by S. M. West
“You don’t have to think about that right now. I also got a loaner car from the garage, and it should be here soon so we’ll have wheels.”
She nods. “Anything from Nick about the Home?”
“He texted an hour ago to say he had people in there right now. Your place is clear. He had someone go in last night.”
“What? He did? In the middle of the night?”
“You know your brother. Besides, he doesn’t want you there on your own no matter if it’s safe. He’ll let us know about the Home as soon as it’s done.”
“Gah, I can’t even think about what we’ll do if…our patients…the potential dama—”
“Hey, don’t go there.” I lower my tone. “Not unless you have to, and if they find something, we’ll deal with it. Make sure no one gets hurt.”
“Yes. Yes. So what am I going to wear today?” She glances down at what she slept in. “I can’t stay in your T-shirt all day, and yesterday’s clothes aren’t an option. They’re dirty and reek of smoke. They’re ruined.”
My gaze drops to her lean body draped in my shirt, falling to mid-thigh. Long, honey bare legs, knees scraped and bruised, and toes painted blood-red tempt me.
A pulsing sensation, hot and heady, unfurls inside me, starting at the top of my spine and rippling down my body, straight to my groin. Fuck.
“What’s wrong with what you’re wearing? I kinda like it,” I tease and cringe inwardly at how slow my mind is at getting ahold of my tongue.
“Funny.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m serious. I need clothes and I’d rather not have to go shopping if I can avoid it.”
She smirks and I mock-shudder. Caro hates shopping—she’ll do anything to avoid it. “Well, we’re not going to put either of us through that.”
She laughs and warmth spreads through my chest as my phone rings. I snatch it from the kitchen counter, freezing when I see the name on the screen. Shit, I totally forgot.
It’s the guy I’m supposed to meet today, Mr. Pinter. I’ll have to reschedule. This isn’t good.
I don’t want to delay as Pinter’s been hard to nail down for an actual meeting. He’s had the paperwork for over a week now and agreed to the terms verbally. But I can’t see him today—I’ve got more urgent things to do. Namely, track down Elliot, and I want to be available in case Nick finds anything.
“I gotta take this.” I amble to the bedroom. “Kit Jensen,” I say, answering the call.
Before fully shutting the bedroom door, my gaze locks on Caro’s wary one, watching me. Who does she think I’m talking to? I could take the call in front of her, but this guy is an odd duck.
Pinter is ninety-three, paranoid, and reluctant to talk about his car, and that’s even with him wanting to sell his father’s 1934 Ford 3-Window Coupe. From the pictures he emailed, the car needs work, but it’s rare and once fixed, we’d have no trouble selling the classic.
I can’t lose this deal. I’ve been trying to secure him for weeks, and while I have a few other potential cars lined up, this would be a coup for the Phoenix.
Maggie and her garage, the kind of work she does, would grow exponentially. Really cement her already good reputation, and I want that for her, need to show her I’m a partner not a leech, even though she’d tell me she doesn’t see things like that.
While Caro is my main priority, I have to keep this deal alive and won’t be able to push this out much longer.
The call is brief, and he isn’t pleased to hear I can’t meet with him today. Fortunately, he agrees to reschedule, and it renews my conviction in the deal being the best way to see results fast.
When I return to the main room, Caro is in the kitchen where I left her.
“Was that…”—she swallows with difficulty, averting my gaze—“the woman from last night? Sally?”
“No. Just work.” I shove the phone in my back pocket. I’d expected her to ask about Sally last night and was surprised when she didn’t. There isn’t much to say, but a part of me is thrilled she cares to ask.
“Oh.” Now she stares intently, and it’s written all over her face—she has more to say. I wait her out.
“About last night.” Once again, her eyes land anywhere but me, and her fingers trace a pattern on the countertop.
My mind goes to washing her hair, the photographs, and the electric tension that sizzled between us.
“Who’s Sally?”
“Just a friend.”
“A girlfriend?” Her watchful eyes burn into me and I avert my gaze and shrug, unable to answer.
I don’t want to talk about other women with Caro. I’d never wanted anyone but her, never pictured myself with anyone else. And the reality of being without her is only more intense and painful if I have to discuss it with the woman I want.
“I’m sorry if I messed things up for you…with her.”
She’s fishing but I don’t take the bait.
“You didn’t. Now, about your clothes. We could swing by your place, although it isn’t smart. Whoever’s behind this knows a lot about you, and it’s safe to guess that they most probably know where you live. But…”
“But what?”
“It might not be a bad idea to go by your place and check things out. We could go drive by once or twice first, make sure things are quiet and normal. And if so, we’ll go in.”
“I’ll be quick, I promise. I just need to grab something for a day or two. Once Nick’s back, I’ll go stay with them, and I have clothes there.”
A crushing weight slams into my chest. She’s already got one foot out the door, counting the time until she can leave me. Again.
“Okay. Then we’ll go find Elliot.” I choose to focus on getting her out of danger. Funny how I feel more in control of that than my relationship with her. “I’m guessing Elliot hasn’t responded?”
“Yeah, still no reply.” She frowns, taking another sip of the coffee.
“This isn’t much of a stretch, but he’s acting like he’s hiding from the goons. But he did the decent thing and texted about the clinic bomb, so he’s got his phone, and if I had to guess, he isn’t too far.” I don’t bother to mention he’s thrown her into the mix, and it’s his fault she’s in it. It’s the only logical explanation.
But no, I’m not saying anything yet. There’s no point getting into a disagreement if she chooses to defend Elliot when I have no proof right now.
“And any more texts from the unknown number?”
“No. Nothing.” She grimaces and fear wades in her gaze.
“Okay. Let’s focus on Elliot. He can ignore a phone call but we’re going to make it really hard for him to ignore us. While you were sleeping, I was thinking we show up at his work.”
“I hate this. I’m in the middle of something, but I don’t know what or why.” She’s frustrated, twisting her features.
“Hey, we’re not completely clueless.” Wanting to comfort her and lessen her anxiety—she’s been through enough already—I remind her, “We’ll talk to him, and we have the telephone number and pill.”
“I suppose.”
“After Elliot, when we know a bit more, we’ll call that number. And we need to find out more about the pill.” I’m thankful as fuck we got both of those out of there, otherwise we would be in the dark and our only hope would be Elliot.
“Sounds like a plan.”
“You were saying last night that you thought it’s oxy?”
She stalls, taking another sip of the coffee and leveling me with her deep brown eyes. “If I had to guess, yes. It looks like OxyContin based on the tablet imprint, OC on one side. But typically, the other side of the tablet would contain the dosage. This one doesn’t.”
“Yeah, it’s got some kind of insect. Can’t say for sure if it’s a spider or—”
“It could be a June bug,” she offers.
“Yeah, or maybe a beetle. Some drugs come with markings or symbols because the chemist, supplier, or dealer wants people to know it’s theirs.” I sn
ort and add dryly, “Believe it or not, marketing exists even in the drug world.”
She frowns but quickly schools her reaction to my mention of my old life. “I have a friend at a lab that can take a look and let us know for sure if it’s oxy and what dosage.”
I nod. We could assume it’s oxy, but there have been instances where one drug is made to look like another. It’s best we know what we’re dealing with, as it’ll help with knowing who may be involved or who to ask from my old world of contacts.
Back when I was rubbing elbows with the likes of thieves, druggies, and dealers, heroin in pill form, which at that time was unheard of, first appeared on the streets of New Jersey. It made quite a stir on the streets, and of course, in the media. And to make things even more interesting, the H had been made to look like oxy.
“Can you have it checked without raising any flags? If not, I can get someone to look at it.”
While she’s connected, we don’t want people getting curious or talking to the cops. Holman is already suspicious, so any more ties he can make between us and anything illegal will only fuel his conviction.
“What? Someone off the street? Was that who you were talking to just a moment ago?” She tips her chin toward the bedroom and my throat dries. “I thought you'd left that life and those people?”
The unspoken accusation is spiked like the tip of a spear, piercing into my chest. Does she think I’m lying?
“I left that life.” My growl causes her to still.
I won’t justify her question about the phone call. It isn’t any of her business, and I told her the truth. The call was work-related, and I’m no longer into drugs or running with criminals or any of that.
My phone buzzes and it’s Manny; he’s downstairs with the key to an SUV. I sigh, dumping the remainder of my coffee in the sink. The normally pleasing liquid leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, and it’s got nothing to do with the coffee and everything to do with Caro.
“The car is here. I have to go get the key downstairs. You can wear some of my sweatpants to your place. Help yourself.” I leave, slamming the door harder than is necessary.
Disappointment and something akin to annoyance flood my veins. She still doesn’t trust me. I’ll always be nothing but a thug to her.
Kit
The drive to her place is tense and silent. I won’t leave her while Nick’s out of town, but he’s back tomorrow, at which time I will walk away. It won’t be easy. I care about Caro and want to help, but this way is best.
Even if I understand her reasons for ending things with me, it’s clear nothing I’ve done since then—get out of a life of crime, get a job with Maggie—changes anything.
We circle her street and some of the surrounding area several times, looking for anything out of the ordinary, or a car parked with one or more people inside. Nothing.
Finally, I park the car in her driveway and her phone chimes. We both glance down at the device sitting in the cupholder and then she holds it between us and clicks on the text.
Unknown number: We’ve been more than patient. Don’t make this hard bitch. You’ve got 48 hrs to hand over what’s ours or you’ll regret it.
“Shit.” The timing of the text doesn’t feel random. What did I miss? Are we being watched?
I study the surroundings but there’s nothing. No random utility van or another type of service vehicle in the area, no car parked with someone in it, or even a neighbor peeking out of a nearby window. And there’s no sign of a camera set up outside her house.
Caro’s gaze is one of helpless surrender. “Now we’ve got a time bomb over our heads. Do you think they know we’re here?”
“Maybe. We have until Saturday to figure this out.” It isn’t a lot of time but what’s the point of stating the obvious, and she nods solemnly. “Do you have a camera feed with your alarm system?”
That could be how they were able to detect our arrival…if they know we’re here. We need Elliot more than ever. We need him to end this.
“Yes. Inside the house and outside, front and back of the house.”
“Okay, I’ll check it out. They might be watching us so let’s make it quick.” I squeeze her hand, and she isn’t quick enough to hide her skepticism before looking away.
I can’t walk away just yet even if that’s what’s best for the both of us. Nick is going to need my help, and truth be told, I want a part in ensuring her safety.
She angles her head forward, shoulders rigid and hands clenched at her sides as she peers through the windshield.
“Someone’s broken into my house.” Her voice is hoarse as her gaze lingers on her front door, which is kicked in. “Why didn’t the alarm go off?”
I’m as puzzled as she is as I jump out and peer back in at her. “Stay in the car.”
Shutting the door, I curse under my breath. How did we miss this when we drove by? Because the open door is subtle, easy to miss from any real distance. First things first, what happened to the alarm?
Before going in, I stand at the door, staring back at Caro in the car. She’s holding up her phone and motioning as if to call…who? Nick? No. The police.
I shake my head and dial her number with my own phone. “Don’t call the police just yet. I want to take a quick look around and tap into your security feed.”
If we can get some information on the guys threatening her, it’ll be one more piece of the puzzle and then the police can have at it.
“Kit, the intruder could still be in there, and if—”
“Oh, and that didn’t cross your mind last night when you went into the clinic alone?” I cut in before she can say more. “Where was that logic then?”
I’m on edge and being an ass. The yo-yo of my emotions is exhausting and getting to me.
“You’re right. Sorry.” Her voice is small and remorseful, and I feel like even more of a dick. “Can you please do me a favor and stay on the line? I want to know you’re okay and this way, if I have to call the cops, I can do it right away.”
“Okay.”
“Hey, Kit, be careful.” I don’t miss the tremble in her voice. “And you know this, but try not to touch anything.”
“I’ll be fine and I know.” My snippy tone causes me to wince. “Shit, I’m sorry.” I push through the door.
“I only meant because Holman’s got his sights on you. We don’t need to help him implicate you.” Her soft tone and the state of her home nearly cause me to trip.
The house is ransacked. I’ve seen worse, but this is Caro’s home. Her sanctuary. My gut knots at the thought of her reaction when she sees it. There’s no way I can keep this from her. And once I tell her, she’ll want to come inside the house.
Still on the phone with her, I ask for directions to the alarm system. After what happened at the clinic, I want the tapes first. It’s in the laundry room, and it doesn’t take long for me to get there and figure out the trip was useless.
“Fuck.”
“What is it?” She’s panicked.
“I’m okay. It’s the alarm system. Someone cut the power. That’s why the alarm didn’t go off, and most probably it was done from outside.”
“Oh. What’s it like in there?”
“Not good. Listen, let me just quickly check the house to make sure no one is here and then we need to make this quick.”
“Okay.”
I run through the house as fast as possible, making sure not to disturb anything. No one is here and I tell her so, waiting for her at the front door.
“Listen, it’s bad so brace yourself.” I grip her shoulders and stare into her eyes. “If you don’t want to go in, I can get some things for you. All you have to do is tell me where they are.”
“No, I want to go in. I’ll be okay.” She nods, nibbling on her bottom lip.
She gasps upon entry, and every shallow intake of air or stifled sob is a nail hammered into my flesh. It’s agony watching her try to contain her anguish, and I’m helpless to do a fucking thing about it.
/> Her fingers curl and uncurl with every step she takes through the plundered house. The urge to touch things, right tables or chairs, sweep up the dirt and broken leaves of an overturned plant…is overpowering.
“Oh my God.” She struggles to restrain herself. This is a crime scene, and maybe more than me, she wants the bastards who did this caught. I hate to tell her the chances are slim without witnesses or something as significant as a fingerprint.
Her eyes glisten, lips trembling as she stops in her bedroom. Drawers of clothes scatter the carpet, and shoes, scarves, handbags, and belts spill from her closet. Items are discarded in every direction, leaving her small wardrobe a barren wasteland.
“It’ll be hard to know for sure but at first glance, is anything missing?” My insides thrum with rage. Thank fuck she wasn’t here when this happened.
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head vehemently. “Did you see what the back of the house looks like?”
She’s referring to the state-of-the-art examination and operating rooms Nick had built many years ago.
“No. I’ll check.”
The installation of those rooms wasn’t at her request, and I’d never dared ask why she agreed to it, given her abhorrence of crime. While Nick stayed away from his sister, not wanting any harm to come her way, the mini hospital he had developed was an insurance policy, of sorts.
Should Nick, me, or anyone else in his crew need medical assistance, he and Caro had a kind of silent understanding. She was a doctor and she’d help if needed so as not to draw the attention of the cops. It’s only been used twice, one time more dire than the other.
I leave Caro to pack a bag and still at the sight before me. The rooms are destroyed. Cabinets kicked in, walls busted wide open and shredded to reveal the beams and studs—the framework of the room. Pills, gauges, tape, and other supplies are strewn about the floor.
“It’s ruined. The entire house is a mess. So many things destroyed.” Her troubled, water-filled eyes slam into me like a runaway train, and my heart stops. Unable to keep my hands to myself, I wrap her shaking body in my arms.
