by S. M. West
“What? No, I know nothing about that.”
“All shipments were in your name.”
A wave of panic washes over her face, skin ashen and eyes wide with worry. “I don’t oversee deliveries. Who signed for them?”
She’s on the ball now, asking all the questions someone would if this was the first time they were hearing this.
“Dr. Archer, you need to come down to the station for further questioning.”
If he wasn’t a cop, I’d have tossed him out on his ass a while ago. Agitation seeps into my muscles and bones.
“She’s not going anywhere. Caro gave her statement and it was thorough and accurate. At this point in time, she has nothing to add.”
I glare at him and he scrunches his nose, making his face uglier than it already is. “Your latest development about Elliot Foley and the drugs has nothing to do with Dr. Archer. So unless you have concrete evidence linking her to any of this, we’re done here.”
Kit
I should face-punch this jackass. He’s barking up the wrong tree and he knows it. He’s just looking to rattle her.
“You should have been a lawyer.” Holman pats at his belt buckle and pulls at the waist of his pants. “Is this how you want to play it, Dr. Archer? You could make things a lot easier on yourself, should charges be brought against you, if you cooperate now.”
“Charges?” Her anxiety is palpable and I squeeze her shoulder, reminding her she isn’t alone. “You can’t charge me when I don’t know anything Elliot might or might not have been doing.”
“Elliot hasn’t worked at the clinic for over five months.” I look to Caro and she nods. I want to make this look like we haven’t already discussed this. “Have you looked into where he is now? If he’s doing what you say he is, wouldn’t there be signs of this at his new place of work?”
“Yeah, we’re on it. Do you know where Elliot is?” Holman points the question at Caro, who shakes her head. He mashes his lips together, flicking his gaze back and forth between us. “I’ll be in touch. I will have more questions for you.”
“Goodbye, Detective Holman.” I saunter to the door, holding it open.
Grudgingly, he closes the notebook, stuffing it into his jacket pocket, and then leaves.
“You okay?” It’s a stupid question because it’s plain to see she isn’t with the way she’s worrying her bottom lip.
“I need water.” She snaps out of her disquieting thoughts and trudges to the kitchen, and I follow, opening a cabinet and handing her some aspirin. “Thank you.”
She guzzles the water with two pills, leaning her head against the cupboard, eyes closed. “Well, Holman has now officially linked me to Elliot.”
“Yeah, but remember, he didn’t just make that connection.” I make coffee.
“True. The cop you called mentioned Holman had wanted in on both our cases—the clinic, Foley’s break-in, and of course, there’s my house although we called him. So this visit was to see how we reacted? Catch us in a lie?”
I nod, turning to face her, curling my hands over the edge of the counter and leaning back into the cupboards. “Yup. Pretty much. We still need to figure out if he’s working for whoever is behind this or if he’s trying to find Elliot to use as leverage. Something to barter with for cash? Drugs? We don’t know what his motive is. That isn’t clear.”
“Well, one thing is for sure, he’s not doing this because it’s his job.” Her sarcasm causes me to chuckle.
She takes the milk from the fridge for coffee and I move in behind her to grab the eggs, holding up the carton to her. She nods and I set about making breakfast.
“Or the other possibility is Elliot’s been on the cops’ radar for a while and if so, they may have been watching him and lost him. Holman is drug enforcement so that part would make sense.”
The eggs hit the hot pan with a sizzle and I stir the spatula through the yellow liquid.
“Yes, but like you’ve said all along, there’s more to Holman than meets the eye.” She fixes our coffee. “Willow sent me a text with the name of the construction company who did the clinic renovations and Flora’s home information.”
This is the only lead we have right now. All roads to Elliot are dead ends and we’re on the clock. We’re losing precious time and Flora better give us something.
“Are you okay to call Flora or should we go by her home?”
“Let me call first.” Before I can insist she eat something, the phone is to her ear.
I scramble the eggs and stick several slices of bread in the toaster, setting out plates for us.
“The number isn’t in service.” She sighs, tapping on her phone. “I’m texting Willow to let her know and see if she can find out anything else.”
She then pours two glasses of orange juice and slides into a kitchen chair. I plate our food and join her.
“We should go by her home.” I lift the fork to my mouth. “It’s Saturday, she might not be working and so we have a good chance of running into her. Worst case, we go to the construction company, but I’d rather focus on Flora first. If anyone is going to know most about Elliot, it will be her.”
“Yes, that makes sense.”
My eggs go down easy, as well as the toast, whereas she still picks at her food.
I rinse my plate, leaving it in the sink, and pour another cup of coffee. “You need to eat if you want to feel better.”
“I’m trying. I just feel sick to my stomach and it’s not from drinking.” She drops her forehead to her forearm, resting on the table, and speaks into the wood. “How the hell did everything go so wrong? How did I get mixed up in this mess? The police think I’m involved or behind this.”
Lifting her head, her bottomless brown eyes glisten with unshed tears. The accusation is huge for her. She’s a rule follower and has reluctantly broken the law only a few times to help her brother. And even at that, if charges had ever been brought against her, any decent lawyer would have gotten her off because her actions didn’t hurt anyone. Her actions were ultimately to help people and save lives.
“Holman’s bluffing, trying to get a reaction out of you, or if we’re lying and know where Elliot is, I bet he’s hoping we’ll go straight to him.” Now standing in front of her, my hand curls a few strands of hair behind her ear. “We’ll clear your name. I promise.”
“To do that, we have to find Elliot. He’s the only one who can explain all of this.” She pushes back her chair and carries the plate to the sink.
Hesitation tangles my tongue as I’m tempted to discourage her thinking. “I’m not so sure Elliot’s going to help.”
At the dishwasher, she places the dish on the wire rack and pauses, gazing up at me. “What do you mean?”
“I think you know what I mean. Elliot’s the one who put the cops onto you. It looks like he set up his operation at the clinic in such a way that he could implicate you should he ever get caught.”
I brace myself for the denial or anger. Whether she wants to face it or not, Elliot is the reason she’s in this mess. And last night may have felt like progress—no, it was fucking nirvana—but she’d been drinking. I’m not sure anything has changed.
On paper, next to me, Elliot Foley is a saint. A fine, upstanding citizen. Intelligent, selfless, and wealthy. Everything she wants in her life.
“More and more I realize I never knew him, and I’m not talking about our dating. That was nothing—we never hit it off, really.” She shuts the appliance door and nears me. “We should talk about last night.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. You got off and fell asleep.” I force a rueful grin even if I’m feeling anything but.
Last night was fucking awesome. I can’t listen to her talk her way out of the things she said or did. Her declaration of love felt real, all of it did, and I’m not so sure I can keep it together if she destroys it by taking it all back.
She doesn’t return the sentiment and nibbles on her bottom lip, eyes boring into me. “I—”
/> I cut her off, not ready to have the bottom fall out from under me just yet. “Hey, how things turned out last night…it was for the best.” I head for the exit from the kitchen and pause. “We have a lot to do today. I’ve got something I have to take care of, then there’s Flora. I need to take a shower. You can stay here and rest while I’m gone.”
I’d rather not leave her alone since we haven’t gotten another text but today’s the day when our time runs out.
“No, I want to come.” Her gaze is fierce, earnest. “Besides, I know Flora, I can help. What else do you have to do?”
I have an appointment with Pinter. I need to get him to sign the purchase agreement for his car. Do I want to get into this with Caro? It’s my dream, but will it only be another disappointment to her?
“Just something work related. It won’t take long, but there’s no point in you coming. It’s in Oshawa.” The drive isn’t far, only forty minutes or so east of the city.
“I’m coming.” She smiles.
“Fine. Let me get ready first and then while you take a shower, I’ll fill in Nick and Logan.”
The drive to Earl Pinter’s home is easy, and traffic is light since we’re leaving the city. Caro spends most of it with her eyes closed, waiting for her stomach to settle, and fortunately, her current condition lessens her probing questions about where we’re going.
It’s stupid really and no big deal. I should just tell her. My reluctance pisses me off. Why do I still care so much about what she thinks? Expanding Maggie’s business is legit and a decent goal, something that’s good for both me and the Phoenix.
So what if Caro doesn’t get it? Or approve of it? It’s okay. I mean, as much as she hurt me when we broke up, I understood her logic and even agreed with her.
We love each other but we don’t fit. I’m a high school graduate, barely, who made his living fixing bad people’s problems. I can’t say what I did was good or that it didn’t lead to more violence. We both know that would be a lie.
“Why aren’t you telling me where we’re going?” Her head rests in her hand against the passenger window, eyes still closed, and it’s like she’s reading my mind.
I slow to make a left, waiting for an opening to make the turn into Pinter’s impressive late Georgian revival style home.
“It’s for the Phoenix. I’m closing a sale and the guy is kind of eccentric and a loner. He might react badly to you being here.” I swing the vehicle onto the long paved driveway and Caro’s head pops up, eyes opening.
“Wow, this house is amazing. I promise to keep my mouth shut, or I can stay in the car.”
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. It’s shitty of me to leave her in the car. What harm can she do? If she says she’ll be quiet, she will.
“Fine, let’s go.”
Caro
Kit’s ahead of me, disappearing around the corner of the house, and I hurry after him, shivering as a bitter wind slices through me.
I round the stone house and abruptly stop. He stands at the entrance to a garage, separate from the main house, and a short, round elderly man, leaning on a black cane, hobbles toward him.
Kit advances in the stranger’s direction, talking to him, but with the whistling wind and his back to me, I can’t make out any words. The shorter, well-dressed man looks up from the snow-covered ground, breaking his intense concentration to stay upright rather than lose his footing.
He stills at the sight of me, making a strange rocking motion with his body as if convulsing. Kit stares at me and his told you so gaze blisters my insides. Shit, I don’t want to mess up whatever this is for him. He holds out a hand as if calling me to his side.
“Mr. Pinter, this is—”
“Mr. Jensen, this will not work. The deal is off. Leave.” The elderly man’s gaze is trained on me, unrelenting.
Why do I feel like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar? My stomach roils at the thought of my punishment. Kit did say the man was a loner, and it seems like my presence has spooked him.
“Mr. Pinter, please...” Something in Kit’s voice causes a sharp pang in my chest.
He’s almost pleading, as if his life depends on this deal. Why?
“I’m sorry, I can go wait in the car.” I’m also begging the man, if only for Kit’s sake.
“No. I said I’d only talk to you and you obviously have no regard for my wishes. Get off my property.” Mr. Pinter awkwardly turns, giving us his back, and starts his wobbly journey to the house.
“Wait.” Kit rushes to Pinter’s side, grabbing his elbow. The old man fires a scathing look at Kit and even I shrink a little, but the big guy doesn’t back down.
“This is Caro Archer. Dr. Caro Archer. She’s very important to me. The most important person in the world.” His broad, striking frame is all I see of him but he might as well be staring into my eyes and cradling my heart. Every one of his words rips me open. “She’s in danger and I had to bring her with me.”
I suck in a breath, a pressing urgency to fix this crowding my insides. I can’t be the reason this deal falls apart. I’ve already ruined enough for Kit.
“In danger? How?” Pinter asks at the same time, I say, “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”
“No, stay.” The old man stares at me. “Tell me more. Explain yourself.”
I swallow hard, unsure of any of this. “I’m Caro and I’m sorry for barging in like this. Kit told me to stay in the car and didn’t tell me anything about this meeting. I don’t know why he’s here or what this is about.”
My mitten-covered hand hangs in the air between us, and the man makes no move to shake it.
“I’m Earl Pinter.” His inclination to distrust is a neon sign flashing from every one of his pores. “Why are you in danger?”
I’m a rambling mess when I begin answering his question, summarizing as best as is possible without going into great detail. This man doesn’t need all the details and once in a while, Kit interjects, redirects, helping me not to divulge too much.
Mr. Pinter gets enough of a picture to understand I’m entangled in something dreadful and Kit is helping me unravel myself.
“Interesting.” His eyes are full of life and his sharp features temper. “Now let’s talk about the Ford.”
He pulls out a small device, similar to a remote, and hits a button. The garage door clickety-clacks its way up the tracks, revealing an old fading-red automobile. A classic—of what era, I’m not sure, but it needs a lot of work.
Kit mouths thank you to me before following the man inside. I keep my distance, close enough to hear most of the conversation but far enough not to get in the way.
Slowly, things start to fit together. Kit wants to buy the car for the Phoenix. Why didn’t he just tell me?
The men go back and forth, Pinter being a hardass on many aspects of the deal that it seems they had already agreed on. But Kit’s impressive and kind of a hardass himself, and if I had to say, he comes out the victor in the end.
With a pen in one hand and the sale agreement in the other, Kit glances once more at the fine print before lifting his head to Pinter.
“So let me get this straight, you want right of first refusal on the restored car?” His head cocks to the side, brow furrowed.
“That’s correct.” Earl nods.
“You realize you could just ask us to restore the car and it would be cheaper than selling it and then possibly buying it back at a higher price?” He scratches at his jaw, perhaps at a loss to understand this man’s logic.
“I’m fully aware of that and this is how I want it. I’d rather not pay for restoration when I’m not certain I want the vehicle. I’ll decide once the work is done.” Earl Pinter is best described as eccentric.
Some might think he’s crazy and he just might be, but he’s also stubborn. I know nothing about cars but the better deal is to have the car restored.
Nonetheless, the old man doesn’t budge on this point as Kit probes a bit more, ensuring Pinter understands what
he’s doing. Finally, Kit relents and Mr. Pinter signs the documents.
When the deal is done, Pinter watches us walk to the car in silence. The purchase agreement is firmly in Kit’s hand and his smile splits his face in two.
Snow now falls, blanketing the already hardened wintery white ground, and the sun has dropped as the days are shorter. We’re on our way to Flora’s, and at the rate the flurries are coming, our drive back into the city may be slow going.
“You were amazing with Mr. Pinter. The way you handled him… You kept your cool and had an answer for all of his objections.” I’m giddy, feeding off his high.
To see Kit happy makes me happy. This is important to him and while not fully comprehending the significance, I want him to know he’s awesome.
“I almost did call it off, once or twice.”
“You’re really good at this. Do you like this part of your job?”
We haven’t talked about his work at the garage, how he ended up there and if he likes it. There’s a lot about him I don’t know anymore.
We’ve both changed, I suppose. I have and I want to know everything about him like I once did. He’s always liked cars so the Phoenix fits, but is it all he wanted it to be? What are his plans or dreams for the future? What’s it like working with Maggie?
While I shouldn’t have, I’ve asked Maggie about Kit in the past. She loves working with him. Kit’s like a big brother and they’re tight. I imagine they work well together, but I’d love to hear it in his words.
“Why didn’t you tell me to stay in the car?” I blast the heat, no longer able to feel my toes despite the turmoil in my chest. “I could have ruined the deal for you by being there. I’m sensing you didn’t want to tell me about it. Why?”
We were outside for over an hour and my extremities are stiff and frozen despite being dressed for the weather.
One hand braces the back of my headrest and he changes lanes. “I…you won’t understand.”
