by Mimi Barbour
“Bulltoodie.”
“Grandpa!”
“Then quit lying, kiddo. You’ve been terrified all your life to let any man get close.” He held up his hand. “Anyone but me. And I don’t count because I’m family. Besides, I was in your life before the accident.”
“Don’t talk about it.” She stiffened. The desperation in the suddenly hard tone she used normally kept him off the subject.
“Why not? Because it makes you cry? Because it scares you?”
“Because it fills me with so much sadness that it takes me days to crawl out again.”
“Look, Charli. You’ve played that angle with me for the last time. I’m not gonna let you get away with it anymore. I never should have from the beginning. You have to face the fact that the accident wasn’t your fault. So, you called for your dad to look at the pretty tree, and he hit the deer and went off the road. It was an accident.”
“But I caused it. And they both died. Only I survived.”
“Sweetheart, you’re no longer a child. Look at it from the angle of your dad or your mom. Would they have wanted you to live in purgatory because of that moment? You suffered enough, spent all night alone down in that gully with a broken leg, crying and scared, not knowing where you were or what had happened. Isn’t that punishment sufficient for even a harsh judge like you? A ten-year-old little girl, Charli. Think of it. Enough! Give yourself a break. Quit being such a coward and open the door to your heart.”
“Oh, Gramps, do you really believe I’ve never fallen in love because of that day?”
“Yes, to put it bluntly. Yes. I believe you’ve refused to feel alive, to love and be happy. How could you, when you thought they’d lost their lives because of what you did?”
“Poppa John!” He’d never been so brutally blunt before.
“Face facts, Charli. Most of your life, you’ve lived with that hideous belief. And it’s torturing you, keeping you in a prison of your own making. You need to open the cell, kiddo. You’re the only one with the keys.”
Charli’s eyes filled; tears on the brink of overflowing. “You sound like the department shrink. She accused me of something similar, hiding myself in my job and not living life fully, blah, blah…”
“Well, her blah, blah was dead on, my girl. Do me a favor and think about this. I don’t want you to let a good man get away when he’s so ripe for the picking.”
Charli wiped her eyes and giggled, glad for the comic relief. “Oh, he’s been picked over a number of times, Gramps.”
“Maybe, but has his seed ever been planted?” He chuckled mischievously.
Totally giggling now, Charli punched his arm gently, swung herself off the bed and winked. “I should have known you’d get to the essence of what this is really about, your ultimate desire for a great-grandchild.”
***
With her head still full of the advice her gramps had shared, feeling punch drunk, she needed some space. Why hadn’t she admitted her fatal secret, given her gramps all the truth? Shying away from that question, she wondered if she had purposely kept people from getting too close because of a fear she’d lose them. Is that why she’s kept that emotional wall up between her and anyone of the opposite sex?
Her hands gripped the bars of the tread mill. She’d run for miles with those words haunting every step. No matter how fast she went, she couldn’t outrun the message. Was it time to open her jail cell and step out into the world of love and families, marriage and babies?
Could she?
With Blake?
So far, he’d been the only man who’d ever made her want to.
Chapter Forty
Kayla was scared. It was almost suppertime, and she knew Charli wouldn’t accept her lies for much longer. Poppa John and Angie had left the house over two hours ago to buy Jorge’s gun, and they still hadn’t returned.
When the girls had brought up their idea to the old man, he hadn’t scoffed. He’d taken them seriously. “How much?”
Angie spoke, “I know a guy, Jorge, who can get us an unmarked one but it’s over five hundred.”
“Bucks?”
“Ahh… yeah. Like, I know it’s a lot of money, but me and Kayla, we want to be able to protect Charli if that asshole comes looking for us here. He’s done a lot of shit to get this close, who says he won’t keep killing people until he finds out about this place?”
“You want to protect Charli? Why not yourselves?”
Kayla answered without hesitation. “Because, when he gets here, she’ll be out in front of us, you know that.”
Pops had nodded. “You figure the killer’s that smart?”
Kayla spoke up. “Pops, the police in Seattle gave me a kind of report on him, and he’s one bad dude.”
“Okay then. Can you get a hold of this Jorge guy?” He turned to Angie.
“Yeah. I have his number. Look, I’ve thought this out carefully, and you both need to know that I’m the one who has to go and make the deal.”
“No. Not alone.” Kayla’s automatic response had Angie in her face.
“Yes, alone! You can’t leave the house, not with that rotten prick after you. At least while you’re inside, he’d have to come through Blake and Charli to get to you.”
“Blake left, he got called out for a while.” Poppa John’s deep voice cut through the squabbling.
“I’m going alone. Just give me the money and cover for me. I’ll be there and back in an hour.”
“Oh no you don’t, little girl. Either I go with you, or the deal is off.”
Angie’s shocked surprise didn’t quite cover the glimmer of relief hidden deep in her eyes. “You’re too old.”
“Screw that. I’m not too old to call an Uber. Nor am I too old to make sure the gun’s in working condition and not a piece of crap. And I’m definitely not too old to blab if you don’t take me with you.” His smirk enforced his comments. He meant business.
Kayla now regretted giving in. How in the world had she ever let herself be talked into this stunt? It seemed like such a brilliant idea at the start.
Having Charli’s gun, holding it for that little while, she’d chilled out, had control. It felt like no one could mess with her because she had protection… power. That ultimate high was the reason she’d started this disaster.
She checked her phone again and saw no new messages. The last text she’d received said they were approaching the house where they’d planned to meet Jorge to exchange the money for the gun. Angie had even sent a snapshot of the dump with the street sign showing in the background.
But that was more than an hour ago, and though she’d texted Angie at least a dozen times since, she’d gotten no answer.
She left the room and found Charli frantically swimming laps in the pool, as if driven by forces too hidden to understand.
Chapter Forty-one
“Gramps, he’ll be back.” Angie paced the small, dirty room from one end to the other. The overwhelming smells from dirty paper plates full of leftover pizza and dried-up sushi, plus the empty beer cans scattered high and low might not have been so bad if the two standing fans gave off cold air and didn’t just swish around the dead, hot stink surrounding them.
“How do you know he’ll return? We trusted him with half the money, but the original deal had been for him to have the gun waiting.”
“He needed the cash so he could buy it. It makes sense.”
“So, he lied on the phone. The gun only costs two hundred and fifty. The rest is for his – what did he call it – his time and trouble.” John spoke with a Spanish accent that sounded surprisingly like how Jorge had spoken. “What says, he didn’t lie when he said he’d be back. The kid’s got my two hundred and fifty bucks, and he’s disappeared, left us in this pigsty. We’ve waited almost two hours. I say we cut loose and call it a bad plan.”
Before Angie could answer, they heard the door open and slam closed. Jorge and a friend had arrived, both swaggering and both either drunk or high.
A
ngie felt the revulsion instantly with fear crowding right behind. Now what? Scared, but playing the game, she stepped forward. Don’t show any fear or they’ll love this even more.
“Where’s our gun?”
“She-et! I told you they’d want the gun, didn’t I, Ramon?” He shoved his friend’s shoulder in a playful, drunken way. “And, we’ll get it, woman, but the price is a bit higher than we discussed. I need another four hundred.”
John stood and pulled Angie close. “Then the deal’s off. How about you just keep the two hundred and fifty I already gave you, and we’ll just leave.”
Jorge rushed at John but Angie got in-between. Lifting his arm in John’s direction as if to slap, he snapped, “Hey, old man, how about you shut the fuck up?”
Angie kept him from connecting and got a backhand for her tenacity.
Just then, Charli, a cold mask of fury emblazoned on her face, stepped into the room from the back of the house. “And how about you back off, asshole, and give the money that you took from my girl and my grandpa back to them? That sounds like a helluva lot better idea to me.”
Jorge’s jaw dropped. He swung to face his friend who also wore a stunned look. He turned back to her, furious indignation engulfing his face.
“How’d you get into my place, bitch? The back door was locked.”
Ramon’s instant agreement followed. “Yeah, cop. You broke in.”
“So, sue me. Now, give back the money.” Charli stood; legs wide and her hands on her hips, pure defiance plastered over her uncaring expression. “You don’t wanna play nice? We can do this a different way – it’s all the same to me.”
Without another word, Jorge dove at her, his fist up and ready. Perfect for her to grab and use to swing him around, head first into the wooden frame of the doorway. The crack of his skull sounded like he’d be suffering from a blistering headache after he came to.
Charli turned to the other dude who’d stood dumbfounded. Amazement and disbelief flashed across his face. Not willing to play nice, he reached for a gun stuck in his belt.
Like she was going to give him time to get it loose? No way.
Her fist drove into his face so hard that he went ass-over-teakettle across the room. She followed, watching him try to get to his feet. Before he came to a full stand, she kicked his legs out from under him and planted her heel in his forehead. Out cold, he didn’t move when she reached down and took the gun dangling halfway out of his belt.
Charli turned to Angie who’d stood in front of John, holding him back from getting involved.
Angie had seen Charli’s cold, single-mindedness when she’d taken on Hank. That had impressed her. But now she saw the rage of a person who’d been pushed too far. Now she wasn’t just afraid for herself, but for the man who’d suddenly decided he wanted her as a shield.
Tense moments passed as she waited for Charli to let loose. But the only words she spit toward them as she shoved the gun in front of her were, “Is this what you paid for?”
Chapter Forty-two
Dinner was tense that night. Blake didn’t understand why everyone tiptoed around Charli, but he found himself doing the same and not knowing why.
Once it got to the point where she’d grunted a negative response to Kayla, who’d held out one of the take-out Chinese containers, he’d had enough. He’d seen the girl’s worried face fill with sorrow, tears being blinked away.
Glancing over at John, who’d been mostly silent, acting like a puppy with his tail stuck up his ass, he lifted an eyebrow, silently questioning.
John just shook his head and looked down at his plate where he’d pushed the food from one side to the other without much of it getting to his mouth.
Blake checked out Angie and saw that the same girl he’d met days ago had returned, the one who’d lived in misery, and it came off in waves from her sour attitude. She’d disappeared for a little while and her replacement had been a sweet kid.
What the hell happened while he’d taken time for the job?
After the disturbing news he’d gotten earlier, he couldn’t stand the friction here, too. They needed to clear the air.
“Okay, gang, what’s up? You’re all acting like the world’s on the brink of war, and Charli’s the one with the red button.”
The three doghouse culprits looked at each other and then peeked at Charli who didn’t lift her head, just kept shoveling food into her mouth and chewing. Silence cut through the tense atmosphere until all you could hear were the stupid annoying wind chimes by the pool next door.
Blake felt his annoyance turn to anger. He banged his hand on the table, and just as he’d intended, everyone jumped. “Listen, we’re all under a lot of stress, so I’m not gonna get too annoyed. But we need to stick together, talk about our worries. Not turn all quiet and moody.” Staring directly at Charli, he waited for her to break.
No one moved. The smells of the sweet and sour pork balls hung in the air, interacting with the strain oozing from the girls and the old man. Finally, Charli lifted her head and pointed first at her grandfather, her finger shaking with suppressed emotion.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Dammit, I said I was sorry, Charli. For the tenth time, I’m sorry already. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“A good idea?” Her voice sat one octave higher than a man with his pecker in the grip of a maniac. “To go along with Angie and buy a fu – a bloody piece of shit gun from scumbags like those two? You’re kidding, right?”
“Look, sweetheart—”
“Oh, don’t you sweetheart me.” This time Charli’s tone sunk, a snake slithering on the ground kind of low. She shoved her chair from the table and went to stand next to the cowering old man. Blake watched him shrink from her fury, and not knowing what the hell they talked about, he nonetheless had to stop her from carrying on.
“Charli! Enough. I said we should talk over the situation not intimidate and yell.”
Suddenly, as if his words had broken through her passion, Charli’s face cleared and her expression changed from anger to fear. Her voice shook with so much pain that they all sat frozen.
“Don’t you understand, Popsicle? If anything had happened to you, because of me, I’d never be able to live with that. You’ve got to know. And you two,” she pointed at Kayla who was openly crying now and then to Angie who’d somehow moved to stand protectively beside her friend, “How could you have put yourselves in so much danger?”
“I wouldn’t have let anything happen to Poppa John, Charli. I swear.” Angie’s white face and wobbling lips told their own story.
“So you’d have let them beat on you, is that what you’re saying? It was close, Angie, so close. I’ve never been so terrified in all my life.” Her voice finally gave over to the tears she’d been forcing behind her fortified wall, but once it crumbled, nothing could stop the flow.
She doubled over, holding her stomach. Her moans scared Blake as much as they seemed to terrify the rest. God, if the woman broke, if her PTSD finally forced a breakdown, they’d be sunk.
He knew what none of the others did. The killer had found out which school Kayla attended. It was just a matter of time before he came for them here.
Though Prowler and the Seattle team had finally sent instructions for the next safe house, he feared it might be too late.
Stepping close, Blake picked Charli up in his arms and thanked God when her arms tightened around him, and she hid her face in his neck.
John rushed to caress her shoulder but stopped, sensing he needed to let Blake take care of the situation. He embraced the other two instead.
Blake nodded his reassurance to the small huddle, and then he carried her to the master bedroom for privacy and peace. They needed her to be strong again. She was their pivotal force, their mainstay… the person they all loved.
Chapter Forty-three
Dylan Ross only concerned himself with one thing. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about people or justice or love. He cared ab
out his reputation. It’s what he sold to the bigshots who hired him. What earned him the millions he’d come to expect.
All his life, a bi-racial male who’d been insulted and condemned for his color from both sides, he’d vowed to be rich, in control and respected. In the beginning, he’d tried doing things according to the rules, the way society says it must be done.
He’d gone to school, followed the rules, had even worked like a dog to go to college and get his law degree. There, he found he had more brains, more intelligence and a hell of a lot more balls than most of the white dudes in his class.
Those superior assholes who’d always condemned him for being poor orphan trash were lazier and dumber. Here, in the place of higher learning, they taught him his biggest lesson. His race didn’t matter near as much as his class, or lack of it. Power earned respect, and money gave one power. Life lessons 101… he passed with honors.
Once he had his license, he proudly went from door to door, applying for work, thinking he’d be a bonus for any law firm. What he found out was that they’d take him for low-paying, low-level positions. Swallowing his pride, he settled for one, gotten on the ladder, and would have begun his climb – except for one pivotal incident.
He’d been celebrating his first position with the most prestigious establishment in Chicago, and he’d been pulled over by cops who neither listened nor gave a shit that their rotten attitude and vicious abuse violated his rights.
The more he tried to quote the law and stick up for himself, the more they beat him and tased him. By the time they’d hauled his ass to jail, he’d suffered massive bruises, a broken ankle and fourteen stitches to his head where one of their boots had left an imprint.
Of course, after they charged him with a DUI, which registered one point over the legal limit, and assaulting a police officer, which he never did unless arguing was now a form of assault, he ended up for the first time in his careful life, busted.
