by JA Huss
Tara drinks wine. It’s part of the act. But Phoebe doesn’t. She’s a whiskey girl. And somehow I don’t feel much like Tara at the moment, so I hold up my hand to stop the waitress before she leaves. “I’d like a Johnny Walker Blue. And make it a double.”
Vann chuckles. “Big spender.”
“You’re paying, remember?”
“Fine.” He nods to the waitress. But as soon as she walks off his smiles drops and his attention lands on me. “So.”
“So?”
“I think I’ve figured you out.”
“Is that right?”
“You confused me for a while when you first showed up in town. But you weren’t the first.”
“Look, Vann, I don’t know what you think you know. But—”
“You’re one of them, right?”
“One of who?”
“The witness protection people.”
I blink my eyes to the beat of my now-racing heart. “What does that even mean?”
He leans back in his chair, eyebrows raised. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what? Look, I’ve got a date tonight and I’m not in the mood to play guessing games. So if you’ve got something to say to me, say it.”
He shrugs. “OK. Fine. You’re just one of many, Tara Tanner. Or whatever your real name is. Just one of many.”
My heart skips like seventeen dozen times inside my chest. “Many what?”
He looks around like he’s being coy and sly. Then his eyes lock on mine. “Witnesses. This town is a Mecca for them.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just stop, OK? Don’t play dumb. I know things. I might be the youngest Vaughn and all my older siblings definitely know more than I do. But I grew up in this family. I was always watching them. I saw what they saw, even if I wasn’t involved. I know things, Tara.” He taps the side of his head to illustrate his point.
I pause to take a breath. But I draw the air in slowly, trying to maintain my best poker face. “I don’t know what any of that means.”
“My sister is married to Spencer Shrike. Do you know who he is?”
“No. But I’m staring at a huge fucking garage sign right across the street that says Shrike Bikes. So I’m gonna go out on a limb and say he’s some bike builder?”
“Some bike builder? Dude, he and all his friends got away with murder a while back. Then some weird secret society assassins showed up and tried to kill my sister and steal her best friend’s baby. I was only seventeen at the time, so I wasn’t involved. But I started paying better attention to the people who lived in this town. More importantly, I started paying attention to the new people who suddenly showed up. Fort Collins is crawling with FBI. They’re everywhere.”
I turn in my seat and start looking around.
“Not in here, Tara. This is Anna fucking Ameci’s. And aside from Shrike Bikes and Sick Boyz, this is probably the only other place in town that’s not bugged.”
I cross my arms and sit back in my seat. “Why are you telling me this?”
He points his finger at me and clicks his tongue. “Because you’re one of them.”
I laugh. “I assure you, Vann. I am not FBI.”
“Not FBI. You’re one of the witnesses. This is where they bring them. They’re all over.”
“OK.” I stand up and hike my purse over my shoulder. “I’ve heard enough rambling delusions for one day. I have to go.”
“So is Belinda.”
I stare at him for a moment, then sit back down. “What?”
He nods. “Yeah. She’s one of them. She’s one of you.”
I get this sudden sick feeling in my stomach. Like I might hurl all over the table.
“You know that guy who comes in to Sick Boys to get tatted?”
I shake my head. “You just described everyone who walks through that fucking door.”
“Clay. The one who comes to see me. The one you asked Belinda to talk to about how one goes about being a private investigator?”
Shit.
“Yeah. Him. Well, that question of yours was very interesting. But I’ll get to that in a minute. See, Clay and I aren’t just friends. I mean, we are. We went to school together. He’s my best friend, actually. But we’ve been watching this town for the last six years. We know what’s up. We started looking into you the minute you showed up out of nowhere.” He points at me. “But the FBI is very thorough. Your new background is grade-A shit. So we didn’t have anything to go on until you asked Belinda about how one becomes a PI in Colorado. Then we were off and running. And do you know what we found, Tara?”
I swallow hard. “What did you find?”
“A missing PI in California. Name of Phoebe Covington. Do you have a twin, Tara?”
I lean forward and hiss, “What the fuck do you want?”
“Easy.” He chuckles. “I’m not gonna out you. I’m on your side.”
“You don’t even know what my side is, Vann.”
“I don’t need to know. If they put you here, you’re on the right side.” He pauses. “At least I think so.”
I look around for our waitress. “Where is my fucking drink?”
“I haven’t told Belinda I know yet. I don’t want to scare her.”
I huff at him. “No, you just want to scare me.”
“Are you scared?”
“Yes. Yeah, I’m scared. People don’t upend their lives by spilling all their secrets to the Feds, testify in court to try to put a bunch of very dangerous people away for life, and then just… move on with their new name, OK? It was a big fucking deal. People are looking for me, Vann. One very dangerous man, to be specific. That trial didn’t go as planned. And if he finds me…” I lean back in my chair and sigh. “Well, I’m sure you can imagine what happens after that.”
He’s silent for a moment. Then our drinks arrive. Vann exchanges a few polite, charming quips with the waitress. He probably dated her too. But when she leaves, he picks right back up where he left off, pointing at me again. “You fucked up. That’s why I’m telling you this. You fucked up when you asked about the PI shit, Tara. If I can figure it out, others can too. That’s all I wanted to say.”
He leans back in his chair too. Crosses his arms like he’s done. And waits.
I don’t know what to say.
“Don’t do it.”
“Don’t do what?” I ask.
“Don’t look back. You can’t look back. You made it. You’re here. You’ve got a whole new life. I checked you out very thoroughly. I looked at everything, Tara. And I found nothing and moved on. Until you looked back. People are out there just waiting for you to do something stupid. Waiting for you to make a mistake. You got a second chance. Don’t throw it all away just because it’s easier to remember the good times and forget about the bad ones. You’re a well-dressed book nerd now. Just… go with it.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s just… it’s not that easy.”
“Belinda is doing just fine. She has embraced her second chance. And if you fuck up your new life, you take her, and everyone else in this town who came here to start over, down with you. Once they find one of you, they’ll find them all.” He places his hands on the table and leans forward, his blue eyes staring straight into mine. “This is bigger than you. So before you give up what they gave you and go back to the shit-show of a life you left behind, you better think good and hard about that. Because I won’t let you take Belinda down with you.”
He leans back again. Crosses his arms again. And waits.
“What do you want me to say?”
“What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“I looked into that guy you’re”—he does air quotes—“‘dating.’”
“What? You don’t even know his name.”
“Don’t I?”
“Do you?”
“You don’t. That’s for sure. Because he’s not who he says he is, either.”
“Sta
y the fuck out of my life, Vann. No one asked you to play protector.”
“He’s been catfishing you for two years, Tara. He’s lying. Don’t you want to know that before you fuck everything up?”
“OK. I’m done here.”
I pick up my drink, down it in one gulp, slam the glass down on the table, and stand up. “Thanks for the drink. I can find my own way home.”
CHAPTER NINE - ALONZO
Jesse makes himself at home on my fishing boat, sitting lazily on one of the cockpit benches with his feet kicked up on the side deck. He gives Quint the GPS coordinates and eyes me from behind his mirrored sunglasses.
“So… Lonz.” I hate it when he calls me Lonz. “Seeing anyone?”
“Am I seeing anyone?”
“Yeah. You got a girl?”
“That’s not any of your business.”
“Well, it kinda is.”
“It’s absolutely not, Jesse. Trust me on this.”
“We are brothers now.”
“We are not brothers. I have my brothers, you have your brothers. But you and I are not brothers.”
“Come on. Why do you hate me? I’m only trying to help you.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“I think you do.”
“I’m not sure where you got that impression, but you’re mistaken.”
He sits up, slides his sunglasses down his nose, and stares at me for a moment.
I wait him out and stare back.
“Miles told me.”
“Miles? Emma’s jet butler? He told you what?”
“He told me you were having trouble.”
“I’m not following.”
“In fact”—Jesse swings his legs down and plants his boat shoes on the deck—“he’s the reason I’m doing this.”
I’m so confused. “Miles is the reason we’re picking up Chek and creepy Wendy?”
Jesse points at me. “She is creepy, right?”
“So fucking creepy.”
“Like… when you look into her eyes, Alonzo? I can’t explain it.”
“Dude. I know. It’s like meeting Satan for the first time.”
His face crinkles up. “You’ve met Satan more than once?”
“I’ve seen more than one creepy Wendy in my day.”
“Where?”
“Alice Town on Bimini. I was there… well, it doesn’t matter why I was there. But I was meeting with this dude called Carter and he had a daughter just like creepy Wendy.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“It’s not just me, then. She’s weird.”
“So fucking weird. Why are we picking her up? And look, I’m not trying to pry into your business or anything. You Bostons do your thing, us Dumas boys will do ours. But… cut that crew loose, man. I’m telling you. That dude Chek is probably all sorts of shady.”
Jesse is nodding his head while I’m talking. “I know. But they’re Johnny’s people. Not mine. I don’t actually have any people. I’m really not involved.”
This is the first time he’s even admitted that there’s something to be involved in. And even though my practical inner voice is telling me to drop it and mind my own business, I have to ask. I can’t not ask. “Involved in what, Jesse?”
“Forget I said anything. You really don’t want to know.”
“Creepy little Wendy is gonna be on my boat in a few minutes. If there’s something I need to know about her, you should tell me.”
“Well…” He smiles that I’m-a-charming-asshole smile of his. “We’re not really picking up Chek and Wendy.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Yo!” Quint is yelling from inside the cabin. “There’s a yacht hailing us on the radio. By name.”
“Jesse?”
He gets to his feet and puts both hands up in the air, pressing his palms at me. “Just… hear me out, OK?”
“Hear you out? What the fuck are we doing?”
“I couldn’t say no. You understand, right?”
“Couldn’t say no to what, Jesse?” But already a whole slew of shit-show what-if scenarios are flying through my brain. He knows what kind of business my father is running. He knows about the smuggling. He’s turned us in. We’re meeting with the FBI. This time tomorrow I’ll be in jail, or in some rendition room, or dead.
“Miles really did me a solid last month when he set up the weddings.”
Quint calls out from the cabin. “What should I do, Alonzo? This yacht is anchored at the exact coordinates that Jesse gave us.”
Jesse is still talking. “And in doing so, he gave up his Christmas present. Which was the trip to Vegas.”
I jump up, jog into the cabin, climb the steps to the captain’s chair, and look out the window. “What the fuck is that?”
“Well.” Quint rubs his hand down the side of his face. “It appears to be a yacht filled with naked girls.”
“So”—Jesse is right behind me—“I told the dude, ‘Miles. Look, man. I owe you a Christmas present. Name it, it’s yours. Do you want a watch? A new suit? A crazy Vegas wedding for you and Christopher?’ I was going all practical and shit, ya know?”
I turn to him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“The present.”
“What present?”
“Miles. His present was for me to give you…” Jesse smiles at me. “Wait for it…”
“I don’t want to wait for it. Tell me what the fuck is going on or I’m going to toss you overboard.”
He presses the air with his palms again. “OK. Fine. Love lessons.”
I blink at him. “What? Are you having like… some kind of episode right now? Love lessons?”
“Miles. He told me you were having trouble in the girl department. And you need some pointers.”
“I need pointers?” I point to myself.
“Yeah.”
“From you?”
“From me. Because I’m like… all smooth and shit.”
Quint looks at me and laughs. “Well. What do you want to do?”
I look out the window at the yacht filled with girls shaking their tits at me. Then back at Jesse. “You brought me out into the ocean to set me up with a yacht filled with naked girls?”
“Yeah.” He laughs. “Take your pick. Hell, take two. They’re all interested. Miles made up a little résumé highlighting all your strengths and they bought it. He’s really good at downplaying weaknesses.”
I look at Quint. He’s not even bothering to stifle his laugh. Then back at Jesse. “Jesse?”
“Lonz?” He’s fucking grinning. Like this whole expedition is just one big box of fun.
“Are you a moron?”
“What?”
“Number one.” I hold up a finger because I’m about to make a list. “I do not need love lessons. I’m a six-foot-four, yoked-out, hot-as-fuck, tattooed fisherman. Girls follow me around begging me to fuck them.”
He makes a face. “You sure about that?”
“Two. You’re not charming. You’re a dick-face, douchebag yachter who got lucky one time thirteen years ago with my sweet sister.”
“Hey, I’d like to think we both got lucky that day.”
“Three. Even if I did need love lessons, I would not go to you.”
“I don’t know, man. I might be off the market now, but back in the day, I was a top-notch player.”
I blink at him. He blinks back. “You know what? I’m done.” I pick his ass up, throw him over my shoulder, walk out to the cockpit, and toss him overboard. Then I turn back to Quint and point. “Let’s go home. I have a date.”
Two fucking hours later I’m finally walking through the door of my cottage, still pissed off that I fell for Jesse Boston’s idiot plan.
Love lessons. The nerve of that dude. I’m just about to call Emma up and tell her to divorce his ass when a call comes through on my phone.
Tara. She’s early.
I grin as I accept the call, forgetting all about Jes
se Boston. “Lonnie Derringer’s accounting service. How can I help you today?”
“Oh, my God. I have had the worst fucking day.”
“You too, huh?”
“You had a bad day?”
“You know what? Nope. My day was just fine. Tell me about yours.”
Tara sighs on the other end of the phone and I flop down onto my couch, so ready for my date. Jesse Boston can go to hell. I have a girl. A really sweet girl. I do not need love lessons.
“Well, for starters, we’re having a blizzard. I just had to walk home in ten inches of snow in my inappropriate fashion boots.”
I picture her in her fancy outfit trying to walk through snow in her fashion boots. “It’s eighty degrees here. I’m sweating like a fuckin’ fisherman.”
“Lucky you.”
“What else happened? Hmm? Everything OK at work?”
“Work?” She sighs again. “It’s not work. Well, it’s kind of work. But not work.”
“OK.”
“It’s this guy.”
“What guy? Is some guy bothering you?”
“No. Well, yes. But not like that. He’s not… into me. He’s just looking into me. And…” She sighs a third time. But now it’s got a whole lot of frustration attached to it. “You know what?”
“What?”
“Can you call me right back?”
I smile. “Sure thing, sunshine.” I hang up, wait five seconds so she can pull herself together, then press her contact.
“Madam Tara’s Psychic Hotline, what does Lonnie need today?”
“You’re the psychic, Madam Tara. You tell me.”
“Lonnie needs Madam Tara.”
“God, that’s the fucking truth.”
“He needs handholding.”
I chuckle. “Ya know, I wouldn’t mind a little handholding. If you were here, I’d hold the fuck out of your hand.”
She’s silent.
Hmm. Did I get too serious? Maybe. This whole Jesse thing has me a little off my game. But I can fix that. I’m the love lesson professional, not my dick-face brother-in-law. “I mean… I’d take your hand and wrap it around my cock. And you’d squeeze it. And start pumping me up and down—”
“Lonnie?”
“—eyes looking up at me with a hunger in them. Like you’re starving. Your thumb caressing the top of my head on the upward stroke and—”
