The Deal

by Holly Hart

  Awww…

  “Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”

  “I’m your husband, Sara,” he says. “It’s in the job description.”

  He grabs the keys to the old Camry we swapped for his neighbor’s Toyota at a chop shop in West Garfield. The guy thought we were pulling a sting on him, trading a new SUV for a fifteen-year-old sedan. Chance said take it or leave it, and here we are.

  I’m learning how much Chance knows about being a criminal, and to be honest, it’s a bit disconcerting. And, to be even more honest, it’s also a major turn-on.

  I take advantage of the time alone to call Grace on my new phone. She finally picks up on the fifth ring.

  “Hello?” she says tentatively. The unknown number probably has her thinking I’m a telemarketer.

  “Grace,” I say. “It’s me.”

  “Sara!” she shouts, forcing me to pull the receiver away from my ear. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to call you all afternoon!”

  “Settle down. I’ve got more important things to worry about than your party.”

  “Fuck the party! There are people looking for you, Sara! Very serious-looking people!”

  Shit! I forgot Grace is staying at my apartment!

  “Who were they?” I ask. “Did they leave a name or number?”

  “All I know is they were in black suits. They said if you got in touch with me, I should call them immediately.”

  “Okay, do not call them,” I say slowly. “That’s the last thing we want to do. Chance and I are… on the road. We have to lay low for a while.”

  “Is that why your number is different?”

  “Yes,” I say, not adding it’s also the reason my address, vehicle and hair color are different.

  Okay,” she says. “But what’s going on? Weird stuff keeps happening.”

  “You mean besides the men in black?”

  “Yeahhh,” she says hesitantly. “Look, Sara, I talked to Tre this afternoon. I was trying to track you guys down. He said Chance is in big trouble.”

  I take a deep breath. “It’s nothing we can’t handle, sis. Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

  “There’s something else,” she says quietly. “Something Tre told me. It’s… not good.”

  What she says next breaks my heart.

  151

  58. CHANCE

  There’s an odd look on Sara’s face when I get back with her burger.

  Everything okay?” I ask as I set it on the table.

  “I called Grace on the new phone,” she says. “Some men in black suits came by my apartment looking for me.”

  “Is she all right?” I ask, alarmed.

  “She’s fine. Just a little rattled. But it blows the hope that we’re just being paranoid right out of the water. This is real.”

  I came to that conclusion before we left the house, but I suppose my instincts are a little sharper than hers. Comes with the job.

  She takes a bite of her burger, chews it automatically. I doubt she’s even tasting it.

  “I’m sorry I brought your sister into this,” I say. “I never wanted any of this to happen.”

  “I know that,” she says. “And Gracie’s tough. She can handle it.”

  “Did she say anything else?”

  Sara chews in silence for a moment before saying: “No, that’s it.”

  I sit down in the chair across from her and toss my ball cap onto the shelf that also serves as the stand for the room’s old analog television set. Maybe it’s my imagination, but she seems more upset by her talk with Grace than she’s letting on.

  But I won’t push her on it. We’re still feeling our way through all of this craziness – the situation, the marriage. The last thing I want is to put more unnecessary pressure on her.

  Unfortunately, that’s exactly what I’m about to do.

  “It’s yet another reason for me to get this shit sorted out as soon as I can,” I say. “I’ve got an idea that might work, but I’ll need your help.”

  “Anything,” she says. “What’s the plan?”

  “I need to get into Pearce’s offices and find out who his partner is on this deal. At the very least, that might help me figure out why he wants Atlas so bad. Maybe I can use that as leverage to convince the Sullivans not to sell.”

  She looks at me sidelong. “You really want to add breaking and entering to the fact we’re already fugitives?”

  “Technically, we’re not on the run from anyone because no one has charged us with anything yet. From a legal standpoint, we just have really poor taste in accommodations right now.”

  “Semantics will get you nowhere,” she says. “Don’t make light of the situation. We’re in a lot of trouble, no matter how you look at it.”

  I sigh. “Yeah, we are. I’m just trying to keep myself from dwelling on it and to think strategically. Panic and depression don’t help with that.”

  She walks behind me and starts kneading my trapezius muscles through my t-shirt. It feels incredible.

  “Just what the doctor ordered,” I sigh.

  “Let’s say you find out who this mystery partner is,” she says. “How could you use it against Pearce? I mean, you can’t do anything about a legitimate business deal.”

  “That’s just it – I don’t think it is legitimate. If someone is using Empire to buy Atlas and its influence in Washington, it’s because that someone doesn’t have either the money or the credibility to do it themselves. Pearce may have a reputation in the business world, but only a superficial one. Yeah, he’s a shark, but his checks don’t bounce.

  “Someone with a less stellar reputation – an arms dealer, say, or a loudmouth media mogul – would never convince the Sullivans to sell, even if they had the money. So they go to Pearce, who uses his reputation to their advantage. Once he owns Atlas, the next buyer can be whoever is willing to pay him the money.”

  Sara’s fingers continue to dig as she mulls over what I’ve said. I have to make a mental note that she likes to do things with her hands while she thinks. If she keeps this up, I might just nod off on her.

  “So Jersey Boy’s uncle is the partner, that much I’m sure of,” she says. “We just need to figure out who he is. Piece of cake. There’s only, what, like nine million people in New Jersey?”

  I chuckle. “Hopefully I can narrow it down if I get into Pearce’s computer system.”

  She finishes up with my neck and gives it a little kiss before sitting down on the bed.

  “And you can hack into his system?”

  “Should be able to, yeah.”

  She stares at me long enough for me to start feeling uncomfortable.

  “What?” I ask. “Did I grow a new eye or something?”

  “You learned all this stuff in the Marines?”

  A jolt of adrenaline stabs my gut. No, hacking was definitely not a part of Marines basic training. I learned most of this stuff from certain people who I really don’t want to talk about.

  “Sully had access to people with skills,” I say. “I’m really not at liberty to go into details.”

  “Not even with your wife?”

  “Sara, that’s something you’re going to have to get used to. Some of what I do is classified.”

  She nods thoughtfully. “I get that.”

  So why do I think she’s still hurt by it?

  “Anyway,” she says. “What do you need my help with? Unfortunately, I don’t know anything about espionage or hacking.”

  “Actually, what I need you to do is something you do exceptionally well.”

  “Really?” she says, feigning shock. “And you want me to do it in public?”

  I grin and shake my head. “I meant something else you’re really good at.”

  “Which is?”

  “I need you to draw attention to yourself.”

  152

  59. SARA

  I can think of a lot of places I’d rather be at this time of night than Lincoln Park. Unfortunately, a jail cell is
n’t one of them, so here I am.

  And just in case sitting alone in a vast city park with nothing but the glow of the streetlights to see by isn’t bad enough, I’m also waiting for the person who threatened to ruin me just last week.

  “You owe me so big, Talbot,” I mutter.

  A smattering of people have walked past my bench since I got here: a few merrymakers staggering home from the bars, a bodybuilder jogging, a Goth-looking gal with two huge Rottweilers. But none of them are Quentin Pearce. When we spoke on the phone, he said he’d be here within a half-hour. It’s been over forty-five minutes now.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he bailed on me,” I say softly.

  “Talking to yourself, Ms. Bishop?” says a voice from behind me.

  I leap to my feet and spin to face Pearce, who’s approaching from the grass behind the bench. Obviously a plan to catch me off guard and upset me.

  “Quentin,” I say. “You startled me.”

  “Not nearly as much as you startled me by marrying Chance Talbot,” he says, strolling closer to the streetlight so I can see him clearly.

  I shrug. “You weren’t offering, so I figured I’d take the rebound.”

  His jaw muscle twitches in the white glow of the overhead lights. Looks like he’s not the only one who can throw people off their game.

  “Hilarious,” he says in a cold voice. “I assume you didn’t make me drive all the way here to make a joke. I was enjoying a pleasant night in with friends.”

  “No wonder it took you so long to get here,” I say. “But you’re right, I needed to discuss a few things.”

  “And you couldn’t do it over the phone?”

  “We both know that phone lines aren’t a safe option for me right now. I took a big enough risk just calling you to meet me here.”

  “Ah, yes,” he says. “I believe there are a few employees of the Department of Defense who would like to have a chat with you. Tre told me that they showed up at your apartment.”

  Hearing Tre’s name makes my stomach flip. I’d love to tear Pearce a new one over luring him to the dark side, but I can’t talk about it. Literally.

  “Let’s cut to the chase,” I say. “I want this all to stop. How do I make that happen?”

  “Tell your husband to sell his shares. It really is that simple.”

  “And you’ll just let that happen? He can just walk away from Atlas with your money and everything will be forgotten?”

  “I’m a businessman, Sara. Once I have his shares, you and Chance Talbot can run away and join the circus for all I care.”

  I glance at my watch: it’s been almost an hour since Pearce left his house. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll have to drag this out.

  “What about the DoD people?” I ask.

  “I’ll use my influence to call them off. Apologize for sending them on a wild goose chase.”

  “Let’s say I believe you. What happens if I can’t get him to sell?”

  He pinches the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

  “This is getting tedious, Sara,” he sighs. “And the deadline is approaching. I’m running out of patience.”

  “Got it,” Chance’s voice says through the transmitter in my ear. “Get out of there.”

  I smile. “I’m really sorry for wasting your time, Quentin. I’ll let you get back home now.”

  He stares at me for a moment. “What?” he says finally.

  “Yeah, I don’t think I have anything of substance to offer you tonight. I really just wanted to see your handsome face. Now that I have, I’ll be going.”

  I turn to walk away, supremely satisfied knowing that not only did we accomplish our mission, I got to be a huge pain in Pearce’s ass tonight.

  Before I can take three steps, though, I see two silhouettes walk out of the shadows of a copse of nearby elms.

  “Leaving so soon?” says one of them, a man with a New Jersey accent. “That’s kinda rude, don’t you think?”

  153

  60. SARA

  “Sara!” Chance barks in my ear. “Tell me what’s happening.”

  “Who are you two?” I say, not wanting to address Chance directly and risk exposing our plan.

  “We’re Quentin’s associates,” says the guy from Jersey. “He invited us along to see if we might have better luck impressing upon you how serious this situation is.”

  Jersey Boy is overweight, mid-thirties, with olive skin. The other one, a younger bald man in a black jacket and jeans, is silent. At least now I know what took Pearce the extra fifteen minutes to get here.

  “Not interested,” I say, striding around them.

  Jersey Boy reaches out and grabs me by the arm as I pass him.

  “Now that’s definitely rude,” he says. “We just want to talk.”

  Chance is in my ear again: “Sara! Get out of there!”

  I look down at the guy’s meathook on my arm, then up at his face.

  “Do you jerk off with that hand?” I ask.

  He glowers at me. “What did you say, bitch?”

  An instant later, his hand is in both of mine, twisted almost to the point of snapping. Jersey Boy drops to his knees in agony just as I dislocate his thumb.

  “Jesus Christ!” he shrieks.

  “Best learn how to use the other one,” I say.

  Suddenly the bald one has me in a bear hug from behind.

  “Don’t hurt her!” Pearce snaps. “I told him this was a stupid idea!”

  I kick my legs furiously in front of me in an attempt to break his hold. Nothing doing.

  “Sara!” Chance again. “Are you all right?”

  “Just give me a minute,” I mutter.

  “What?” asks the bald guy.

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” I say as I jam the heel of my pump into his instep. The sound of his snapping metatarsal bones would make Kelsey proud.

  I finish him off with a backwards head strike to the bridge of his nose. The crunch isn’t quite as satisfying as his foot, though.

  He slumps to the ground and I round on Pearce. His eyes are saucers, and I revel in the fact that I finally made him lose his cool.

  “I’m sure the Sullivans will be very interested in what just happened,” I say with a grin. “And what they can expect from the new owners of Atlas if they sell.”

  My heels clip-clop against the concrete as I walk toward Webster Avenue and the cab I told to wait for me when I got here.

  As I reach the fountain across from the bus stop, I smile as I hear Quentin yell “FUUUCK!” at the top of his lungs.

  154

  61. CHANCE

  “Remind me never to fuck with you,” I say as I open my laptop on the motel room table.

  “I don’t do all that training with Kelsey just to maintain my shapely legs, you know,” she says through a shit-eating grin.

  I insert the data stick with the info I stole from the office in Pearce’s house in Lake Forest while Sara was entertaining him and his friends. The distraction gave me almost two hours to break in, fill the stick, and get back out. But we’re still looking for a needle in a haystack.

  “So what did you find?” she asks, looking over my shoulder at the screen.

  “I did a search through his most recent transactions, and the name Nova Chemical kept popping up,” I say as the data fills the screen. “I did a little checking before I left: it’s a small operation, hardly worth Empire’s notice.”

  “So why is it so important?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Wait a minute,” Sara says, her eyes widening. “Nova Chemicals… now I know why I recognize the name! I did some work for the owner last year. Background checks on some job applicants. Paid really well.”

  I scratch my chin. There’s something hinky about this.

  “That’s quite a coincidence,” I say. “Who did you deal with?”

  “A guy named Dacosta. He was a real creep – kept asking me all sorts of personal questions. I think he was trying to hit on me
, but he wasn’t very good at it.”

  Wait a minute… this can’t be right…

  “This Dacosta guy: was his first name Sebastian?” I ask.

  She raises her eyebrows. “How did you know that?”

  Shit. As if this wasn’t convoluted enough as it was. This is a monkey wrench I really don’t need. But it might help me make sense of all this.

  “I met Sebastian Dacosta in basic training,” I say. “Served with him in one of my tours in Iraq.”

  That’s as far as I’m going to go with that.

  “I got the sense he thought of himself as a tough guy,” she says. “Like he got off on being intimidating.”

  “That was him all over. He used to brag about being from a ‘connected’ family, as if that would somehow impress a bunch of Marines.”

  Sara sits down next to me and drapes her arm over my shoulder, still staring at the screen.

  “What does it all mean?” she asks. “Now that you say ‘connected family,’ it makes me think of the guy from New Jersey tonight. He definitely gave off a distinct vibe, kind of like your friend Sebastian.”

  “He wasn’t my friend,” I snap.

  “Okay, okay,” she says. “Your enemy, then.”

  I sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m on edge.”

  “You’re on edge? I was the one who took on two guys single-handedly!”

  I turn to her and take her hands in mine.

  “That’s why I’m on edge,” I say. “When I heard what was happening over your earpiece, I almost lost it. The thought of you in danger…”

  “I was never in any danger,” she says, laying a palm on my cheek. “You’ve seen me in action, remember?”

  “In my head, I know that. But that didn’t stop my heart from going into spasms at the thought of you getting hurt. It’s not something I’ve ever thought about before, but now – now I think I have to know that you’re safe all the time, or I might go crazy.”

  She stares into my eyes. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she whispers.

  “I lost you once,” I say. “I’m not going to let it happen again.”