A Shameless Little BET (Shameless #3)

by Meli Raine

  “It’s okay,” Silas soothes, but his words don’t help.

  Nothing is okay.

  “Instant reading, right?” Drew demands from her. She ignores him, staring at whatever object she’s using to test my hands. I know they’re looking for gun residue, to see if I fired a weapon. At this point, I have no idea what the test will say, because maybe Monica or Harry or someone else has figured out a way to make it look like I shot the gun.

  It feels like the laws of physics don’t matter anymore.

  “Clean,” the officer snaps, in a voice that makes it clear she’s not happy about it. “Metals ratio shows she didn’t pull the trigger.”

  “Get her out of those cuffs. Now. You heard the senator,” Drew orders.

  The senator?

  “You have no idea what you’ve done here,” Silas spits out, my hands freed with a series of clicks, the movement forward almost as painful as being bound.

  “Lily?” I ask him, terrified to hear the answer.

  “She’s alive. Barely. We’ll know more later,” he whispers in my ear. “Don’t talk. We need to get you out of here.”

  “She needs to be interviewed,” the cop insists as Silas gently pulls me to a standing position on the pavement, my knees wobbly. Pins and needles rake my arms as the blood comes roaring back where it should be.

  “What did Drew mean by ‘the senator’?” I ask Silas under my breath.

  “He called to help get you out of custody.”

  “Why would he do that when it’s his wife who is doing this to me?’

  “Shhhhh.”

  Silas performs a miracle, getting me away from the police and into an SUV where Duff sits behind the wheel, Romeo in the passenger seat. Neither looks at me as Silas helps me climb in. Without a word, Duff starts driving, the blue and red police car lights flashing like we’re in a disco.

  The sun is creeping along the horizon like a peeping Tom, waiting for dusk to obscure whatever spying it’s doing. The day was long, an eternity, a century.

  My ears ring. My shoulders scream. My mind can’t stop seeing my foot underneath that curtain, pushing against an obstacle. An obstacle that turns out to be my friend.

  “Why?” I ask. “Why would someone want to kill Lily, of all people?”

  He eyes me. “The two of you look like twins. Only someone who knew how similar you look today would know who was who. From behind, a killer could make this mistake.”

  “Did make this mistake. My God, Silas, you’re telling me that Lily is dead because of what I chose to wear this morning?”

  “Not dead,” he says firmly. “You don’t know that. We don’t know that.”

  “People don’t just survive being shot in the head!”

  “Some do,” he soothes. “Some really do.”

  “And what was that about the gun? Drew took the gun back in the parking garage. I saw him do it! How could that gun appear out of nowhere and be used to shoot Lily?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Not good enough!” Harry’s warning clangs in my head like a gong. Did Drew set me up? Are Silas and Drew working together to play mind games with me? How would a gun that Marshall gave me, and that Drew took away from me, find its way into The Thorn Poke and be used to shoot someone I consider a rare friend?

  “You think I’m not wondering the same thing, Jane?” he hisses in my ear as Duff takes a sharp left, sending me flying into Silas’s side. His hand goes around my back, possessive and harsh, his touch angry. “You think I’m not worried?”

  “Worried about Drew?”

  “Hell, no. I trust Drew with my life. You know that.”

  “That doesn’t mean I do. I know Lindsay loves him, but something feels off about Drew.”

  “Nothing’s off. He was set up just like you. Remember? I would think you’d have more compassion and perspective when it comes to the obvious.”

  “Which is?”

  “Someone is pitting us all against each other. Sowing seeds of distrust. Divide us and we’re easier to beat.”

  “That’s exactly what a villain would say when he’s trying to manipulate the good guys.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Now I’m the villain?”

  “No.”

  One eyebrow drops, skepticism all over his face. “You wouldn’t have said that if you didn’t have doubts about me. Do you trust me, Jane? Because I trust you. Fully and completely.”

  “What if you’re wrong? Like –”

  He finishes my thought for me. “Like Rebecca?” He takes my right hand in both of his. “I made a mistake. But you know what that mistake really was? I loved her. I trusted her. She betrayed me. For a long time I thought I’d betrayed myself. I felt like a fool. Worse than a fool, because people died by Rebecca’s hand. Good people. People with power whose deaths made a profoundly negative difference in the world. And that was my fault. My fault for loving her like an idiot.”

  Every time he talks about love and Rebecca something explodes inside me.

  Silas leans close, his words like smoke, twisting on the wind into my ear. “I love you. I trust you. I love you more than I knew I could love someone, Jane. Our connection is...” Squeezing my hand, he swallows, breathing hard as we sit in the backseat, Duff and Romeo feet away.

  “I know.” My body feels it, the emotion inside my cells. No words describe it. The uniqueness and wordlessness is the sum total of who we are together.

  “And if loving someone is wrong, then the true villains win. I will err on the side of trust. Of love. Of you. Always.”

  I squeeze his hand back, acutely aware of Duff and Romeo. Of Lily with her head wound. Of Tara and Mandy and Jenna and – all of it.

  All of it.

  “This is horrible,” I confess, the words a relief to say.

  “It is horrible.” His agreement is a relief, too. We’re living through the horribleness together. It’s small comfort, but I’ll take it.

  “Lindsay and Drew lived through worse,” I mutter, absentmindedly drifting off to think about them.

  He stiffens.

  “What?”

  “About Lindsay.”

  “Is she hurt? What happened?”

  “No, no,” he assures me. “She’s fine. It’s just – Drew banned her from seeing you.”

  I sit up, breaking our clasp. “He what?”

  “Drew considers anyone in your presence to be in danger.”

  “He’s right.”

  Silas sighs, the sound loaded with meaning.

  “He’s afraid,” I marvel.

  “Yes. Anyone in their right mind would be.”

  “What about you? Aren’t you afraid?”

  “I won’t let you spend time around Kelly or my mother anymore, but no. I’m not afraid for myself. I need to protect you.”

  “How can you protect me when someone is systematically killing everyone I spend time with?”

  “That’s how I protect you, Jane. By being here. Right place, right time. I kill them before they kill me. I’m not worried. I know I’ll win.”

  His comment about Kelly and Linda feels like a knife in the heart. He’s right. I know he is. That doesn’t make it hurt less.

  But I know a way to make this easier on him.

  So I do.

  I turn to him and declare, “I need to disappear.”

  Silas

  “I need to disappear,” she says to me, her face so calm, her voice painfully even. She means it. She’s serious. I know she is. That’s why this hurts so damn much.

  Her words are a knife in the heart, a punch to the gut, a windless set of lungs. I know what she means but I can’t stand hearing it.

  I can’t stand watching her live it.

  I refuse to let this go on.

  “No. Not like that. We need to get you somewhere safe.”

  “Where is that, Silas?” Her voice rises, a plaintive sound that tears my guts open. “Nowhere is safe. That’s the point.”

  “Whose point?”

&nbs
p; “Whoever’s doing this to me.”

  Monica Bosworth. I want to say her name aloud, but with Duff and Romeo up front, I can’t. You don’t announce that kind of truth, even in front of your own men.

  Concrete proof is what Drew and I need. We’re so close. Damn close.

  But close isn’t the same as there.

  “I’ll find a safe place,” I tell her as Duff heads toward our apartment building, the drive so short, we’re suddenly here.

  Turns out I have no safe place for Jane.

  Because all around our apartment building, fire trucks and ambulances crowd the roads, the long ladder extending high into the sky as three firefighters handle a hose.

  Pointed straight at Jane’s apartment window.

  Fire licks at the edges of the window frame, obscured by smoke billowing out, grey and puffed, shrouding the white moon against the still-blue sky. Dusk makes the smoke seem redundant, the bluish-grey of twilight mingling with the burn.

  People cluster on the grass at the edges of the parking lot, clutching small children, laptop bags, purses, grocery store sacks filled with whatever they desperately shoved in them before fleeing.

  It’s pandemonium.

  “Someone did their job right,” Romeo says under his breath, the words a breach of protocol, but no one gives a shit.

  He’s saying what we’re all thinking.

  Jane lets out a sob. I reach to comfort her, jaw locked, body ready for a fight.

  But there is no one. No villain. No bad guy. Just smoke and flames and a whole lot of noise.

  How do you defeat a shadow?

  “Why the hell would someone – oh.” Duff’s outburst ends abruptly.

  We all know why.

  With a defeated, woeful sound, Jane looks at me, closes her eyes, and just shakes her head.

  Her hand goes under her ass, moving around like she’s searching her pants pocket. Pulling out her phone, she turns to me, her mouth a thin line pressing some emotion I can’t read.

  “Silas, I need you to take my phone.” She’s shaking so bad.

  “Why?”

  “Because there are hundreds of photos of documents from Alice’s records in the Photos app. I didn’t upload them. Not like the photos Lindsay took. These are likely the only proof those PI reports on Monica ever existed.”

  “You took photos of the files in the remaining boxes?” My phone is blowing up with texts and calls from Drew, but I ignore it. Admiration pours through me, a welcome change from all the other nasty emotions taking over. Not only is she gorgeous inside and out, she’s a sneaky, smart woman who thinks ahead.

  That makes her dangerous.

  In every good way.

  “After Lindsay uploaded to the cloud and Monica came to my apartment, I realized someone other than you guys is watching me. Us. Everyone. I figured photos would be prudent.”

  “You would have made a great agent, Jane.”

  “Not enough money in it. I think I’ll turn to stripping and Playboy spreads,” she says with a rueful smile. “Those are the only job offers I get these days.”

  She lets me pull her close, her hands reflexively rubbing her wrists where the handcuffs were. Her eyes are fixed on the pluming smoke coming out of her broken apartment window. It’s surreal. It is. It’s also another moment in a string of tens of thousands of moments in my life where violence is front and center.

  This is what I do.

  Protect people from that.

  “I had my own place,” she says into my chest. “And now I don’t.”

  “You have a place with me.”

  “I’m sure there’s fire damage in your apartment too, Silas.”

  Duff nods. It’s a subtle signal, but message delivered.

  And received.

  “Joey?” she asks, worried. “What about your cat?”

  “We’ve got Gentian’s cat secured,” Duff answers in a tone that is business-like and crystal clear: situation handled.

  “Where?”

  “Kennel. We’ll return the cat when it’s safe.”

  “We’ll find someplace for the night,” I assure her.

  “Anywhere but The Grove.”

  “Hell, no,” I tell her, taken aback at the thought. “You don’t set foot in a hornets’ nest when you’re allergic.”

  Romeo and Duff whisper to each other. Romeo gets out, nods, and disappears. Division of labor.

  “My car’s here,” I tell Duff, reaching for the handle. “We’ll go in mine.”

  “Wait,” Jane says. “No.”

  “No?” Duff and I say in unison.

  “Duff should take your car. You drive this. Looks like Romeo’s off investigating. If someone’s after me, they’re after you, and Duff taking your car is more of a smokescreen,” Jane explains.

  “You sure you’re not an agent?” Duff asks her. I hold back a laugh.

  I hand Duff my car keys. He climbs out and I move into the front seat. Jane knows not to come up front. More room to duck and stay safe in the back. Tinted windows, too.

  I hate not touching her.

  Less than a minute later, we’re on the road. I’m pretty sure I know where she wants to go. At a stoplight, I check texts.

  Drew and nothing but Drew.

  I activate my voice dictation and run off a stream of answers.

  “Lilac Inn,” Jane says from the back seat. “Can we book it? I mean, can you? I still only have the money in my bank account and no credit cards and –”

  “I’ve got it,” I assure her.

  She starts crying, the sound so mournful. So broken.

  So goddamned unfair.

  “Can you ask someone about Lily? Is she – I – did she die?”

  I dial Drew.

  “Where the fuck are you, Gentian?” So much for pleasantries.

  “Getting Jane away from her apartment.”

  “Good. Get her the hell away from everyone.”

  “Working on it. Suggestions?”

  “How about Mars? I hear they’re working on a colony there.”

  “I’m not Matt Damon, sir.”

  “Ha.”

  “She wants the Lilac Inn.”

  “That is awfully public.”

  “I don’t think they were trying to kill her with the apartment fire.”

  “Evidence.” His one-word answer is shorthand for the boxes of Alice’s papers.

  “Yes.”

  “You get any?”

  “We’ll talk later.”

  “Lilac Inn. Fine. One night. I’ll send a team to cover. Then get her out of there in the morning.”

  “I’m thinking I know a safe place where no one monitors you.”

  “West Virginia?”

  “Close enough.”

  “You think she’ll accept that?”

  “She has no choice.”

  “I have no choice about what?” Jane pipes up from the back.

  “Jesus,” Drew groans. “She won’t let up.”

  “These women don’t. Speaking of women, any news on Lily?”

  “She’s in surgery.”

  “So she’s alive?”

  “Barely.”

  “Good to know.”

  “This went from bad to worse, Gentian.”

  “No shit, sir.”

  Call ended.

  “Lily’s alive?” Jane gasps, stretching back against the seat with a long sigh. She leans forward and arches her back, wincing.

  “Yes. For now. In surgery.”

  “Please let her live.” The pained expression on her face, especially with her eyes closed as if she’s praying, makes some part of me break inside.

  “If I could control it, I would,” I tell her.

  “I know.” Just like that, she leans against the window and stares out, going into a state of near catatonia.

  I stop talking.

  This is her version of rest. I’ve seen it before. Victims of emotional and physical trauma have to shut down. It’s protective. People who can’t drop th
eir vigilant states don’t last long in nature. Evolution weeds them out. They’re extremely useful when they run at full throttle. Vigilance keeps other people alive.

  But bright stars burn out the fastest.

  Watching her shut down fills me with relief.

  And determination.

  At the Lilac Inn, I see the black sedan before I pull into a parking space. True to his word, Drew’s sent a team. A guy and a woman I don’t know make quick eye contact. I check my text. Drew’s description meets what I see.

  Jane rouses easily. “I’m going to check in. Two of Drew’s people are right over –”

  Bright headlights flood the SUV’s interior as a compact car pulls into the parking lot, a couple of tipsy women our age tumbling out, laughing and loose.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “Jane,” I say gently. “You have blood on you.”

  The woman from Drew’s team comes over, carrying a small bag. “Silly!” she says, all smiles and playing a role in front of the happy, drunk women who are talking about bridesmaids’ dresses and garters. “You left your overnight bag in my car. We’ll be back later for a nightcap with you guys.” She comes in for a hug and whispers, “Foster said to leave at two a.m. Jet will be ready for D.C.”

  “Geez,” I say loudly, in on the charade. “If my head weren’t attached, I’d lose it. Thanks, sis.” The added sis hurts to say. I don’t have a sister anymore. I did.

  I don’t now.

  Jane waves as the woman walks off. “Who was that?” she asks under her breath as she fishes around in the bag, finds a clean cardigan sweater, and shoves her arms into it, buttoning quickly to cover the stained shirt.

  “No idea. Let’s get inside, away from windows.”

  I check in quickly, all the details covered by some admin on Drew’s team. No bullshit from the clerk, who seems to have been told something about us, because she expresses sympathy to Jane as we walk away.

  “So sorry for your loss, miss,” she calls out as we walk upstairs to our assigned room, eyes tracking Jane’s despondent figure. Second floor, middle room, fewer windows. Harder to break in, not too dangerous to jump if we have to escape.

  Less than perfect, but it’ll do.

  I let Jane in first. She beelines for the bathroom. I go to the windows, close the curtains, and sit.

  I empty my mind.

  This emptiness feels good. Tight. Right and on point. It’s an emptiness that means I’m ready for whatever comes next. No judgment. No expectations. A raw, expansive sense that whatever happens is meant to happen. I’m primed to respond.