“There were here. I found signs on the lock.”
“Why it is all so clean when they destroyed Mary’s home?”
“Well,” Mark said, walking around. “Everything about her disappearance has been covered, so nobody will go to her place and see the mess they had left. But someone’s keeping the Club going, notice things out of the ordinary. It’s the only thing I can think of. Let’s get started, we might find the answer.”
They sat in front of the computer. Without the help of Mouse’s tool, it took them a good hour to crack the password and the files appeared. The documentation was so tidy and precise it would have made any IRS official happy. She’d noted every day of every week, a line that stretched back to the Club opening. Files were clearly classified for tax purposes, one for each employee. Assets and losses, and plans to tone down the latter.
When his eyes started to burn, Mark shut the computer off.
“Did we find what we were looking for?” Ann asked, confused.
“No, and we’re not gonna.”
“It’s so perfect, there has to be something.”
“It’s perfect, all right. Too perfect. Where’s the activity on the side?”
“Did you check the other folders on the computer? Some kind of hidden file?”
Mark scratched his chin, absentminded. “She was smart, she wouldn’t keep it all in one computer.”
He turned her office chair toward him, his arms boxing her in. “Did she like to hide things, as a little girl? You told me she had a diary, where did she keep it?”
“No, she…” Ann’s voice trailed off as a memory bubbled up. “Our dad did most of the work on our place, all part of the hippie way. He made the floor with wood blocks and carved a small recess underneath it. It was invisible, but we could open it if we pressed the right point.” She smiled. “He said it was our safe place, and that they would never look inside it.”
Slowly, they both looked down, where the glossy parquet shone.
“That side,” Mark told her, pointing to his right as they both went down on hands and knees.
They pushed the rugs away, moved the furniture around and checked the whole floor, knocking on each tile.
Just when Ann’s faith cracked, a knock on a tile sounded hollow. “Mark, I got it!”
When she pushed on one side and the tile went up, a small key laid alone in the hole underneath.
“Great. And where’s the lock?” Mark complained.
Her grin spread. “Have a little faith, pessimistic jackass.”
Mary had hidden Ann’s existence in all but that postcard, and the postcard was on that hideous poster. Maybe… She ran to the poster, and when she pulled it down a wall safe was uncovered.
“I’ll be damned. Do you know the combination?”
“Let’s see.” She used her birthday, turned the key.
With a smooth click the safe opened.
Chapter 15
It was Ann’s turn to be disappointed. She’d expected papers or some black book where Mary chronicled her wild life, not a fat stack of money and a shiny black box no bigger than Mark’s palm. “What’s that?”
Mark grabbed the steely little box with no regard. “A hard drive.”
She scoffed. “I know it’s a hard drive. I mean… a hard drive? That’s it?”
He slipped their treasure into his pocket, headed for the door. “What did you expect, a letter with a name on it, ‘This is the bad guy, throw him in jail?’”
“No, I guess. But it would have been a lot easier and more romantic.”
“Yeah, technology killed romance.” From the doorframe, his glance raced to her and then back to the deserted hall. “Come on. Take the money in the safe and let’s go.”
“Do I have to?” Her hands dove into her pocket. “It seems wrong, like I’m taking advantage.”
“You do realize you’re Mary’s only living relative.”
“So?”
“So this is all yours, club, money, house. Yours.”
“Oh.” She stared at the stash of money, crossed her arms. “I know, you’re right. It’ just that–”
“We can’t hit an ATM, but we have to eat.” Mark’s patience never lasted too long. “You don’t do it, I will. Decide real quick, angel.”
“There’s no need to growl. I was just trying to explain–”
“Do you want to meet our friends? Because any moment spent here increases the chances of it. Move!”
“We have to work on your temper,” she said, snatching the money as if the stacks of bills burned and strolling regally past him. “We really do.”
Back at the hotel, they went straight to the computer room. The rattling noise of machine guns and young laughter mingled up in an odd mix. Mark cursed. Four boys were playing, crowded in front of one computer. “We’ll come back,” he muttered.
Silence walked with them as they got to their room. Speculations about the disk's content, and hopes the little box would steer them to a turning point secluded them.
With nothing left to do but guess about the hard drive's content, Ann sat at the window.
The sky was so huge, so close. Heat warmed her face, but remained out of her reach. She was trapped like a big cat at the zoo: she couldn’t tell her sister she missed her, and she couldn’t tell Mark she loved him. He had enough trouble dealing with their attraction, talking about feelings would just make him more tense. She couldn’t go home – if she still had a home at all. She couldn’t even take a walk outside for fear of being shot at. She would give everything to have that muggy heat on her skin, the slap of unfiltered sun, the sweat soaking her t-shirt and prickling her back. At the other side of her invisible barrier, people strolled on the sidewalk, hurrying up to the safety of the next AC unit. Did they realize how lucky they were?
Mark’s hands on her shoulders made a lot of sense in that moment of misery. He kneaded her tight neck, down her back, and up again. That molding, slow and strong, eased knots deeper than the ones in her muscles.
“You okay?”
“Yes, thank you. Don’t stop,” she said when she felt him pulling away. “Please.”
He stopped, but only to pull her back against his chest. Then his hands were on her arms, up and down, up and down.
“Didn’t mean to snap, back at Mary’s.”
She twisted to see his face and was jerked back against him in a heartbeat. A smile tugged at her lips. “Mark, are you apologizing?’
His voice was grouchy, but he chuckled. “I did, and I’m done. Hope you enjoyed it.”
She entwined their fingers, and snuggled into his embrace as the sun beat down on the city.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Beside the obvious.”
“I’m not sure. I guess I feel a little trapped, I’m just not used to being inside for so long. I miss the sky, the wind.”
“You live in New York. You guys don’t have sky.”
“It’s New York, there’s nothing we don’t have. Sky, clouds, sunset, the whole deal.”
He rested his chin on her head, slipping his arms around her waist. “You ever been to St. Petersburg?”
“What’s in there?”
“Best sunset I’ve ever seen. The sky gets all red and purple. Streaky, like spilled paint. And the ocean sparkles.”
She sighed. “It sounds beautiful.”
“It is.”
“Then what?”
“Then you find this little grill on the beach. Not much to look at, but the smell is great.”
“Seafood?”
“Cajun Mahi-Mahi.”
“Keep talking,” she asked softly.
“And there’s a guy playing guitar. Garth Brooks. You know the one, Friends in Low Places.”
She rested her head back on his chest, and closed her eyes.
“You go back to the beach.” A smile danced in his voice. “Probably push a Pelican or two as you go.”
“They do sound like fierce beasts.”
“They are. But when
you get there, it’s worth it.” His words were barely a whisper, and his hold on her grew tighter. “Not that you care about it.”
“What do you care about?”
“Getting home. Being with…” He stopped, dropped his hands and edged away. “With whoever you’re with.”
She followed him with her eyes as he walked away. Trying to find some of that warmth she hugged herself, but it did nothing to her longing. He had taken away the loving touch of his words, the shield of his arms, but what had crushed her was losing the intimacy of that moment.
“Did you take a bikini from Mary’s?” he asked her from the other side of the room, busying himself with something in his empty bag.
“What?” She shook her head to clear it from her gloomy emotions. “Oh, yes.”
“Put in on. There’s a pool on the roof. We’ll wait there if the boys are still using the computer.”
* * * * *
The air was soaked with heat. The few particles of oxygen that didn’t drown didn’t quite reach the bottom of Ann’s lungs. It was thick and sultry.
Perfect.
The sky, clean and huge, supervised Miami with its merciless blue stare; underneath, cream and red beach chairs hemmed the topaz water of the pool; further on, a white rail closed the world away.
Sitting on the poolside, Ann inhaled all that summer mugginess like the most refined smell. As her feet splashed the perfectly cool water, she closed her eyes, tasting the freedom. It wasn’t real, but lying for few moments would help keep her sanity. She needed to pretend it was just a vacation.
“I give you ten minutes before you’re burned,” Mark said, standing at the poolside. He hadn’t changed from jeans and t-shirt, but didn’t seem too bothered about the implacable heat. “I can bring the umbrella closer if you want.”
“Don’t worry, I’m okay. Unless it’s too hot for you, and you want some shade. I mean, you’re fully dressed.”
He sat at her side, took off his shoes and rolled his jeans; for a second, Ann saw him young and carefree, getting ready for some fun. “I was born in this sun,” he said. “I don’t burn. I don’t get too hot.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Florida.”
She didn’t see it coming. She felt his hand on the small of her back, a steadfast shove and then sassy cool water everywhere. The quivering shape of Mark chased away the leftover of black memories. The last time she was under water, it hadn’t been of her own will. But he was up there, and she was safe.
Ann let herself drawn in the pleasure of the wet, muffled world around her. When she touched the bottom of the pool, her mood was flying high. So much so, that she thought his pushing her into the pool deserved retribution.
She met the air with thrashes and messy pushes, up and down the surface, gurgling words and spitting water. “Can’t… swim.”
A splash, and Mark’s arms were around her. He pulled her up, tight against his chest as his worried eyes inspected her. “Are you all right?” he rushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I’m sorry.”
As mean as it was, laughter bubbled in her throat; she tried to contain it by pressing her face against his shoulder.
“What?” he asked, even more worried than before. “Talk to me, Ann.”
She let it free, a full, rounded laugh, shaking her from head to toes. She clung onto him as it wore off, feeling guilty and giggling when she met his even face.
He ran a hand over his eyes to wipe away rivulets of water dripping from his hair, his face, his neck. Did he know how good he looked right now?
Under her palms, he was solid as a rock, all tough muscles and warm flesh. His heart beat fast and strong. She scrambled closer against him, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Do you really think I can’t swim?” she asked, her throat suddenly tight.
“Would I take the chance?”
His lips were beautiful, their hard line calling to be smoothed, seduced into a smile or a kiss.
“I’m completely dressed,” he scolded.
She lifted her chin, the laugh still in her eyes. “Well, next time think twice before pushing me into a pool.”
He tightened his hold on her waist. “That’s very mean.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Okay. But you started it.”
“I did.”
“I’m glad,” she said, looking down at his mouth.
Mark didn’t fight. He didn’t want to. Not with the heat of the sun rubbing his back and her cool fingers skimming up and down from his neck to his short hair. He was tired of holding back, tired of wanting her and denying himself the salvation hidden in her arms.
She surrounded his brain like the mist of a dream, a sinful fairy wet and smiling. And strong and delicate like the words of a spell, she surrounded his body. Her hard nipples rubbed against the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Her lips were parted, and when she licked a bead of water he stopped breathing.
His palm found the small of her back, slid down to grab her and press her hard against his aching crotch. Her sharp intake of breath punched on his brain.
He knew that danger lurked over them, knew that he would be ashamed of letting his desires run him, but in that moment, everything he needed surrounded him. The heat, the rocking of cool water, and Ann.
Kissing her wasn’t the only thing he could do. It wasn’t the right thing to do, either. But if he didn’t do it, he might as well get out of the water and put a bullet into his head.
So he kissed her.
She didn’t hesitate, but grabbed his hair and pulled him in. The taste of her, the way she answered to his mouth, the dance of her hips against his seized upon his control, upon his better judgment.
Wild with need, he pushed her back against the pool wall. Both hands ran down her sides, squeezing her waist, losing willpower, losing himself as she rubbed against him.
Her breathing was a war cry; her legs the sweetest torture; her hands weapons whose feather touch hit him hard and low
Thoughts were far away, so were the reasons why he believed he shouldn’t take her. He only had to unzip his jeans, push the tiny bikini aside and he would be inside her, where he belonged.
He hit the wall of reality with a crush at the noise of the door crashing open.
His mind stripped down to icy clarity, his body switched to combat mode. He turned, pushed her behind him to shield her and face whoever had walked in.
Three girls, armed with big beach bags. They looked at them, and left for the chairs, giggling and whispering.
As the adrenaline wore off, Mark looked for Ann’s face and his heart nearly drowned for what he saw. Her eyes never lied. It wasn’t gratitude, and it wasn’t just sex. It was something beautiful.
Shitless scared, his heart drummed a hymn of joy.
Gently, he sat her on the poolside. “I need to change.”
He pushed himself out of the water.
“Mark,” she called, but it was too late.
His eyes shunned away from hers as he handed her a towel. Without a word, he walked away.
Chapter 16
Ann plunged into her cut-offs with so much frustration she stumbled and nearly tripped, almost tore a t-shirt to pieces as she fumbled to put it on.
Thoughts spewed out like a cloud of exhaust into a meadow. A swelling filled with shiny green venom throbbed in her throat – fury, she realized with petulant satisfaction. He would be so proud of how well she nursed her anger, feeding it with self-righteousness and resentment.
Now that she thought of it, maybe this was all part of his plan. Let’s see how far I can push sweet, blond Ann before she explodes. Well, she had news for Mr. Mark Carson: she teetered on the edge of explosion point. Literally.
Her head throbbed with frustration. Her hands shook. Strands of hair were torn off with electric snaps when she shoved the comb into her shower-wet mop.
Did he think that, just because he kept them alive, he could call time and place to be kind, rude, passionate or a downright j
erk?
She pulled her hair into a ponytail so tight her face stretched backward.
He–that obnoxious egomaniac she had the misfortune to love–did whatever stroked his mind, who cared about what she felt. And it was her fault. He wanted to ignore her? She gave him his space. He wanted to kiss her? There she was. He wanted to freaking walk away? No problem, he could take all the time he needed.
Dumb moron. Did he think that she went around kissing random guys, or that she wrapped herself around them like a freaking burrito all the time? Didn’t he realize that if she’d done it with him, it was for some reason?
It was her fault, she thought again, tossing the comb on the fake marble of the washbasin counter. She’d sworn to fight to gain his love, but she hadn’t.
Like their last training, when he’d taught her how to strike someone. For as ridiculous as it might sound, she’d been very worried about hurting him, and didn’t put enough strength in her blows.
“Harder,” he’d yelled at her every time she hit his open palm. “You must hit harder. Gentle is for old ladies with a crochet needle. You’re fighting for your life. Hit harder.”
If she followed his advice–orders, because Mr. Carson didn’t give advice, only barked orders–she would go into the other room stark naked. Let’s see if I-am-in-charge-of-the-universe Mark would go law and order on me then.
She filled her mouth with air and blew it out, annoyed that her anger faded away like the color on her cheeks.
She knew she wouldn’t do that. If fighting was his area of expertise, the troubles of the soul were hers. She couldn’t expect Rambo or G. I. Joe to understand or know poetry.
It didn’t mean he was free to ignore what his actions did to her, though.
She would talk to him, give him a long speech on what happened between them and let him know that he couldn’t play with her like that.
When Ann marched into the bedroom, she found him standing in front of the window, arms crossed on his chest. When he heard her, he spared her a sideway glance. “Let’s go,” he said, moving to the door. “We have to check the hard drive before five.”
“We have to talk.”
“About Mary?”
Guns For Angels Page 11
