I remember the way to Garrett’s office through the maze of hallways.
As I open the door, Garrett grows, “Fucking knock.”
I shrug, “You knew we were coming.”
I have Luce stand in the darkest corner, near the door as I close it behind us.
Garrett’s heavy brow knots, “We?” He stares in her direction, then back at me. “I don’t remember inviting an audience. Did you sell tickets?”
“I told you I wanted to do something first. You said to come straight here.”
“You could have left your baggage somewhere.”
“I could have taken my companion somewhere safe to wait, if your office wasn’t the reptile house in the middle of fucking zooland.”
He glowers at me. I ask him, “You want to bitch some more or do you want what I brought you?”
He’s sullen. “If this is how you act toward your boss, I’m fucking amazed you reached the age you are.”
“You asked for me to come here. Any time you’re not satisfied with the work, say the word and I’ll haul myself back out again.”
“You want to sit?”
“Are we going to be long about this?”
“Nico says you took more than the ten.”
“That’s right. You’ll still get your twenty tomorrow.”
“Don’t you figure what you took is mine?”
“I did. Then you told me to keep it.”
“You take anything else?”
“Nothing that’s yours.”
He’s squinting into the corner. “Sure about that?”
I don’t say anything. This guy likes to play the face-off game far too much. Especially for someone who’s totally shite at it. He’s like a little fat bully who never learned what a dick he’s making of himself.
“You bring a guest here—this isn’t a fucking Broadway show, you know. We could be discussing things of a highly fucking confidential nature. Matter of fact, any and all of my fucking business is of a highly fucking confidential nature.”
He glowers toward Luce. “Come up here. Step into the light.”
I tell him. “She’s fine where she is.”
“I want to know who’s in my fucking office,” I hear the rhythm in his voice. He was going to say, ‘asshole.’ But he didn’t. He held back. Okay, that legitimately sends a chill down my spine. It could be that he doesn’t feel up to going against me. And he’d be right to feel that way. I’d take him apart like a freshly roasted chicken.
But I don’t think that’s why he held back. I think he’s considering a plan B. Calculating the arrangements he would make to terminate our joyful working relationship. If he hasn’t made them already.
I tell him, “Mr. Garrett, she doesn’t want to be here any more than I want her to be. But you called and I came. I have something for you. You want it.” I shrug, “Perfectly reasonable.”
I open my coat wide with one hand so Garrett can see the inside. The yellow envelope from Danny pokes up, out of the inside pocket. With my hand open, I reach slowly and deliberately for Danny’s envelope and lift it out, with my thumb and forefinger.
Neatly, precisely, I lay the envelope on the desk in front of Garrett. “You asked for it immediately, I brought it. No question.”
I’ve given him a win. Shown some respect and deference. I step back from the desk. And I hope it’s enough. Luce doesn’t need to be put through anything more.
He peers through the half light, into the corner where she stands. His eyes register her. The temperature in the room drops.
“You look like someone.” he squints, “Who do you look like?” She stays silent. Her face gives nothing away.
Garrett says, “Why do I think I know your face?”
The silence is cold as stone.
He picks up his envelope, peers inside, then narrows his eyes at me.
“Okay, get the fuck out of here.”
Luce can’t turn and head for the door fast enough. As I’m leaving Garrett says, “Don’t carry passengers when you’re working.”
I need to get her somewhere safe.
Chapter Six
Luce
Heading back to the car, I’m still jittery inside from the chill that man’s eyes gave me, and from what he said. Connor makes a joke about it.
I tell him, “I’m not as easy with making enemies as you are, Connor.”
He studies my face for a moment. then he reaches across to take my hand.
“It’s going to be okay, little firecracker.” His voice is like hot, smoky bourbon. I buzz when he calls me that, though I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to distract me. It’s okay.
I look in his eyes. “You could run Garrett’s whole operation if you wanted to.”
“Like you think I could run Nico’s?”
“You could run anything you wanted. But I mean that you could take Garrett’s little empire from him pretty easily.”
“I know. I can even see how. It’s not me, though.”
She says, “One thing I know about the life is, you’re either a wolf, or you’re a sheep.”
“Are you calling me a sheep?”
“With a wolfie grin like that? Hunt or be eaten, Connor. That’s what I’m saying.”
“Well, I’m not the empire building type. If that’s where your heart’s set, you’d better find another wagon to hitch yourself to.”
He reaches out for my hand. His fingers touch inside my palm. Light and sensation flashes through me in a blast. I feel like a wound-up spring and I want to snap myself around him. I ache to give myself to him so much I’m terrified. I’m desperate to be held, to let him wrap me in his arms, abandon myself into his care. Have him protect me. I want it so much I’m burning.
But he’s so much older, and I have every reason to not trust him. And to not trust myself with him. The ways I’m thinking about him, the pictures drifting up in the back of my mind are all so very wrong. I’m shaking like a leaf.
When we get to the car, he comes to the passenger side and opens the door for me. He hasn’t done that before. I wonder if he’s feeling more protective. As I slip past him, I so want to throw my arms around him, hug him close and bury myself in him. It’s hard not to give in to that. I’m feeling so much need, and he’s so impossibly hot.
He gets in beside me, looking at me with his hand on the wheel. I want him so much it almost makes me sob. I turn away as he starts the car.
Connor’s phone rings. Before he gets the earpiece in, I hear from the phone, “The girl has got to go.” I hear enough of the voice to recognize it. It’s Garrett.
I turn, slowly, trying to keep my face still. I don’t want to let on that I heard Garrett’s voice. Connor is listening but he shows no reaction. I hold my breath, trying not to make a sound. His jaw flexes and I see his lips tighten, but he still doesn’t say anything. I can’t see any expression on his face.
He just listens for what feels like a very long minute. Then he says “Tosser,” and he hangs up.
He looks at me and says, gently, “It’s nothing.”
I want to believe him, so much it makes me feel like an idiot. He doesn’t look at me for a few seconds and he doesn’t speak. Even through the life that I’ve had the last few months, I never felt so afraid as I do now. Never in my life. And I still don’t even know where he’s taking me.
Like he’s following my thought, he says, “I didn’t get a place for myself yet. The place where I’m staying, now, I guess I’ll have to move out. Find somewhere of my own. Probably sooner than I thought.”
“Because of me.”
“I need somewhere you can be secure.”
“Where you are staying, why is it not secure? What is it, a boarding house?”
“oh, no, far from it. It’s a nice enough place, but I can only be sure of keeping you safe in a place of my own.”
And it hits me. It’s so obvious, “It’s a woman, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb, big
boy. It’s one thing you’re not any good at.”
There’s a pause. then, “Okay.” He says, “The place I’m staying, it’s a friend’s apartment. And you’re right. She is a woman.”
He’s taking me to a woman’s apartment. And I thought nothing could be worse than being a virtual prisoner at Uncle Nico’s club.
I realize that he’s talking and I may have missed some of what he said, “She is not...”
“Look,” I hold up a hand, “you don’t owe anything to me. You don’t need to give me an explanation.” My eyes fix on the window, not focussed on anything. I can’t listen to him now.
“No, that’s what I’m trying to say. It’s okay. She and I...”
“Seriously, Connor,” I tell him, “Don’t.”
I don’t want to hear any of his promises. I don’t want him to make any big declarations. Because there would be a serious risk of me believing him. I want to do that, so much. Whatever happens, I can’t cope with that. Not now.
He drives in silence for a while. Then he says, “I’m going to call ahead.”
He calls. Someone picks up. But he still has the earpiece in so I can’t hear anything from the other end. I look round for a glance at the screen on his phone. It says, ‘Corky.’
Corky. Cute.
Chapter Seven
Connor
“So I wanted to let you know I’m bringing a guest.”
Corky is sharp, as always. “Would that be a guest of the lady-type persuasion?”
“I... “ I feel like I’m being flung around on an Irish Sea storm here, “Yeah.”
“So should I take it the spare rooms don’t need to be made up? Will your guest of the lady-type persuasion be able to find accommodation in your suite, Hoss?” She’s always cracking.
“Oh, I...”
“Just fucking with you, Hoss.” Her laugh is weaponized honey. “You’re too easy. Like I told you, bring who you want, do what you like. Make yourself at home.”
“Thanks Corky.”
“No biggie. Just remember, anything you do that needs the rugs or furniture replacing, it’s on you to find them, all right?”
Corky could be unsettling at first. Maybe bit scary, even. She’s short and wiry, with spiky black hair and she moves like a little wild animal. She keeps very still when she’s listening, watching with her head on one side and her sharp eyes fixed. When she moves it’s fast. Fluid.
Her apartment is like the lair of a super-villain. Wide open spaces with sunken spaces and low, square furniture. Lots of mirrors, tiles and steel. Huge one-way glass windows looking out over the city. Turns out it looks like that because it really was built as the lair of a super-villain.
Her father.
Chapter Eight
Luce
Connor drives us into the parking under a steel and glass skyscraper, near to the river. He uses a key in the elevator, and presses the button for the penthouse floor. The elevator doors slide back inside an airy apartment with a high roof and full height glass on three sides.
Connor introduces Corky. She’s petite and watchful, with quick, wiry movements. She could be the friendliest person in the world, or she could be a sarcastic psychopath. The look on her face is almost impossible to read. Her eyes are bright and sharp and it’s hard to imagine her she would be anything in between.
“So,” a pixieish grin stretches between her cheeks as she looks me up and down, “Connor’s guest. You certainly are of a lady-type persuasion.” She holds out a perfectly manicured hand with long, purple nails. “Welcome to my humble abode, ladybug. I’m Corky.”
She lifts an open bottle of Krystal champagne from the steel kitchen counter. “Like a drink?” She has a fluted glass half full of sparkling bubbles and the bottle is a third empty.
“I’d sooner have a beer if you’ve got one.” I tell her, “Champagne gives me a headache.”
“Hoss,” she calls over to Connor, “Beer for your lovely friend of the lady-type persuasion. Now,” she says, “Come and sit with me, Luce. that’s a lovely name. And it really suits you.”
It’s none of my business, and I know I shouldn’t care, but the way she talks to him, I wonder what the deal is between them. Is there something going on?
She leads me past the soft-lit, gleaming kitchen, into her sunken lounge, by the double-height windows with a nighttime view of the river and the city. Connor goes to get drinks and I’m a little afraid to be left alone with her. Cork has been nothing but welcoming to me, and I feel bad, but I’m so on edge right now, I could crack open.
For a while, we sit and she watches me and I feel like a specimen under glass. A subject. I realize that I’m not making conversation either. Maybe she’s being friendly and giving me the chance to speak. So I start to speak, even though I’m struggling for anything to say except to talk about the view. I feel like I spent the last half hour with all my emotions in a food processor.
“Your view is amazing.” The apartment is like a movie set, but I don’t want to gush at her.
“Daddy’s apartment.” She blinks like a cat. “I’m just the spoiled brat squatter.”
She says, “Connor found you in Nico’s?” The way she says ‘found’ leaves me feeling like I could be under suspicion. She goes on, “I’ve been to Nico’s. I’m not a regular, but I know Sharonda and Bebbette.”
I know the dancers too, but I wait. See where she’s headed. I think she’s being careful with me, and I’m on her territory, so I don’t want to stick my neck out.
I doubt if she feels threatened by me, but maybe she’s jealous of Connor. I have no clue what their relationship is. My stomach knots at the thought. She definitely looks more like the kind of girl I’d expect to see with him.
Her eyes spark alight as she asks me, “So, are you from that branch of the Felloni’s?”
Straight for it, like a laser. That’s something I don’t want to talk about and it’s like she sees it instantly. Talking about the family and what part of it I am from would mean talking about Daddy.
I haven’t talked to anyone about what happened to Daddy. There are big parts of the story that I don’t know and I don’t even know how much I can believe of what I do know.
While I’m taking a breath, stalling for time, she surprises me.
I tell her, “I’m not a Felloni,” and I hesitate. “I’m a Gilligan.”
Quickly, she says, “No matter. you’re here with Connor. That means you’re okay with me.” But there was a flash in her eye when she heard the name. It’s no surprise. Everybody in the city probably knows the story.
I want to trust her, but I don’t dare. Not yet, at least. Her head tilts to the other side as she says, “Knowing who my dad is, I know all about keeping things close.”
“Your dad?”
“Connor didn’t tell you? Well,” she said, “My dad is kind of a minor super-villain. Or maybe chief advisor to a super-villain.”
I wait. She explains, “Dad is on the council of the Kinney family.”
My eyes must have been like saucers.
She says, “I know, right? Biggest mob family in the city. Kind of an über-mob, on top of all the other mob families.”
Connor appears and says, “Nice to see you girls getting along already,” as he puts a frosted cold glass of beer on the low table in front of me. “I can show you around or give you a chance to freshen up if you like, or you might just want a bit of down time. So, be comfortable. Whatever suits you.” and he says, “I’ll order food, but I’ll get you something to nibble on while we wait for it.”
“Luce was telling me about her family,” Corky says.
I bite my lip.
She leans toward me, puts out a hand. “Okay,” she says, “You weren’t. I was trying to get you to talk about your family and it’s rude and insensitive of me. Please.” her hand waits, open. I take it and have a breath of relief. She smiles, “Relax, okay?”
But I realize, Connor doesn’t know the story. I don’t want to tell it. It mean
s going through so much of it again. But I really don’t want him to hear it from someone else first. I won’t pause to think why that matters so much to me.
I take a long breath. “I’m a Gilligan. The Felloni’s, the Gilligans and a whole bunch of other families are part of the Rattigan...” I don’t want to say, ‘mob.’ But that’s what they are. What we are, I guess. Usually, if people talk about it at all, they say, ‘clan,’ or ‘association,’ sometimes they might even say, ‘syndicate.’ Eventually, I spit it out, “Mob.”
Corky squeezes my hand and I feel like she understands the storm of pain, of emotion, of torn and burned loyalties that rage inside me. It hurts when I think about the families. Mine especially. And what they had done to us, someone in another part of what we thought of as our ‘family.’ I realize that even though it’s painful, letting some of this out is doing me good. I make myself go on.
“All the past year, maybe longer, there have been rifts and bitter arguments between factions in the Gilligan family. I mean, there always are, but they had been getting hotter and more vicious. Accusations were flying around left and right, and it came to a head about two months ago. Shooting broke out all over the district.” I take a pull on the beer. I don’t want to do this, but I have to face it some time. It’s hard, but it feels right.
“Daddy always tried to stay out of all of that. He was no saint, that’s for sure, but he always acted like he wasn’t in the life, like he was outside it all. When I was growing up, I believed him. And Momma backed him up. She told me, ‘Daddy does some work for tough people sometimes, but he’s one of the good guys.’ But more and more, I saw the signs. I think I pretended to myself that I believed him, but deep down, I knew.
So, six weeks ago, the fighting came to a head. There was a long night of shootings. Men were shot, some even in bars and clubs. Right out in public. People said bad things about Daddy. I don’t believe them. It couldn’t be true,” I can’t put it off any longer. “But he was targeted.” I choke. “He was the last man killed. They said it was all over then.”
Break Her Free: A Curvy Captive Romance Page 4
