Layers Deep

by Lacey Silks

  “Thanks, Cross.” I stood up brushing the dirt off my jeans.

  “Ah, come on. It was funny.” He came to my side, wrapping his arm around my waist. By that time, the “gossip girl” pre-teen stood in front of us with one dog at each side. She looked like she was ready to step onto a movie set. The genes in the Cross family were definitely movie-star quality.

  “This is my little sister, Emma.”

  Everything inside me crunched into a tight ball. A rush of guilt, fear, loss, and sorrow combined into one flew through me as if it were that day all over again. The day I’d lost my sister. I remembered her grave, the wreath of daisies, and the grief. Oh, God, how much it hurt and how much I wished my little Emma was here with me! Was this meant to be? Had my sister somehow re-incarnated in the body of Tristan’s sister? Did Tristan even know he had everything I’d lost?

  And then she smiled. Oh, what a lovely and cute and adorable smile she had! Now Emma was more like a country singer-meets-NY type of a girl, with the charms and looks of a big city and the heart of the entire country. I got all that in one simple smile. She must have gone through a growth spurt too, because Emma was almost as tall as me. She held a tablet under her arm.

  “Hi, Emma. I’m Allie. What are you reading?” I asked, shaking off the weird déjà vu.

  “Nothing yet. I’m searching through the best-sellers.”

  “You know, there are hidden gems lower down the charts too.”

  “Thanks. I follow this blogger who reviews the best books ever. It’s nice to meet you, Allie.” She pulled out her hand like an adult and I shook it. The gentle breeze fluttered her hair. A brown streak, a single lowlight among the blonde strands, tickled her face, and she tucked it behind her ear.

  “Are you two dating?” She pointed between me and Tristan. And the adult part of her personality totally disappeared. “My brothers never bring anyone home. They say it’s for my own good and that I should hang out with kids my age. But kids my age are boring. I put a spy camera on Tristan’s tie once, but the connection on my phone didn’t work and when it finally did Tristan spilled some cream off a dessert so I couldn’t see anything, but I heard a girl say she’d love to see his...”

  “... I think that’s enough, Emma!” He lowered his gaze to his phone saying, “Excuse me for a moment.”

  And with that, Emma was on a roll again. She took my hand and led me toward the white mansion.

  “I was gonna say, his Bentley collection. I’m not as stupid as he thinks. Are you two going on a date? My mom says she’ll do your hair, and I really want to help if you’ll let me. Pleeaassseee.”

  I looked over to Tristan, begging him with my eyes for help, but he seemed lost in a conversation, following us up the steps. I hadn’t even met Mrs. Cross yet, had been told my hair would be changed, and still, Emma absolutely captivated me. Would my little sister have been as perky and heart-warming, with the personality of a dozen teens mixed into one? I nodded to the ‘pleeaassseee,’ fearing she’d run out of air soon.

  “Yay! Finally the curse is broken. When I trimmed Tristan’s hair and gave him highlights, I made a mistake with the color. But the purple washed away quickly. I don’t know why he insisted on working from home for a month. It made him look cool and hip.” She pushed the front door open, taking a deep breath. I knew this only meant she was getting ready for another long sentence.

  Tristan, engrossed in a conversation, sat down on the highest step outside and motioned with his hand for me to go on with Emma. She led me through the grand hall, and just before I asked where we were going, she continued.

  “Tristan finds dark-haired women hotter than the blondes. So does Julian. I don’t know why. I think blondes have more fun, don’t you?” She let go of my hand and took a strand of my hair between her fingers. “Well, take my word for it. If you stay here, you can sleep over. You can use my room. I don’t mind sharing. Tristan and Julian never share their rooms with girls—sometimes they suck that way.”

  We stood there in the hall, one in front of the other and I smiled. Emma was doing all the talking, and I loved listening to her. I adored her little mouth that wouldn’t close. I didn’t notice when we sat down on the lowest stair of the Scarlett O’Hara staircase. She absolutely mesmerized me.

  “But they’re the best brothers ever because they let me play with their gadgets all the time. Because I can keep a secret.”

  Should I have started doubting Emma? How in the world could her mouth ever hold a secret?

  She froze with her mouth open and leaned over to me, lowering her voice. “I want to be an aunt, and I can’t be an aunt until one of them marries and has a baby. If you marry Tristan, you could be my sister-in-law.” Her eyes nearly doubled in size and so did mine. She looked around the room conspicuously and leaned in again to whisper, this time right into my ear. “Tristan loves black lingerie. Women think he likes red, but he really loves black.”

  And with one wink and a straight face, she made it seem like our marriage arrangement was a done deal.

  I felt my cheeks heat. “Tristan’s just my...”

  “...boyfriend,” he filled in, standing at the doorway. The sun behind him outlined his manly posture, and it glowed like a halo all around his body. He closed the door and pulled out a little box from his pocket, saying, “I’ve got something for you, Emma.”

  She ran over, grabbed the box, kissed him on the cheek, and hugged him tightly, almost knocking him down. “You’re the best brother ever!”

  Then she jumped down, turned to wink at me again (now that we shared the secrets of my arranged marriage and Tristan’s lingerie preferences), and ran off screaming, “Mom! Tristan’s dating! And she’s cute and she’s gonna be my aunt!”

  I couldn’t hold on any longer and burst out laughing. “How old is she?”

  “Thirteen.”

  The blood in my cheeks must have drained. This was my Emma. No matter what my future held and what happened between me and Tristan, I’d make sure this little girl remained in my life forever.

  “Are you all right? You look a little pale.” He paused. “Oh, shit! I didn’t realize this, I’m so sorry. I should have known.” Tristan’s gaze flew from me toward the doorway Emma had left.

  “It’s all right. I’m fine. I think I’ll be just fine.” I smiled.

  “She hasn’t said anything inappropriate to you, has she?” he asked, finally coming to my side.

  “Not at all.” I shook my head. “She’s just so perfect. You’re a lucky brother. So… boyfriend?”

  “Is that too forward?” He lowered his hands on my hips and kissed me full on the lips. I could have gotten lost in those lips for the rest of the day, but I had a feeling Emma would keep me occupied.

  When I finally pulled away I said, “No, it’s not too forward.” In fact, the single word meant more than gravity – although at this moment, I felt like I was floating and nothing could keep my body connected to the ground. “I didn’t know your mom was a hairdresser.”

  “She’s not, but it’s one of her many talents. She took courses and worked at a salon once, spying on some employees when my father started the business.” He ran his fingers through his hair. I found this very sexy and very distracting. It made my heart go pitter-patter and made it difficult to concentrate. “You’ll find our family has quite a few skills in different vocations. I promise she’s solid with the hair.”

  “Why do I need a haircut?” I asked.

  “Not a haircut. We’re both getting a small makeover for the job. Don’t worry, you’d look beautiful even bald.” He kissed me on the lips, pulling me into his body again. I hoped shaving my head wasn’t part of the makeover. Of all things, that I couldn’t agree with.

  “Arghm...” Someone cleared his throat.

  “And you know Julian already.”

  Tristan’s older brother could have passed for his twin. He wore a v-neck sweater with nothing underneath. I’d say the Indian summer didn’t call for a sweater just yet, but the
light knit fabric fit him so perfectly, it was difficult to take my eyes away.

  “A little better than I should.”

  “How do you know Julian?” Emma asked, back in the hallway pulling on my hand, and I was forced to let go of Tristan. I hadn’t even noticed when she sneaked in.

  “Allie here is refusing to greet me as nicely as she did before,” Julian teased.

  Emma stopped. “Why?”

  “We ran into each other at the same hotel, and I mistook Julian for Tristan.”

  “Oh, it happens all the time. The girls usually like one and think it’s the other. They used to double date, but I don’t know if it counts if one goes out with a girl and then the other goes out with the same one next week. They said ‘sharing is caring.’ Boys are confusing sometimes. They look a bit different now. And they don’t fight as much about girls anymore. Except for...”

  “...how do you like your new toy, Emma?” Tristan interrupted.

  I raised my brows at the brothers, widening my eyes. Both had the ‘you say anything else and I’ll kill you’ look, but Emma didn’t seem to care a bit as she pulled me toward the other end of the house. Given the aroma of delicious scents, I assumed we were headed for the kitchen.

  “Love it. And I intend to find out how it works on both of you.” Her innocent gaze flew from Tristan and then to Julian with a hint of threat. This girl had them wrapped around her finger and they didn’t know it. Or perhaps they did and simply allowed it. I think it was the latter.

  The smell of a barbeque marinade and fresh fruit filled the air the moment we stepped into the kitchen. A familiar smile greeted me. Tristan hadn’t told me she would be here; I’d assumed she’d been transferred to the safe house already and we’d visit her after the dinner.

  “Mom!” I rushed toward the sink where my mom was drying the dishes. “You all right?”

  “Of course I’m all right. She’s something else, isn’t she?” My mom motioned toward Emma.

  “She sure is.” I wondered whether my mom’s thoughts headed in the same direction as mine.

  “I’ve been in this beautiful guest house and I really don’t want to be a burden,” she continued.

  “Oh, Peg, don’t be silly. We love having you here.” A lady with a funky reddish hairstyle and blonde streaks turned around and wiped her wet hands on a towel.

  “Guest house?” I whispered to Tristan.

  “The safest safe house there is.” He grinned. “Hi, Mom,” Tristan embraced his mother.

  I mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Tristan as his mother squeezed him tight.

  Above the window over the sink a wooden sign caught my eye. It was so out of place among all the gadgets, I bet it had to mean something to the family. It said, Welcome to Bedrock.

  Cute, I thought.

  Small glass bowls full of spices lined the marble counter. Something simmered on a pan and I took another whiff: mushrooms and onions. Mrs. Cross lifted the lid, stirring for a moment before turning down the gas.

  Further back on the counter, a fruit bowl, which looked more like it belonged at a wedding, displayed a peacock made out of fresh fruit. Had they catered especially for today?

  Tristan leaned into my ear, whispering, “Mom posed as a chef once too, in a top New York restaurant. She could have run the place forever.”

  Cross Enterprises really was a family business.

  My mom picked up a knife and started peeling potatoes. Now she was beginning to blend in among all the Crosses.

  “So you’re Allie. I’ve heard so much about you.” Mrs. Cross finally approached me and pulled me in for a full hug, which I wasn’t expecting. The embrace truly welcomed me to her house.

  “All good, I hope.”

  She let go. “Of course all good. Tristan would never say anything bad about a woman. And if he ever does, let me know so I can wash his mouth with soap.”

  I laughed, looking at Tristan who whispered, “She’s serious, too.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Do you need any help?” I asked.

  “You just make yourself at home. I believe Tristan has some business first. We’ll have dinner and then I’ll work my magic.”

  I assumed she was referring to the makeover but had no time to ask. She rushed over to the stove where another pot was boiling and about to spill over.

  “Willmaaa!” Someone yelled from the back yard.

  “Are we watching The Flintstones?” I asked Tristan.

  “It’s a thing my parents have. An inside joke no one knows about. He calls her Wilma and she calls him Fred when it’s just the family around. Otherwise it’s Maggie and John.”

  I felt honored to be privy to such an intimate exchange; but then again, he didn’t know I was here.

  “I thought I’d heard you on the monitor! Is this the lovely Allie?” He embraced me before hugging each of his sons. Perhaps he had known I was here after all. His bear arms caged me in and held me there for a longer moment than I’d expected. Something deep welled inside my chest, and I imagined myself lingering in his arms as if he were my father. I missed Daddy.

  When he pulled away, an odd feeling passed between me and Tristan and his father, but I couldn’t quite place it. It was as if with his expert eyes, Mr. Cross looked deep into my soul and at that moment decided I was part of the family. Shivers ran down my arms at the thought.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Cross,” I said.

  “Don’t let this boy boss you around too much, and listen to your instinct. There’s nothing better than a woman’s instinct.”

  “Agreed,” Mrs. Cross said, stirring at the stove with one hand and reaching for something on the counter. Mr. Cross passed her a lid for the boiling pot without having to be asked.

  I caught my mom’s gaze because she knew firsthand the importance of a woman’s instinct. She’d repeated the same thing over and over again as I grew up: Listen to your instinct. It’s the most honest warning you’ll ever have.

  “Let’s get our work out of the way before dinner. Mom?” Tristan kissed his mother on the cheek.

  “Thirty minutes. Outside,” she answered, as if she knew what he wanted to ask without asking.

  This family had a way of communicating without communicating, and it made me feel all nice and warm inside. I wondered how many weekends they’d spent working together like this, learning each other’s moves and gestures and signals. I understood why Tristan missed living at home.

  “Thank you.”

  And with that Tristan took my hand and led me to a kitchen cupboard. Expecting he’d pull out condiments or pass something to his mother, it surprised me when he opened the pantry leading to a staircase downstairs.

  I gasped and followed without a question. Julian was right behind me and locked the door. Had he been near the entire time, watching me? As soon as we were down, the staircase dimmed like in a movie theater, and Tristan pressed a few green buttons on a keypad. The whole room illuminated.

  Photos, maps, and sketches decorated one wall. A sequence of shots of the auburn-haired woman, Kendra, had been pinned in a row. The progression twisted my stomach. In the first one she looked like any other girl, as in the photograph Tristan had shown me on his phone; but the second and third displayed a different woman. Eyes hollow, face dappled with sun spots, cheeks sagging not from age but from despair. The empty look in her eyes in the last one held no hope. I felt a lump in my throat before looking away. Getting emotionally attached was the last thing I’d wanted.

  Just below was a photo of the guy I remembered running into in the park about a month or so ago.

  “Martinez?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Tristan replied.

  I memorized his face, trying to remember the bushy eyebrows, cigarette-stained fingers, and thick Spanish accent.

  A desk with three computers was set up in the corner. Another station stacked with various sized and colored folders was assembled to the left.

  “Have you tagged her yet?” Julian asked.

  Was t
hat another code word for ‘shagged’?

  “I wanted to do it here.” Tristan answered before looking at my puzzled face. “We’re going to implant a tracking device in your neck, just underneath your hairline.”

  “Wouldn’t a button on a dress work just as well?”

  The brothers looked to one another, and Julian finally spoke. “We find buttons and jewelry have a way of getting lost. And, what if they strip you naked?”

  “Strip?”

  “Has my brother not explained the whole job?” Julian put on a pair of latex gloves and picked up a metal syringe. Was that thing made for elephants?

  “He has...” I started.

  “...not the tracking device.” Tristan interrupted. “It’s for your safety, Allie. Nervous?” he asked.

  “A little. Can’t say it doesn’t creep me out that you’ll know where I’m at the whole time.”

  “We can remove it as soon as the job is done. Until then we’ll do anything we can to keep you safe.” Tristan led me toward a cushioned bench closer to the wall.

  “Don’t be nervous. Julian’s a pro. He’s been on this case since the beginning. Lie down on your front.” He pointed to the seat. “Hair up.”

  Tristan sat at the end closer to my head. He held my hand, even if he didn’t have to, but I was glad he did. He always made me feel at ease. A cold dab of alcohol was smoothed on the back of my neck before a sharp pinch. The pressure was uncomfortable but not too painful. It reminded me of the feeling when you have something stuck between your molars and can’t get it out. You know it doesn’t belong there, but neither floss nor a toothpick will do the job. After a few seconds, Julian took the thick needle out and disposed of the tip. He removed his gloves and picked up his phone.

  A string of beeps sounded.

  “It’s working. The bruise will go down in a couple of days,” he said. “Allie, thank you for doing this. If Tristan trusts you, so do I.”

  “I promise we’ll find her.”

  “I know we will.” Julian was holding something back, but covered it up well. “And then we’ll party like there’s no tomorrow.”

  Somehow that didn’t convince me. I had a feeling Kendra needed a lot more help than just being rescued; at least that was the impression I got from the pictures posted up on the wall. Some names I read, other than hers, sounded familiar. I’d recalled the most-wanted posters at the force. The people we’d be dealing with were pros, but so were we.