Cassidy Jones and the Luminous (Cassidy Jones Adventures Book 4) (18 page)

He entwined his fingers in mine.

“I watched the security feed from last night before school. A silver Acura drove down our street twice during the night. I didn’t see a car following us as we rode the bus, and don’t think I wasn’t paying attention.” His eyes slid to Jared. “Good, Jared. Look anywhere but at them, or us. We’re your love-struck friends who are too insensitive to realize we’re making you uncomfortable.”

“I was watching, too,” Jared said. “I’ve been keeping an eye out since everything happened. I’ve never seen that car before now.”

“My guess is they followed your mom from work—”

Suddenly, Jared did look like he wanted to punch something.

“—These men know what they’re doing. Trust me, Jared. We have taken precautions. I’m at fault here.
I
should have seen them before now.”

“No, dude. This is on me. My mom and I shouldn’t have stayed with the Joneses. What do we do now?”

“I’m working on that. Cassidy, I couldn’t see their license plate through the camera. The car they’re parked behind, and traffic, obstructed the view. I anticipated this, hence the sunglasses. You’ll be able to see their license plate at this height. Keeping your face down, tell me the number.”

“You think of everything,” I said in awe.

“I try. The number. My neck is getting a kink.”

“A-Z-6-8-8-2-I.”

“Washington?”

“Yes.”

“What are they doing?”

“Watching us and talking.”

“Like they’re shooting the breeze? Nothing serious?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” Emery plunked down on the bench and pulled me onto his lap.

Shocked, I sat as stiff as a board.

“Relax,” Emery ordered with a grin. “You’re into me, remember? Sit, Jared.”

Scowling, Jared waited for Emery to fish his phone from his pocket before sitting down. There wasn’t enough room for three of us, which is why I ended up on Emery’s lap, I gathered.

“Don’t enjoy yourself too much,” Jared growled, squeezing in next to Emery.

I wanted to box his ears. As if this weren’t awkward enough!

“Shouldn’t we be trying to lose them?” he asked Emery, arms crossed, as he watched pedestrians walk by.

“No point in losing them. They know where Cassidy lives,” Emery reminded, examining the photos he had taken of the creeps. Their windshield had blurred their faces. “We’re going to take them out of commission. We can’t have them nosing around. My guess is they have standing arrest warrants.” Emery began typing a text to Riley’s son, Mickey O’Shea, with his thumb. “Cassidy, we’re looking at the pictures I took of you, while our third wheel continues to look miserable. Jared, you really need a girlfriend.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Cassidy, these are pictures of you. Act like it.”

I pretended to laugh at shots of me, and even protested, here and there, to make the scene appear genuine. What girl doesn’t complain about pictures of herself, right? Emery laughed, too, as he finished the text, telling Mickey what was going on and asking him to run the license plate number. After sending it, he emailed the best shot he had of the goons.

“Now what?” Jared asked.

“Ice cream.” One of Emery’s hands scooted under my knees and the other snaked around the small of my back. He stood up, taking me with him, as if I were a blushing bride being carried over the threshold.

Heat poured into my face. I felt like a complete dork.

“Emery, couldn’t you have just told me to get up?” I scolded, wiggling out of his arms, but remembering to smile.

“What would be the fun in that?” He laced his fingers in mine, yanking me along.

Getting to his feet, Jared followed us, muttering under his breath.

We backtracked to Marianne’s Ice Cream. I hadn’t noticed it when we’d walked by the first time. What was wrong with me? Was I totally unaware of what was going on around me?

Jared treated Emery and me to ice cream, even though eating was the last thing I wanted to do. The past fifteen minutes had my stomach in knots.

“I’m sorry, Cassidy, but I’ll be too busy to grope you now,” Emery joked, lifting a waffle cone packed with Rocky Road to explain why he couldn’t manhandle me anymore.

“Dude, you really need your butt kicked.” Jared took a slow lick of his mint chocolate chip.

I eyed Emery. “Maybe by a girl.” I tasted my cookies and cream, eyes rolling at the heavenly flavor. “Great call, Emery! I needed this.”

“It’s well earned. Being the object of my affection isn’t easy.” His cell rang. Emery looked at the screen and nodded. “Turns out the driver missed a court date, and on Riley’s dime. Not good for him at all.”

“He’s a fugitive,” Jared said, pumping his fist.

“One who will be apprehended soon. The O’Sheas can run the passenger’s license when they pick up—Victor Capaldi,” Emery read. “They might get lucky with two bounties. We’d better get back to our bench. How’s that for Providence?” he elbowed me.

Walking back, I spied on the goons through my new sunglasses while savoring my ice cream. I would probably fixate on cookies and cream from Marianne’s Ice Cream for weeks. Between licks, I reported to the boys what Capaldi and his friend were doing, which amounted to watching us.

“So these guys are just following me. Why?” Jared wondered as we sat back down on our bench.

I sat on Emery’s knee, which didn’t feel as awkward while eating ice cream, for some reason.

“Could be they were hired to keep tabs on you,” Emery said. “Or intimidate you. They’re not even trying to hide themselves at this point. It isn’t their fault we didn’t notice them until now.” Out of the blue, he attacked my ice cream, biting into it.

“Hey!” I yanked the cone away.

“That’s good.” Emery licked cookies and cream remnants off his grinning lips. “Or they plan to grab you when you’re alone—”

I stopped eating. “No. That can’t be right.”

“It can. You just don’t want it to be right,” Emery pointed out. “Jared, you’ve only been in public settings, or with the Joneses or us. There hasn’t been an opportunity to abduct you without witnesses.”

Jared grimaced. “I’m sorry for all the trouble my family has caused yours. If something happens—”

“It won’t,” I interrupted, adding fiercely: “Between Gavin and me,
no one
will mess with our families.”

“What am I? Chopped liver?” Emery grumbled and then tried to sneak attack my ice cream again. I pushed his face away. He chuckled into my palm.

“But why?” Jared wondered out loud. “What would they want me for?”

“Your dad will have to answer that. Regardless, we can’t have them lurking around while we’re getting prepared for tonight.” Emery’s cell rang. A grin spread across his face as he read the text.

“Finish your ice cream,” he told us. “We’ll be leaving in a couple of minutes.”

A black SUV with tinted windows came to a halt alongside the Acura, blocking the car in. The hazard lights flashed and electric windows rolled down, revealing stout Riley in a zebra-striped blouse that strained over her ample bosom. Her red hair was teased into a frenzy, and a ton of makeup covered her freckled skin. Burly, redheaded Marty sat in the passenger seat. I wondered if his twin was in the backseat, then glimpsed Marky stroll up the sidewalk to the Acura’s passenger door. He was decked out in bounty hunter attire and cool sunglasses. Grinning, he saluted the goons, muscles rippling up his thick arm. The O’Shea brothers were big boys.

Marty gestured for the driver to roll down his window.

“Victor Capaldi!” Riley bellowed, leaning toward the passenger window so she could see him. Riley was very loud, and very Irish. “Fancy meeting you here. Remember me?” She turned her head toward us. Winking a shrewd green eye, she blew a kiss.

Mickey pulled up to our curb in his Jeep Wrangler. The passenger’s side window rolled down. He flashed his devilish grin.

“Hey, kids!” he called. “Wanna ride?”

“Hi, Mickey,” I gushed as I climbed into the backseat of his Jeep. Red hair, freckles, smiling green eyes, roguish grin, Irish accent, charisma out the wazoo—I would be lying if I said I didn’t have a
teensy-weensy
crush on Mickey O’Shea.

“Hi there, Cassidy.” His face sported that rascally grin of his. “You’ve had a bit of excitement today.”

“A little. Thanks for rescuing us.”

“My pleasure. Someone’s got to look after this boy.” He backhanded Emery’s chest, then shot his hand over the seat to Jared. “Mickey O’Shea,” he introduced himself.

Jared shook his hand. “Jared. Good to meet you.”

“Likewise, although
good
is not how I’d describe Victor’s day.” Mickey shook his head at the scene across the street and made a
tsk-tsk
sound.

The two goons were reluctantly getting out of their car. There was an O’Shea twin stationed outside each door, ready to chase them down if they ran.

Hands on hips, stilettos striking the asphalt, Riley made her way over to the Acura, her evil eye fixed on Capaldi, daring him to even think about bailing.

“Do they need your help?” I asked Mickey.

“Nah. Besides, I have my own skip to bring in.” Mickey cracked his knuckles, then backhanded Emery’s chest again. “Whaddaya say, li'l bro? You in?”

“When am I not? Cyrus?”

“Yep,” Mickey confirmed, pulling out into traffic.
“Matthew Cyrus
foolishly
used his debit card at the Shell station down the street from his granny’s this morning. She’s a scary little spitfire. Bad-tempered. Clobbered me with her cane last time I stopped by to inquire if her fugitive grandson was about—”

“Wait,” I interrupted, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Cyrus’s cantankerous grandmother,” Emery smart-mouthed.

I bopped him on the head.

“Cyrus’s granny isn’t the only scary little spitfire, I see,” Mickey teased and then explained: “Emery is my apprentice.”

“What? You mean you’re training him to be a bounty hunter?”

“That I am, though he hasn’t assisted in the apprehension of a fugitive accused of a first-degree felony, mind you. He
is
a minor.”

Jared and I exchanged astonished looks.

“But is it even legal?” I wanted to know.

“To become a bona fide bounty hunter? Sure, if you’re eighteen. Twenty-one to carry a handgun. But Emery is an
intern
.”

I didn’t really see the difference. Intern or not, Emery was helping to capture fugitives.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Emery?” I whined.

He tossed his hands up in mock exasperation. “I did.”

“When?”

“The night I unveiled the mystery shrouding the O’Shea clan.”

Mickey barked a laugh.

“I thought you were kidding!” I protested.

“And that’s
my
fault?”

“Yes!” I whacked him again.

“Careful,” Mickey cautioned. “Emery bruises easily.”

I huffed, crossing my arms. Emery drove me crazy!

“Get me up to speed, kids,” Mickey said, changing the topic to a more pressing one. “Who hired ol’ Victor? And why?”

“Jared?” Emery said, giving him the opportunity to explain.

Jared told Mickey about the attack at his apartment—or our fabricated version, that is. Mickey didn’t display any surprise upon hearing that Emery had taken out two thugs with a hockey stick.

“Jared, who’s your dad?” Mickey asked.

“Owen Wells. He’s a partner at
Cooperstein, Scolla and Wells
.”

Recognition flickered in Mickey’s eyes. “I’ve heard about your dad,” he acknowledged, then directed his attention to switching lanes. It was obvious he wanted to avoid elaborating. But Jared wasn’t going to let it go.

“What have you heard about him?”

Mickey met Jared’s steady gaze in the rearview mirror.

“You’re a tough kid,” he assessed, looking back at the road. “A bright one, too. That’s as plain as day.” He made a left turn. “So I’m not going to insult your intelligence. Your old man represents some real baddies in the local organized crime syndicates. He is a coveted lawyer, from my understanding. Now this is making sense. Victor is what you’d call an
associate
, an errand boy, meaning he’s hired to do the dirty work. He hasn’t been arrested for a mob-linked crime yet, but word gets around.”

“Thanks for being honest, man,” Jared said. “But I know how my dad got rich—”

I winced at the bitterness in his voice.

“—We think Ariel Vilvary sent his soldiers to put a bullet in my skull, to teach my dad a lesson—”

“Jared, I’m going to interrupt you here.” Mickey turned around to look at him, since we were stopped at a red light. “I doubt those thugs were going to kill you. Maybe mess you up. But murder? Unlikely. The point was to scare your dad into toeing the line. Why do you think Vilvary is behind this?”

“My dad said he had
terminated
his professional relationship with him.”

Driving again, Mickey let out a long whistle. “Can’t imagine Vilvary would take that well. I’m guessing his soldiers aren’t talking?”

“Only to their lawyers.”

“Do you know their names?”

Jared told him.

“Familiar with them, too. We’re here.” Mickey parked the car.

We were in an older, rundown neighborhood. Apartment complexes and Craftsman homes, all with peeling paint and unkempt yards, hemmed cracked sidewalks. My eyes locked on an elderly man sitting on a ratty sofa on a dilapidated front porch, smoking a pipe.

“This is depressing,” I said.

“Don’t let Cyrus’s granny hear you say that,” Mickey cautioned. He stuffed the stun gun and handcuffs Emery had handed him from a duffel bag into his leather jacket pockets.

“It’s like you two have done this a hundred times,” I said, watching with relief as Emery removed a stun gun and handcuffs from the bag for himself, too.

Mickey winked at me. “We’ve got a system.”

“Is this guy dangerous?” I gnawed a fingernail.

“No,” Emery said flatly. He lifted his backside off the seat to wiggle the Taser into his back pocket.

“How do you know?”

“Cassidy, Cyrus is a petty thief, and not a very good one at that,” Mickey reassured. “He doesn’t have a history of violence.” He unclipped a pair of shades off the sun visor.