Layla was noticeably quiet. "So you tortured him and then killed him?"
"Does that turn your stomach, Miss Campari? He was a predator, and planning to rape and torture your best friend. Rape and torture, in fact, aren't quite the most accurate words for what he had in mind. He knew about you too, actually. He had photographs of you." Harris's voice was quiet, low.
"He...did?"
"When he was done with Kyrie, he was going to just flat-out abduct you and have fun. You had no one who would miss your absence, and he was planning to take advantage of that fact."
I stopped and faced Harris. "You and Roth never told me that."
"No reason to. He was taken care of. No need to worry you with something that wasn't going to happen."
"I just--" Layla halted, as if unsure what she was planning to say. "I suppose I owe you a thank you, then."
"That's not the only time Harris saved our asses without us knowing," I said. "Remember that night in college when we got hammered after finals?"
Layla laughed. "Which time?"
"Exactly. Well, this particular instance, you were so shitfaced I had to basically carry you home."
Layla nodded. "Ah, that time."
"Well, apparently we had some company."
"Company?" Layla frowned. "What's that mean?"
"It means if it wasn't for Harris, we'd both be dead," I said.
"How? I don't follow."
"You were colossally wasted, so you may not remember, but a few blocks away from the bar, there were these three guys on a street corner, shouting at us in Spanish. I guess they were following us. According to Harris, they were planning to break into our apartment and...well, I'm sure you can guess."
"Holy shit, really?" Layla looked from Harris to me and back. "And you stopped them?"
"I took care of the problem, yes. I found out later that those three young men were wanted in connection with several other violent sexual assaults and at least one murder. They were probably guilty of more of both, though."
"Damn. So you were our guardian angel, huh?" Layla asked.
"Something like that," Harris said.
"Harris is being modest. Not 'something like that', but exactly that," I said.
None of us had much to say after that, but I noticed Layla giving Harris a speculative look. Either I'd just scared her off of Harris, or intrigued her all the more.
I wasn't sure which.
7
PERIMETER BREACH; THE BONFIRE
"I have a surprise for you," Roth said, after dinner the next night.
I glanced at him. "What's that, babe?"
He checked his watch and, as if that was a cue, I heard the distant buzz of an approaching airplane. "Here they are."
"They?" I asked.
"Harris and Layla...and your surprise."
Harris and Layla had left together in the seaplane the night before, and I hadn't gotten an explanation as to why. I'd assumed, at first, that maybe it was just a quick trip, a chance for Layla to practice her newfound love of flying. But then when they hadn't returned that night or the next day, I realized it hadn't just been a quick trip. I'd asked Roth, but he'd just shrugged and changed the subject, via the effective but unfair method of cunnilingus.
And now here they came, nearly twenty-four hours later, with a "surprise" for me.
I couldn't begin to imagine what Roth had planned; he was far too adept at surprising me.
I went out to the beach, holding Roth's hand, watching the evening sun glint golden on the wings of the approaching seaplane. The wings wobbled side to side, and the aircraft lowered itself toward the water with something less than Harris's usual perfect economy of motion, making me wonder if in fact it was Layla attempting a landing.
Foot by foot, the pale blue twin-prop seaplane went lower and lower until the floats sliced through the water, sending spray up into the air to catch the setting sun like droplets of liquid gold. A bounce off the water, a wobble of the wings, and then another bounce, and then it touched water once more and this time stayed down, sending water sluicing away in arcs to either side. Then the noise of the propellers slacked off and the nose was settling forward and the airplane was gliding across the surface of the water toward us, cutting to the side at the last minute. The maneuver toward the dock was sharp and efficient, which meant it was likely Harris bringing it in the rest of the way.
"That was an ugly landing," Roth muttered.
"I think it was Layla," I said.
"Oh. I didn't know she flew."
"She doesn't. Harris is teaching her."
Roth glanced at me in shock. "Holy shit. Really?"
"Really. She took off when we all went to St. Thomas. You didn't notice?"
He made a face. "No, I didn't. I was following an auction of one of my companies. Robert was sending me the updates via email."
"I thought you seemed preoccupied."
He kissed my temple. "I have been, haven't I? I'm sorry. Dismantling an international, multi-billion-dollar corporation with dozens of subsidiaries isn't exactly a quick or easy process. I should be there, in person, handling it all. But I can't be, so..." He shrugged. "I do what I can. The process is almost done, though. The new corporation is in place, and we're down to the last few odds and ends. Hopefully by this time next week, VRI will be history, and St. Claire, Incorporated will be up and running."
"I wish you could have been there, too," I told him.
"This is good practice," he said, as we moved toward the dock, where the floatplane's props were slowing to a halt. "The new setup allows me to operate remotely one hundred percent of the time. It puts a lot on Robert's plate, but then, I've given him a rather enormous raise to compensate. And he's more than capable. He's the only person other than Harris and you that I trust implicitly."
"Does Harris have security on him?" I asked.
Roth laughed. "So much that it's driving Robert batty. Harris has more security on him than the president, I'm pretty sure."
"Yet we have just Harris?"
"Just Harris?" Roth said, eyebrows raised. "Are we talking about the same guy?"
"Yeah, but--"
"And no, it's not just Harris. He's got guys out there right now, protecting us. You just can't see them. And, hopefully, you never will, which is the entire point."
I glanced around, but all I could see was the forest, the house up on the hill behind us, the sea and, anchored out in the bay, the Eliza. "Where are they?"
Roth shrugged. "I don't know for sure. There are some outbuildings hidden in the vegetation around the house, there are some guys out there. There's a sniper on the Eliza. Alexei is on the grounds around here, somewhere, prowling. We have half a dozen pairs of eyes on us at all times. I assure you."
"At all times?" I asked, a little disconcerted at the thought of eyes watching us at...certain intimate moments.
Roth just laughed again. "They are discreet, I promise. If we're...intimate, shall we say, they keep their eyes on our location, but not on us directly, and any audio input is muted. Standard protocol, I'm told."
"So Harris is..."
"The tip of the spear, you could say. The visible portion of the iceberg, with the real bulk hidden below the water. If you think Harris is frighteningly efficient, the rest of his men make him seem like a harmless kitten. He's by far the most...personable...security expert I've ever met."
"Harris is...personable?"
"Compared to the barely-reformed villains in his employ? Yes. I've met a lot of his men over the last few months. He chooses well. Let's just say you don't hire private security personnel based on their shining personalities."
"I'm not sure I want to know what that means."
"No, you don't."
"Are they like Vitaly's men?"
"Hell no. Vitaly employs murderers and thugs. His men are little more than barbarians. The men closest to him, his personal security force, those men are a little more human, but the rest are monsters turned loose on the world. Har
ris's men are competent, efficient, well-trained, and most of all...have at least a modicum of humanity. A spark of morality, I suppose you might say. They're still mercenaries who fight for the highest bidder, but none of them will tolerate the kind of evil Vitaly propagates."
"What about Alexei?" I asked. I'd met Alexei in the middle of the whole thing with Gina and Vitaly. He seemed nice enough, even if his eyes were a little hard and distant. Good-looking in a rough-hewn sort of way, he was also an accomplished musician, having played guitar and sung beautifully at the dinner at which Roth had proposed to me.
"Alexei was assigned to interact directly with us specifically because he can actually behave himself. But he's still not a man I'd like to meet in a dark alley."
By this time, the propellers were still and the door was opening, disgorging an exuberant Layla. "Did you see that? Holy shit! I landed a plane, bitches!"
Harris was next, a faint, amused smile on his face. "A plane which needs to be tied off so it doesn't float away, Miss Campari."
"Yes sir, right away sir!" Layla barked, with a sharp, dramatic salute. "And why is it whenever we get around other people you call me 'Miss Campari', but in private you'll call me by my first name? I don't get it."
Harris's face immediately wiped itself of expression. "I'll get the bags." And then he was back in the fuselage, out of sight.
Layla finished tying the rope around the dock pylon with a knot Harris had obviously shown her, and then straightened and stared after Harris. "Touchy little shit, ain't he?"
"Wait, that wasn't your first landing, was it, Layla?" came a familiar voice.
A voice I hadn't heard in far, far too long.
"Cal?" My voice cracked.
"Yes, it was my first landing, Calvin," Layla asked, her voice a little too formal. "Why do you ask?"
He emerged from the plane, all six foot three of him, blond hair cut short and spiked stiff, mirrored aviator shades on his face, tank top revealing muscled arms, bright pink floral print board shorts. God, my little brother had grown up.
Cal took one glance at Layla, and thought better of whatever he'd been about to say. "Just...that it was great. Great job. Glad those lessons are paying off. Awesome."
She smirked at him. "Lessons? Oh, I haven't taken any real lessons. Harris has been teaching me."
"So...you don't actually have a pilot's license?" Cal asked, looking a little green.
"Pilot's license?" Layla laughed. "Buddy, I barely got my driver's license."
Harris emerged with a suitcase in each hand. "Don't worry, Mr. St. Claire. I was in control at all times. Miss Campari is a natural pilot, and very careful. I wouldn't have allowed her to touch the controls of my aircraft if I didn't have confidence in her. She just likes to tease you, it would seem."
"Yeah, well, Layla's been teasing me since I was fifteen. You'd think I'd be used to it by now." He turned back to me, and his expression brightened. He rushed over to me, wrapped me up in a bear hug, lifting me clear off the dock. "Jesus, Kyrie. It's so good to see you. I've missed you. I thought maybe you'd fallen off the face of the earth for good, this time."
"I have, for all intents and purposes." I slapped his shoulder. "Now put me down, you ogre."
He set me down, but kept a grip on my shoulders. "You owe me a shitload of explanations."
I swallowed hard. "I know."
"I mean, I haven't seen you in, what, two years? You used to call me once in a while, at least, but then even that stopped. I mean, I get that you're busy and whatever, and that I'm just your little brother, but--"
"Cal," I snapped. "I said I know."
He eyed me, and I saw that under the smiles and the hugs, he was pissed at me. I really did owe him a lot of explanations. "Sorry. I just--I woke up this morning and Layla was in my room, rifling through my magazines. It's been a weird day, needless to say."
"Your porn, you mean?" Layla said, with heavy emphasis on the "porn". She raised an eyebrow at him. "I mean, for real. Who actually buys Juggs anymore? And where do you even get that shit?" A glance at me. "You know your brother has, like, hundreds of porno mags? Not just Juggs, but pretty much every other porno mag there is. Hundreds of them. I'm not kidding."
I shook my head. "Jesus, Layla. I did not need to know that about my brother."
Cal scratched his forehead with his middle finger. "It's a collection, and it's not all mine. My roommate and I have both been collecting for years."
"Wow, so you both collect nudie mags?" Layla mimed male masturbation. "Do you whack off together too?"
"JESUS, LAYLA!" Cal and I shouted, simultaneously.
She shrugged and endeavored to look innocent. "It's an honest question."
I turned to him. "For real, though. Why do you collect porn?"
He pushed past me. "I'm not having this conversation with you, either of you. It's not happening." He paused as he passed Valentine. "Mr. Roth. Nice to meet you. I'm Cal."
"Nice to meet you, Cal. Just call me Roth." He shook Cal's hand. "Welcome. Your room is the second on the right after you pass through the kitchen. Make yourself at home; grab a beer from the fridge on your way. I know you have a lot of questions, and I promise you we'll answer as many as we can without risking your safety. In the meantime, why don't you collect your bags from Harris? He's not a butler, so he won't be carrying your bags for you."
Cal stalked back to Harris, grabbed his suitcases. "Thanks for the flight, Harris."
"It was my pleasure, Mr. St. Claire. Although, in the interest of full disclosure, most of that was Layla."
"Even the jet?"
Harris nodded. "I did the takeoff and landing, but Layla did the level flying."
"Well...damn. I never noticed." He glanced at Layla. "You didn't kill us, so nice flying, I guess."
She shoved his shoulder. "Go get a beer and decompress, jackass. You wouldn't be here if we didn't love you."
"I know. Like I said, it's just been a weird day."
Layla laughed. "Dude, you have no fucking clue what a weird day even is. Wake up on a boat in the South China Sea and go to bed in the Indian Ocean, and then we can talk."
He just shook his head and made his way up to the house. I heard a distant "holy shit" as he made his way through the kitchen and saw the courtyard beyond.
"You shouldn't push his buttons, Layla," I said.
She just eyed me. "Have you met me? That's what I do. Buttons are meant to be pushed, and it's so easy, with him. Seriously, though, Kyrie. You should have seen all the porn. It was a truly awe-inspiring collection, I will say that much."
"Juggs? For real?" I asked.
"Juggs. For real. And Penthouse, Hustler, Playboy...if it had naked women in it, he had every single extant copy of it."
I shook my head. "I don't know, Layla. He's a guy. Guys do weird things."
Layla turned to Harris. "Do you collect porn?"
He just stared at her from behind his sunglasses. "The only thing I've ever collected is scars, Miss Campari. And the memories that go with them."
"Well shit, Harris," Layla said, "way to just take the fun right out of the conversation. Also, that was the most badass comeback I've ever heard."
"I aim to please, Miss Campari."
She stared at him. "I swear to god, you call me that just because you know it irritates me."
"Buttons are meant to be pushed," Harris said.
"I feel like maybe you understand me on a spiritual level, Harry."
"And I feel like maybe I heard a slight flutter in one of the engines, and if you fly prop planes, you should have a basic understanding of how to fix them."
"I better not get any grease under my fingernails."
"Haven't you heard? Engine grease is the newest thing in beauty care."
"Wait? Was that a joke?" Layla laughed. "You'd better be careful, Harry, or I might start thinking you're a human after all."
"As opposed to what, exactly?"
"Um. A Terminator?"
Harris actually
laughed, a smile cracking his features. And even with the black Oakleys hiding his eyes, his features were transformed by the smile. "You haven't met Thresh yet. He's a real-life Terminator."
And then, to my intense surprise, Harris helped Layla climb up onto the wing, showed her how to open the cowl over the engine, and pointed at various parts of the engine with a wrench, explaining while Layla watched and listened carefully, asking questions every now and then.
Layla, working on an airplane engine?
Would wonders never cease?
*
It was well past midnight. We had a bonfire going on the beach, lighting up a circle of sand and dimming some of the stars directly overhead. Beyond the firelight, however, the night was huge and dark, the moon new, a black circle visible only by its absence, stars scattered overhead in countless millions, a glittering, winking, twinkling, scintillating fall of silver light arcing from horizon to horizon and down to the edge of the sea.
I was drunk.
Valentine was drunk, and I was on his lap, wrapped up in his arms.
Harris was...well, not drunk, but loose. Telling stories, laughing at jokes, sunglasses gone, wearing black board shorts and a white short-sleeve button-down, unbuttoned to show a hard, lean, well-muscled torso with a scattering of dark hair. He had a beer in one hand and a long stick in the other with which he ceaselessly poked at the fire, stirring it, moving the logs around, turning them, prodding the coals.
Cal was on the sand beside Valentine and me, and he too was drunk, and god, he was hysterical. He was, honestly, the life of our little party, making us all laugh with stories of his and his friends' ridiculous antics as wild college boys cut loose on unsuspecting Chicago. It struck me how little I knew about Cal, about the twenty-one-year-old man he was now. He'd been so young when Dad was killed, and I'd been responsible for him. I took care of him, made his lunches and got him to school and made sure he did his homework, made him dinner when he got home, made sure he had clean clothes. Gave him money when I had some to spare. Dropped him off at the mall with friends, sniffed his breath for pot and alcohol when he got home. But then he graduated at seventeen and got a scholarship to Columbia College, and I'd made sure to keep tabs on him. I'd paid for the tuition his scholarship didn't cover, and we got together for Christmas and Thanksgiving, visited Mom together.
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