by Alison Kent
So far so good, he thought and climbed from his truck. When he reached the private entrance, he rang her personal line from his cell. She answered, “Jodi Fontaine,” and he told her, “I’m at the rear door. Let me in.”
He didn’t wait for a response, simply clicked off his phone. Less than a minute later, he heard the lock disengage before the door swung open.
“What are you doing here?” she asked just as Dustin Parks stepped from his office into the back-office corridor. “Jodi? May I see you please? You, too, Green.”
Jodi turned, moving to block Parks’s access to the door, protective, wary. “Whatever issue you have with me, Roland has nothing to do with it.”
“I beg to differ,” Parks said, standing his ground. “He has everything to do with it. Especially since he’s working for Livia, and deceiving my very good friend.”
Thirty-one
Finn didn’t return to Miami until Monday. He’d told Olivia he had some local PI work to catch up on—true—and some repairs he wanted to knock out before the forecasted rain washed him out—also true.
But after the two days they’d spent at his beach, a break to regroup seemed in order. That much he didn’t tell her. She might not have felt the same, and he didn’t want to scare her off so soon into their relationship by suggesting time apart.
It was the fact that he was thinking of what they had as a relationship that decided him. Was he ready for a relationship? Did he want one? Did he want one with Olivia? Did he have any real choice in the matter? Did she?
He’d ended up making the drive to Miami with things being just as muddy as when she’d left Key Largo late Thursday night. These relationship things obviously weren’t settled in a day, or even in three or four.
And they obviously weren’t settled with the parties involved in two separate locations. That much he’d realized the minute he’d walked through the back door of Splash & Flambé.
Knowing she was in the building made the trip seem like coming home—which gave him a whole lot of mixed feelings, considering his own home was an hour south.
He’d settled in at the desk his small room provided and was looking at the thumbnails from the beach shoot when Olivia knocked on his door. “Are you busy?”
He shrugged. “Not so much.”
She came inside, crossed to the windows, peered out. “I just got off the phone with Dustin.”
“He liked the idea of using the gallery?”
“He did. And tomorrow night works best for his schedule, if we can be ready.”
“What’s to be ready? It’s you, me, and the camera. And it’s why I’m in Miami,” he said, realizing as the words left his mouth how harsh they sounded. He swiveled his chair to face her. “Sorry. That didn’t come out right.”
She glanced over, gave him a weak smile, went back to studying the view outside. “Don’t apologize. I know you come here only for the extra work. And having seen your beach house, I can understand the urgency to get it done so you can enjoy it.”
He wished he was enjoying this moment more than he was, but it was his own fault for not coming back with her last week. He pushed out of his chair, made his way to where she was standing, and planted his hands on the window ledge, on either side of her hips, trapping her there.
He leaned his body against hers, nuzzled her ear. “The extra work used to be the only reason I came here. It’s not anymore.”
She straightened, crossed her arms over her chest, not inviting him to leave exactly, but not seeming to care if he stayed. He did, and she finally said, “That’s good to know, even if it did take you four days to make the trip.”
“I had things to do. I told you—”
“I know, I know. You told me.” She turned in his arms, took his face in her hands. “You told me. But I don’t care what you told me. I’m selfish, and I wanted you here.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“Being selfish? Yes. Wanting you here?” She shook her head, moved closer, and kissed him, a light press of her lips to his, before letting him go. “No. That’s a good thing. I missed you.”
He reached up to tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear, nudging her earring, which tinkled like a chime when he did. “I missed you, too. More than I thought I would.”
“Oh?” she asked, one brow arching. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
“Well, you should,” he said, leaning forward to smack his lips to hers, then returning to his computer and dropping into his chair. That was all she was getting until he figured things out for himself. “What have I missed? Anything good?”
She waited a minute, then followed him, boosting herself up to sit next to his laptop, crossing her legs, swinging one. “Nothing until today. Oh, when we were talking about shooting at the gallery? Dustin told me he knows for a fact that Roland is straight. Or, I guess he could be bi, but Dustin didn’t think so.”
“Hmm,” was Finn’s only response. He’d learned the same thing quite by accident, but hadn’t seen any need to cause the other man grief since Olivia hadn’t seemed to care which way Roland swung. “You mentioned before having doubts.”
“And I mentioned that his sexual orientation wasn’t an issue. He’s done a good job the last year, which, now that I think about it, isn’t surprising, since he wanted it badly enough to have friends in high places request the favor.”
Odd. Splash & Flambé was a clothing boutique, not the state capital. “Friends in high places?”
She nodded. “The same day my previous manager told me he was leaving, I got a call from a local political activist, suggesting I take on Roland if a position ever opened up.”
Finn’s PI antennae twinged. “Awfully convenient.”
“For me, it was, yes. But now that you mention it…” Her foot stopped swinging. “And in light of Dustin’s gossip…” Her foot started up again. “I can’t think of any reason Roland would want me to think he was gay, unless he thought it would give him an edge.”
“An edge?”
“Over other applicants. Which is silly, considering there are plenty of straight men with his fashion sense.” She took a moment to study Finn’s logo T-shirt and ratty jeans. “You’re just not one of them.”
“I don’t need his fashion sense. I have mine. And I’m not looking for a job. I have one.”
She glanced briefly at his screen. “How did the beach shoot turn out?”
“Are you sure you want to see?” he asked, reaching up to rotate the screen should she want him to show her the photos. “You weren’t so keen on the pictures from the warehouse.”
She stared at the floor, hesitated several seconds. “About that set of shots.”
Finn rolled his chair away from the desk, swiveled it so that he faced her. “What about it?”
“You and Dustin choose the best ones. I won’t object.”
Hmm. Change of heart? “You said it hurt to look at them.”
“It did. And it still might. But who am I to stand in the way of art?” she asked, with a tremulous laugh.
She knew the answer. He reminded her, anyway. “You’re the woman in the photographs.”
She slid from her perch on the desk, made her way back to the windows, hugging herself as she peered out. “I saw a movie one time, or a TV show. I don’t remember. A woman was visiting a photographic exhibit and saw a picture of herself taken during the aftermath of the towers coming down on nine eleven. She was furious. Livid. She actually stole it from where it was hanging, frame and all.”
He saw where this was headed and wanted to go to her, to hold her, but he stayed where he was and let her speak.
“Later, she met with the photographer. I don’t remember all of what happened between them, but he convinced her that her sorrow, no matter how private, was also the nation’s sorrow. And that by letting her emotions be seen, she was helping others heal.”
“Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me,” he said to lighten the mood.
She turned her
head, glared, stuck out her tongue. “That’s because I’m doing a piss-poor job of remembering the details. I just know that in the end, she realized she had to face what had happened. She couldn’t hide any longer.”
This time when she paused, he got up. Hands in his pockets, he went to stand beside her, but he didn’t touch her this time. He didn’t want his concern to ring false. “This isn’t a movie or TV show, Olivia. This is your life. Your face. Your emotions.”
“I know. That’s what Dustin wants.”
“And what Dustin wants, Dustin gets?”
She shrugged. “I don’t need to see the finished product. I’m not the audience.”
Finn wondered about the crowd Dustin was hoping to draw. Then he wondered about Dustin. “Does he know about your past? What you told me on the beach?”
“Who, Dustin?” She shook her head. “No. I’ve never talked about it to anyone.”
Not anyone? Finn frowned. “Counselors? A priest? Your parents?”
“At the time, sure, but my parents wanted to bury it since the man involved had been a family friend.”
“What the fuck does it matter who the man was? You were fourteen. And their daughter.”
“It was best for all of us, they said. They thought if I talked about it or was constantly reminded of it, I’d never be able to let it go. And since they were both in high-profile positions—”
He reached for her then, grabbing her arm and turning her toward him. “Are you kidding me? They were concerned about their positions?”
All she did was smile, the emotion behind it sad, resigned, that of a little girl still traumatized and lost. “Parents. I have a feeling most wish they could go back and do a lot of things differently.”
He didn’t want to talk about her parents anymore. The way she’d dealt with this—or hadn’t dealt with it—couldn’t be healthy. “What about you? You’re an adult now, Olivia, and you still haven’t told anyone but me? Is that smart?”
He was still holding her arm, and he felt her stiffen, but he didn’t look away, keeping his gaze locked on hers even when she reached over and, one by one, pried free his fingers. Then she stepped out of his reach and gave him his answer.
“I’m beginning to wonder that myself,” she said and left him alone in the room. Again.
Thirty-two
When Roman had told her he was putting her in a safe house for the duration of his case, Jodi had immediately balked. She’d just lost her job, having grabbed her purse, her satchel, the small framed photograph she’d kept on her desk—herself at ten with Gramma Netta—and walked out of the gallery on Friday, and a safe house wasn’t where she wanted to be.
As far as her coworkers at Downtown Blue were concerned, her stash of tampons and tea bags they could trash or keep. Same with all the magazines, logo mugs, emery boards, and business cards she’d accumulated during the last three years. The job was easy to leave behind. As much as she’d loved it, she was surprised not to feel more of a loss.
But her working conditions had deteriorated so quickly with Dustin, he being unable to deal with the truth about her and Roman, or Roland to him, there was no way she could have stayed. That didn’t mean she could afford a life of leisure or to be a kept woman for long—especially when the moment Roman was done keeping her, she’d be shit outta luck.
She needed an income, or she’d run the risk of losing her apartment and her car. That was not going to happen, which gave her no other choice. She had to dip into the inheritance her grandmother had left her. And she had to do it before the bank closed for the day.
Since Roman’s apartment was out of the question, they’d decided she’d stay in a hotel. He’d been ready to put her in a safe house, to spill all to his superiors and take her off the grid, but since she knew next to nothing about the man who had threatened her, what he was involved in, or why he’d picked her for a target, she’d refused to let Roman ruin his career because of a punk with a big mouth.
Fed up with having nothing to do but wait—and with Oprah and her platitudes—Jodi flicked off the TV, hopping up to pace the room just as she heard Roman’s key card click in the door. She tossed the remote onto the bed and waited for him to walk into the room before giving him a decidedly unfunny “Hi, honey. You’re home.”
“Not only that,” he said, swatting her on the ass as he passed by. “Your boss outed me to mine.”
“He’s not my boss anymore, baby,” she reminded him as he plopped onto the same bed where she’d been sitting—the same one they’d been sleeping in, as they were using the other as a makeshift supply table for all her necessities that wouldn’t fit in the closet or drawers. “What did Livia say?”
He stretched out his arms over his head, sliding his hands beneath the stack of pillows she’d been sprawled on. “Not much. Asked me if it was true that I was straight. Told me honesty would’ve gotten me the job just as easily.”
“So the trouble Dustin was hoping to cause turned out to be a lot of nothing?” When he nodded and started rubbing at his eyes, she said, “Good. Now get up, because I need to get to the bank.”
“What’re you talking about?” he asked, pushing slowly into a sitting position. “We agreed you’d stay here until this operation ends.”
“No, we agreed that I need to stay out of sight.” God, if she had to stay in this room another hour, she was going to go mad. “But I can’t do that here. I don’t have a job. And this place is going to bankrupt me.” She held up a hand when he tried to interrupt. “No safe house. None of your money.”
“Goddamn, Jodi. I got you into this—”
“And I’ve got a way to get me out. But I need to get to the bank.”
“Withdrawing your money’s going to keep you from going bankrupt how?”
She found her shoes beneath the room’s small table, dug in the pile of her crap on the spare bed for her purse and keys. “I’m not taking out money. Well, some money, okay. But I’ve got a safety-deposit box there with the deed and the keys to a place I own in Georgia.”
That got his attention. “You want to go to Georgia?”
“It’s a house, and it’s safe, and I can stay there without paying through the nose. Now get up so we can get to the bank before they lock up. I can’t deal with staying here another day. I’m about to go out of my mind.”
He got up, but the only moving he did was to pace the stretch of carpet at the foot of both beds. “How would you get there? Would you drive?”
She hadn’t really thought about it, but…“Yeah. I’d need my car. I could go tonight. I’d be there before morning.”
“If you do, I’ll follow you, then turn around when you’re there and come back.”
“That’s insane.”
“That’s peace of mind. What are you going to do there? Look for work?”
Would he really do that? For her? “Eventually, I’ll have to. In the meantime, I thought I’d just lay low. I’ve got several acres there. The place hasn’t been lived in for the last year. I’m sure I can find enough to keep me busy for a while. Can we go, please? We can have this conversation on the way.”
He nodded distractedly, ushered her to the door, held her arm until they reached his truck and she was safely buckled in. Once he was behind the wheel, she continued. “You don’t think it’s going to be long, do you? Till this is all over?”
He shook his head. “The guy I’m dealing with…I’m meeting him tonight. I’ll know more then, but it feels like we’re headed toward D-day.” The last week had been too tense to even think about bringing it up, but now she really wanted to know, and so…
“This guy. Does he have anything to do with what happened to your brother? I mean, directly?”
She didn’t really expect that he’d answer. It had been a week since he’d told her his reason for becoming a drug enforcement agent. Yet even cooped up, with plenty of time for conversation, they hadn’t talked about last Monday morning’s outburst.
Neither had they talked about his
accusation that she couldn’t possibly know what it was like to have witnessed what he had, the violent death of his brother. But the way the confession had erupted, it was obvious he’d kept the memory caged for a very long time, and the confining bars had finally given way.
She was shocked when they weakened even more now and Roman spoke. “I owe you an apology. For going off on you like that. It wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t…kind.”
She smiled to herself. That seemed like such a soft word coming from him. “Apology accepted. And I understand you not wanting to talk about what happened, or what led up to it. That’s not what I’m asking.”
“You want to know if this is a personal vendetta or just part of the job.”
Yeah. That about covered it. She waited while they idled at an intersection, watching Roman scan the sidewalks, the windows of the buildings facing the street, even the other cars around them. He was always on watch, vigilant. He might have swept her up into danger, but he still kept her feeling safe.
Once they were moving again, he spoke. “This guy. He has everything to do with what happened to Leon, my brother. But, no. He wasn’t there. That doesn’t mean he’s any less innocent. Or that those he’s using to do his dirty work are safe.”
“Was that how your brother, how Leon, wound up…”
“Gutted?”
She flinched. “I was going to say, ‘In the wrong place at the wrong time.’”
He checked the traffic, made the next turn. “Leon was a courier, another level of scum, but still scum. He didn’t deserve what he got, but he was in a position to see it coming. Not everyone is.”
“Like me.”
“Like you. Like…others.”
That sounded ominous. “That’s got to be tough for you, having to worry about who might suffer collaterally because of this guy.”
“And because of me,” he said, with a snort.
“Do you have a safe house full of girls you’ve been banging?”
He glanced quickly toward her, frowned, took in her imperious look, and laughed. “No. No banging but with you.”
