by Freya Barker
“Too bad,” he says, “it might be a tad steep for your budget.”
“Brick...” Jakes gruff voice has a warning tone to it.
“Lowest I can go is eight.” Brick shrugs his shoulder apologetically. “Absolute bottom price, it covers cost at auction and bodywork, but it don’t leave much for—”
“I’ll take it,” I blurt out, not quite believing my luck.
“Hold off,” Jake jumps in. “Don’t you want to check it out first? Test drive it?”
I swing around, walk up to him, and plant my hands on my hips. “It looks like a dream, it’s priced like a dream, and compared to my PT, I’m sure it drives like a dream too. Besides,” I hiss, “I thought you trusted your friend? Would he dare sell a piece of crap to the girlfriend of a badass like yourself?”
“She makes a good point, Hutch,” Brick adds, chuckling.
I can’t believe my luck when thirty minutes later; I get behind the wheel of my gorgeous new SUV. A knock on my window shows Jake, a smile on his face. I lower the window.
“How about this; I should get over to the office shortly, but why don’t you head over to your place, spend some time with Grant? I’ll swing by after the meeting to pick you up, and we’ll go out for a nice meal to celebrate?”
“Like a date?”
“Sure is. Safe to say, it’s a bit like tying the horse behind the cart, but I’m thinking it’s about time. I hear regular dates are what keep loving relationships healthy, best start now.”
“I heard that as well, and I’m game.” I keep a calm exterior, but inside I’m doing cartwheels.
“Good,” he simply confirms, but then leans in to lay a sweet, soul-stirring kiss on me. “Should be there around five, see you then, baby.”
“Later, honey.”
I start the car and carefully start driving out of the warehouse. In my rearview mirror, I see Jake walk into Brick’s office. The men shake hands, and then just before I turn the corner, I see Jake pull something from his wallet and hand it over.
It looks suspiciously like a credit card.
Sonofabitch.
JAKE
“Can’t believe you got away with that.” Brick eyes me from under his bushy eyebrows and shakes his head. “She looks to me the independent type. Obviously, that girl is much too sweet and trusting for the likes of ya, despite the fiery hair.”
“Don’t I know it,” I agree, taking back my credit card and slipping it into my wallet.
“Hope it don’t come back and bite ya in the ass. I know my missus would castrate me on the spot, if she’d catch me in a lie. Did that once back when we were dating, and I swear, she made my life a living hell for months. The woman can smell a lie a mile off, except these days it comes in handy with the kids.”
“Not exactly a lie,” I defend myself. “I never told her I wouldn’t do everything I could to make sure she’s got her ass in a decent, reliable vehicle. She knows I’ll make sure she’s looked after at all times, that includes a safe car.”
“Still, wouldn’t mind bein’ a fly on the wall when she finds out.”
“She’s not gonna,” I end the discussion firmly. “Once again, many thanks for your help, and I’ll catch you later.”
WHEN I TURN INTO THE office parking lot, Bree’s decked out Jeep Wrangler pulls in behind me. She looks a little rough when she gets out.
“Late night?” I ask, as we fall into step walking toward the door.
“You could say that,” she mutters. “Although it wasn’t for the fun reasons.”
“So no bottomless bottles and endless sex?”
She snorts loudly at that. “Fuck no, that would be bliss. I’d still be carrying the smile, but the likelihood of that happening is nonexistent, especially now.”
“Oh?”
“That arrogant asshole is shipping me off to Kenya,” she hisses, as we push through the door and walk into the lobby. “Calls me last night to give me a heads-up. I didn’t fucking sleep a wink.”
Before I have a chance to ask why she’s heading to Africa, Yanis opens the door to the conference room and waves us in impatiently. Bree is not happy, and throws the boss a dirty look as she slips past him into the room.
“Glad you could make it.” There is a distinct edge to Yanis’ voice, although I’m not sure whether that remark is addressed at her, me, or both of us.
“Not a problem.” I sit down next to Dimi, who throws me a wink. Radar is on the other side of the table, his trusted laptop already open. As usual, he’s deep into what he’s doing, barely noticing when we walk in.
“As of today, all our part-timers and short contract folks are on leave,” Yanis starts, standing at the head of the table, his fists leaning on the table as he looks at each of us in turn. “This has been our biggest assignment—longest in time and most complicated in scheduling—and the demands on all of us have been tremendous. Especially these past couple of months. The wheels threatened to come off at the end there, but because of the commitment of everyone around this table, we have been able to pull it off.” He sits down, running his hand through his hair. “Still...this assignment leaves me conflicted, as I think it does some of you. It’s caused some tensions between some of us, which is why I felt it necessary to debrief.”
I look over to find Yanis’ eyes on me, before he shifts them to Bree, who refuses to look up. The room is uncomfortably silent, and even Radar seems subdued.
“We walk a fine line,” he continues. “Our responsibility is to our clients, and although we don’t generally participate in anything illegal, the job doesn’t always align with the law. But in this case, we stuck our necks out. We challenged our moral compass, at least we did mine, and it really sticks in my craw that a couple of rich, entitled, amoral assholes get to walk away without so much as a wrinkle.” Abruptly he stands up, shoving his chair back and moves to the window, staring outside. “An innocent man is dead, and I feel sick to my stomach that the only reason there’ll be no justice for him is because he was living on the fringes of society, while the man responsible resides at the top of it. An innocent, hardworking woman was hauled through the mud, targeted and attacked, and she doesn’t get justice either. As restitution, she just gets a payoff these guys don’t even feel in their wallet, and in return is expected to turn a blind eye.” Yanis barks out a derisive laugh. “And we...we walk away with a little bit more of our soul left behind on the job. All for the almighty dollar. Sonofabitch, some days I wonder what the fuck we’re doing out there.”
His words resonate. It’s what eats at me too, on some jobs more than others, but I feel that casual erosion of my core values. The slight shifting of boundaries that may seem innocent enough when you look at one case, but when added together make up a total rezoning of what is acceptable. Even if I could argue the death in the alley was accidental, what happened to Rosie was calculated. The fact someone, who tried to kill my girl, is walking around scot-free, gnaws in my gut.
“Perspective,” Bree pipes up to my surprise, her voice soft as she gazes over at Yanis, his back to the room and his forehead leaning against the window. Other than a slight shift of his shoulders when she starts speaking, he doesn’t move. “There would’ve been no form of justice that could’ve brought the dead man in the alley back to life. There would’ve been no shelter going up, that will mean safety and opportunities for those like him, the marginalized. And I bet if you gave Rosie a choice between erasing these past few months, if it meant she’d have give up Hutch, she would tell you where to get off.”
“In a heartbeat,” Dimas adds, with a smirk in my direction.
Bree gets up and moves behind Yanis at the window, putting a hand in the middle of his back, in contrast with her earlier anger at him. “We work in the gray zone; that space between light and dark, where only those with a strong moral sense can stay standing. So perhaps, there was no judicial fairness in this case, but it sure reached the best possible outcome under your guidance.”
“Bree,” he mumbles,
turning as he grabs Bree’s hand, pressing it against his chest for a moment before dragging his eyes from her upturned face and scanning the room. “All right, enough of this shit. Let’s get down to business.”
Thank fuck.
The next hour we go over the technical aspects of the assignment; what worked, what didn’t, and where to get better. Every PASS job is analyzed, both before and after the work is done, with an eye on improving our performance, both individually and as a team. It allows for effective use of our assets on future gigs.
“There’s just one thing that still bugs me,” Radar says after Yanis finally proposes to move on to upcoming projects. The rest of us groan; it already feels like we’ve been beating a dead horse. “The southpaw. I would’ve sworn whomever was messing with that camera was left-handed. I would’ve bet my life on it.”
We’ve already gone over this. Both Drexler and Steele are right-handed, but it was argued whoever sprayed the camera up on the second floor, could’ve used their left hand because they were holding something in the right. It’s possible, but clearly Radar can’t let it go.
“For the sake of argument, do we know who the confirmed lefties are?” I indulge him.
“None of the main players, but let me find it,” he says, shuffling through a notebook beside his laptop until he finds something and taps his finger on the page. “Here you go. Three confirmed lefties, two of the support staff and one on the technical crew.”
“Who are they?” Dimi, his interest now piqued too, wants to know.
“Sheila Grimes, one of the caterers, a guy on the road crew by the name of Luc Brassard, and one of the cameramen.”
A cold chill crawls up my spine as I listen, almost detached, to the discussion that ensues around the table.
“What’s his name?”
My question gets lost in the back-and-forth about what could motivate any of them, and how unlikely any of those choices would be. So I slam my fist on the table.
“What is his name?” I repeat, looking pointedly at a stunned Radar. “The camera guy—what the fuck is his name?”
Part of me already knows, as I try to sort through the bits of data in my mind, letting them all click into place.
“It’s the tall blond guy, Olaf Fens? I think he’s Scandinavian.”
“Dutch,” I correct, shoving my chair back, adding as I walk to the door, “He’s got something going on with Grant Peabody. I think Rosie may be in trouble.”
Dimi is on my heels as I take the stairs down, two at a time. Without asking, he jumps into the passenger seat of my truck. As I drive off the parking lot, I toss Dimi my phone. “Call her.”
Twenty minutes to get from downtown to her apartment feels like a century, and I glance over at Dimi to see if he’s had any luck. The slight shake of his head is not encouraging.
“Keep trying.”
CHAPTER 24
ROSIE
I knew this car thing was too good to be true.
Should’ve known eight thousand dollars for the SUV was way too low. Obviously, Jake concocted some kind of deal with his buddy to manipulate me into buying it.
I get myself worked up to the point I want to turn around, when I catch sight of Grant’s house. His car is parked in front of the garage and a second vehicle, one I assume belongs to the flighty Olaf, is parked out front in the street. It’s too tempting to slip my new car into the vacant spot left on the driveway, and instead of turning around, I pull in, for once not looking out of place next to Grant’s shiny ride. Besides—I tell myself—returning the car wouldn’t be fair to Brick. The man is trying to run a business after all. Never mind ending up without wheels again. The Subaru really drives like a dream, and I love sitting up a little higher; for once I can see where I’m going. That doesn’t mean I’m going to let Jake pull a fast one on me, he’s going to get whatever extra he forked over back. One way or another.
Normally, I walk straight into Grant’s kitchen, but not wanting to barge in on whatever the two of them are up to, this time I knock on the side door. I’ve barely lowered my hand when the door is yanked open and Grant almost bowls me over.
“Let me see!”
I barely have a chance to acknowledge Olaf behind him, and Grant is pulling me along by the hand.
“It looks brand-new,” he observes, running his hand along the side as he walks around my car. “Perfect color for you. Red.”
Olaf walks up and stops beside me.
“I think so too. Very seductive,” he says in his faint accent, throwing me a wink. “Seems appropriate.”
I’m not sure what he means by that, but I shrug it off, blaming it on language issues.
“It’s not new,” I answer Grant, and drop my keys in his open hand. “But it’s definitely gently used. It even smells newish.” Grant wastes no time getting in behind the wheel, where he examines every nook and cranny.
“Oh look, it’s got a moon roof. Sweet!”
Smiling, I admit, my eye caught on that when I first saw it. In my younger years, I’d always wished for some sporty convertible one day, and although the SUV is the more practical choice for someone my age, I like the idea of being able to feel the sun on my head and the wind in my hair. It inspires fantasies of road trips to places I’ve always wanted to go.
“Come on. Hop in,” Grant urges, excitement on his face. “We’ll take a little test drive with the roof open.”
“You have something in the oven,” Olaf reminds him, causing his face to drop.
“Shucks. That’s right too—forgot about the baked apples.”
“He’s been trying to fatten me up,” Olaf explains, smiling in Grant’s direction as he pats his stomach. “Seducing me with pastries when I try to stay in shape. Good thing I have a strong will, not much can distract me from my goals.”
There is something about his words that makes me uneasy. I look up at him to find his eyes on me. His mouth is smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes; they’re hard and cold.
Yikes.
Something is very off in my friend’s love life.
“You know—” I turn to Grant, who is getting out of the car. “—maybe sometime this week we can head up to McInnis for a hike? I’ll let you drive.”
“Let me drive? You know the only way I’ll even come with you is if I’m driving. Hiking in McInnis sounds too much like exercise, and as you are well aware, I don’t like sweating unless it’s for the right reasons.”
I snort when Grant coyly bats his eyelashes at Olaf, but when I look in the man’s face; it’s become a mask of detachment. Definitely something off.
“Anyhoo...” he continues with a shrug. “Best get checking on those apples, I’ll save you one for later?”
I recognize a brush-off; both in Grant’s words and the pleading look he throws me.
“Please, I haven’t had a baked apple in donkey’s years. I’m beat; I think I’m going to have a nap. See you guys later.” With a wave I head up to my apartment, hearing Grant’s kitchen door slam shut.
I have a feeling he’s finally come to the conclusion there’s nothing for him behind Olaf’s pretty, but coldly empty, blue eyes. I’m sad for him, for the uncomfortable confrontation he’s facing, but I know he’ll be up those stairs to come find me when he’s done.
FUNNY, I WAS ITCHING to get out while I was confined to Jake’s house, and now that I’m out and about, I just want to go back there.
I should be happy to be surrounded by my own things, but my apartment feels empty when I walk in, despite the fact I know my junk is all over the bathroom sink and my clothes are in the closet. This space should feel familiar, like home, and I can’t quite put my finger on what changed that.
In the sink are some dishes I didn’t wash, so I tackle those first, hoping that doing the mundane things, falling into a regular routine, might bring back that feeling of belonging I had when I first settled in here, not that long ago. With my kitchen and living space straightened up, I head for the bedroom. My bed remains unmade,
dirty laundry on the floor and a few things tossed over the chair. What can I say; housekeeping was never my strength.
I’m restless; my mind won’t let me settle. Being the target of a couple of attacks, just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, is enough to have a nervous breakdown over. But that’s not even all of it. It’s like my life has become stuck on a spin cycle these past few months. I feel in constant flux, where before I led a predictable, even boring existence. Right now, just keeping up is a challenge. So much has changed already. Mostly for the better, with Mom looked after, the house sold, new living quarters, but also my job a big question mark, and of course finding myself in a relationship. Ironically the last is perhaps the most unsettling, or at least the thing I’m most unsure about, that I feel most vulnerable with.
I try to shake my head clear of the runaway thoughts, and quickly collect the laundry. I pile it in the hamper, and put away the few stray clothes draped over the chair in my closet. There I go through my limited options for my date with Jake. I don’t even know what to expect, although he did mention a nice meal. That would imply a nice restaurant, right? So maybe a dress? Don’t own many of those, but I do have a sweet little sundress that can be dressed up or down, depending on the occasion.
A touch vintage, white background with large, deep red exotic flowers, wide straps over the shoulder, a sweetheart neckline, and an A-line skirt that flares away from the fitted waist. It looks cute with a pair of flip-flops or white Chucks, yet becomes quite dramatic when you add a pair of heels. Benefit is that I can add a few inches to my rather short stature, but the downside is I don’t always do well on heels. The struggle is real.
Judging by the clock on my nightstand, I have hours left, no need to start stressing over what to wear yet. Maybe I’ll have a quick nap and give my head a break.
The moment my body hits the unmade bed, the slightly out of place feeling I’ve had since walking into the apartment disappears. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, letting the lingering scent of Jake still clinging to my pillow settle me.
