"I start at six, so I'd like to leave around five, take my time getting there," Sophie replied. I watched, entranced as she daintily scooped a forkful of eggs and sausage into her mouth. It was just another of the things I found cute about her. I knew where she got it from, fighting her weight down during her undergraduate years. Taking small bites and chewing completely is an old trick in losing weight. "Also, I was wondering if you'd like to come by tonight."
"Really?" I said, surprised. "I thought you said I'd be too distracting coming around the Shamrock while you're working."
"Well, that's true," Sophie replied, blushing a bit while cutting through some sausage with her fork. "But Tabby has been insisting on meeting you, and I thought this would be a good chance for you two to meet. The Shamrock is a lively place, safe, and I can keep an eye on her. If I don't, she's more than likely going to hit on you."
"I thought you said she was your friend," I joked in return. "I mean, unless you're into that sort of thing. I'm not particularly. If I'm in a relationship, and at this point I think that's what we are, right?"
"Is that what this is? A real relationship?" Sophie asked quietly, setting her plate aside. It was one of her traits that still sometimes threw me off guard. I'd never had a girlfriend before who I couldn't keep totally enthralled with my body and my intellect. Sophie, on the hand, for all of her surface level shyness and uncertainty, had a deep reservoir of self-composure and strength that she could call upon. Maybe that was why, after a whole month, I was still seeing her. It was the longest relationship of my life so far. "Am I really important to you?"
I thought about how best to frame this answer. I could tell it was important, and I had to make sure I said things in exactly the right way. "Sophie, I've let you further into my life than I have any other woman," I began, sitting down on the bed next to her. "I think about you every day, and when you call me, it makes me smile, no matter what else is going on. My condo feels empty when you're not around, and I wake up every morning wanting to hear your soft breathing next to me. So yes, to me this is real. If it was just a fling or a booty call, I'd have ended it a long time ago. What about you?"
Before Sophie could answer, my front doorbell rang, startling me. My building had one of those systems where you had to buzz someone in, and any of the few neighbors who came around to my place would normally either call first or knock. Almost nobody used the doorbell. "Maybe a delivery?" I said, as the bell rang again. "Let me go check, hold that thought."
I made my way down the hallway, stopping only before I got to the door to pull on my leather jacket over my bare chest. On the inside of the sleeves I could feel the comforting weight of my two home defense knives tucked into the hidden sheaths sewn into the upper halves. I had tried on the inside of the arm, but the weight just didn't work. If I needed to have something on the inside of my arms, I preferred a strap on sheath.
I made a simple mistake at that point, opening the door without checking my peephole. I don't know why, that was very unlike me. Sophie had me off my game, perhaps I was distracted by the sound of her getting out of bed, and I knew she'd be pulling on some pajama bottoms. Instead, I opened the door. I was halfway to my left sleeve to pull my knife when the two men held up their hands, showing they were currently unarmed. "How are you doing, Snowman?"
Louis The Frog wasn't French, as best I could tell. And at five nine and barely breaking a hundred and fifty pounds, with dusky skin, brown hair and blue eyes, he didn't look like a frog either. Still, he was the top lieutenant to Salvatore Giordano, my main employer. With him was a man I didn't know, but I could be assured was reasonably well trained. "I was doing a lot better about thirty seconds ago, Louis. How'd you find this address?"
"It's amazing what you can find on the Internet, Snowman. Like, how that stealth electric car of yours, while it's not registered to this address, well, it just happens to keep getting quick charges done at stations that have credit card receipts that do match this address. May we come in?"
I really couldn't say no. If I had, Louis would have accepted it with grace, but I know I would be getting a call from Sal Giordano himself later. "Okay, but keep it short, if you don't mind. I have company over."
"Ah, the beautiful Miss White. I must say, you have excellent taste in young women." Louis came in, ignoring the fact that my blood was running cold. They'd obviously been keeping tabs on me, I should've known. Still, I had a chance to detect the automatic slung underneath Louis' companion's coat. From the impression I could see, I was thinking a Colt 1911, most likely in .45 caliber. Definitely a lot of gun for a friendly visit. "Does she know what you do for a living?"
"He's a freelance troubleshooter," Sophie said, coming into the living room. She had pulled her hair back, and while she was still wearing the t-shirt she had pulled on in bed, she had also put on a loose pair of sweatpants that I had gotten for her when I noticed she found my air conditioning a bit cold for her liking. "Why?"
"Oh, nothing at all," Louis replied, giving her a predatory smile. Then again, every look that Louis had was predatory. I'm pretty sure he even gave his mother a predatory goodnight kiss when he was a child. "And you're right, Mr. Snow is a freelance troubleshooter for the group I work for. In fact, I was coming by to see if he was available for another job, but seeing as he has such lovely company, I think it'll keep until Monday. I'm sorry to have disturbed your Saturday morning Miss.....?"
"Sophie White," Sophie replied, and I inwardly winced. Louis hadn't said her first name before, I was hoping they didn't know. Either way, they did now, obviously. "Mister....?"
"Lefort. I should be going. Again, sorry to have disturbed your weekend. Mark, we'll be in touch when you have some free time, okay?"
Louis and his man left, closing the door behind them. It wasn't until I could latch and lock the door that I realized I had been holding my breath for almost a minute. Turning around, I saw Sophie standing behind the sofa, her arms crossed under her breasts. While normally a very attractive sight, the look on her face was dark and suspicious. "Who was that?"
"Like Louis said, just a business associate. Why?"
Sophie rolled her eyes and looked at me, and I could tell that she was getting angry. "You can stop lying to me now. I've never seen you upset or even rattled, until those two men showed up at your door. Now what the hell is going on?"
"Nothing," I said, trying to end the conversation. "I just was surprised, that's all. I'd been looking forward to an easy weekend."
Instead of replying, Sophie turned on her heel and stormed back to the bedroom. Before I could even get my jacket off, I heard her yanking open drawers, and the familiar sound of clothes being tossed into a bag. I rushed back to find Sophie jamming her t-shirts into a bag that she had used to bring some things over to my place. "What are you doing?"
She looked up at me, her eyes filled with fury. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm packing my stuff. It's obvious you don't really see me as a real girlfriend. I should've never agreed to stay the weekend. I'm not going to stick around through one of these again."
I wanted to slam my hand against the door frame. I was frustrated with myself, frustrated at Sophie, but also angry as hell at Louis and Salvatore. Instead of letting my anger go physically, I clenched my fists as hard as I could behind my back. "Sophie, I do see you as a real girlfriend. Just because I haven't told you everything about my life doesn't mean I don't need you and want you."
"But you don't respect me," Sophie countered, zipping the bag closed angrily. "If you did, you wouldn't be lying to me right now. So let me ask again, who were those men?"
I was tempted to tell her about my work, but I knew if I answered her question, her life would be in danger, and it'd likely push her away even more. "Sophie, I can't.....there are things about my life that I just can't tell you. I'm not trying to lie, I just can't." I didn't know what else to say. I felt defeated, laid bare, and there was nothing I could do about it. My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water for
a few seconds, before I just sighed. "I'm sorry."
Sophie looked at me, her anger softening, but she still took her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. "Me too. But until you can tell me more . . . I need to go."
Chapter 13
Sophie
By the time I got to the Shamrock that early evening for my shift, I was still in a downright shitty mood. The whole time going back to my apartment and then changing for work, my mind was whirling. Tabby had been disappointed that Mark wouldn't be at the pub, but told me she'd still come by around nine. In the meantime, I spent half my time calling myself a damn fool for walking out on Mark. He was more than a great lover. We enjoyed spending time together, whether we were hanging out and watching movies or having dinner he prepared for me, to just sitting around talking.
The other half of the time, I was telling myself I did the right thing. He kept secrets from me, that was obvious. I'd overlooked it for most of the month we'd been together since it was never in my face and as obvious as it was earlier. After all, every business has certain things they don't want other people to know. I'd dated a guy when I was an undergrad on and off for three months that worked at a Chinese restaurant. He told me that even though he'd worked there for five years, ever since high school, he'd never been allowed to learn what the chef used as his Mongolian barbecue sauce. Until Louis Lefort showed up at Mark's doorstep, I figured it was something as insignificant as that. But there was something about those two men, an almost palpable aura of danger and evil that made me feel uncomfortable the whole time they were inside. They looked like two men who really didn't care if I were alive or dead.
Also, what was up with Mark and that leather jacket? I'd never seen him wear it before, and the way he reached for the sleeves before stopping told me he had something in there, something he didn't want me or Lefort to see. It was just another thing that worried me, just like the worried expression that was on Mark's face the whole time they were there. I'd seen Mark confident, I'd seen him restful, I'd seen him thoughtful. But I'd never seen him worried or scared before.
All of these thoughts swirled through my mind as I entered the Shamrock and slung my backpack onto my coat hook in the back room. Taking a deep breath, I pulled my hair back into my work ponytail while knotting the Shamrock t-shirt near my left hip. It had taken me a while to catch on, but the tighter I made my shirt, the bigger the tips I got. I don't care what my feminist classmates might say; sex sells.
The bar was still pretty quiet when I clocked in, with a few folks enjoying early dinners. The Shamrock is a pub in the true Irish sense, so it had a chef in the back, a guy named Juan who turned out pretty good fish and chips, in my opinion. That an Irish pub had a Hispanic guy working the kitchen was just good irony. "How's the chips tonight, Juan?"
"Hola Sophie," he said. "You look down. You okay?"
"No buena," I said in reply. "But don't worry about it, I'll get through it all."
"Cool. Well, you know it's Saturday, so be on your toes."
"Comprende," I replied, going out behind the bar. The afternoon bartender, a nice older guy named Liam who was also the co-owner of the Shamrock along with his brother, gave me a smile and a nod before drawing a beer for a customer.
* * *
I was soon caught up in my work. After Liam got off, I was the main bartender, working with two others who shuttled beer and food out to the fifteen tables that dotted the area. About seven o'clock I was drawing a beer when I heard someone call out my name. "Hey, barkeeper?"
"Just a minute," I said, finishing off the pint of Guinness and drawing another of Kilkenny Red. I set the two pints on a tray and rang for Dave, the waiter working that table, for service. Wiping my hands on the towel I kept near my waist, I turned towards the voice. "What can I get you?"
The customer was one whose face I'd seen pretty often over the past three weeks. She was Asian, although I couldn't really tell you which origin. She'd been coming in almost every shift I was on, and I'd placed her as a new office worker in the area. She always wore a business suit, and she spoke with a bit of a British accent. I'd assumed she was a transfer from an overseas office, Royal Bank of Scotland had a regional office nearby. "I'll take a Porterhouse Oyster Stout, if you have them tonight," the woman asked, "I'm knackered."
"Good choice," I replied, grabbing a bottle from the cooler chest and popping the top. "Bottle or glass?"
"I'll take a glass if you don't mind," the woman replied. I poured carefully, making sure to get just the right amount of head, and set it along with the rest of the bottle in front of her. "Thanks. By the way, I'm Becky. Been seeing you around a lot lately."
"Sophie," I replied with a professional smile. "Well, my school work is wrapping up, and I haven't gotten any bites back on my resume yet. So, I asked and they let me pick up a few extra shifts."
"Well, it's good to have you around. The guy before you keeps giving me the horny eyeball, if you know what I mean. But you don't look yourself tonight. Everything okay?"
"Ah, not too bad. I had a bit of a falling out with a guy I've been seeing this morning."
Becky took a sip of her glass and sighed. "I know what you mean. What caused it? Caught him in bed with another woman? Text messages?"
I shook my head and chuckled. "Nothing so dramatic. Just.... he's got a secret side to him that he won't let me into."
"I understand. I've lost a few boyfriends to that myself. The last one turned out to not trust me when I told him that yes, I really was working late and no, I couldn't tell him. After all, if what I knew got out to the wrong people, the NASDAQ takes a hit and the SEC is knocking on my door."
"I know, I'd thought of that, but I met a few of his coworkers today. And let's just say they weren't very nice guys."
Our conversation continued on and off for the next hour, as I got called away to fill orders. Still, each time I ended up drifting back down the bar to where Becky was sitting, and we just kept talking. As we did, I just felt comfortable sharing with her everything I was worried about between Mark and I. His handsomeness, our economic differences, even our difference in education. Finally, Becky set down her glass after finishing off her second stout, and looked levelly at me. "You mind if I ask a blunt question?"
"Go ahead," I said, keeping my eyes on the bar. A guy down on the end gestured, and I got him a pint of Harp Lager before coming back. "Might want to hurry, though. The place is getting busy, and the band starts up in twenty minutes. Once they do, you won't be able to hear a damn thing most of the time."
"Sure. Listen, this man, is he a good man? Not the secrets, not the money, none of that other shite, but is he a good man?"
I didn't even need to think about my answer. "Yes. One of the best men I've ever known."
Becky smiled and drained her glass. "Then I think you know what you should do next. Listen, I gotta go, I love the beer here but I hate the band. I'll see you around." She handed me her glass and bottle, and by the time I got back she was gone, with a fifty dollar tip tucked under her coaster along with a note. "I kept you from enough customers, you deserve it. Call him. -B"
I tucked the note into my pocket, stuck the fifty in the tip jar I shared with the other staff, and called out to the waiter on the floor. "Dave! Take the bar for five minutes, I need to step out."
Chapter 14
Mark
After Sophie walked out, I stared at my front door, for the first time since my mother died feeling mentally paralyzed. Hell, I'd celebrated when I left home when I graduated high school, my dad was too far into the bottle to give a damn anyway. There I was, standing half naked in my bedroom, and I couldn't figure out what to do. I'd already done my first paid job for some of my clients, running basic errands. I didn't graduate to my current line of work until a year later, and that was quite by accident. The sound of a helicopter flying over my building broke my fugue, and I shook my head. I couldn't just let Sophie walk out of my life, that was for sure. I grabbed the first thing in my dresser, a black
t-shirt (not unexpected) and a pair of urban camo fatigue pants (a bit unexpected, I didn't wear those unless I was working in certain neighborhoods). I grabbed a pair of short boots, the type used by some of the SWAT teams in California and had the left one on when my cell phone rang. I snatched it up from my nightstand table, praying it was Sophie. I cursed silently when I saw who it was. "Hello, Sal."
"Marco, Marco . . . I just got a very disturbing report from Louis. The Frog says that the rumors of you having a romantic interest are true. You know we need to talk about this."
I pursed my lips, tempted to tell Salvatore Giardino to take a long leap from my balcony. First of all, I'm not Italian. Why the hell he kept turning my name into Marco was beyond me. However, I'm not the sort of person interested in making men like Sal angry, so I kept my reply polite. "I know you had some expectations for me, Sal. I'll be honest, though, I didn't think this was worth your attention."
"Now Marco, do you really think that I've gotten to the position I have without making sure nothing is beyond my attention? Since you've been such a valuable member of my team, I'm feeling generous. Where would you like to meet?"
Like it mattered. I knew Giordano would have men everywhere, regardless. I could have chosen the inside of a bank vault and it wouldn't have changed a thing. Still, I needed to at least make an effort to look like I was trying to cover my ass. "How about the Park? We can feed the ducks over by Hamilton Pond. Most of the old men who hang out there wouldn't care even if they could hear us."
Giordano laughed, an ugly sound that I detested. "All right. Thirty minutes by Hamilton Pond. I'll even bring the breadcrumbs."
I hung up my phone and closed my eyes, letting my eyes close and forcing my breath to still. It's my greatest advantage, more than my physical strength, or my ability to set aside the better parts of me when I needed to and do the hard thing. Instead, I drew upon that inner pool of stillness I've had as long as I could remember. When I was a boy growing up in the country, I'd taken quite a few whitetail deer with that skill, more than hunters twice my age. My father, who usually ended our hunting trips drunk, kept swearing it was dumb luck. A seven-year-old boy does not take a ten point buck down with an old M-1 carbine at two hundred yards. You're not even supposed to shoot deer at that range with that size round, it's not powerful enough. But I knew, and the bullet took the buck just right, going between the thick ribs and piercing the heart. The buck dropped like a rock.
In Too Deep: A Romantic Suspense Novel Page 26
