The Deal

by Holly Hart

  Sara climbs out of her chair and straddles me on mine. Her lips meet mine with a softness and warmth that’s a total contrast to our usual manic passion. I wrap my arms around her as she lowers her lips to my neck, tracing tiny, warm circles with the tip of her tongue.

  “I want you so much,” I sigh in her ear.

  “Not as much as I want you.”

  She climbs off me and leads me by the hand to the electric blue bed. I strip off my shorts and shirt as she frees herself from her tank top and yoga pants. We turn down the coverlet together and lie down, gently stroking each other’s bodies.

  “You have to get used to me taking care of myself,” she says.

  “I know. And you have to get used to me worrying about you.”

  She smiles. “You were the only one who ever worried about me. I was always worried about Grace, or Mom, or getting a beating from my father, but never myself. And I always felt safe in your arms.”

  “I actually did go kind of crazy when you turned me away that night,” I say. “It was like the only thing I could ever count on in the world was suddenly taken away from me, as if it had never existed. If I hadn’t had the Marines to carry me through, I don’t know what would have happened to me.”

  I see the tears pooling in her eyes and reach out a hand to stroke her face.

  “Shhh. There was nothing you could have done; I know that now. I just wanted you to know that’s how I felt about you.”

  “Sending you away was like slicing myself open with a rusty blade,” she husks. “I was never the same after that.”

  Jesus, now I’ve got water in my eyes, too.

  “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

  She giggles in spite of her tears. “Yeah, we’d make a therapist rich. Well, you would, anyway.”

  “Excuse me?” I say with mock indignation. “You’re just as screwed up as I am!”

  “Yeah, but I don’t have any money, so I can’t make anyone rich.”

  We grin and go back to making out. It’s slow and wet and warm and luxurious. Sara strokes my cock gently with the tips of her fingers as I gently massage her breasts.

  “We should talk about money,” I say.

  “Yes, we should. But not right now.”

  Her hard nipples poke my chest as she reaches over me to turn off the lamp on the rickety nightstand.

  “Now,” she says, “it’s time to serenade the neighbors with another bedspring concerto.”

  155

  62. SARA

  I drop my knife and fork to my empty plate with a faint clank and push my chair back from our table. The Rest-All motel may be shit, but the breakfast here at the attached diner is incredible.

  “God, I needed that,” I say with a sigh that turns into a belch.

  Chance cocks an eyebrow at me. I smile sweetly.

  “You put a ring on it, baby,” I coo. “It’s all yours.”

  He pops his last scrap of toast into his grinning yap and chews.

  “We definitely worked up an appetite last night,” he says. “I’m surprised none of the other guests called the manager on us.”

  I glance around at the rest of the diner’s clientele. Most of them look like fifty bucks a night is stretching their budget to the limit. More than a few look like they’ve been rode hard and put away wet.

  “I have a feeling they’ve got other things to worry about.”

  Chance chugs down the rest of his coffee. “What time are you meeting your sister at the farmer’s market?”

  “In about an hour,” I say, glancing at the clock on my new phone.

  “You remember the drill?”

  “Yes,” I sigh. “Wear sunglasses, watch my six, keep to crowded areas, bolt into the crowd if I see trouble.”

  He gives me a sheepish look.

  “Like I said last night, I need to know you’re safe.”

  “I know,” I grin. “And I love you for it.”

  Suddenly we both freeze. My heart feels like it’s waiting for something before it beats again. I can feel the blood rushing into my cheeks.

  “I mean,” I sputter. “You know, just that –”

  “I know what you mean,” he says, taking my hand. “I love you, too.”

  Okay. Now it’s out there. We said those words to each other all the time as kids, but we’ve both been avoiding it since all this craziness started.

  We stare at each other anxiously for several long moments. Sara’s the one who finally breaks the silence.

  “That’s a good thing, right?” I ask tentatively. “For a husband and wife to love each other?”

  “It’s the best thing. It’s the only thing.”

  We sit there holding hands, stroking each other’s fingers with our thumbs like shy teens on a first date.

  “You know,” I say. “I’ve still got a whole hour before I have to meet Grace…”

  He pulls me out of the chair and tosses a fifty on the table. In a few seconds we’re taking the stairs to our room two at a time.

  So much for the shy part.

  I sidle up to Grace by a booth where a long-haired man in his sixties is selling shirts made out of hemp for a hundred bucks apiece. For that price, he better be making them by hand.

  Says the wife of a man who drives a Bugatti and flies her to Bora Bora on a private jet. Then again, I drive a fifteen-year-old Camry right now, but we’ll address that as soon as all this craziness ends.

  Assuming all this craziness ever does end.

  “Don’t react,” I whisper from behind her. She flinches, but doesn’t turn around. “We’re just two old friends who haven’t seen each other in a few months.”

  She plays her part well, turning and giving me a mild “Hey!” and a half-hearted hug.

  “If I’d known you were such a good actress, I would have taken you into the field with me on cases,” I say, smiling.

  “This is seriously fucked up,” she says with a smile of her own. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Me, too.”

  We leave the hemp shirt emporium behind and stroll down a concourse lined with everything from late-season corn and healing crystals to Indian food and mini-donuts.

  “How do I look as a blonde?”

  “Like someone on the run,” she says. “Sara, what’s going on?”

  I give her more details on why we’re hiding out and my meeting-slash-rumble with Pearce and his friends last night.

  “Holy shit,” she breathes. “That’s insane.”

  “Tell me about it. How are things at the office?”

  “The Steins are asking if we have anything new on their daughter, but for the most part it’s been quiet.”

  Shit. I was following up leads on Ashley Stein when I got that first call from Pearce. God, it feels like a year ago now. I can’t believe it hasn’t even been a month.

  “Tell them how sorry we are, and that they’re the top priority once I get back to work.”

  “So you are coming back to work?” she asks.

  “Of course. Why would you wonder?”

  She shrugs. “You get married without telling me, take off for days to the other side of the world, go underground. How am I supposed to know what’s going on in your head?”

  I sigh and wrap an arm around her shoulders.

  “Not being the best big sister right now, am I?” I whisper. “I’m sorry about all this, Gracie.”

  “I don’t think it’s you who should be sorry,” she says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean Chance seems to be the common denominator here. He’s the reason you’re getting caught up in all this craziness.”

  I stop her with a hand on her arm. “That’s not fair. He’s just trying to save his company, not to mention his freedom and reputation.”

  “Are you sure there’s nothing else going on?” she asks as we find a bench in the shade of a boulevard tree and take a seat.

  “What are you getting at? Spit it out.”

  “Look,�
� she says. “I’m just saying Tre has a different story. If he really believed Chance was innocent in all this, why is he switching allegiances to Quentin Pearce?”

  That question has been in the back of my mind since Grace first told me about it. I can’t believe Tre would betray his best friend like that, after all they’ve been through together. And I haven’t told Chance about it, because I know it would crush him.

  “Maybe you should ask Tre that, not me,” I snap. “I thought I knew him. Guess I was wrong.”

  Grace scowls. “He’s still the same guy he always was. He told me he wishes you’d never gotten caught up in this stuff, and he really thought it was crazy for Chance to propose to you like he did. To be honest, so did I.”

  “Look,” I say. “You’re just going to have to trust that we know what we’re doing. Is that too much to ask?”

  She thinks it over for a few moments before nodding.

  “All right,” she says. “I’ll do that for you, if you do something for me.”

  “Fine.”

  “Just think it over. Isn’t it possible that there’s something to what Tre said? I mean, you know him. He’s not the kind of person to switch sides for no reason, especially against his best friend. Maybe you need to ask yourself how much you really know about Chance and his past.”

  I want to dismiss all this as just more of Grace’s nonsense. She’s always lived in a fantasy world – I was the one who kept our father from going after her and took the beatings myself. I shielded her from the worst of Mom’s illness. Hell, I gave her a job and let her live in my apartment! She has no idea how the real world works!

  But do I really believe that? Or am I willfully ignoring some of the things I already know about Chance?

  “Sara?” she says with a wince. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No,” I say. “Not at you. Look, I’ll think over what you’ve said as long as you agree to keep an open mind about Chance. I mean, he is your brother-in-law.”

  “For now, anyway,” she says glumly.

  156

  63. CHANCE

  “Well, look who randomly showed up!”

  I grin at the joke just like I always have as Tre’s mom opens the back door to her house for me.

  “That one never gets old, Mrs. C,” I say as she ushers me into her kitchen. “Just like you.”

  She giggles. “And you never get any better at lying, Chance, but I appreciate the effort.”

  I wish I could say she’s right about my ability to lie, but she’s not.

  Once we’re inside, she pulls me in for a hug. Natalie Carter is a big woman, with big hugs, and she always smells of rose oil. To this day, it’s one of my most powerful memory triggers, taking me back to my days of sleeping on the couch in her house in Philly.

  The one Tre bought her here in Chicago is small and old-fashioned, but she loves it and that’s what matters. It’s also very close to the Rest-All Motel, which I why I chose it.

  “Sit down, take a load off the floor,” she says, waving a hand at the kitchen table. “Coffee?”

  “You read my mind. So how are you?”

  “Oh, you know me,” she says, placing a pair of cups on the table and taking a seat opposite me. “I’m always good.”

  She watches me take a sip of my coffee. I savor it for a few seconds, knowing full well what’s to come.

  “You all settled?” she asks.

  “Yup,” I say, wincing. “Let me have it.”

  “Are you out of your fool-ass mind, boy?!” she hollers. “You go off and get married without inviting your Mama C to the wedding? To Sara Bishop, of all people! I haven’t even had a chance to see the child since she came back, and now she’s your wife!”

  I nod. “I deserve all of that. And I’m sorry. All I can say right now is that we were victims of circumstance.”

  She waves a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes, I know, classified work stuff and all that. But why didn’t you bring Sara with you today?”

  “She was busy with work,” I say, proving that I do indeed know how to lie. “But her sister Grace is planning a party, and you’ll be the guest of honor. How’s that?”

  She eyes me up sternly, but can’t keep the grin from her face.

  “I suppose that’ll do.” She raises a warning finger. “For a start.”

  “Whew,” I say, wiping pretend sweat from my brow.

  “I’m just so happy for you two,” she says. “Finding each other again. I always thought it was a damn shame the way you two broke up back in Philly.”

  “Me, too. But we’re making up for lost time now.”

  In more ways than one.

  She sighs. “I wish Tre would find the right girl. The boy works too much.”

  There’s my opening.

  “Have you seen him lately?” I ask, sipping my coffee.

  “He was over just last night,” she smiles. “Brought me an Entenmann’s crunch cake. You want a slice?”

  “No, thanks. So what did he have to say for himself?”

  “He said he’s been working with some new fella named Quentin. Price, was it?”

  “Pearce,” I say. “Yeah, he’s new. So, what are those two up to? I’ve been out of the office for a while with the wedding and everything.”

  She tells me what Tre told her. I take copious mental notes as we talk for another half-hour. Finally, I glance at my watch.

  “Sorry, Mrs. C, I have to run.”

  “Got to meet the missus?” she says with a knowing wink. “I was a newlywed once myself.”

  “That’s one of the things I love about you,” I chuckle, shaking my head. “You never beat around the bush.”

  She gives me a peck on the cheek.

  “You bring that bride around for supper soon,” she says. “I’ll make my pot roast.”

  My stomach rumbles at the memory of her home-cooking, reminding me I haven’t eaten since breakfast.

  “It’s a date,” I say. “Sara’s dying to see you again.”

  “You give her a kiss for me, hon. I’ll see you soon.”

  She sees me off with a wave and I start the six-block walk back to the Rest-All, my mind running a mile a minute.

  157

  64. SARA

  It’s early afternoon and Chance still isn’t back at the room, so I boot up my laptop and scroll through my news feed while I wait.

  I don’t have a lot of friends on social media, so there are only a handful of people demanding, like Grace, to know what I thought I was doing, getting married without letting them know. “PM ME!” they all say.

  That’s not going to happen anytime soon.

  I can’t get Grace’s words out of my head: for now.

  He told me he loved me. That should be enough. He’s the same boy I fell in love with all those years ago.

  But he’s also a hardened combat veteran with the skills of a criminal and ties to the CIA. And he’s desperate to save his company and keep his secret buried. What lengths would a man go to in order to make that happen?

  Would he steal? Check. Would he co-opt a potential witness? Check. Would he hide from the authorities? Check.

  What else is he willing to do?

  I call up Google News to distract myself with what’s happening to other people in Chicago. The Cubs are on a streak, the Bears. Three shootings overnight near Lincoln Park, which makes me shudder. A lady celebrated her 107th birthday and told reporters the secret to longevity is a daily tumbler of gin.

  Then I see a something that freezes my blood.

  The headline – Chicago Businessman Found Strangled – isn’t what hits me. It’s the tag line below that leads into the story itself.

  Nova Chemicals Owner Sebastian Dacosta, 35, Dead; Police Investigating.

  My heart is hammering. It’s listed under breaking news; the story, bare bones as it is, was posted just twenty minutes ago.

  Where is Chance? Why didn’t he tell me where he was going?

  My stomach is in knots. A single online news sto
ry is enough to wash away the dizzying trance I’ve been in since we exchanged rings last week. The wedding night, the fantasy honeymoon, all the many, many times we made love.

  Now all I see is the name Sebastian Dacosta in bold letters in front of my eyes. Even when I shut them tight and ball my fists into them, it’s still there.

  Could Tre be right? Even if he isn’t, I’ll only ever have Chance’s version of what’s happening as long as I’m on the run with him. Do I have that much faith in him?

  Could anyone in my situation? I’m so new to love, I can’t even answer the question. Do lovers – husbands and wives – follow each other without reservation, no matter what?

  God help me, I don’t know what to do.

  The old brass key slides into the lock behind me and my heart jumps into my throat. I slam the lid of my laptop down almost hard enough to crack it before the door handle turns and Chance steps inside. He’s in a pair of cotton shorts and a gray t-shirt with damp armpits.

  The heat of the day wafts in with him, prompting the clunky air conditioner to wheeze to life. If only I could cool myself down so easily.

  “Hey,” he says. “How’d things go with Grace?”

  “Fine,” I say. “Where have you been?”

  Way to play it cool, Sara. Just jump on him as he walks in.

  “I went for a run,” he says, mopping his face with one of the room’s scratchy hand towels.

  “For two and a half hours?”

  “I had some errands to do, too,” he says. “I emailed my neighbor a money transfer for the Rav along with an apology. He can buy a brand new one with the fifty grand, plus a tropical vacation on top of it.”

  I try to keep my emotions off my face, but I can’t tell if it’s working.

  “Are you going to shower?” I ask. “You’re a little ripe.”

  He actually smells of rose oil. That didn’t happen on a run, unless his body produces it instead of sweat. He’s lying to me.

  He grins. “You bet. And then maybe we can play another bedspring symphony?”

  I force myself to smile as he pulls me to him. His lips are hot against mine, prompting the familiar flutter in my belly and the ache between my legs. But when I close my eyes, all I see is the name: Sebastian Dacosta.