“Aren’t you insulting Jesse just a bit?” she asks. “She isn’t an invalid.”
“I know,” I say, defensive. I come up on my arms and face her. “But she isn’t invincible either.”
Before she can say more I snatch her hand and put it under my shirt. The shock registers on her face for a second before I press her fingers against the indent beneath my left breast. The deep scar of the knife wound.
“I only survived because Jesse died for me, so I know she isn’t an invalid. That doesn’t mean she’s safe. No one is safe if they are being attacked on all sides. And that’s her problem. She’s got trouble coming from every angle.”
Nikki rolls me on my back in such a simple gesture my breath catches in my throat. I don’t realize she’s stronger than me until she has me pinned under her. She lifts my shirt slowly and inspects the scar more carefully in the orange street light from outside. Then she bends her head and kisses it once. Then again. My body shivers. All the red hot anger in my head and chest simmers down, spreads through my arms and legs and pools in a very different place entirely.
“You’ll do anything to protect her,” she says.
“Yes.”
“I need to be okay with that,” she begins, her eyes flicking up from my stomach to my face. It’s almost a predatory look. Almost. “And stand by you while you face whatever comes at her.”
“I’m tired of feeling like the only one who cares more about her safety than winning,” I say. “That’s not true though. Gloria cares and she helps. But Gloria is even more of a mess than Jesse in a lot of ways.”
“Do you really trust me enough for all that?” she asks. Her hands still on my stomach but she isn’t looking down anymore. She’s looking into my eyes, watching me carefully for some sign.
Not yet, I think. But I want to. God help me, I want to trust someone. “I’m not stupid. I know she’ll never be with me. I’m not trying to keep her alive so I can whisk her off into the sunset or something but if she died—Jesus, if she died again—” I can’t finish my sentence and thankfully I don’t need to.
Nikki’s face softens. “I understand, Alice.”
My body shivers to hear my full name on her lips.
“I lost—someone and it changed me. Losing her cleaved my life in two. Before and After. If you lost Jesse it would change you.”
“I did lose her,” I say. I don’t ask who her is. She’ll either tell me or she won’t. It isn’t my business—not yet anyway. “I thought she was dead for years before I found out she was alive.”
Nikki’s face alights with recognition. “That’s why it scares you so much. You know how much it would hurt. It isn’t just a vague idea for you.”
I feel my back muscles relax and my stomach softens under her hand.
“I don’t want you to change,” she says. “I don’t need another reason to support you other than that.”
“It’s that easy for you?” I ask, suspiciously. But even as I say it a wave of relief washes over me. Please God, don’t let me regret this. Though I’m not even sure what this is. “I’m surprised you can handle my honesty so well.”
She grins. “I prefer honesty.”
“Is that all you want from me?” I ask. Because it’s only fair that I ask her what she wants from this too.
“Not exactly,” she says. She places her other warm hand on my belly. “I’m in this for a little more.”
My cheeks flush. Muscles low in my body warms and tighten. We’ve moved from “sleepover-confessing-our-dark-secrets” territory to “I’m kind of-horny-and-you’re-clearly-making-an-offer” territory.
She kisses me and my body responds to her touch. A shiver arches my spine and I have my arms around her before I know what I’m doing. Her fingers tug at the waist band of my pajama pants, yanking them down so I feel the bare sheets against my skin. She lifts me up just long enough to pull my shirt over my head so that I’m left with only my underwear.
“Wow,” I say. “That was fast.”
She laughs, low in her throat and shamelessly looks me over. “I got a little excited, sorry. But damn you’re beautiful.”
She presses the full length of her body to mine and slips one knee between my legs to ease them apart. I can feel the pressure of her quad against me, and the small movements are making me crazy.
“Can we make this a little more fair?” I reach up and pull off her shirt and unbutton the top of her pants to reveal boxers. Because I’m beneath her she has to take off her own pants—leaving her topless in those cute shorts with some pattern I can’t see clearly in the dark.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say, which is a gross understatement. The muscle definition in her arms makes me feel a tad ashamed of my own softness, but I feel like this is probably a really inappropriate time to compare weightlifting notes.
“Thanks,” she says as her pants hit the floor and she climbs back on top of me. “Is this good enough?”
“You can keep your boxers for now,” I say but it’s hard to keep up my playful tone. All kinds of feelings are mixing together in my head.
I don’t love Nikki. She heard that part right?
“Are you sure you can do this?” I ask her.
Her kisses fan out, slide across my cheek and nestle into my neck and ear. Her breath behind my ear just makes the throbbing between my legs worse.
She laughs low in her throat. “I have no doubt.”
“I’m not talking about the sex,” I say.
“I know,” she says. “The answer is still yes. I’m a big girl. I can handle this.”
“Even though I’m in love with her,” I say again. I want her to be sure—even if I’m not.
“You love her now,” she whispers in my ear and her fingers hook into the side of my underwear, pulling them off in one long motion. “But feelings change.”
Jesse
I sneak into Gloria’s house, moving quietly and carefully like a creeper. Coming into the moonlit kitchen, I see my first hint of light. Beneath the closed door leading to the basement is a sliver of gold and the soft sound of hushed voices.
I open the door a crack. “Hello?”
“Get down here,” Brinkley calls up. He’s standing in the spotlight of the swinging overhead bulb. He isn’t in disguise now, the shoulders of his usual leather jacket reflecting the light.
“Sure, Boss, when you ask so nicely,” I say.
I dip to dodge the face-level wooden beams. Gloria sits in the same folded metal chair but I can’t see her very well.
“Why the hell is it so dark down here?” I ask. But then I see someone has put foil over the only window, a ground level square no more than a foot or two long. I point at the window. “Are we keeping out the alien transmissions or what?”
Brinkley doesn’t humor me with a response. “Are you packed?”
“Just for a couple of days. Is that enough?” Already I’m thinking of the text I’ll have to send Lane to let him know I’m leaving town and how undoubtedly grumpy he is going to be.
“Should be,” he says. “If you are as charming as I hope you’ll be.”
I’m about to argue the depths of my charm when he tosses me a thick envelope that thuds against my chest. I peel back the tan flap to find a lot of cash and a license that isn’t mine.
I hold the license up to the overhead light and read the name beneath my picture. “Who is Anna James?”
“You are,” he says. “Until you get back. I don’t want you leaving a paper trail or alerting anyone to your movement. So, Anna, be discreet as possible.”
I dig into the envelope and find a check card and credit card also in Anna James’s name.
“I also registered a car to Anna,” he says. He tosses me the keys but they bounce off my chest and splatter on the floor.
“This isn’t identity theft, right?” I pick the keys off the floor. “There isn’t a poor Anna James somewhere who will discover I’ve run up her MasterCard, right?”
Brinkley only sm
iles.
“Um no,” I say and hand him back the envelope.
“I’m not destroying some girl’s credit.”
“Relax,” Brinkley says and shoves the envelope back at me. “You won’t be ruining anyone’s credit.”
Gloria watches the exchange. “We’re going to Ohio.”
“What the hell is in Ohio?” I ask, distracted.
“Liza. She took I-76 out of Philadelphia and headed west. After it turned into I-70, she pulled off in a little town called Heath,” Brinkley said. “She hasn’t moved in a couple of days.”
“Why? What is she doing there?”
“It doesn’t matter what she is doing there,” he says. “You have to find her. You’re her sister-in-law. She married your brother a couple of weeks ago and then took off. Your brother begged you to bring her home. And even if she doesn’t want to come, you just need to see her, make sure she is OK and find out what happened.”
“Why did she marry him if she didn’t want to?” I ask. “And why isn’t my brother looking for her. Wait, my brother is 13. He can’t get married.”
Brinkley blinks at me. “This is Anna’s story. Not yours.”
“Oh,” I say. “What’s my brother’s name?”
“Jesse,” he says. “Jesse James.”
“Is that your idea of a joke?” I ask.
“Andrew, then,” he says. “Andy. Andy and Anna James.”
“Oh God, we had those parents with the same letter name thing,” I say. Immediately, I feel like a weirdo—we? “So wait, why isn’t Andy looking for his own wife?”
“My things are already in the trunk,” Gloria says. I take this to mean she’s coming with me. “Where are you going to be?” I turn to Brinkley, giving up my campaign to understand why Andy is such a loser.
Gloria and Brinkley exchange a look.
“I have to go to Memphis and take care of some things,” Brinkley says. He looks at his watch. “I need to go.”
Gloria stands suddenly, sketchbook and pencils in hand.
I give her a once over. “Us too?”
She nods. I have one foot on the basement stairs when Brinkley grabs me by the elbow. “Be careful.” His voice could have been mistaken for gentle in another life, if it wasn’t so gravelly and drill sergeant-like. “More careful than last time. I won’t be there to clean your prints off of anything and you have a record. Remember that.”
“Oh shit, the Lovett job,” I say.
“Yeah,” he smirks. “I took care of the office. But I can’t this time. So watch what you’re doing.”
“Good ol’ B-dubs. Always looking out for me,” I say and pull at his chin scruff, which he hates. I admit I do it just to see that annoyed look on his face.
But this time he doesn’t pull away or swat my hand like he usually does. Instead, for a second, he just looks really freaking sad.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask.
“Don’t worry about me,” he says, his expression hardening and all that gentleness disappears quicker than it came. “For once, I want you to worry about you.”
Ally
I wake to the smell of bacon and eggs. Nikki’s hair is adorably tousled as she stands in front of my frying pan, wearing just her boxers and a sports bra.
“Good morning.” She leans in for a kiss as I come close to inspect what she’s doing.
I can’t remember the last time someone made me breakfast, and in my own kitchen no less. And bacon. Jesse is vegetarian. Frying up bacon would never happen.
Nikki hesitates when she sees my face. “Too much?”
“No.”
“Because some people would panic at the sight of someone in their kitchen, dirtying their dishes.”
“I’m okay,” I say. I climb into a kitchen chair and raise the empty drink glass she put beside my place setting. I wave it around just a little. “Excusez-moi, garcon! Je voudrais du jus d'orange s'il vous plait.”
Nikki grins and pulls a carton of orange juice from the fridge.
“Parlez-vous français?” I ask and steady my glass for her.
“No,” she laughs. “But I understood ‘juice orange’ so I could guess. Do you speak French?”
“I took two years in college,” I say. “But my pronunciation is terrible.”
“I have to ask,” Nikki says, transferring bacon from the pan to my plate. “Is there such a thing as a dog fairy?”
I arch an eyebrow.
“Because I swear that when we went to bed there was no dog. And now—” she points her spatula at the snuffling monster begging at her feet. Winston never looks so rapt and alert as he does at mealtimes. “—there’s this.”
“Oh!” I say. “Yeah, Jesse stopped by.”
“Oh. Was that before or after we—”
“Before,” I say.
Her shoulders relax. “Does he have a name? Or shall I just continue to call him Pug which is what I’ve been doing all morning.”
“His name is Winston,” I say. Winston cranes his neck my way and waddles over expectantly. I scratch him behind his ears. “Yes, that’s your name.”
“Are pugs usually that—big?” Nikki brings her plate to the table and sits down opposite me. I fill out my plate with the toast and eggs on the table.
“He might be a little spoiled,” I say, opening the butter. “But look at that face.”
“I see it,” she says. Then she looks up at me. “So why did Jesse bring him?”
I search her words for any tension, but find nothing. Either she is OK with Jesse or she’s a very good actress. It is too soon to tell. “She’s helping Gloria with a missing person case. They might be gone for a couple of days.”
“A lot of people are going missing lately,” Nikki says.
“About 2,300 are reported missing every day. About 661,000 a year,” I say. “But most of them will be resolved. Last year there were only about 2000 unresolved cases.”
“Is this statistical regurgitation supposed to comfort me?” Nikki asks. “Because it really isn’t.”
“Sorry.” I shove some butter toast into my mouth. “I’ve got a thing for memorizing numbers.”
“Good with numbers and French,” she says. “What else? You went to college.”
“For a little while. I was pre-law. I wanted to practice law with my brother. But I never finished.”
“Why?” Nikki asks, folding her bacon and egg up in her toast and eating it like a sandwich. “You’re definitely smart enough.”
I blush. “Thanks. I dropped out when I found out Jesse was alive. I left school and moved down here to help her. I don’t regret it.”
At the same time our phones go off, vibrating against the table beside our plates.
“This can’t be good,” Nikki says. “Jeremiah says it is an emergency.”
We dress quickly and make it to the safehouse in record time. As we pull up outside Nikki rakes a comb through her hair before pulling it up into a ponytail.
“We probably shouldn’t mention. Not that I’m ashamed,” she says. “But I don’t want him to think we’ve lost focus.”
Before I can say anything, she is already jogging toward the building and pulling open the big doors. But we haven’t even reached the landing when we hear Jeremiah screaming at the top of his lungs.
I slow down as Nikki turns to give me a weary glance. When we open the door Parish sits where he always sits, in front of the monitors. But he isn’t looking at the screens just now. His eyes are fixed on Jeremiah pacing the middle of the big room.
“What’s happened?” I ask.
Parish makes a warning gesture as if to save me from something but he isn’t quick enough.
“Do you see this?” Jeremiah yells at me. He takes a step aside and jabs a finger at the three black body bags lined up in the floor of the apartment.
“Jeremiah, what’s going on?” Nikki asks.
“I sent a unit to pick up a child. One child we had located in Athens.”
Jeremiah’s face
shifts violently as he storms toward me.
“Don’t,” Parish says. He stands from his station and steps between me and Jeremiah.
Jeremiah is forced to switch direction and goes straight for the body bag. He rips the middle one open to reveal the corpse of a child, paler than white with blue lips. It’s a little boy, no older than seven. His shirt is covered in blood with part of his skull missing. Nikki makes a sound beside me and I realize that low groaning I hear is me. I cover my mouth with my hand.
Jeremiah drops the dead child without ceremony, his little head cracking against the floor.
“You want to be merciful,” he screams. “But they’ll show us no mercy. None whatsoever!”
“Stop yelling at her,” Nikki warns. “This isn’t her fault.”
“If you would have just talked to Jesse, this child could be alive now.”
“Could be,” Nikki adds. “Jesse isn’t a catch-all.”
“She’s the best at what she does! And she’s his weakness. We need her and this one,” Jeremiah stabs a finger at Ally. “This one—”
“Jerry,” Parish says. “Come on, man.”
He tears open the second then third bag. He lifts them up for me to admire like deer kills in hunting season. “Look at them. Look at them.”
I point my eyes in the general direction but I don’t see much through the glimmer of tears. Only shining reflective light.
“This is what mercy gets you,” he hisses. “This is what mercy looks like.”
“That’s enough,” Nikki says. She grabs me by the arm and pulls me toward the door.
“You can’t be half in!” Jeremiah yells before Nikki can get the door closed between us, blessedly locking us out into the hallway.
We stand in the bright white hallway outside the apartment. I can still hear Parish’s and Jeremiah’s angry exchange but not the specific words.
“Asshole,” Nikki says. She clamps my shoulders. “Are you okay?”
I’m shaking. I’m blinking away the tears and trying to breathe. “The little boy. The way he shook him at me.”
“We’re leaving,” she said.
“I need to tell him what I found out about the missing people,” I say, but I’m shaking. I’m shaking and I don’t think I can look at Jeremiah again.
Dying by the Hour (A Jesse Sullivan Novel Book 2) Page 14
