Blow (2 page)

Fuck you very much.

When I was on my feet again, I squared my shoulders and looked each of them in the eye, memorizing their faces should our paths ever cross again.

“Who’s putting that shit on our streets?” one of them asked from the shadows.

The fatter one took a step closer. “Who’s running the operation? Who’s involved?”

I stared at him blankly and said nothing.

He moved even closer and barked, “When’s the next shipment arriving? Who’s it coming from? Where’s it landing?” I could smell coffee on his breath.

A tirade of questions I couldn’t answer.

Trying to tame my emotions, I lowered my eyes to study the ground. “I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

Hissing loudly, he lurched forward, drew his gun, and pointed it in my face.

Shock arrested me.

What the fuck was this?

What was obviously the more sensible cop pushed the guy’s arm down and muttered, “Follow procedure. Eyes are on us. We aren’t even supposed to be the ones asking the questions.”

Abruptly, the one with the gun still in his hand moved back, but his dark, cold eyes never left mine as he holstered his weapon and zipped up his police-issued brown leather jacket. “Just bring him to the car.”

At his words, the flashlight shined again. “With the trouble you caused me tonight, you’re fucking lucky someone else wants you.”

“Who wants me?”

My only answer was three smiles.

“Wants me for what?” I pressed.

The yellow glow of his flashlight pointed toward an unmarked car with the back door swung wide open. Someone was waiting inside. Not just someone. A woman. Long red hair, long legs, and red high heels that matched the color of her lipstick.

“Who the fuck is she?”

“Blanchet,” one of them mumbled under his breath with a snicker.

Another of the pricks shoved me her way. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning, if you wish. If you decide to answer any questions now, without an attorney present, you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an attorney.”

I turned to face the cop before getting into the back of the car. “I know my rights. I
am
a fucking attorney.”

DAY 1

ELLE

I
mprinting, according to folklore, begins when you are gravitationally pulled toward another. When this occurs, your connections to everyone else become secondary. You’ll do whatever it takes to protect the one you love. Keeping that person safe is the only thing that matters.

Imprinting doesn’t only apply to romantic love interests. I imprinted on Clementine the moment I laid eyes on her.

At first sight, she took my heart.

Her lips were so pink.

Her skin was so soft.

Her big blue eyes so beautiful.

And her heart-shaped face was perfect.

The minute I saw her, I knew I loved her—that I’d do anything for her.

Now, her little hands patted my cheeks as she babbled on. I took one of them and kissed it. “Ready to see Daddy?”

Clementine’s legs started kicking against my hips and her entire body quaked with glee.

She loved her daddy.

It was the first day of spring and I might have been a little too anxious for the warm weather. I attempted to take Clementine to the small playground around the corner from Michael’s office to watch the kids play, but the wind was too much for her.

Due to our early departure, it was closer to five o’clock than six when we entered the reception area of the Michael O’Shea Law Firm. Michael had fired his secretary this past Monday, and he had yet to replace her. And the paralegals left promptly at four thirty every Friday. So as I’d expected, the office was empty.

Michael’s door was closed as usual. I removed our jackets and hung them on the iron coat tree before knocking lightly.

“Come in,” he called.

I opened the old wooden door and it creaked loudly enough to make me cringe.

Michael looked different than usual. His dark hair was sticking up everywhere and when he raised his gaze from the yellow legal pad beside the stack of papers on his desk, I could see how tired he was.

“I hope you don’t mind that we’re a little early?” I asked.

He glanced at his watch. “I’m expecting a call from someone anytime now. Can you just bring her home and I’ll meet you there?”

He seemed more distracted than usual, too.

Clementine held her tiny arms out and cooed, “Daddy.”

“How’s my girl?” he beamed as he stood. His suit was neatly pressed, his tie in place, his shoes shined. But his thirty-five years were showing. Lines creased his brow and there were bags under his eyes. For the first time, I could see the toll the past three months had taken on him.

“Sure,” I answered him, and then I set Clementine down. “Just let her say hi and we’ll go.”

Clementine turned one last month, and took her first step shortly after that. Ever since, she doesn’t like to be restrained. She toddled toward Michael in her hot-pink patent leather shoes and I couldn’t help but smile.

Suddenly, the front door burst open. The echoing sound of the doorknob slamming against the wall made me whip around. A man stood in the doorway, anger and hatred shooting through his eyes, looking like whatever he wanted was personal. Michael’s office was located in an old brownstone in Boston’s South End, and I considered the neighborhood relatively safe.

Until then.

Instantly, fear flowed through my veins. Horrified, I froze. My purse. My purse was all the way on the other side of the room. Clementine. All the air seeped from my lungs as terror ripped through me. I had to get to her. My head spun back around to calculate just how far away from me she was.

Not that far. My rubbery legs inched backward. She was between Michael and me.

The crazed man didn’t seem to notice me, though. His eyes were on Michael, who was standing in the doorway to his office beside me. As soon as their stares locked, his voice boomed. “O’Shea, what kind of game do you think you’re playing?”

His Boston accent was thick like Michael’s, but his words were crystal clear. My heart stopped at the malice in his tone.

Fury covered Michael’s face. “Sean, I’m not playing any game.”

Michael knew the man?

The man’s face screwed into a different position and his stance remained dominating, although his demeanor seemed to ease slightly.

Pitter-patter.

No, Clementine, stay in Daddy’s office
, I thought.

Pitter-patter.

The two men continued to stare at each other.

Taking the opportunity, I twisted and bent to scoop up Clementine, but Michael had beaten me to it. He enfolded her in his arms.

Thank God.

Thinking more clearly than me, he turned her away from the madman.

Voice gruff, the man asked, “Then what exactly are you up to?”

This had to be about
her
.

“We talked about this earlier. I told you everything I knew. There’s no need for an outburst.” Michael spoke curtly, somehow managing to keep his composure even in the face of potential danger.

Had he done this before?

Even though the man’s anger seemed to have dissipated, my terror wasn’t pacified in the least. The only thing I could think of was getting Clementine out of here and into safety. I began to assess the situation. My purse was with my coat on the rack over near the stairs, right next to Sean. That was out. I knew Michael kept a gun in his desk drawer, but as soon as I left the doorway, it would alert Sean. That was out too.

When Sean’s gaze shifted from Michael to Clementine, then to me, his features softened and his demeanor changed.

I think he was noticing Clementine and me for the first time.

With deliberate focus, he stared at me for more than a beat, and a shiver ran down my spine. His stare lingered and then he blinked rapidly, as if he were seeing a ghost. Almost as if he were snapping out of a trance, his eyes became remorseful and he stepped inside. “We need to talk.”

I flinched, bewildered as I slowed my breathing. I took a moment to study him. If he hadn’t come in here all guns blazing, I would have thought him harmless. He appeared to be in his mid-fifties. Dressed in a dark suit, crisp white shirt, smooth silk tie, and wingtips, he looked nothing like the madman he’d seemed to be.

My heart finally started beating in time with my breathing, as Michael looked over at me, and with a nod, indicated I should follow him. He then slowly started walking toward the waiting area, the farthest point in the room from
this
Sean. I trailed behind. As soon as we reached the waiting area, he handed me Clementine. “Don’t be worried. I won’t be long.”

“Should I take her home?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. Just wait for me. Everything’s fine.”

I nodded, looking for evidence in his face that he wanted me to do something else. It wasn’t there. I knew better than to ask if he wanted me to call the police.

Clementine squealed, not at all happy with the change-off as Michael hurried back into his office and the well-dressed man followed behind him. As soon as the door closed, shouting erupted. I couldn’t make out what they were arguing about, but I would have bet it wasn’t over a case.

I tried to harness my heavy breathing so my concern wasn’t obvious to the baby. Clementine, however, was oblivious to the danger and wiggled in my arms. I took a few deep, calming breaths before I set her down. I knew Michael would never do anything that would endanger her, and that knowledge helped push me through the uncertainty.

Walking toward the foyer, I retrieved my bag and pulled out a package of animal crackers. “Are you hungry?”

She toddled over to me and reached for them.

“Hang on, let me open them, silly girl.”

The bag didn’t seem to want to tear. Michael’s former secretary’s desk was a few feet away and I crossed them quickly to find a pair of scissors. I opened the middle drawer. It was empty. I opened the one above it. It was filled with Michael’s yellow legal pads. When I pulled out the center drawer, I hit gold. His former secretary had left her scissors. I grabbed them and cut open the bag.

“Mine, mine.” Clementine was reaching for it.

I handed it to her and put the scissors away. When I did, a small, tented piece of legal paper fluttered out of the shallow drawer. I shouldn’t have opened it when I picked it up, but curiosity got the best of me. It read, “Pick one.”

Okay.

The bottom half was torn off so I didn’t get to see the list to choose from.

“Juice,” Clementine asked.

I put the note back and shoved the drawer closed.

While I searched in my bag for her juice cup, Clementine quickly darted for the stairs. I dropped the bag on the first step and let her crawl up them, hovering above her. “One, two, buckle my shoe. Three, four . . .” I sang to her as she took each step.

My heart had just stopped beating wildly in my chest when I felt the weight of someone’s stare prickle my neck. I quickly whipped around and let out a small gasp. There was a man, younger than the one who’d just stormed in, standing in the entranceway. I should have been afraid after what just occurred, but I wasn’t.

He didn’t look like he wanted to hurt us.

As I took him in, the air was once again ripped from my lungs, but for an entirely different reason. I drew in a breath and wasn’t sure if my reaction was the adrenaline high I was still on or if it was because he was utterly, unquestionably perfect from head to toe. Handsome face. Strong jaw. Sensuous lips. Beautiful eyes. Broad shoulders. Flat stomach. Narrow hips. And long legs.

He stared at me just as the other man had, and concern began to stir in my belly. I picked up Clementine and remained where I was for a moment, trying to decide whether I should leave or stay.

I couldn’t read him at all.

His voice was soft yet husky when he finally spoke. “I didn’t mean to startle you. The sign said to come in.”

Despite my inability to read him, I felt secure enough to walk down the stairs. “It’s fine. I just didn’t hear the door.”

His smirk threw me for a loop. “You were busy . . . singing.”

Exhaling, I ignored the slow flush I felt spreading all over me. “I guess I was.”

The handsome man’s eyes swept over me as he said, “You carry quite a tune.”

Warmth radiated all the way to the tips of my toes. That voice did something to my insides. Something that made my stomach dip. Not knowing what else to do, I laughed.

I sounded ridiculous.

And I needed to focus.

To snap out of it.

His chuckle in response was soft. I found myself staring at him again.

“Down, down,” Clementine demanded, forcing me to pull my gaze away.

“In a moment, silly girl,” I reassured her, and then once I handed her the cup I’d taken out of my bag earlier, I glanced back at the handsome stranger. “Are you looking for Michael?”