Shallow

by Cora Kenborn

  “My choices were mine. You can’t blame yourself for them.”

  “No, but I can blame myself for forcing you to raise yourself. For teaching you to value beauty and money over love and honesty.” Her eyes settle on my scar, and I have to look away. I know what she’s thinking and I can’t handle her shouldering blame for an accident I caused.

  “It’s harder for me to change a mindset I’ve lived all my life,” she continues as I stare at my lap. “But, you, darling, there’s still time for you to fight for a change.”

  “Not enough for this kind of fight, Mother,” I whisper, picking at a loose thread on my jumpsuit, the move eerily familiar.

  “What about for Cary? Do you have enough in you to fight for him?”

  How am I supposed to answer that? Tell her that I have enough fight in me to take on every paparazzi camera from here to Antarctica for him, but love him enough not to? That I love him enough to let him go and find someone who can give him a normal life?

  Because I do. I love him enough to do all of that and more. I love him. I think I’ve always loved Cary Kincaid. Even when he was Carrick Kincaid. Even when he was just Lawn Boy. Even when I took everything away from him for no other reason than I could.

  I didn’t say it wasn’t a twisted kind of love.

  But love, nonetheless. The kind that stays with you. The kind that has you sitting in an interrogation room at one o’clock in the afternoon discussing your impending extradition with your mother.

  “Anyone ever tell you ladies it’s not polite to talk about people behind their backs?”

  The minute I hear the deep, rumbly voice behind me, I can’t breathe. Everything feels like it’s happening around me rather than to me.

  “Speak of the devil,” my mother says with a shit-eating grin.

  Cary moves closer and laughs. “I’ve been called worse.”

  I don’t dare turn around. Concentrating on breathing is hard enough. “How did you get in here?” I whisper.

  “Will’s got a few friends in the precinct who owe him favors,” he says, his breath fanning over my shoulder. He’s so close I can smell him. Not cologne. He doesn’t need it. He smells of soap and a hard day’s work.

  I have no idea how long we stay like that—me inhaling him as he breaths over my shoulder—when my mother clears her throat.

  “Well,” she says pushing out of her chair, “I think I’ve left Malcolm outside long enough.” Within a few steps, she’s kissing me on the cheek. “Think about what I said, darling. I’ll be back in the morning.” Before I can form words, she pats Cary on the shoulder and winks. “Good to see you again, Carrick. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You look a little different than the last time I saw you.”

  He chuckles again and my stomach flips. “Just a little, ma’am.”

  “Take care of my girl,” she whispers as she closes the door.

  Cary walks around the table and drags Bianca’s chair next to mine. Straddling it backward, he folds his arms across the top and scans his eyes down the length of my body. “That’s an interesting outfit you’ve got on there.”

  His stare makes me want to cover myself, but at the same time, I want to jump in his lap and kiss him until he’s as breathless as I am. I want to tell him I love him, then smack the shit out of him for making it happen.

  “What, this old thing?” I say, pinching the cloth on my shoulders. “They didn’t have much of a selection at the prison boutique. Orange isn’t usually my color, but I thought, what the hell, let’s give it a go.”

  Cary stares as if seeing right through me. “You didn’t do this.”

  “Are you sure about that? I’m a liar, Cary. I’m shallow, remember. It’s all about me. Me, me, me, me…”

  Before I can get the last “me” out, Cary tilts his chair up onto its front legs and kisses me. His lips are soft yet insistent, and just like that, I come alive. The stroke of his tongue entwined with mine makes me forget where we are. Who we are. Why we are.

  When we stop to catch our breath, he presses our foreheads together and weaves his fingers through my hair. “No, you were shallow. You’re different now. Doing this won’t save your soul, Shy.

  “I’m not trying to save my soul,” I insist, dislodging his hold and putting space between us. “I’m saving Frankie’s. They’re good kids, Cary.”

  Apparently, my answer isn’t good enough because he shoves his finger in my face and charges like a bull. “You think I don’t know that? You also think I don’t know you’re sacrificing yourself for something you have no clue about?”

  I’m not in the mood for games, so I knock his finger to the side and narrow my eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I know how this happened. I know who did this to you, but the why and how is too complicated to explain right now.”

  The hesitant look on his face twists my heart into knots. “You’d better start talking, Cary.”

  “It’s Taryn,” he admits, gripping the metal rungs of his chair. “She’s the one who locked you in the closet, and I have no doubt she’s the one who planted those drugs and called it in.”

  Buzzing. Noise. Static. All three mask the whispers in my head telling me how stupid I’ve been. How I’ve been an unknowing participant in some twisted game.

  “How do you know this, Cary?”

  “Baby…” he pleads, rising to his feet and reaching for me. However, the time for affection has passed. It’s now time for answers.

  Placing both hands on his shoulders, I push him back into his chair. “Talk, Cary.”

  “Shiloh, look at me!” He grabs my wrist off his shoulder and holds it against his chest. “Whatever bullshit we pulled on each other in the beginning, you know this last week was real. What you felt was real. That’s who I am, and you fucking know it.”

  “Tell me!” I scream.

  Cary lowers his head and releases me. “I can’t. Not yet.”

  I push my chair back and stand. “We’re done here.”

  I don’t look back as I walk to the door and knock. Within seconds an armed guard escorts me back to my cell and away from a truth I can’t deny and the lie I can’t ignore.

  What I felt was real. But what we had wasn’t.

  Thirty-Four

  Cary

  “I don’t know. He’s gone off the rails. Sayin’ crazy shit about how he’s gonna burn down the center because he can’t burn down the police station with her in it.”

  I raise an eyebrow, and Frankie’s grip tightens on the phone as he gives me an exasperated shrug. It’s a little on the dramatic side, but I’ll cut him some slack since the last twenty-four hours haven’t exactly been stable.

  “Yeah, says she’s fucked up his life and he wants to see her fry.”

  Okay, that’s a little over the top. I open my mouth to shut him up when he shoves his hand in my face.

  “He’s at the center. You will?” He gives me the thumbs-up sign as a huge smile breaks across his face. “Thanks! I’ll keep him busy until you get here.” As soon as he hangs up, his smile fades as realization of what’s he’s done sets in.

  Frankie’s no pussy, but I’ve roped him into some serious shit. The perfect trap for the perfect crime.

  Unfortunately for Taryn, there’s no such thing as the perfect crime. Even if everyone gets paid off, there’s that one t that never gets crossed, or that one rogue i that never gets dotted. Eventually, every criminal fucks up. That’s why I’m not breaking a sweat. Not when I’ve been chasing this moment since leaving Shiloh last night.

  The bitch knew I’d come for her. It’s the only explanation as to why I tore across town after leaving the police station to find her house dark and empty. I even parked at the end of her street and sat in my car until damn near dawn waiting for her, but she never showed.

  Either she’s already fucking some other unsuspecting asshole, or she’s hiding out. If I was a betting man, I’d say it’s prob
ably both.

  Frankie’s pacing in front of me, chewing on his thumbnail like it’s his last meal. I roll my eyes toward the window and blow out a frustrated breath. We closed the center early and now it’s pitch-black outside—probably well after ten o’clock. We’ve gone over this at least a dozen times, and each time he’s gnawed a different nail until it bled. I’m starting to worry about him cracking under pressure. She’s not stupid. With Frankie devouring his fingernails like a mid-day snack, he’ll give us away in a heartbeat.

  “What if this backfires on us?” he mumbles around his thumb.

  “It’s not going to backfire as long as you keep your hands in your pocket. Come on, junior, focus. We have one shot at this. Play it just like we rehearsed, got it?”

  “Got it.” He nods.

  I scrub my hands down my face, physically exhausted from lack of sleep and the unrelenting stabbing pain in my gut. I feel like I’m choking on my own blood every time I think about her walking away from me yesterday.

  She was begging me to tell her the truth, but how the hell do you tell the woman you’ve loved all your life that you made a pact with the devil to destroy her? Got off on it. Lived for it until living for her changed the rules.

  The answer is that you can’t. The minute I told her the truth, she would’ve shut down, slamming the door on me, our future, her future, and any hope I have of clearing her name. And that’s just the truth about Taryn. Telling her about how I added embezzlement to my list of offenses wasn’t even an option.

  I had no choice but to keep quiet and hope once this is over she can find a way to forgive me. I found a way to forgive her. Doesn’t one sin cancel out the other?

  What’s that saying? Tit for tat, or some shit?

  Frankie moves in front of me and chews on his thumb again. “I don’t think she’s gonna crack over gettin’ some dick, boss. This bitch is gonna want a blood pact and a virgin sacrifice, know what I’m sayin’?”

  Just the idea makes my balls shrivel up. “First of all, I wouldn’t touch her with your dick. Secondly, you might be right. Know where I can find a virgin?”

  Frankie cocks his head to the side. “If I knew where to find a virgin, do you think I’d be here getting ready to pull some fucked-up shit with you?”

  * * *

  It’s ten thirty and the center is quiet. Almost too quiet. Nothing has happened.

  Pace.

  Check the clock.

  Pace.

  Check the clock.

  I have no idea when Taryn’s going to show up and it’s starting to get to me.

  When a woman says she’ll “be right there,” there’s a wide spectrum of time that phrase encompasses. When a man says he’ll “be right there,” get your shit together because he’s probably three blocks away with a six pack and a bag of Doritos. A woman’s interpretation can mean anything from half an hour to, “I hope you’re not starving because I’m going to try on every piece of clothing I own and then cry for four fucking hours.”

  Apparently, Taryn falls somewhere near the middle because within twenty-five minutes there’s a knock on the front door. I nod to Frankie and wait for the show to begin.

  Her own words from yesterday come back to me, and I clap Frankie on his shoulder as he walks past me. “Showtime.”

  A few moments later, she steps through the doorway to my office, dressed in a long, flowy white dress like she’s about to attend some damn awards show. I shake my head at her choice of colors. Maybe she thinks if she wears a symbol of purity, it’ll rub off on her. I suppose if you tell yourself something long enough, eventually you start to believe it.

  “God, this place smells like an infected ball sack.”

  Then again, Satan was once an angel too.

  Once her eyes land on Frankie, she gathers her dress in her hand and heads straight for him. “I drove as fast as I could. Where is he…”

  “Right here.” I push off the desk and force a smile when all I want to do is spit in her face.

  She looks me up and down, dropping the concerned act. “You don’t seem very off the rails to me. In fact, you look rather calm for a man who’s sticking his dick in a double felon.”

  “Thanks,” I say, widening my smile. “And might I say, you look remarkably sane for a woman who’s batshit crazy.”

  Taryn clucks her tongue. “That’s one of the reasons I always liked you, Cary—your gentlemanly way of speaking to a lady.”

  “When I see a lady, I’ll be sure to be a gentleman.”

  “Okay, drop the bullshit. What is this?” she demands, shifting her focus back to Frankie. “He’s got you lying for him now too?”

  Frankie clenches his fists, and I know he’s either fighting to not deck her. Making a quick decision to deviate from the original plan, I step between them and crowd into her.

  “Leave him out of this. You want to drop the bullshit, fine. Let’s drop it. I’ve already told you, this is between you and me.” As I talk, she just stares. I know I’m losing the upper hand, so I shift gears. “Why did you set Shiloh up?”

  She crushes her dress in her hands hard enough to rip it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, come on, Taryn. Drop the bullshit, remember? Those were your words. It’s bad enough you locked her in a closet knowing she was trapped in a burning car, but you went and hit a whole new level of psycho by planting drugs on her. I gotta admit, that takes one big set of lady balls.”

  Her face pales for a moment, but she quickly recovers, laughing as she smooths out her dress. “Maybe you’re the one doing drugs, Cary. You’re hallucinating things that didn’t happen.”

  “So you’re saying you didn’t drive to Shiloh and Frankie’s rehab meeting two nights ago?”

  “Are you deaf?” she yells, her temper flaring. “Of course not.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “What the hell is wrong with you, Cary?” Her hand shakes as she flips her brown hair over her shoulder. “Did fucking her make you stupid? No, I didn’t. The sad truth is your whore is a criminal.”

  I rub my chin and purposely draw this out, because, hell, it’s almost better than sex. “Hmmm, I’m a little confused, then.” I glance over my shoulder. “Frankie, are you confused?”

  “Yeah,” he agrees. “I’m confused.”

  And with a straight face too. Good boy.

  “Interesting. Why are you confused, Frankie?”

  “Because when we called up my buddy, Paulie, he remembered going out for a smoke in the middle of the meeting that night and seeing a white BMW sitting in the parking lot.”

  Taryn’s brown eyes glaze over as they dart back and forth between Frankie and me. “That means nothing. Lots of people drive white BMWs.”

  “True,” I agree, circling around her like a lion just waiting to devour his prey. She follows my movements until I step in behind her and press my lips against her ear. “But not everyone who drives a white BMW has a license plate that says TARYNMCD. I’ve always wondered why they called them vanity plates. Now I get it.”

  I’m so close I can feel her body stiffen. Part of me wants to get closer just to relish in the moment, but the other part is revolted just to breathe her same air.

  “This proves nothing,” she hisses, jerking away from me. “No one saw me inside that room. You’ve got nothing.”

  I clasp my hands behind my back and saunter back toward my desk. “This is true. She’s got us there, doesn’t she, Frankie?”

  He grins, his shoulders relaxed and his hands tucked deep in his pockets. “Can’t argue with facts.”

  I can almost hear Taryn’s exhale of relief behind me. It makes it that much more satisfying when I turn back around. “Oh, but you know what I do have?” I mean to pause for dramatic effect, but I’m too pumped to care. “The person you paid put the drugs in the wrong bag. It wasn’t even Shiloh’s bag you sabotaged, dumbass.”

  “I didn’t…I couldn’t…”

  Since it seemed to knock her off ba
lance the first time, I circle around her again. “See, I couldn’t figure out how in the hell you managed to get into all those places without being seen. You’re not necessarily plain looking,” I say, pointing to her dress. “I beat my head against the wall until Frankie’s friend, Paulie, called us back.” Pausing my stalking, I motion to Frankie again. “Care to elaborate?”

  “Paulie said he remembered some new dude busting up to the meeting late that night,” Frankie explains. “He told me what he looked like then it hit me. I told the boss.”

  I look back at Taryn and raise an eyebrow. “Any of this ringing a bell?”

  “No.” She smiles. It’s the kind of smile that shows all her teeth. The kind of smile that causes the right side of her mouth to twitch. And twitch. And twitch.

  Walking over to her, I place a hand to the side of her lying, twitching face and run my thumb across her cheekbone. “Well, let me refresh your memory.” I guess she expects me to slap her because she flinches. Instead, I walk past her and resume my circle. “About three weeks ago, a new boy started hanging around the center. Quiet kid, chip on his shoulder, but that’s pretty common in the beginning. But this one never warmed up like the others. Kept to himself and did his own thing. Maybe that’s why I never noticed when he stopped coming around.”

  “I don’t have to listen to this shit,” Taryn huffs, turning to head toward the door. She makes it two steps before I grab her elbow and swing her around to face me.

  “Oh, stick around, sweetheart. It’s about to get good.” Releasing her, I walk slowly back to my desk. “Frankie heard this kid mention where he lived, so we paid him a visit. Want to know what he said?”

  “Anything you repeat from a street thug is hearsay,” she hisses. “You should know that firsthand.”

  “You’re exactly right. That’s why I invited him here to say it to your lying, fucking face.”

  I couldn’t have scripted it any better. Right on cue, a skinny kid over six feet tall walks in the room. He looks serious. Not smart serious—I’m talking don’t meet this kid in a dark alley because he’ll fuck your shit up serious.