Kade was waiting, so Blane forced himself to stand. His gaze fell on Kade, who seemed to read what was inside his head.
“I don’t want your pity,” Kade said, his face darkening. “It is what it is. I just thought you deserved an explanation for my freak out.”
“I don’t deserve anything,” Blane said baldly. “But I’m glad you told me. I’m sorry I made you get the shots. I won’t do that to you again.”
Kade nodded stiffly.
They left the doctor’s office in silence and Blane drove to the electronics store. He could understand now, the compulsion divorced parents had to try to assuage the hurts of their children with material goods. He would have bought the whole damn store if it could’ve taken away even an instant of the pain Kade had suffered.
The computer Kade chose wasn’t the high-end one Blane would have thought he’d pick, but just your average PC. They took it home and Blane helped him set it up in his room. After firing it up, Kade sat down in front of it, looking utterly captivated. Considering the tests for school had put Kade at two grade levels above where he should be, Blane hoped the computer would grab his interest and challenge him.
Blane had no idea that his “bribe” would forever alter Kade’s life.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“This is early, even for you,” Kade answered the phone and indeed it sounded like Blane had woke him.
“I’ve got some bad news,” Blane replied, grabbing his sunglasses and sliding them on while he drove. “James is running for D.A.”
“Just a sec,” Kade said.
Blane heard the rustle of cloth and the sound of a feminine voice. Finally, Kade came back. “Okay, sorry about that. What were you saying?”
“Where are you?”
“Leaving. So what’s this about James?”
“He’s running for District Attorney,” Blane repeated. “It’s in today’s paper.”
“Well, that’ll certainly come in handy if he wins. No one will prosecute TecSol if he’s in on it.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“Have to be some pretty deep pockets behind him, though, to enter the race this late in the game.”
“We need to know where the money’s coming from,” Blane said.
“I got a lead on that,” Kade said, and Blane heard the slam of a car door. “That escort service takes in some pretty serious cash.”
“You think they’re funneling it to TecSol?”
“They’d have to launder it first, but yeah. We need to find out more about the escort service.”
“Then we’re in luck,” Blane said. “Frank Santini invited me to some party tomorrow night. I think it’s for the service. He sent me directions, a code name, password, and get this—you have to wear a mask.”
“Sounds like my kind of party,” Kade joked.
“You can be my plus one,” Blane said.
“All right, but I’m not putting out. Not without dinner first.”
“By the way,” Blane said, “the thing of Mark’s? That the chick has? It’s a hard drive.”
“Perfect,” Kade said. “But how do you know?”
“Because the chick is a bartender at The Drop.”
“You know her?”
“You could say that,” Blane said evasively. He was pulling up to James’s house now. “I tried to get her to give it to me, but she said she was supposed to give it to you tonight. Let’s play good cop, bad cop and you get it from her.”
“Will do.”
“And don’t hurt her,” Blane forcefully added. “I gotta go. Call me when you know what’s on the drive.” He ended the call and got out of the car. He’d briefly considered telling Kade the whole story of Kathleen, but had stopped at the last second. Blane couldn’t explain his obsession with her to himself, how was he supposed to tell his brother? Who would no doubt laugh himself silly if Blane started waxing poetic about a woman.
Blane rang the doorbell, buttoning his shirt the rest of the way while he waited. He’d opted to leave his gun in the car. No sense testing his self-control.
To his irritation, no one answered the door. Knowing James, he was probably at his country club playing golf this morning. An expensive and very exclusive club, members had to be nominated for entry and the entry fee was upwards of twenty grand. If James was looking for some campaign cash, it was an excellent place to start.
Unfortunately for him, Blane had a membership there, too.
Blane went home to quickly shower and change. A short while later, he was pulling up to an elaborate two-story brick building situated on an expansive golf course. A teenager clad in white ran to greet him as Blane opened the car door.
“Good morning, sir,” the boy said, eyeing the Jag with excitement in his eyes. “Shall I park your car for you?”
“Sure, kid.” Blane said with a small smile as he handed him the keys and a tip before heading inside. “Go easy on her.”
As luck would have it, Blane spotted James right away. He was heading out the back with two other men who Blane recognized as business owners with deep pockets in the city. No doubt James was courting them for their money and the influence they wielded.
“James,” Blane said as he casually stepped into their path. “I didn’t know you were playing this morning.” Blane’s practiced smile fell easily into place as he eyed the younger man. “And with Andrew and Jake, too. Good to see you guys.”
“Kirk, it’s been a while,” Jake said with a smile as they shook hands. “How’ve you been?”
“Great, thanks for asking. Hey, how’s Alice doing?” Alice was Jake’s wife and they were expecting their second child. Blane memorized information like that for situations just like this.
“She’s doing well, only six weeks to go,” Jake said, obviously pleased.
“Don’t you owe me a Colts game?” Andrew said good-naturedly as Blane turned to shake his hand.
“I keep waiting for them to get to back into the playoffs,” Blane protested, noticing that James was looking increasingly irritated.
“You playing this morning, Kirk?” Jake asked.
Blane shook his head. “Too last minute to get a buddy to come with me,” he lied. “Thought I’d hit the driving range for a while.”
“We could use a fourth,” Andrew suggested.
“Yeah, get your clubs,” Jake added. “We’d love for you to join us.”
Blane pretended to hesitate. “You’re sure?” he asked. “I don’t want to intrude on your game.”
“You’re not intruding,” Andrew scoffed. “James won’t mind, right?” He looked expectantly at James, who wasn’t nearly as good as Blane in faking a smile.
“Yeah, sure. We’d love you to join us,” James said, his voice flat.
“See?” Jake said, slapping James on the back. “Get your clubs, Kirk. We’ll meet you out back.”
The next four hours were spent with Blane, Jake, and Andrew having a good time while James proceeded to sulk. Blane carefully kept the conversation light, steering it away from anything James brought up. A refreshment cart came by offering them beer. Though they all took one, Blane noticed that James kept getting more each time the cart came by.
“So, Kirk,” Andrew said as they pulled up to the tenth hole. “Rumor has it you might be throwing your hat in the ring for governor.”
It was a question even though it was framed as a statement.
Blane adjusted his sunglasses and flashed him a shit-eating grin. “If I do, you can bet your ass I’ll be calling you for a donation.” He grabbed his driver from his bag as Jack and Andrew both laughed.
By the seventeenth hole, James had stopped playing, electing to sit in the cart and drink. Jake and Andrew didn’t seem to care, though, as Blane kept them entertained with stories from when he was deployed in Afghanistan.
“You’re shitting me,” Jake said. “The kid had a grenade?”
“Yep,” Blane said. “Couldn’t have been more than nine or ten.”
“What’d
you do?” Andrew asked.
Golf was forgotten. Their attention was fixed on Blane.
“I did the only thing I could,” Blane said with a shrug. “I jumped out the window. Luckily, there was a steaming heap of garbage for me to land in. I took some shit for that one, let me tell you. For a while I thought I was going to be permanently nicknamed Dumpster Dive.”
Jake and Andrew looked in disbelief at Blane before they burst out laughing.
“Holy shit, I can’t believe you jumped out a friggin window!” Jake said before heading to the tee.
“Gotta say, you’ve got balls, Kirk,” Andrew added, shaking his head.
Back at the clubhouse, Jake and Andrew gave a friendly farewell to Blane and polite nods to James before leaving together. Blane smiled and watched them go, but when he turned to face James, the smile was gone.
“You’re an asshole,” James spat at him. “You know I wanted those guys to pony up some cash for my campaign.”
“Of course I did,” Blane said, his disdain obvious. “You’re an amateur at this game, James.” Moving close, with contempt coating each word, he said, “I doubt they even remember your name.”
James face turned mottled red and he swung at Blane, who could have stepped aside, but didn’t. The hit landed on his jaw without much force, but now Blane had the perfect opening and he took advantage of it, landing several punishing blows to James’s face and ribs before James collapsed groaning on the floor.
They’d gathered an audience by now, most of who had seen James throw the first punch. No one intervened. The men gathered took note of what happened and who was on the floor before quietly melting away, their voices a low hum. Blane knew the story would spread quickly of how James had started a fight and gotten his ass handed to him.
Crouching down, Blane grabbed James by the collar and hoisted him upward a few inches.
“That’s for what you did to Kathleen,” he hissed in James’s ear. “Next time I give you a warning, I suggest you heed it. Touch Kathleen again and I won’t go so easy on you.” Giving him a rough shove, Blane rose and headed for the door. A man intercepted him on his way out.
“Mr. Kirk,” he said, hurrying to keep up with Blane. “I’m Randall Jennings, the manager here, and I must extend our apologies for Mr. Gage’s behavior today. I hope you realize that we don’t tolerate violence in our club and Mr. Gage’s membership will be revoked forthwith.”
“I would hope so,” Blane said as the valet pulled up with his car. “I came here today for a relaxing round of golf, not a fistfight.”
“Yes, sir, I completely agree,” Jennings said. “I guarantee, this won’t happen again.”
“See to it,” Blane said before climbing into his Jag and driving away.
Looking in the rearview mirror, he saw Jennings hurrying back into the club and a satisfied smile curved Blane’s lips.
When Blane walked into The Drop that night, he didn’t like the scene that met his eyes.
The bartender from the other night was working with Kathleen again, only now he had her cornered and was standing much too close. Blane stood in the shadows, watching. After a moment, Kathleen smiled and reached up, brushing her fingers through the guy’s hair.
Jealousy reared its head, its claws digging in deep and Blane clenched his fists and took a breath. Beating the shit out of that guy wasn’t going to earn him any favors with Kathleen.
She turned then and spotted him. A huge smile spread across her face, easing the strangling possessiveness Blane was feeling. He slid onto a barstool just as Kathleen set a Dewar’s and water in front of him. Her gaze seemed caught on his hands and Blane wondered what she was thinking, if she was remembering this morning. Seeming to catch herself staring, she glanced up at him, her cheeks rosy.
“Who is he?” Blane asked, nodding toward the guy.
“Scott,” she answered. “We work together a lot.”
So he’d noticed.
“You’re here early,” she continued.
“I wanted to see you,” Blane said. No sense lying to the girl. Reaching forward, he lightly grasped her chin, turning her cheek toward the light. She’d skillfully applied a thick layer of makeup to cover the bruise, but Blane could still see its shadow under the surface.
Kathleen moved back slightly, enough so Blane had to drop his hand.
“James won’t be bothering you anymore,” he said.
“Why? What happened?”
“I spoke with him and was able to convey how . . . displeased I would be if there was a repeat of his behavior yesterday.”
Kathleen seemed to take a moment to digest this and Blane really hoped she wasn’t going to be all anti-violence and shit, not after what James had done to her. To his relieved surprise, her next question was all about him.
“Won’t that make things difficult for you at work?” she asked.
“No. I’m a partner. Since I’m an owner, I actually have more of a say in that business than James does, regardless of his family connection.”
“You warned me about him,” Kathleen said. “How did you know?”
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know James was a piece of shit. A misogynist at heart, it was a wonder any woman went out with James. Plus, Blane had heard rumors occasionally of James’s proclivities in the bedroom, something Kathleen, in her innocence, most likely hadn’t heard and perhaps wouldn’t know what to make of if she had.
“I’ve heard things,” Blane said evasively.
Someone called her name then and Kathleen had to get back to work. Blane watched her as she talked to customers and filled orders. Too many men eyed her in a way Blane didn’t like, not that he could blame them. Her hair was pulled back in a jaunty ponytail that bounced when she walked. The deep blue of her shirt matched her eyes and was snug enough to cling to her curves. Add to that her innate friendliness and kind smile and you had a sweet, desirable package that caught and held Blane’s attention.
Blane’s phone buzzed and he dug it out of his pocket. The screen showed a text from Kandi.
I need to see you.
Shit.
Kandi was the last thing he wanted to deal with tonight, but he had no choice. He couldn’t ignore her, there’d be hell to pay if he did. It was easier to just go by and see what she wanted.
Blane finished his drink just as Kathleen came back over to him.
“Did you want another?” she asked, but Blane shook his head. Pulling out his wallet, he tossed a twenty onto the bar to pay his tab.
“I’ve got something to do first and then I’ll be back,” he said. Blane felt a twinge of guilt knowing what was coming when she left, that she was going to be scared, but Kade wouldn’t hurt her. Probably. Most likely. No, he wouldn’t. Hell, maybe he should rethink this whole thing . . .
Kathleen was staring at him as he stood, her eyes undressing him from his shoulders to his thighs. It didn’t take much to imagine what she was thinking and Blane’s dick was hard in seconds. He cursed, leaning across the bar to grab that damn ponytail that had been taunting him for the past hour. Blane tugged on it, making Kathleen lean toward him.
“Keep looking at me like that and I won’t be held responsible for my actions,” he said. She wet her lips and Blane obliged the silent request. The kiss was brief, but intimate, his tongue lightly stroking hers before he pulled away.
“I’ll be back,” he said.
Kathleen looked a little dazed and Blane hid a smile as he left the bar.
The streets were moderately busy for a Saturday night. The air had the wet, crisp chill of November in it. Blane dug in his pocket for his keys as he approached his car.
A tingling on the back of his neck, a sixth sense he’d learned to never, ever dismiss, gave him a split second’s warning.
Blane spun around, throwing himself to the side just as a knife came whizzing by his shoulder. It crashed against the brick wall behind him and Jimmy Quicksilver stepped out of the shadows.
Blane reached for his gun, b
ut froze when he heard the scuff of a shoe behind him and felt the cold press of metal to his back. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a man he didn’t recognize.
“I wouldn’t so much as blink, if I were you,” the guy rasped.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” was Blane’s dry reply before glancing back to Jimmy, who’d approached and now stood quite close. “Jimmy,” Blane said. “Do your bosses know what you’re getting up to? Or is this freelance?”
“I was sent to give you a message,” Jimmy said. “You still haven’t recovered what that guy said he had.”
“And neither have you,” Blane said.
Jimmy shrugged. “My ass isn’t on the line. Yours is.”
Blane didn’t reply as Jimmy sauntered closer, playing with another blade he’d pulled.
“You know, I don’t think you hanging out in a bar and making out with the hot bartender is really doing us a lotta good, ya know?”
Blane stiffened and his eyes turned cold. Threatening him was one thing. Bringing Kathleen into it was quite another. That protective impulse that jumped into hyper-mode where Kathleen was concerned blazed to life. “You should mind your own business, Jimmy,” he hissed, ignoring the guy with a gun to his back as he got in Jimmy’s face. “And tell Frank to keep you on a tighter leash lest he find his attack dog’s been neutered.”
They stared daggers at one another and Blane spoke again. “Now tell your buddy here to point the gun somewhere else before somebody gets hurt,” he ordered.
Jimmy looked at him for a long moment, then gave a curt nod to the other guy, who stepped away.
“Frank wants to talk to you,” Jimmy said. “Pronto.”
“I’ll be sure to give him a call,” Blane said. Turning his back, he walked to his car and got in. He glanced out the window before he pulled away, but Jimmy and the guy had already melted back into the shadows.
It took twenty minutes to drive to Kandi’s home, a grand two-story affair that oozed old money. Her parents lived nearby in an even bigger home, but Kandi had insisted on her own place a few years ago and daddy had obliged.
Turn On A Dime - Blane's Turn (The Kathleen Turner Series) Page 16
