by Kim Linwood
The light in their eyes fades just the same.
Who gets to decide?
The first job I took after leaving the service was a relief, because for the first time in years, I could say yes or no. It was my choice, and so long as all I was doing was removing a few assholes from the world, it didn’t keep me up at night.
Except somewhere along the way I started saying yes more than no, and I wonder how much choice I have anymore.
James Trabucco, what did you do to start this dance? His smiling face with its fleshy jowls means nothing to me beyond a plan and a paycheck. This petty power struggle is not my war.
But that final pull of the trigger will always be mine.
5
Nora
Another glorious Chicago winter morning. The air’s cold enough to freeze a squirrel’s nuts to a pole, as one of my old classmates so eloquently put it. I juggle my travel mug of hot cocoa to my other hand as I pull up the lid of the trash can to dump in my bag.
Welcome to my glamorous life. Noise complaints by night, waste disposal in the mornings, babysitting all day. Actually I can’t really complain about the babysitting. I’ve finally got something real to do and I’m totally excited.
“Hey, did you just dump that shit in the plastics container?” A sharp, all too recognizable voice sounds behind me when I’m halfway down the path to the sidewalk.
I let out a long slow breath of air, watching it curl upwards in a puff of white. You've got to be kidding me. Mr. SEAL upstairs was good and kept the music low last night, but apparently he's finding other ways to torment me.
“Are you serious?” I draw an annoyed breath before turning around. “Does it look like anyone around here sorts?”
He might be dressed this time, but the cocky stance is instantly recognizable. He has a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a trash bag in his hand. There’s a hat pulled down over his short, dark hair, but there’s no getting away from those eyes. They bore into me accusingly. “Isn’t it your job to be a role model for the fine citizens of this city?”
Technically the handsome jerk is right. We’re supposed to be using the stupid blue bins now, but I gave up after realizing no one else in this building gives a crap and I was tired of sorting others’ trash back into the right place. Isn’t it enough that he served our country, does he have to save the freaking planet too?
“You’re absolutely right.” I dutifully walk back to the containers, take my trash out of the recycling and put it in its proper spot, trying not to show my frustration at feeling like I just got caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
He smiles and it zings straight to between my legs, making me just a touch warmer on this chilly morning. Some of that heat rushes to my face as my dreams from last night come flooding back. I might find him annoying, but my subconscious focused less on his personality and more on… well everything else. The everything else that had me all hot and bothered when the alarm clock rang, giving me no time to scratch that particular itch.
My eyes are drawn back to that smile. Maybe I’ve been too hard on him. Sure, we got off on the wrong foot, but there are reasons to get to know him better. Because, damn, he makes winter clothes look good. Or regular clothes. Or no clothes. I’ve seen him shirtless, and my mind has no trouble filling in the blanks. In fact, it’s doing it eagerly, and I realize that I’m just standing here, stupidly staring at him.
“I’m sorry. I think we started this all wrong. I’m Nora, and you are…”
“Deeply concerned about the environment.” He hefts his garbage into the bin. The correct one, of course.
Putting my hands on my hips, I straighten up as much as I can. I wish I were wearing heels, though they'd have to be stilts for me to come even close to matching his height. “Come on, I was trying to be nice.” He doesn’t have to be an ass about it.
He steps closer, and I have to make myself not back up. “Is this a good cop, bad cop thing?”
“No, it’s a trying to be a nice neighbor thing.”
“If you say so, Nora the Adora… bull.”
What?
I try to hold it in, but burst out laughing. “Oh. My. God. You didn’t seriously call me that, did you?”
“Just calling it like I see it.” He shrugs, making no effort to hide his eyes roaming up and down, though I’ve no idea at what. All bundled up in winter clothes and looking like an extra on Fargo, I can’t imagine there’s much to look at.
“Fine. Whatever.” I roll my eyes, but I can’t quite kill my grin. “As fun as this has been, I'm going to be late for work.” Turning on my heel, I stomp down to the sidewalk towards my car.
“Besides, you have a fantastic ass,” he yells after me.
There we go. I was starting to wonder what he’d done with the public nuisance who plays his music too loud. Raising my hand, I give him the finger without looking back. Of course, I'm wearing mittens, so it probably just looks like I'm waving. Hopefully he got the gist of it.
A horrible mix of ice and snow covers my poor old car. All the wet slop that fell yesterday froze overnight, coating it in what looks like a dirty candy shell. Guess I’ve got some scraping to do.
The door won’t budge, completely frozen shut. I yank harder, trying to get the stupid thing open but it’s no use.
Shit.
I try the other doors, but even though the ice creaks, nothing moves. Standing there, clicker in hand, I’m trying to decide if it would be faster to hurry in and boil some water to pour over it or run for a bus and hope I don’t have to wait too long.
“Move over.” Without waiting for me to respond, my annoying upstairs neighbor bumps me aside, and with two hard tugs, tears the driver's side door open. Flashing me a quick grin, he steps back and gestures for me to have a seat.
“Showoff,” I mutter. Still, I was raised to be polite. “Thanks.” At least he didn't tear off the door handle.
“Why don't you see if it turns over? And look at getting one of those remote starters.” He looks derisively at my car. “Or maybe just a new car.”
Sure, I’ll just run right out and do that.
On my starter salary with all of my student debt still to pay.
Sliding into the icy cold driver's seat, I stick the key in the ignition and turn. Briefly, the park lights come on and the dashboard lights up, then after a second or two of complaining from the starter, it gets quiet again. What a perfect time for my battery to die.
Double shit.
“How old's your battery?” He bangs the hood with a large fist. “Pop it.”
I’m so worried about making it downtown on time that I don’t even have a snide remark about his sudden change from obnoxious jerk to efficient problem solver. I pull the lever, and with another huge yank to break the ice, he hauls the hood open and props it up. “Alright, hold position. I'll be back.”
I get out of the car to watch while he walks down the row of cars behind me. Even half panicked about my job, I can’t help noticing the way his jeans cling to his ass. His is pretty fantastic too. I’m just too polite to yell it.
He stops next to a car covered smartly with a plastic tarp. A few sharp tugs, and it’s ready to go. Even with the cold, his door opens no problem. I’ve got one of those too, come to think of it. Neatly folded and stuffed into the bottom shelf of the hall closet. After living here all my life, you’d think I’d learned my lesson by now. Dad would not be impressed.
My loudmouth neighbor drives a bright red sports car, of course. No economy import for him. He starts it up and it growls like an angry animal. When he pulls out, his license plate reads: HOTSHOT.
Oh, for freak’s sake.
He pulls up next to me, stops and pops the hood and the trunk. Grabbing jumper cables from the back, he connects them up front, working quickly and efficiently, like he does this every day. “It’s probably just the cold, but if you drive around for a while and it keeps doing this, you’re going to need a new battery.”
“At this point I might a
s well just get a new car.” My sarcasm is lost on him.
“Yep, that’s what I said. I'm amazed this thing is still rolling.” He speaks over his shoulder as he connects the last contact. “Alright, try turning it over.”
I try, and there's a little something, but not quite. “It’s not that old.”
“Babe, if there are kids out there having sex who could’ve been conceived in the backseat, it’s time for an upgrade.” He slips into his own car and revs it. Up close, it's like sitting next to an angry lion. His window slides down smoothly. “Try now!”
This time, my car coughs to life—grudgingly, mind you—but in the end it settles into its usual slightly uneven rumble. It might not be the roaring monster next to me, but it's alive. I glance into the backseat, trying to get that delightful mental image of teens having sex in it out of my head.
Getting back out, he disconnects our cars and slams the hoods shut. He’s got an ice scraper and goes to town on my windshield.
I reach behind me to grab my own from the floor of the backseat before getting out. “Hey, thanks, but you don’t have to do that. I’ve got my own.”
“Good, we’ll be done faster.”
I shrug and attack the side windows. He’s right, of course. It doesn’t take long to make my car drivable, and now that it’s started, I’ll actually make it to work on time after all. My neighbor might be annoying, but today he saved my bacon.
As I slide back into the driver’s seat and toss my scraper into the back, he comes around and leans on the door. “There you go. Drive it for at least a half hour, forty-five minutes, and you shouldn't have any troubles getting started next time.” He shrugs. “Unless your battery's shot, of course.”
“Yeah, it’s not my first flat battery, believe it or not.” I throw a meaningful glance at my old clunker before I do the impossible and flash him a smile. “Thanks for the jumpstart. You saved my life.” It'll take that long just getting through the traffic to work, but I should still make it on time, even if it'll be close.
“No problem, Adora.” He slams my door shut before I can answer, winks at me through the window, then turns to get his car out of the way to let me out.
That is not going to be my nickname. No way, no how.
But right this second I don’t have time for the still unnamed jerk from upstairs. I have a baby to sit—I mean, alderman to watch.
6
Payne
My Camaro purrs, even in the cold. Unlike me, it doesn’t seem to have any problem with it being too fucking early in the morning. After years of having to rise at oh-five-hundred, I’d hoped to have a little more freedom in my new life. But I have to be where my target is, and so here I am. I want to get a feel for the alderman’s schedule, and for all the high tech gadgets available these days, nothing beats my own two eyes.
When I was a kid, I’d always thought undercover work would be so much fun in the future. That one day I’d be playing with all sorts of fancy spy gadgets. Now that I’m older, I don’t trust them to do my job for me, even if they actually exist. So much for cameras in pen caps, heat-seeking bullets and phones in my shoes. Kid me would be so disappointed.
Turning onto the main drag, I gun it towards Alderman Trabucco’s office. Those minutes spent getting Nora’s car going cost me, and traffic’s picking up. I snort. This car’s made for opening up on the straightaways, not sitting in a goddamn traffic jam. When I finally get there, it takes another fifteen minutes just to get parked.
There’s a coffee shop right across the street, so I order a tall Americano and settle in to wait. I pass the time on a cheap-ass laptop I use to make it seem like I’m working. Well, I am, just not on what anyone would think. To them, I’m just one more guy nursing an overpriced cup of coffee and clocking a couple hours.
The place is so busy that when I stand up to take off my jacket, I have to stare down a woman and her grubby kid who practically try to slide under my ass to get my spot.
Fucking cities. I can’t see why anyone would want to live in one, but I appreciate that it helps me blend in among all the other strangers that come and go.
Three hours later, I’m down two coffees and nursing my third, while keeping an eye on the columned building across the street. On my screen are a bunch of random artsy-looking pictures I snapped of the area yesterday. My notes look like gibberish meant to go along with my cover, but they make sense to me. “8AM: Light looks good, but the sun isn’t quite there. 9AM: Great time to get a clear shot of the right crowd.”
My attention's caught by a familiar shape emerging from the building I’m watching, stepping aside to let a couple of suits come in before exiting. She dashes down the steps, pauses and waits for the light, then hurries across the street right up to the doors of my coffee shop. Little Miss Downstairs herself.
What the fuck is she doing here?
I keep my head down, making a point of not looking right at her while I track her movements. Her being here isn’t the end of the world, but I’ll need to find an alternative vantage point for next time.
Fuck, this is a complication I totally don’t need.
The bell over the double doors chimes brightly as she comes in, her thick brown hair slicked back into a tidy bun at the nape of her neck that comes just under the back of her officer’s hat.
“Hi, welcome to Joe's Joe! What can I get for you?” The blonde working behind the counter looks barely out of high-school, her smile and tone having none of that fake sounding cheer that replaces genuine enthusiasm after a few years of minimum wage and crappy tips.
“Tall raspberry mocha, please. Oh, and with soy milk and a shot of vanilla.” Nora beams at the cashier, looking a bit older, but otherwise just as happy to be there. She rustles through her pockets for money, fortunately not paying much attention to the rest of the shop. “To go.”
“Sure thing. What’s the name?”
“Nora.”
I should probably stop watching, but I can’t help spying on her from across the room. She looks so young and proud, standing there in her uniform. It makes me feel really fucking old even though there can’t be more than a few years between us.
Experience-wise, I feel like the Mr. Miyagi to her Daniel.
Was that how I looked to the vets when I joined up? Like an eager, happy puppy ready to save the world?
I learned real fast that most of it doesn’t want to be saved, and the rest has an agenda.
Tracing her curvy outline with my gaze, I imagine a world where I could have all of that. Where I could pull her innocence close and bury myself in it. A world where sliding into her would let some of that beauty rub off on me, instead of me tainting it.
Surreptitiously, Nora nabs a cube of sugar out of a bowl on the counter. She unwraps it, quickly popping the sugar bomb onto her tongue and closing her eyes as it melts.
I adjust my position, because my cock could care less about right or wrong. It just wants to know if her mouth is as sweet as that sugar. Perversely, her uniform only makes it hotter. What I should be doing is keeping my head down and turning away.
Just one more minute.
Her bulky clothes can’t hide the way her ass fills out those pants, or the way her waist tucks in before her breasts strain against her jacket. Okay, so the black down-filled monstrosity isn’t exactly lingerie, but I’ve seen her in less and my brain has no problem filling in the details. Details I’d love to get my hands on.
I deserve everything I get when I let my gaze travel up past her sexy lips, over her cute button nose to find myself staring right into her suspicious brown eyes.
That are looking right back at me.
Fuck.
She weaves her way across the shop and stops at my table, her hard heeled shoes clacking on the tiled floor. Her scowl leaves little doubt about how she feels about seeing me. “You.”
I smile like I don’t have a care in the world. “We meet again, sweet stuff.”
“Please tell me you're not following me. Because if you
are, I don't even have to call the police. I am the police.”
“Can’t a man enjoy a nice cup of coffee without being harassed?” I take a sip of my now cold Americano and choke it down, pretending to enjoy it. “Just getting a little work done, officer. Is that okay?”
“Work?” She doesn’t even try to be subtle as she peers at my laptop screen.
Look all you want, officer. I have nothing to hide. Yet. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“What’s with the pictures?”
“I’m a freelance press photographer. It’s what I do.” Some stroke of insanity causes me to reach into my wallet and pull out one of the cards I use occasionally to cover my tracks.
“Order up for… Dora!”
Nora plucks it out of my fingers. “Payne Carter, Editorial Photographer—oh my God! The license plate!” Her face lights up with a smile, but I can tell it’s at least partly at my expense. “Hotshot. I get it. Cute. Cheesy, but cute.”
I’ll show her cute…
The cashier looks around until she spots Nora. “Coffee up! Dora!”
“Your coffee’s ready, Adora.”
“Oh, you gotta be kidding me.” Her smile turns back into a scowl, but the look is softened by a slight flush that colors her cheeks. “And stop calling me that.”
“You’re right. Adorable is totally the wrong word. What would be a better one? Sexy? Beautiful? Gorgeous?”
She nervously tucks a nonexistent strand of hair behind her ear. “Stop it.”
I should, but I don’t. Instead, I lean forwards, taking my card back from her hand and sliding it into the front pocket of her pants, letting my fingers press against her body and enjoy her warmth. “Maybe you just don’t see what I see. If you ever want a few pictures taken, let me know and I’ll be happy to show you.”
“No way!” Nora shakes her head so vehemently I’m surprised her bun doesn’t come loose. I can’t tell if she’s mad or embarrassed. Maybe a little of both. “I’ve got to go. Try not to cause trouble.” She turns primly and goes to pick up her order.
