’t want to break up.”

  “I don’t want to either, but you can’t give up Harvard.”

  “I can’t give you up either,” he said. “Chicago is off the table too. There’s no way I could commute and study. I’ll take a semester off.”

  “That’s too big of a sacrifice,” I said, feeling a mix of worry and happiness. A very unpleasant mix. “Can you go to Harvard and come back on break? You have to come back to see your family anyway.”

  “I’m not going unless you go with me,” he stated, then a spark in his eyes grew. “Come with me, Mars. Move to Boston.”

  Move to Boston?

  “I . . . uh . . . I,” I stammered. Move to Boston? I could. There’s nothing holding me back from going. It’s not like I have kids or a decent job.

  “Say yes, Mars,” he urged. “Tell me you’ll move with me.”

  I looked into his eyes. A big mistake when wanting to stay focused.

  Closing my eyes and taking a breath, I took another look at Evan. He sat across from me, waiting for my response.

  “I don’t know,” I finally said. “Give me a little time to think about it.”

  I could tell it wasn’t the answer he was hoping for. He leaned back, letting my hand slip away. “I’ll have to know soon,” he said. “I’m not trying to rush you, but I was supposed to leave for Boston tomorrow. If we leave in a few days we would still have enough time.”

  I chewed on that for a moment, wondering how quickly I could make a decision. It’s not that I wanted to say no. And it’s not that I wanted to say yes. It was just a huge decision that I couldn’t make on the spot.

  Jack’s dreaded warning kept pecking at me: It will only get worse.

  Would I be in Evan’s way at school? We certainly wouldn’t be able to go out on dates regularly. Not that I have to go out on dates. But we just started dating. Dating requires dates. I could see myself spinning in circles on that one, so I stopped and attempted to think rationally.

  It was difficult.

  “Evan,” I began, forming my thoughts as I worked through them. “I want to be with you. I never planned on moving, but if I do move, I would want it to be with you.” I paused to regroup. “I can’t move with you in a few days.” His mouth moved in an attempt to interrupt, but I put my hand up to stop him. “There are many reasons. One of them is that I own my house. It will take time to put it on the market. I also would want to say a proper good-bye to family and friends. There are many things to put in order that you were lucky enough to have had the time to do. A few days isn’t enough.”

  “So, if I leave, you’ll come out when you’re ready?” he asked cautiously.

  “If I decide to,” I said, still unsure.

  “When will that be?” he asked. “I’ll wait for you if you tell me to. I just need to know. I’m not going to Boston if you’re not going to follow.”

  “Give me a day to think about it,” I said.

  “You’ll know tomorrow night?” he asked warily.

  “Yes. Tomorrow night.”

  He gave a nod and then his whole aura changed. He smiled slyly. “And what are your plans for tonight?”

  “Work,” I said, feeling the power of that change.

  “After work,” he said.

  “I’ll be at home.”

  “With me.”

  “With you.”

  Chapter 11

  When Evan dropped me off at work after dinner, he decided to come in and see if the boys were still standing.

  They weren’t.

  The counter was littered with empty bottles . . . and Hank, who was lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, mumbling. Jack, Bob, and Mac were sloppily seated on their barstools, singing a bawdy limerick. They swayed back and forth.

  “No, no,” Jack interrupted. “Her bosom was white, not yellow.”

  “Bosoms should never be yello’,” Hank agreed.

  “Then what rhymes with fello’?” Mac asked.

  “What fello’?” Bob asked. “I thought it was: her breasts were quite nice, and perky like ice.”

  Jack snorted. “Perky like ice?”

  “Call Ida,” Hank said. “She knows ’em all.”

  Evan grinned and took a seat and began, “Her bosom glowed white on that warm summer’s night; and her fellow was no longer mellow.”

  “See, her bosom was white,” Jack said with a droopy salute to Evan.

  “Then what?” Mac asked. “He was no longer mellow.”

  Bob frowned. “Something with his stick.”

  “His sword grew large, and he took charge,” Evan continued.

  “And the maiden bent over and said ‘woohoo,’” Bob finished.

  Jack snorted again.

  Evan smirked. “Something like that.”

  “That was a tough one,” Mac said.

  Hank looked over. “Oh, you’re back,” he said to me. “I thought you might be lost.”

  “I was only gone an hour,” I said, tossing my purse behind the bar. “I see you did your best to drink every bottle of booze in the building.”

  “If we’re going to die . . .” Jack started.

  “Yes, I know. You want to die drunk.”

  “It’s no laughing matter,” Mac stated. “There are new scents now.”

&nbs
p; Evan shot an amused glance at me. “And what are these new scents?” he asked Mac.

  “Chocolate,” Mac said.

  “Apple,” Jack said.

  “I can’t tell what mine is,” Bob said, taking a test sniff. “It’s like coconut and pineapple and something else.”

  “Tropical breeze,” I said.

  He looked at me as though I’d read his mind. “Yeah.”

  Mac turned to Evan. “You’re the doctor. Are we going to die from an analism?”

  Hank sputtered. “Aneurism!”

  “Oh.” Mac grinned sheepishly. “Well, are we?”

  “I doubt it,” he said. “I’ve never heard of death by air fresheners.”

  “Air fresheners?” Hank asked.

  Bob blinked. “Is that what the smells are?”

  “I bought them yesterday,” I said.

  “You could ’ave told us,” Mac scolded as his eyes crossed.

  “I knew it,” Bob said to Mac. “It’s just like you to blow things out of proportion. Aneurism, my foot!”

  Mac bristled. “I don’t blow things out of proportion. It could ’ave been true.”

  “You do too,” Bob accused. “Just like you barreled into my job and got your butt kicked.”

  “I didn’t barrel!” Mac stated. “You were keepin’ secrets.”

  “I’m a grown man. I’m allowed a few secrets!”

  I watched the two men volley back and forth. It was rather exhausting. However, I was willing to stand and listen to them if I would finally know the secret. Of course, it couldn’t be all that bad if Bob was involved.

  “Not when it’s illegal,” Mac continued. “I’ve had too many friends end up in jail.”

  That’s touching, I thought. At least Mac cares.

  “I’m not going to jail,” Bob blustered. “I didn’t do anything illegal.”

  “It’s an illegal gambling hall. Anything you do in there is illegal!”

  “I’m not even in that area,” Bob said. “I’m in the back.”

  “Doing what?” Mac glowered. “Counting all the winnings?”

  Bob gave him a hard stare . . . with a slight wobble. “I cook there, you dense potato head!”

  Mac jumped off his seat, tackling Bob to the floor. “Potato ’ead?” he hollered. They rolled around on the floor like, well, like a couple of potatoes.

  I glanced at Jack. “I didn’t know he could cook.”

  “Neither did I,” he said, watching as the boys tumbled about, not really inflicting damage to each other.

  “Do you think he’ll enter the cooking competition?” I asked.

  Jack shrugged and sagged against the bar. “We can ask when they’re done fighting.”

  “That’s a rather loose description of fighting,” Evan said. “It looks like they’re rolling around like logs.”

  “Logs that ran out of energy,” I said as they both came to a sprawling stop.

  “I remember!” Hank shouted, tossing a fist into the air as he remained lying on the bar.

  “What did you remember?” Jack asked.

  “The person who called the other day,” he said, looking rather pleased.

  “I knew he’d remember,” Jack said. “He always does.”

  “I didn’t write down the message because I knew I’d remember.” Hank laughed triumphantly.

  Hank doesn’t laugh, I thought, watching him warily.

  “Well?” I asked when he stopped and resumed pondering the ceiling.

  Hank looked over and blinked. “Oh. It’s that big guy that you used to see. The one with the muscles.”

  “Are you talking about T?” I asked, not that I ever used to “see” him.

  “No. That other one.” Hank squinted at the ceiling in concentration. “Brett. That was his name.”

  Brett?

  I slid a glance over to Evan, who turned thunderous.

  Thank you, Hank.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until we were both at my house that Evan finally spoke, and when he did, it was in cool, even tones that I knew masked his anger by a thin, delicate veil.

  “Why did Brett call you?” he asked, leaning against the wall in a pose that seemed relaxed had not his arms been crossed in front of him, shielding him. “Are you seeing him?”

  “I’m not seeing him. I’m seeing you,” I answered.

  “Then why did he call?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is it because he’s still paying your bills?” Evan asked.

  “Possibly. I didn’t ask him to pay my bills.”

  “No. But you didn’t say no either,” he said.

  I didn’t have anything to add to that. He was right. I didn’t say no. But I don’t know if I would have said no with bills up to my ears and no job.

  “Or,” Evan said, pushing off the wall to stand closer, “is it because of the airline ticket he bought you? Where is that envelope anyway? I haven’t seen it for a few days.”

  “It’s not like I’m going on vacation with him,” I said. “I already explained what the ticket was for.”

  “Refresh my memory.”

  I pinched my lips together so I wouldn’t yell. Yelling never solves anything, but damn, it would feel good right now. Evan had been patient with my situation. Unfortunately, we’d found his limit.

  “Brett bought the ticket so I could fly to Houston. The Sledgehammer trial . . . pretrial . . . whatever the hell it is, is soon. I don’t fully understand my role, and the lawyers said that since I’m in a different state I didn’t have to come, but I want to.”

  “Because of Brett?”

  “No . . . yes.”

  Evan’s eyes darkened. “Yes?”

  I rubbed my arm, remembering the Sledgehammer’s eyes. They were so filled with hatred, but something was broken inside. Something so evil lurked inside her that it had shattered her.

  “Yes. For Brett and for his sister. For his family. And for me,” I said, still rubbing my arm. I found I do that when I think about her. I can’t recall if she hit me or stunned me . . . or maybe she just grabbed my arm. But it burned when memories flooded.

  “I don’t expect you to understand, Evan,” I said, gazing at him and feeling rather small. “I don’t expect anyone to understand. She stole a little piece of me. I want it back.”

  Evan’s eyes softened, just enough. “I think I understand. She hurt you. But I don’t see how going to Houston will help.”

  “Don’t you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then you don’t understand. I want to see her again. To look her in her dead, hollow eyes and know that she didn’t beat me. I beat her. I will testify and do whatever I have to do to keep her in jail forever.”

  “I think she’s pretty well locked up for the long haul,” Evan said. “I’ve been keeping up with the story. I don’t think anything you say will keep her in longer.”

  My head cocked to the side, assessing Evan.

  Evan’s a very smart man. He proves it every day with school and work. But, there are some things you aren’t able to learn until you experience them.

  “There is something I have that no other person can bring to the trial,” I said.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “My experience,” I said. “I’m the only survivor.”

  He was about to speak, but I wasn’t finished.

  “I am the only survivor, Evan. The other women no longer have voices,” I said, holding my own voice as steady as I could. “They no longer get to face the woman who killed them. They no longer can find resolution. But I can. And I will. For them. For me. And even for Brett.”

  Evan gave a nod and pulled me into a hug, speaking softly into my ear. “Then I want you to go.”

  * * *

  Evan left early the next morning to go meet the movers at his apartment. He wasn’t sure where to haul his belongings, but since the movers had already been scheduled, there was no point in canceling what had to happen anyway.

  “Tonigh
t?” he asked before leaving.

  “Tonight,” I answered.

  He dropped a kiss on my head and left, leaving me to wonder what my answer would be.

  This called for Kym, I thought, searching for my phone. I found it in my pants that had been discarded halfway up the stairs.

  Well, if nothing else, the sex is worth moving to Boston.

  A warm blush spread.

  * * *

  I met Kym at her house a few hours later. Jim and Aaron were out having “guy time,” she told me.

  She poured a generous glass of red wine and set it down in front of me.

  “It’s only eleven,” I said, eyeing the wine. I wanted to down it in one fortifying gulp.

  “I have a feeling you might need it,” she said.

  I glanced at her suspiciously. “And where would this ‘feeling’ come from?”

  “Mrs. J.,” she said honestly. “She’s an amazing spy.”

  “And a yapper,” I said, reaching for the wine glass. I took a slow sip, preparing for a huge decision. “How much do you know?”

  “Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me,” she said. “I want to make sure Mrs. J. got all her facts right.”

  She probably did.

  “It’s a short story,” I said. “Evan wants me to move with him to Boston.”

  Kym choked. She hadn’t been drinking, so I’m not quite sure what she choked on. I patted her on the back.

  “I’m fine,” Kym said between coughs. She snatched my wine glass and took a gulp. When she was finally able to speak without sputtering wine, she leveled me with a serious look. “You’re not moving.”

  “Kym . . .”

  “No,” she cut me off. “You’re not moving away. You’re my best friend.”

  “And you’re my best friend,” I said. “But we’re talking about a relationship.”

  “That you just started with Evan. It’s not like you’ve been dating for a year.”

  “No. But we’ve known each other longer.”

  “You know him from working an occasional party together. You don’t know him.”