Promises to Keep

by Maegan Beaumont

  “Oh, well, in that case, I’ll tell my contact to lay off the crayons,” Sabrina said, straightening her legs under the table. “And if you think that concern for your safety is going to entice me to give up my source, then Shaw should kill you, because you’re too stupid to live.”

  Lark shifted again and rubbed a hand across his jaw before cutting him a look. “You wanna reel your girl in, O’Shea, before that mouth of hers gets her in trouble?”

  Michael slid his gaze across the kitchen until it rested on the back of her head. “She’s not my girl.”

  The words stiffened her spine, as if he’d punched her between the shoulder blades. She swung a look at him, hurt and anger flitting across her features. He held her gaze, forcing every shred of emotion he held from his face until it was nothing but a mask. He counted to five, letting her see the void before he looked at Ben. “Take her home.”

  Ben hesitated. “Maybe you should be the one—”

  “I’ve got more important things to do. Besides, I’m sure you walked her home plenty of times.” He kept his gaze locked on Ben’s face. He didn’t want to look at her. Couldn’t. Not when he was seconds away from coming completely unhinged.

  “I’ll walk myself home,” she said in a hard tone, drilling him with a glare to match. The heat of it was like a hot poker in his chest. She left without a backward glance.

  Good. The angrier she was at him, the easier it would be. He angled his head at the door, signaling Ben to follow her. “Stay with her.”

  Ben paused for a moment, looking almost as pissed as Sabrina before he hit the door, slamming it closed behind him.

  “You’ve always been way too good at that,” Lark said in the quiet, his booming voice held just above a whisper.

  “Good at what?” He looked down at the boy curled into a ball on the floor next to Sabrina’s empty chair, sleeping what Michael would be willing to bet was the first real sleep he’d had in months.

  “Pretending shit doesn’t matter.”

  He looked up at Lark and laughed. “Are you fuckin’ serious? An hour ago you were running your mouth about what a number she’s done on me, now you’re pullin’ a Dear Abby because I won’t walk her home?”

  Lark shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a complicated kinda guy.”

  Michael leaned forward a bit, dropping his voice so it wouldn’t carry beyond Lark’s ears. “How’s this for complicated—that capsule I made you swallow is the least of your worries. If you fuck us over …” He shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “The things I’ll do to you. By the time I’m done, you’ll be begging me to make the call.”

  Lark smiled. “Yeah. You’ve always been good at that too.” He turned to leave, but Michael’s words stopped him cold.

  “You think you’re up to the task?” Michael said. There was no need to elaborate, and Lark proved it by throwing him a look over his shoulder before turning to face him.

  “To killing you? Probably not,” Lark said. “But I got a better shot than most.”

  “What I don’t get is why. Shaw can kill me anytime he wants. So why get you to do it?” he said, pulling his shoulder away from the doorjamb to stand up straight.

  Lark just laughed. “One thing I learned in my twenty-three months and eighteen days as his personal guard—Livingston Shaw gets off on making people do things they don’t want to do.” Lark picked his cup up off the counter and rinsed it out before placing it carefully in the sink. “Good night, partner,” he said before heading upstairs.

  Thirty-Eight

  “Go home.”

  Sabrina had said it about a hundred times in the past hour, but he wasn’t listening.

  Instead, Ben shuffled the deck of cards and dealt in stubborn silence. Sometimes she wanted to strangle him. He picked up his cards and fanned them out, studying them intently. “It’s your turn to go first,” he said.

  She walked around the bed from one window to the next. “I don’t want to play cards,” she said a bit too harshly. She hadn’t felt like this in years. Scared. Angry. Paranoid. The back of her head throbbed in a reminder that she was smart to feel all three.

  Ben hardly seemed to notice. “I’ve already told you, I’m not having sex with you, Sabrina.” He smirked at the cards in his hand, moving a few here and there. “Begging only makes you sound desperate.”

  She laughed in spite of herself. “The only thing I’m desperate to do is get you out of my house.”

  “Not gonna happen. You heard O’Shea; I’m supposed to stay here,” he said, glancing up at her.

  “Oh, and you always do what you’re told?” Stepping away from the window, she approached the bed, giving him the once-over.

  Ben shrugged. “When it suits me.”

  “You mean when it bugs me?” she said dryly and picked up her cards. He wasn’t leaving anytime soon; might as well pass the time. “Do you have any fives?”

  Ben scowled and tossed her a card. She paired it with the card she already held and laid them on the bed, next to her SIG.

  “Got any jacks?” he said.

  “Go fish.”

  Ben picked up a card and stuck it in the middle of his hand.

  She’d meant to ask him if he had any threes—what came out of her mouth was a different question entirely. “Why did you bring him here?”

  He shot her a look and shrugged. “You called. We came.”

  “Bullshit. You’ve been here a dozen times over the past year and never once have you even mentioned him. You could’ve just as easily split up and come here while sending him on to question the Maddoxes. Instead you plopped him in front of me like a cat would a dead bird. Why?”

  Now he wouldn’t look at her. “I told him.”

  She stared at him for a full ten-count, but he didn’t elaborate. Didn’t explain. The realization of what he meant detonated in her belly, knocking her slightly off-kilter. “You told him what?” she said, just to make sure they were on the same page.

  “You know what.” Ben glared at the cards in his hand, not even having to look at her to gauge how angry she was. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I had a choice.”

  “You’re Ben Shaw—if there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that you always have a choice.” She continued to watch him, looking for a sign that would tell her what angle his confession had helped him play. As far as she could tell, there wasn’t one.

  “Look, Lark started running his mouth about you. In front of my father.” He shrugged. “When Michael realized that your existence wasn’t exactly a revelation, he damn near shot Daddy Dearest in the face.”

  “And that’s a problem for you how?” She was well aware of how Ben felt about his father. That he would intervene was surprising.

  “A problem for me? Hardly. But for you? Michael …” He sighed. “My father’s realized that my tenuous loyalties have shifted. I’m no longer his failsafe when it comes to our boy, which means if something were to happen to good ol’ Dad …”

  “Michael would be killed.” Someone else, besides Shaw and Ben, had their finger on Michael’s kill switch. The thought about how close he’d come wiped her anger clean.

  “Bingo. So, back to your original question. Why did I bring Michael here.” Ben looked up at her. “Because there is a very real, very frightening part of him that works very hard at getting himself killed, and it’s getting stronger by the day. I brought him here because he needs to remember that he still has things in this world worth fighting for. He loves you. He wouldn’t be fighting it so hard if he didn’t.”

  He loved her. Yes, at least that’s what he told her a year ago. But things change. “You think he’s suicidal?” she said, barely able to get the words out.

  His eyes slid away from her face, resting on a spot just above her shoulder. “No. I think he no longer cares if he lives or dies. There�
�s a difference.”

  She had more questions, but she knew Ben well enough to know that when he wouldn’t look at you, it was because there was something going on in his head that he didn’t want you to see. She also knew that pushing him was counterproductive. “Got any threes?” she said, closing the subject.

  He fished a card from his hand and tossed it at her. “No one likes a cheater, Sabrina.”

  “I don’t cheat.” She smiled as she matched up the card with her own and set it to the side. “I lie a lot, but I never cheat.”

  He smiled back for a moment, but it faltered. “You’re still bleeding.”

  She swiped at her neck, her hand coming away wet and red. “It’s nothing,” she said, tossing her card on the pile before she stood.

  “You’ve been bleeding off and on for the past six hours. That’s not nothing. Let me stitch it up,” Ben said to her back as she headed for the bathroom.

  She sighed. “Alright. There’s a suture kit in my—” Her cell rattled against her hip. She pulled it off and glanced at the screen. It was a text, alerting her that one of the motion detectors she’d set around the property had been triggered.

  There was someone on the front porch.

  She looked up, ready to explain, but Ben must’ve been able to tell by the look on her face that something wasn’t right. He stood, the offer of first aid forgotten, and twitched the curtain away from the window just a touch. “I can’t see who it is.”

  She wiped her hands on a towel before leaving the bathroom. “Avasa, come,” she said, swiping her SIG off the bed and tucking it into the waistband of her jeans.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Ben said, stepping in front of her.

  “Move.”

  “I’ll go. You stay here. It’s probably just a cat or something,” he said, but they both knew it wasn’t a cat. The sensors set around the house and surrounding property didn’t register anything under seventy-five pounds. Despite the doubt she’d been tossing around earlier, she felt a certainty settle into her bones. One word chased itself around her head.

  Church.

  From the look on Ben’s face, he was thinking the same thing. She looked down at the .40 Desert Eagle he held in his hand and shook her head. “Yeah? That’s a pretty big cat, Shaw.” Sidestepping him, she managed to make it to the door before he dropped a hand on her shoulder.

  “At least let me go first. If you get shot again, O’Shea will kill me.”

  She highly doubted that, but she moved aside, letting Ben ease the door open on silent hinges. They both stepped onto the landing, letting their eyes adjust to the dark before making their way down the stairs.

  Thirty-Nine

  Sabrina followed Ben down the dark stairs, Avasa at her side. She was a good dog, trained to follow commands without hesitation. She took the stairs as silently and vigilantly as her master. Catching a scent on the early autumn breeze, she lifted her head to take it in. She stopped for a moment, as still as stone, ears laid flat against her skull. She didn’t bark, but the pause in her step told Sabrina everything she needed to know.

  Whoever or whatever was on the porch didn’t belong there.

  Sabrina kept the muzzle of her SIG trained to the right, over the railing, watching the shadows for any sign of movement. She imagined the faceless Church lurking in the dark. Suddenly Ben’s stories seemed less like a ploy to scare her into toeing the line and more like a warning. One she should’ve heeded.

  Reaching out, she grabbed his shoulder, stopping him just before he rounded the corner of the house. Ben turned a bit, shooting her a questioning look. He must’ve read her face because he tipped his head to the side: go back upstairs.

  Instinct told her that was the smartest thing to do, but she fought it tooth and nail. She’d never left a partner behind, and she sure as the hell wasn’t going to start now. She shook her head and resettled her grip on her SIG, tipping her chin at the shadow cast across the front yard by the porch light. What kind of assassin announced their presence like that?

  Ben held up a finger. One shadow. Whoever was on the porch was alone—or wanted them to think they were. He held up three fingers and counted down. Three … two … one …

  The two of them took the corner together, leading with their guns, muzzles trained on the source of the shadow.

  “Holy shit.” The woman on the porch squeaked out, shooting her hands toward the sky, eyes yanked wide with fear. She was wearing a pair of loose jeans and a logo T, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail away from her pretty face.

  Ben immediately tipped his gun toward the ground, shooting Sabrina a questioning look. “You know her?”

  “Nope.” She shifted her SIG a few inches to the left, farther on down the porch. “It’s a little late at night to be selling magazine subscriptions, isn’t it?” she said to the woman on the porch, watching her face carefully. “Turn. Slowly.” She twirled her finger in the air to demonstrate what she meant.

  “Okay …” The woman turned slowly.

  “She’s not carrying,” Ben said, roaming his eyes over the woman’s form, looking for the bulge of a holster against her hip or tucked into the small of her back.

  “Carrying what? Oh God … Look, I’m just here to see Val—Valerie Nickels,” the woman stammered out, hands still held high.

  “I’ve never seen you before in my life.” What the hell was this? Some sort of decoy meant to distract them? Or was she what she looked like—a poor woman, scared shitless by a pair of guns shoved in her face? “Where’s your purse?” Sabrina said, still driven by the instinct that whispered to her that something was wrong.

  “My … I left it in the car. I just came by to drop off some pictures I took of Valerie and her baby today at the park.”

  Ben shot her a look. Would Val be dumb enough to give their address to a total stranger she met in the park? The answer slumped her shoulders and ticked the muzzle of her gun a few more inches to the left. “Where are they? The pictures?”

  Now the woman started to lower her hands. Sabrina swung the muzzle back in her direction, centering it on her chest. The woman froze in terror, her eyes zeroed in on the gun in her hand. “On a disc in my pocket.”

  Just then the front door flew open. “What’s going on?” Val stepped out onto the porch, a sleeping Lucy nestled against her chest. She looked down at the baby to make sure she was still sleeping. “Have the two of you lost your minds?”

  Sabrina lowered her gun but didn’t tuck it away. “Do you know her?” she said, ignoring Val’s question completely.

  “Yes, I do,” Val said. “Her name is Courtney. I met her this morning at that coffee shop on Berry. She’s a photographer, we started talking …” She shot a look at Ben. “What did you do to her?”

  Ben held up his hands. “Don’t look at me, she was crazy when I found her.” He tucked his .40 into the waistband of his cargo shorts, a sly smile creeping over his face. “But, better safe than sorry, right?”

  Valerie gave him a withering look. “Good. Great. Just what I need, two of you running around.” She turned to the woman standing next to her. “Sorry about that. My roommate, Sabrina.” She flung a hand in the direction of the yard. “Sabrina, this is Courtney.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Courtney said, her hands still in the air. She looked at the gun in Sabrina’s hand. “Can I put my hands down now?”

  No. “Yes.” Sabrina tucked her SIG into the small of her back and dropped her arms to her sides, her hand falling onto Avasa’s head. The dog was still quivering. She gave her a few long strokes, urging the tension from her neck and shoulders.

  “Come in.” Valerie stepped back, opening the front door a bit wider. “Now that my friends have waved a gun at you, the least I can do is offer you a glass of wine.”

  Courtney smiled. “That’d be great, I—” She was cut off by the chime of her cell. Reachi
ng into her pocket, she gave the screen a quick scroll before shooting a look at Sabrina across the porch. “But, actually, I can’t stay.” She reached into her back pocket and produced a paper sleeve with a cellophane window. “I just wanted to drop these by. If you like what you see, give me a call and we’ll set up a shoot. I’d love to use this little cutie in my portfolio,” she said, running her hand along Lucy’s soft black curls with a smile. She handed Val the disc and turned to leave. “It was … life-affirming to meet you, Sabrina,” she said, taking the steps in a rush and following the length of the driveway to the ancient Ford Bronco that sat curbside.

  She jumped in and started it up, the rattle and chug of it was deafening. How in the hell had they not heard that thing when it pulled up? Pulling away, Courtney gave the horn a couple of beeps and waved, disappearing from sight. Sabrina watched her go, not wanting to turn around and face her friend.

  “I thought we’d finally pulled clear of this, Sabrina,” Val said quietly, pulling her gaze to the porch. It was late August, so the anniversary of her kidnapping was right around the corner. How many times had she lost it in the past, let herself be consumed by memories? Let paranoia and anger take root? She couldn’t blame Val for seeing her behavior and believing that this was just one of her annual freakouts. But that wasn’t what happened here.

  She sighed. “It’s not about that, Val—”

  “You always say that,” she said before looking at Ben. “I can’t do this right now. You deal with her.” Val went back inside and shut the door with a firm click.

  She turned away from the porch and fixed Ben with a cold look. “She was crazy when I found her? Seriously?”

  Ben just shrugged. “What was I supposed to say? We’re out here hunting wabbits? So she thinks you’re losing it, what’s new?”

  “Asshole.” She turned away and made her way toward the stairs that led to her third-floor studio. Ben took a few steps in her direction, and she looked at him over her shoulder. “If you take one more step, I’ll shoot you were you stand.” She turned away and continued around the side of the house and up the stairs, Avasa at her heels.