by Celia Aaron
“In!” Conrad yelled as we got to the SUV.
I yanked open the door and dove onto the backseat. Conrad followed, covering me with his body as he slammed the door behind us. Nate cranked the engine, and then we were in motion, tearing down the alley as slugs slammed into the cold metal around us. Conrad pressed down on me, his chest to my back, his warm breath against my neck.
“Fuck you, Ramone!” Nate yelled as we exited the alley at a breakneck pace. The car fishtailed as he took a hard right, but he straightened it out as we sped away.
“Are you all right?” Conrad’s raspy voice caressed my ear.
I swallowed hard. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” He sat up and pulled me onto the seat next to him.
A tremor shot through me, and I clutched my elbows.
“Shock.” Conrad wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “You’ll be okay. Just breathe.”
Nate whipped around cars and blew through lights as Conrad stared out the back window. Blaring horns and screeching tires formed a cacophony around us. A light sleet began to fall, ticking against the windshield.
“We’re clear.” Conrad pulled me into his lap. “Slow down.”
“I’m okay.” I pushed against his chest, but he held me tight.
Nate swerved around an eighteen-wheeler, then eased off the accelerator.
Another tremble shook me, my teeth clacking against each other and sending darts of pain through my jaw.
“Shh.” He ran his hand through my hair.
Why did I find him so soothing? I leaned against him, breathing in the special sort of violence he wielded. The steady thump in his chest reminded me that we’d escaped from the hitman’s grasp, but Ramone wouldn’t stop until my heart was silent.
“We can’t go back to my place.” Conrad’s jaw was tight, tension reigning over every muscle. “Ramone will head there next.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Nate hit the freeway, taking us downtown.
“Best you don’t know.”
“The fuck, man?” Nate stared at Conrad in the rear view mirror. “I’m not riding the pine on this. I’m the only one who’s got your back.”
“And that’s why you need to stay in the city. Keep an eye on Vince.”
“I just got into a gunfight with Ramone.” Nate slapped his good hand on the wheel. “You think Vince will overlook that little fact?”
Conrad nodded, his palm stroking my back. “I know he will. You’re a soldier. Even though you got in Ramone’s way, you’re a part of Vince’s family. Ramone’s just a hired gun. Like me. Your allegiance will trump any dust-up with a contractor.”
Nate’s gaze flickered to me. “Great. Now the little lady knows who’s trying to punch her clock.”
Conrad shifted and pressed me in even closer. “She deserves to know who’s trying to kill her.”
14
Charlie
We dropped Nate off at a shoddy row of houses across the river. He’d kept trying to argue with Conrad, to find some sort of foothold to stay with us, but Conrad’s mind was made up.
Conrad had held me for the entire ride. I didn’t try to escape him, just let him calm my nerves and comfort away the tremors with the smooth stroke of his hand. Maybe he’d been right and I was in shock.
I didn’t know where I was going or what I could do to stop the avalanche of horrible events from burying me alive. Even so, I warmed to the embrace of a killer and seemed to pull myself back from the brink by simply holding onto him.
Once we’d reached Nate’s neighborhood, the men had a quick conversation, and then Nate fetched a satchel from inside the trunk of a broken down Sentra in the driveway. When he’d laid the bag in the back of the SUV, I heard the unmistakable clatter of guns.
I climbed through the center console and settled into the passenger seat, waiting as Conrad dug through the satchel. The low hanging clouds seemed to muffle this part of Philadelphia, pushing down and crushing a couple of burned out houses along the block. A few were well kept, their lawns neat and the cars in the driveways even neater. Mixed in were houses with peeling paint and children’s printed sheets hanging in the windows instead of curtains.
So many questions raced around my mind. Where were we going? What would he do with me? When would this be over? I wanted to ask them all, but I was afraid of the answers. I could close the shop and leave town, but the way Nate and Conrad spoke about Vince gave me the feeling that he’d still find me. My skin crawled at the thought of Berty getting his hands on me again.
Con climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Take care of yourself, asshole.” Nate leaned against the driver’s side door.
“I will.”
Nate turned to me, his eyes serious despite his tone. “Stay gone, Charlie. Trust Conrad. He’s your ticket to getting out of this alive.” His lips twitched. “I mean, I know you’ll be thinking about me the whole time you’re gone, but—”
“That’s enough.” Conrad’s voice lowered to a lethal level, and he flexed his hands on the steering wheel.
A car backed out of a driveway down the block and rolled past slowly. Conrad reached inside his suit coat, and Nate stared at the driver.
Once the car had passed, Nate said, “Hannah from that bakery over in Springfield. Sad to say she always seems to be baking up a loaf of sour dough down below.”
I wrinkled my nose and gave Nate what I hoped was a look of utter disgust.
He grinned. “Oh, come on. I’m just speaking the truth over here.”
Conrad pulled his hand away from his gun, though he scanned the road, his eyes always looking for trouble.
“Nate, can you check on the Chans for me?” I hoped that they had been safe in their hiding place, and Conrad assured me that Ramone wouldn’t bother with harming them. But a little confirmation would help me feel better about the gunfight I’d brought to their doorstep.
Nate shrugged. “They might not want to see the guy who wanted to stuff them into the washer.”
“Good point.” Somehow, Nate had grown on me in the past twenty-four hours. The side of my lips curled up despite my best efforts to keep a straight face. “In that case, I think you might want to call them rather than stopping by.”
“Will do.” He turned back to Conrad. “Do you have an endgame?”
“Always.” Cold confidence radiated from him. So warm when I was in his arms, but calculating and methodical with everyone else.
“How will I know when it’s go time?”
“I’ll be in touch. Keep your head down. Follow Vince’s orders. If he asks you what happened with Ramone, tell him the truth. If you get into any shit, contact me. I’ll call you from a burner later today.”
Nate sighed. “Shit’s going to get even hairier, isn’t it?”
“With Ramone in play? Definitely.”
“Talk to you soon.” Nate backed away, giving me a little salute before standing to his full height and turning toward the house. Conrad hit the gas, leaving Nate in the rear view.
“Where are we going?”
He kept his stunning eyes on the road. “Out of town.”
“Where?” I twisted my fingers together, trying to calm the rising tide of worry inside me. I was alone with a killer on the road to who-knew-where. What if Conrad decided to kill me? No one would ever find me. Had I been too trusting? I had a fleeting wish for a weapon, but one look at Conrad told me it was futile. Even if I was armed to the teeth, if Conrad wanted me dead, dead was what I’d be.
He skimmed me with a glance. Tired, unshaven, and injured from the previous day, he still made unwelcome butterflies flit through my stomach. The sharp line of his jaw could carve ice, and the strength contained inside his large body could snuff the life out of any man.
“I’m limited on options.” He used his blinker and turned out of Nate’s neighborhood, heading back to the freeway. “We can’t stay in the city. Ramone will expect us to stay in a motel, someplace that takes cash and aliases. He’ll have eyes on eve
ry place within a hundred miles of Philly.”
“So if not in a motel, then where?” I didn’t want to sleep in the car, but if I had to do it to stay alive, I would.
He merged onto the freeway, the midday traffic slow and thick under the dark sky. “Somewhere they won’t think to look. Not for a while, anyway. Cape May.”
Cape May was an old seaside resort town, like a smaller, far less glitzy Atlantic City. I’d never been, but the people who used to own the watch shop down the block from my business had retired there.
“Do you have a place in Cape May?” I couldn’t imagine Conrad Mercer lying on the beach while a mix of retirees and grandchildren frolicked in the sand nearby.
He shook his head. “No, but I know someone who does.”
“Do you trust them?” I settled into my seat as traffic thinned the farther we got from Philadelphia.
“Implicitly. The dead can’t speak.” Conrad took the next exit, then turned right into the gas station on the first corner.
“What do you mean?” I leaned over and glanced at the gas gauge. “And why are we stopping?”
“I mean we’re going to a dead man’s house.” He parked next to a gas pump. “Stay here. This will only take a minute.” He gave me a stern look before stepping out of the car.
I watched in the side view mirror as he walked around the SUV, his head on a swivel.
A large white truck with a busted fender sat on the other side of our pump, its owner smoking and talking on his phone as he filled up. Conrad crossed behind the smoker and knelt. I turned to look for him, but he was out of view. What the hell was he doing? After a minute, he popped up from behind the SUV, though I had no idea how he’d gotten back to our car without me seeing him.
He climbed into the driver’s seat and tossed a license plate into the back seat.
“Did you just steal that guy’s plates?”
“Sure did.” He steered us back onto the freeway. “Settle in. It’ll be a while before we get to Cape May. You warm enough?” He reached over to turn the heat up before I could answer. “I’ll stop for food once we get farther out.”
“Okay.” It’s not like I had much say in anything. I was along for the ride. “When do you think it will be over?”
“Hard to say. Nate’s going to get me as much information as possible. I need to get you somewhere safe, then reopen the discussion with Vince. He’s been reasonable in the past, though things are different now that he’s in charge.”
“Do you think he’ll change his mind about me?”
His jaw tightened, giving him away, though he hedged with his answer. “Maybe.”
“And when he doesn’t?”
He tensed even more. “I’ll handle it.” He glanced at me. “Why call it Jesse’s Flower Pot instead of Charlie’s? Who’s Jesse?”
What? The questions knocked me off balance. I pressed my lips between my teeth and shook my head. I didn’t talk about Jesse. Whenever someone had asked me about the shop’s name, I just smiled and changed the subject.
He sighed. “Okay then, why flowers?”
“You mean why did I open the shop?”
“Yeah.”
No one had asked me that before. I should have said “to make money” or “because I have a knack for it.” But neither were true. I didn’t earn much, and I had to practice and learn how to make arrangements to fit different occasions—what colors complemented each other, appropriate vases, ribbon tricks, and what the flowers meant.
I told the truth. “Flowers are brief.”
“Brief?” He gave me a quizzical look.
“You know how some women say they don’t like receiving flowers?”
“I’ve heard that, yeah. Because they die, right?”
“Yes.” The thought of him giving flowers to a woman who didn’t appreciate them made me grind my teeth. “Even if the grower didn’t cut them and send them to me, they wouldn’t last. The petals would fall and the stem would wither. They’re only here for a short time.” I ran my fingers down my seat belt, suddenly embarrassed to be telling him too much about me. “But during that time, they give their all. Even though they are going to fade away, they are still some of the most beautiful things in the world. And I chose to invest in that brief bit of splendor, live in the moment, realize that things can and will end, but that I don’t have to let fear of the end rule me.”
Conrad studied me, looking at me for far too long when he should have been paying attention to the road. He was doing it again—trying to see me. I’d given him a glimpse, showing him more of me than I’d shown anyone for a long time.
He turned back to the road, his brow furrowed. “What the hell happened to you, Charlie?”
15
Conrad
She turned and stared out at the trees lining the New Jersey highway, her lips pressed into a tight line. Her silence was almost as illuminating as what she’d said about her love of flowers. She’d known loss, been through some sort of trauma I could only guess at. And maybe only barely survived.
I’d always thought of her as a delicate flower, but her past had given her thorns. Ones I needed to inspect, to run my hands along them until they drew blood, until I understood every ounce of pain she’d endured. I wanted the details, wanted to reassure her she was safe with me. All I knew for certain was that the next time I found someone who’d hurt her, I’d kill them with no hesitation. And that included Berty.
Frustration welled inside me. Against my instincts, I’d left him alive. Because I followed orders. I only killed when told. It was the way the job worked. No one wanted to hire a mad dog. My business was methodical, professional. I was a weapon and only cold green bills could pull my trigger. But this time was different.
“Why do you do what you do?” She didn’t look at me as she posed her question.
“It pays.” The hard truth.
“Have you always done it?”
“Yes.” I kept the speedometer at five miles above the limit as we cruised along the edge of Vineland, a small speed trap between Philly and Cape May.
“How many people have you killed?” The slight shake in her voice cut me. She was afraid of me, of what I was capable of.
“A lot.” I reached over and grabbed her left hand. “And I’ll kill anyone I have to if that means you’re safe.”
She didn’t pull away, and a rush of heat shot through me when I realized how badly I’d needed to touch her. Keeping her close wasn’t an option anymore. It was a necessity. I’d lost it when I returned to my apartment and found her and Nate gone. I couldn’t think straight until I found her. She made an addict out of me. It didn’t make sense, but I couldn’t change it. Maybe I didn’t want to.
The clouds ahead of us lightened, giving false hope for better weather. The storm nipped at our heels and would swallow up what little light was left within the hour. “Let’s stop up here for food. We’ll need to get some things to take with us. I expect the house has been empty for a while.”
“Okay.” She pulled her sweater tightly around her. “I need to stretch my legs.”
“You stay in the car.” I turned off the freeway right outside of Vineland. “I’ll collect everything we need. I don’t want you turning up on surveillance video.”
She shook her head and pulled her hand from mine. “I need to get some things, too.”
“Tell me what they are, and I’ll get them.” I wanted to keep her glued to my side, but the risk was too great. She needed to stay in the car.
She nibbled her bottom lip, the movement far more tempting than it should have been. “But I have to pee.”
That was one thing I couldn’t do for her. Convenient. I gave her a hard stare. “You sure?”
“Am I sure I have to pee? Are you kidding?” She crossed her arms and jutted her chin out, giving her a petulant look that I wanted to fuck right out of her.
I shrugged and pulled into the parking lot of a rundown mom and pop store. “Fine. But I’m going in with you.” I scoped the
outside of “Printzel’s Quik Zip.” The busted sign, random bits of graffiti, and the lackluster clientele told me this wasn’t the sort of place that could afford high-end recording equipment. Maybe a camera on the cashier, but other than that, we wouldn’t be seen by digital eyes.
“What do you mean ‘with me’?” She reached for her door handle.
“I think you know.” I opened my door and walked around as she hopped out. “Let’s get it over with.” Pressing my palm to her lower back, I led her past an antique Buick that probably hadn’t run in years, and an old man sitting on the curb, giving us a toothless grin.
Pushing through the glass door plastered with handwritten “no loitering,” “no checks,” and “shoplifters will be prosecuted” signs, the faint odor of spoiled milk hit me right in the face. The small shop was located at the end of a mostly vacant strip mall. One camera watched over the till; otherwise, the place was unmonitored. A couple of shoppers milled through the dozen or so low shelves, and another handwritten sign on the back wall said, “Toilet for paying customers ONLY.”
I grabbed a small basket as the sole cashier eyed me and chewed her gum with her mouth open. “Is there a bathroom key?” I asked her from several paces away. Best to avoid the camera as much as possible.
“No, but you can’t use it unless you’re buying.” She popped a bubble, the pink gum plastering against her darkly shaded lips.
“We’re buying.” I held up the basket as Charlie walked toward the back wall. Her hips swayed as she went, her jeans hugging her curves. I imagined tugging them off, the softness of her skin laid bare.
“I can pee by myself.” She glared over her shoulder.
I didn’t respond, just followed her, enjoying the view. A dim hallway revealed three doors—one marked restroom and the other two marked private. The strong odors of piss and some sort of abrasive cleaner mingled in the air.
“Hang on.” I stepped ahead of her and reached for the door handle. I pulled it open, the wood scraping against the tile floor as it gave way. The smell intensified, but the bathroom was clear and had no window. Charlie would be safe. “Go ahead.”
