Kiss Me If You Dare

by Nicole Young

  No. I’d go with the more intrusive, in-your-face approach. I’d just show up at their door and throw a tantrum on their snow-covered lawn until they asked me inside.

  Yeah. That was mature.

  I put my boots on. What did I care what they thought of my emotional maturity? My short time in Del Gloria couldn’t undo thirty-three years of conditioning overnight.

  I tugged on my parka. They’d just have to deal with it. Love it or lump it. With my primary mission focused on dousing Candice’s lights, did it really matter which they chose? Anyway, Candice wasn’t anywhere near Churchill Falls or I’d have found her by now.

  I walked to the dresser for my purse.

  A rhythmic knock sounded at the door. I paused, not sure if I’d heard right. The quiet tapping came again.

  It was all of 8 a.m. Who could be knocking on my door?

  It had to be my dad. I stared at the door. It seemed to warp away from me, like a view through the wrong end of binoculars. I breathed into my hands, telling myself to stay calm, he was family. A final deep breath, a pasted-on smile, and I pulled back the slide bolt and opened the door.

  An elderly woman stood there, bundled in a long coat and carrying an oversized tapestry tote. I recognized her loopy-curled wig. My cohort from River’s Edge.

  I shook my head in utter, confused surprise. “Mrs. Callahan? What are you doing here?”

  She pushed past me into the room. I shut the door, still speechless.

  The old woman stood at the end of the bed. “Tish. Thank God. I see I got to you before he did.”

  She pulled her wig off and I cringed. Short silver hair spiked up underneath. She peeled off some sort of rubbery stuff from her cheeks.

  I gave a cry of astonishment. “Candice! It’s you.”

  35

  With her disguise gone, Candice lost twenty years. An almost wrinkle-free face disputed her true sixty-something age.

  I wanted to be angry. Had she been spying on Brad at River’s Edge? What was that about-to make sure he died if he didn’t kill himself?

  I wanted to scream in rage. How dare she show up in Churchill Falls? And just as I was going to visit my long-lost father.

  I wanted to strangle her. How could she walk into my hotel room like an old friend after what she did to Brad?

  I kept it all business. “What brings you to Churchill Falls?”

  “The same thing that brought you here.” She tossed the tapestry bag on the bed and pulled it open.

  I flashed a fake grin. “And what would that be? I came here looking for you.”

  “Oh, I think you’re here looking for more than that.”

  Candice unbuttoned her frumpy pink old-lady blouse, revealing snug black sleeves beneath.

  “You’re right. I am looking for more.” I was looking for revenge.

  Crossing my arms, I observed as she slid out of fuchsia polyester slacks, uncovering tight black leggings.

  “We don’t have time for games, Tish. I took the plane from Goose Bay. I think he has an ATV and is coming in on the Trans-Labrador, which gives us only a few extra hours.”

  “Who? What are you talking about?”

  “Just book your tickets in your real name, why don’t you? It’s like a neon sign flashing ‘Follow Me!’ ”

  “Using a false name isn’t exactly easy anymore. Besides, you booked travel using your real name. Why do you think I’m here?”

  “I did it because I knew they would look the opposite direction from Churchill Falls as soon as they saw I hadn’t used my tickets. They’d know it was a bluff. Hence, everyone would remain safe.”

  I rubbed fingers to my temples. “I’m not following. Who are ‘they’ and ‘everyone’ in this story?”

  “ ‘They’ are Frank Majestic and friends. ‘Everyone’ is Jacob Russo-your father-and his family.” Black jeans came out of the tote. She stepped into them, pulling them over her leggings, as she brought me up to speed. “And ‘he’ is a hired gun, the assassin paid by Majestic to finish the job. He’s hot on your trail. We have to get you out of here, and somehow make it seem like you didn’t find what you were looking for. Once we get you safe on your way, I’ll double back and warn Jacob.”

  She took a sweater out of the bag, dragging something with it. A pistol landed on the bedspread. She picked it up and casually tossed it back in the tote. Then she put on the sweater, smoothing the soft gray angora into place. Looking in the dresser mirror, she tousled her hair. “There. Now I feel more like myself.”

  And with the gun in the bag, I could tell she was ready to act more like herself too. Which man would die this time around?

  I tried to look natural, even as I plotted a way to get at the gun. “I was just headed over to my dad’s house now. I’ll warn him when I get there.”

  Candice swung toward me. “Single him out, Tish, and he’s dead. Right now he’s just another plant employee. It’ll take awhile for the killer to narrow it down.” She pointed a finger at me. “But you walk up his front steps, and it’s like giving him the kiss of death.”

  “You’re full of malarkey.” I walked to the bed and dropped onto it, one leg tucked under me. “You shot Brad. Why? To spare me from the possibility that things wouldn’t work out twenty years down the road? That is so lame. And I’m supposed to believe you came all this way to rescue my father? He abandoned me as a child. That’s a far bigger crime than anything Brad could ever do to me. For all I know, you’re just using me to find my dad so you can kill him yourself.”

  She sat next to me on the bed. “No. I love your dad. He’s…,” she looked away, “he’s Bernard’s son. How could I not love him as much as I love everything else that belongs to Bernard?” Her eyes pleaded for understanding.

  “Touching. Really. But I’ve seen how you express your love. Did you ever think about consulting me before you killed the one I love most?”

  She stood and walked toward the window. “I suppose you’re still mad about that. I meant to take a clean shot at his heart.” She clasped her hands together, head bowed. “But at the last moment I had second thoughts and went for a lung instead. I feel bad I nicked his spine.” She clasped her fingers over her mouth, looking out the window.

  I leaned forward, hand in the bag, feeling around for the pistol. “You shot him, Candice. He almost died. He wishes he was dead.” I aimed the weapon at her.

  She turned back to me, her eyes registering the gun, but not even acknowledging it. “Brad surprised me. A big macho man like him, heartsick over his girlfriend’s death. He’d rather have died than live without you. It was very romantic.” She walked toward me.

  “Stay where you are.” I couldn’t let her get to me. Her voice was hypnotic, soothing. It was just a means to distract me.

  She smiled. “Tish. Come on. There’s no time for games. Get your things packed so we can get you out of here.” I jerked the weapon. She stopped a few feet from the bed.

  “I’m not going anywhere until I talk to my dad.”

  She leaned on one foot, and casually crossed her arms. “What really convinced me I was wrong about Brad,” she said, “was the way he reacted that day I helped you get into his room.”

  I sighed in disgust at the memory. “He threw me out. I think he’s done with me.”

  “Austin had a crew of doctors and a physical therapist there for him the next day.” She lifted her eyebrows. “I think you changed his mind about cashing in his chips.”

  I sucked in a breath. Brad wanted to live? The pistol in my hand wavered and lowered a notch.

  Candice took a step toward me.

  I yanked the gun to the level of her eyes. “Hold still.” She put her hands up in mock surrender.

  I jabbed the weapon in her direction. “I want you to see something. It’s in my suitcase over there.”

  She nodded. I could tell her mind was churning, trying to keep one step ahead of me. She slowly walked around the end of the bed.

  “In that envelope.” I pointed with the gun, s
winging it back toward her.

  “Okay.” She slowly bent to pick up the envelope.

  As her head lowered, I took a step closer and cracked the butt of the handgun across the back of her skull. The blow made a sickening thunk. She didn’t go down right away, just hovered a moment before collapsing face-first into my suitcase.

  I gasped and fought the roiling of my stomach.

  Tucking the pistol into my purse, I raced out of the hotel room to the lobby. I blew past the innkeeper and out the front door, cutting across the parking lot toward the residential area behind the town center. If I remembered right, Osprey Avenue was a block past Gull on the way to the mess hall. I tore between houses, feeling foolish as I caught the startled look on a face in one window. Snow piled into my boots. Back on the street once more,

  I angled up Osprey, searching for the address numbers from the phone book. A group of children playing in a front yard stopped to stare at the woman sprinting through their quiet town.

  I found the single-story home with its WELCOME TO THE JAMISON HOUSE sign on the door. I hammered with my fist, the sign thumping along with me.

  I stopped to listen. Footsteps came to the door. I waited, sensing hesitation on the other side. A smile on my face, I tried to catch my breath. The knob turned and the door opened. I adjusted my eyes down to the height of a girl around ten years old. Dark hair, brown eyes, and the mouth, nose and eyebrows of Monique. Another sister.

  “Hi,” she said, hiding half behind the door.

  “Hi.” I stared at her. If she was ten, I would have been twenty-three when she was born. I’d been sitting in a jail cell on the day of her birth. “Think I could come in?”

  “You’re that person, aren’t you?” Her eyes were huge as she studied every inch of me. “The one Dad said might come around some day?”

  They knew about me? I looked both ways up the street, getting that horrible feeling that someone besides kids in snowsuits could be watching. “Is your dad here?”

  She shook her head.

  “Is your mom?”

  She shook it again, no closer to granting me entry.

  “Hey.” A girl’s voice came from behind her. “Let her in.”

  The ten-year-old stepped back, swinging the door with her. Monique stood in the center of the living room as I made my way inside.

  “Thank you.”

  The door closed behind me.

  “Let me take your things,” Monique said, eyes somehow hopeful.

  I shook my head. “No, I can’t stay.”

  “Then please sit down. Can I get you something from the kitchen?” Her voice was gracious. Her manners impeccable. I stepped out of my boots and walked to the sofa, considering whether or not I could eat with my stomach twisted in a knot. “No, thank you, I don’t care for anything right now.” I sat. My fingers fidgeted with the bottom zipper on my parka as I thought about what to say next.

  The two girls sank onto the love seat opposite me, fingers busy as well.

  “So,” I said, breaking the ice, “you guys seem to know something about me.” I figured since I was the eldest sister, I’d better be the one in charge.

  The two girls looked at each other.

  The older Monique spoke first. “Dad said he had a child with a woman a long time ago. He said you might find him someday.”

  I nodded, too choked up to speak.

  Meagan perked up. “He said if you found him, that was a bad thing, because that meant other people might find him too.”

  I put a hand over my mouth. A bad thing. He’d told them I was a bad thing. Tears welled up. Why was I doing this to myself?

  At any rate, Candice had been right. I was the mouse that led the assassin to the cheese. By coming here, I’d not only endangered my father but his new family as well. Why couldn’t I have just minded my own business? Settled down with Brad and had a family of my own? Let my dad have his life, wherever he was, and be content with living mine?

  I sighed and cradled my head in my hands. That would have been impossible for me. It simply went against my nature to live an uncomplicated existence. I seemed to thrive on theatrics and chaos.

  I looked at my sisters, who seemed a little freaked out. “Okay,” I said. “Here I am. I found you. And Dad was right. That’s a bad thing.”

  “Wh… why is it so bad?” Meagan wanted to know.

  No sense sparing any details. “When Dad was younger, he got mixed up with a big drug dealer, but Dad did the right thing and turned him in. Problem was, the guy wanted to get back at Dad for tattling and has been looking for him for the past, I don’t know,” I threw my hands up at a loss, “twenty-something years.”

  Monique jumped in. “So they watched you, waiting for the day you’d lead them to Dad.”

  “Bingo,” I said.

  “Didn’t you know any better?” sweet little Meagan asked. “Didn’t you know you should stay away from him?”

  I tried to control the black cloud that edged into my mind. “All I knew is, I had a dad out there somewhere who pretty much left me alone since I was born. I figured he was dead. But sometimes I thought he was still in trouble, doing drugs somewhere, wasting his life. Then,” my teeth gritted, “I end up in Churchill Falls for an entirely unrelated reason, and I keep running into this guy who gets sick every time he sees me.” I nodded my head at Monique. “And I meet a teenager who could be my sister. The pieces fall into place and I realize I found my father.” I gave Meagan a pair of don’t-mess-with-me eyeballs. “Yes, I’m going to come see him. I want to know why he left me alone and then went on to have some whole new family.”

  The room was quiet as I finished my tirade.

  “Are you mad at us?” Meagan asked.

  Monique poked her on the thigh.

  I sat back on the couch, looking at the two of them. “Yeah. I was pretty mad at first. But how could I stay angry when I realized that Dad’s new daughters are also my sisters? I always wanted a sister. And now I have two.”

  “Three, really,” Monique said. “Mallory’s away at college.” I tapped at my lips with a finger to keep a bellow from escaping. After a moment I asked, “And how old is Mallory?”

  Meagan answered. “She’s twenty-two. She graduates this year.”

  I pursed my lips and nodded. Dad’s big do-over raising daughters seemed to be going pretty well. His firstborn didn’t make it past her sophomore year at Michigan State University, but the eldest in his next batch was getting her degree this spring. Couldn’t ask for better than that.

  I did more math. This Mallory was twenty-two. I’d been eleven years old when she was born, still hollow from the grief of losing my mother.

  I clamped a vice on my pipeline of thought, cutting it off. There was no sense taking my ire out on the girls. They were victims like me. I’d save my resentment for the head muck-a-muck himself, our father.

  “Where can I find Dad, anyway?” I’d better warn him, give him a piece of my mind, then get out of here before all our lives were ruined.

  “Mom and Dad are both working shifts today,” Mo-nique said. “Dad said if you came over, I should invite you to dinner and he’d talk about things then.”

  “I’d just love to catch up on old times with Dear Old Dad over supper, but I really need to get a hold of him right away.”

  The girls just sat and stared at me.

  “Seriously,” I said. “Right now if you want him to live.”

  Monique stood. “Come on. I’ll take you over there.”

  36

  Monique looked at her younger sister. “You stay here.”

  I shook my head. “No, she can’t stay by herself. Just in case.”

  Monique sighed. “Fine.”

  We scrunched three across the bench seat of a smallmodel pickup.

  Monique put the truck in gear. “It’s just a few minutes to the plant.”

  We curved through the streets and onto Churchill Falls Road. A few minutes later, a forest of metal towers connected by wires appeare
d on the horizon.

  Meagan pointed. “That’s the switchyard. The power goes all over from there. Even to the States.”

  “Cool,” I said, not really interested in anything other than getting to my father before his assailant.

  Monique turned at a sign. CHURCHILL FALLSGENERAING STATION, it said. A digital board told passers-by the current megawatt output. I assumed the numbers were meant to impress.

  A few minutes later, we parked near a building that looked like a couple shoe boxes topped with an oatmeal canister. Scattered across the snowy grounds, sharp posts poked skyward.

  “Come on,” Monique said, taking charge.

  I grabbed my purse and slid out of the truck.

  “You don’t have a gun in there or anything, do you? We have to clear security,” Monique said.

  “Ummmm, I think I’ll leave my purse in the car.” I tucked my passport in my jeans pocket, then flipped my handbag to the floor of the truck and joined the sisters on a walk toward the building.

  A group had gathered in a central area, apparently waiting for a tour of the facility.

  “Come on,” Monique said. “Mom’s working control.” We stopped for an ID check.

  “Who’s your friend, Monique?” the employee asked.

  “Believe it or not, she’s my sister. Details later, okay?” We left the woman sputtering.

  “That’s Aunt Veronica. Won’t she be surprised to hear about you,” Monique remarked as the three of us took off down meandering hallways.

  Red carpet paved the floor of a room that resembled the bridge of the Starship Enterprise.

  “Mom,” Monique said as we entered.

  At her voice, Suzette Jamison and a fellow employee glanced up from the bank of buttons and dials.

  Suzette stiffened when she saw me. “Hello, Tasha.”

  I gave a nod. “I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that it’s Patricia.”

  “Yes. So it is.” She walked toward us. “Roger is working down in the powerhouse today. He thought we could get together over supper to discuss…,” her hand searched the air, “… whatever it is you wanted to discuss.”