Chasing Shadows (6 page)

Gianotti's smile was that of a politician's: polite and condescending.  Infuriatingly superior.  "Ah, but girls mature faster then boys.  I know why you're here.  Why you're really here." 

Oh shit, here it came.  She perched on the edge of her seat, weight on the balls of her feet, ready to propel her body forward across the desk in one blitzkrieg movement.  Knife to the throat, send the alarm to Carson and Glenn, then find Jay and get the hell out of Dodge…

"Why I'm really here?" she asked innocently, one hand flicking the metal rings adorning the shoulder of her jacket.

He whirled around.  She almost took him out then and there.  Until she saw the neon pink condom box in his hand.  He spun it across the expanse of the desk, aiming it at her like a bullet.  "Did you think I wouldn't know?  About how you're using Jay to get close to my son?  Are you really so stupid that you think Sinderson wouldn't tell me?"

His voice thundered through the room as he spoke of his nineteen year old son as if Neil was a virgin whose honor Gianotti needed to protect.  Nervous laughter bubbled through KC.  She choked it back, no need to infuriate him further, but she couldn't keep the expression of relief and amusement from her face.

"It was just a joke," she said, relaxing her posture once more.  "It was Neil's idea—I lost a bet."

"You mean you made my son
think
it was his idea.  Just like you've mesmerized Jay into thinking you care about him."

That brought her to her feet.  "I do care about Jay!"

Her outburst seemed to appease him.  He gathered himself, face stony once more, and sat down in the high-backed leather chair.  "Your father still hasn't found work?"

She hung her head.  Their cover was that Glenn was depressed after her "mother" ran out on them.  He barely left the house and they had filled the medicine cabinets with prescriptions for Xanax, Prozac and the like.

"He's doing the best he can," she mumbled.  "What's my father got to do with anything?"

"You and your father will be leaving Coalton after the holidays," Gianotti continued as if she hadn't spoken.  "I found him a job in Ohio, working as a delivery man.  I'll pay the cost of relocating you both and in return you will never contact either Jay or my son again."

He stood and walked around the desk, heading for the door without waiting to see if she agreed to his terms or not.  KC bristled, despite the fact that he'd just given her the perfect end game to her undercover scenario.  

She wasn't sure if it was her real-self or her alter-ego, the teenaged troublemaker, who blurted out, "Who died and made you God, anyway?"

Gianotti whipped around, rings flashing as he backhanded her.  Just hard enough to rock her, slam her teeth together and sting like the dickens.  She'd taken harder punches in her time, from guys a lot bigger and stronger than he was.  But never from a man whose eyes were as dead as Bruno Gianotti's.  If it wasn't too much hassle and mess, he would have just as easily killed her. 

He shook his hand as if flicking away an unwanted piece of trash and walked out of the room without saying another word.  She stood there, palm rubbing her cheek, staring at the door.  Jay and Neil wandered in, both chatting and waving their arms around, as they recreated the final battle of their video game.  

"You should have seen it, KC," Neil was saying, his face lit up with pride and happiness.  "First time I ever whomped Jay's ass at Dragon Vengeance."

"First and last," Jay put in.

KC ignored them, grabbing Jay's arm, wrenching him out into the foyer.  "Let's go."

"What's the rush?" Jay asked, his muscles tensing beneath her grip.

"Stay, KC."  Neil joined them.  "Open your Christmas presents at least."

"Later, Neil," she snapped, opening the front door and shoving Jay through it.  "We'll see you later."

Neil's face crashed into a look of confusion and despair.  The large vaulted foyer dwarfed him, leaving him cold and alone standing in the chandelier's spotlight.  She was tempted to grab his arm and take him with her.  Not just to save his life, but also for the chance to see the look on Gianotti's face when she stole his most prized possession: his son.

Instead, KC followed Jay outside and closed the door behind her, leaving Neil locked up in the solitary confinement of his birthright.

CHAPTER 7

Chase parked his Harley in the carport behind the '78 Chevy Malibu that was rusting out and sitting up on blocks.  He stroked a hand across its dusty hood.  He and Jay had spent hours on the car that had been Chase's before he joined the Marines, just as Chase and Nicky Gianotti had worked on it before that.  Jay had mentioned something about the transmission finally going.  Chase guessed the kid never got around to fixing it.  

The door to the house was unlocked.  No surprise, this was Coalton, after all.  No crime because there wasn't anything left to steal.  At least anything not already owned by Bruno Gianotti and no one would dare cross him.

Chase felt for the kitchen light and flicked it on, illuminating the black and white linoleum, the avocado green counters and appliances.  Spic and span—you'd never guess a teenager lived here alone.  Not even an empty take-out box on the counter.  Jay had left the place as if he never expected to return.

Chase raided the pantry—slim pickins except for the stale heel of a loaf of bread and some peanut butter—fixed himself a sandwich, and washed it down with a glass of milk.   He took a long, satisfying drink. Pennsylvania milk always tasted so much better than city milk.  

Chase wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his flannel shirt as he prowled through the house, searching for clues to the man his brother had become in his absence.

The place was spartan, even neater than Jay's anal housekeeping usually had it.  He smiled at the box of Trojans in the kid's night stand—at least one of them was lucky in love.  An image of the purple-headed girl he'd seen with Jay seared through him.  Damn.  What kind of creep got hard for his kid brother's girl?  

He distracted himself by continuing to snoop into his brother's life.  Jay's grades were still good: straight A's except for a B in calculus, he read from the report card that was in a stack of mail on the desk.  

Chase's own room was untouched, crowded with football and baseball trophies, his foot locker from the Corps, photos his mother had framed.  A photographic panorama of Charles Thoreau Westin's life from Little League to Afghanistan.

He sank onto his childhood bed.  It was dark enough that the glow-in-the-dark constellations pasted to the ceiling were visible.  He remembered his father tottering on the step ladder, so engaged in explaining the story of Cassiopeia that he'd almost lost his balance.  In the end, he'd finally raised Chase onto his shoulders and they had invented their own version of the Milky Way. 

Thank God, Mom and Dad were gone before the Corps kicked Chase out.  The disgrace would've killed them for sure—and there was no way Chase could explain it to them.  Just as he could never explain to Jay.  Not without placing his brother in danger.  He'd rather have Jay disappointed than dead.

Chase sighed and climbed back to his feet.  He hadn't come here to revel in nostalgia.  He came here to find a way to get Jay out of the cross fire before he took Bruno down.

His footsteps echoing on the oak floors, Chase moved to the front of the ranch house and into the living room.  The afghan Mom crocheted was folded over the back of a well used Barcalounger positioned in front of the TV.  The over-stuffed sofa looked as if it had just come out of a show room although Chase knew it was over a decade old.  Senior year, he'd almost lost his virginity with Kristy Mancuso on that couch.  Until his little brother stumbled in on them, irrevocably breaking the mood.

Where were the photos that had once hung on the wall behind it?  There'd been pictures of his parents' and both grandparents' weddings; his, Diane's and Jay's baby pictures; a photo of his father and Chase at the John Wayne museum; and the entire family at the Grand Canyon.   In their place now hung generic Walmart art deco prints.

Chase frowned and looked around for his missing memories.  Most of the photos were gone from the mantle as well, the few remaining spread around as if to camouflage the empty spaces.

He spied the two small suitcases sitting beside the front door.  Packed and ready for a quick get away.

The door opened just as Chase reached for the first suitcase.  Jay entered.  His brother's eyes, twins to his own blue ones, blazed at him.  

"What the hell are you doing here!" Jay said.

The first words Chase had heard from Jay in almost six months.  "Merry Christmas to you, too."

Jay was ten when Chase joined the Marines.  Chase remembered the pride in his kid brother's face, how he'd said Chase in his uniform looked like John Wayne in the old movies their father was devoted to.  Now Jay's eyes were filled with an emotion more painful than hatred.  They looked at him with a mixture of disgust and disappointment. 

"You got some nerve—"  Jay snuck under Chase's guard with a right hook that caught his attention.  

While he'd been gone, someone had finally taught the kid how to hit like he meant it.  He blocked the next punch, wrapped Jay in a bear hug as they grappled for position.  Using his greater bulk, he rolled them both over and pinned Jay beneath him.

"Stop it!" a woman shouted from behind them.  "Let him go!"

Damn, he'd forgotten the girl.  Chase looked over his shoulder and saw her standing in a batting stance, ready to let loose with the cast iron fireplace poker.  She didn't look scared.  She looked determined.  Fierce, intent on protecting her man.

Chase raised his hands in surrender, rolled off Jay.  The girl didn't take her eyes from him or relax her stance as Jay got to his feet.  Chase almost smiled.  Looked like the kid found himself a winner.  Despite her punk rocker purple hair.

She was maybe five-six, thin but not too skinny.  Her jacket was open, and he could see the outline of her small breasts beneath a form fitting black leather vest that revealed her pierced navel.  Swirls of color from a tattoo danced over the bare flesh of her abdomen.  He made out several round yin/yang symbols and what looked like a claw.  The rest disappeared beneath the waistband of her jeans.

Chase pushed away his surprising swell of desire.  She was Jay's for one thing.  Hell, he didn't even know her name.  

So why did he feel like he knew her?  Really knew her—even though they'd never met before.  He remembered to breathe and realized it was all just wistful thinking.  He'd dreamed of having a woman look at him, stand with him like that.  

But she was Jay's.  Off limits.  Especially to the disgraced big brother.

"It's okay, KC," Jay told her, taking the poker from her hand.  "He's my brother."

Chase had no idea what to make of the look of astonished confusion that crossed the girl's face in response to Jay's introduction.

KC stared down at Charles Westin.  This lunatic with the scraggly hair and day-old beard was Jay's brother?  She'd read the file, knew Charles' colorful, disreputable background.  Jay had assured her Big Bro was out of the picture; that he hadn't spoken to him since his court martial and incarceration at Leavenworth.

She looked from one brother to the other.  Two sets of dark blue eyes blazed with anger.  Hell's bells—this was gonna throw a monkey in the works.  She had to stay in character, couldn't trust this lowlife loser with the truth. 

"This is Charles?" she asked, edging closer to Jay and wrapping her arm around his waist as if seeking his protection.  

She listened carefully, scanned the hallway.  The house appeared empty except for them.  At least Big Bro hadn't brought any dipshit, ex-con friends home with him.  The guy had picked the worst time in the world to play prodigal son.

Charles rolled to his feet without using his hands, and KC caught a glimpse of the silhouette of a semi-automatic snugged in his waistband at the small of his back.  Damn, just what she didn't need.  She slid her right hand inside her jacket, hugging herself as if she were cold, the familiar grip of her Glock in its hidden holster comforting. 

"Don't worry, I don't bite.  And it's Chase, please."  

KC said nothing, watched as he hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his ripped jeans and rocked on the balls of his feet.  

"Nice to see you, kid," Chase continued.  

Jay tensed, his grip on the poker went white knuckled.  "I knew it," he said, his voice sounding tight.  "I knew you'd come back to screw up my life.  Is this gonna be an annual event?  The ghost of Christmas past returning to make my life hell?"

Chase stopped rocking, his face stony as he stared at his brother.  "That's not why I came back."  

KC heard the regret in his voice and wondered if Jay noticed it as well.

"Fine," Jay said bitterly.  "Whatever.  I don't really give a damn, 'cause tomorrow we're out of here.  Take the house, it's half yours anyway."

"What do you mean you're out of here?" Chase demanded.  "What about school?  What about going to college—becoming a doctor?"  

Jay shook his head in a tight arc.  "I'm done with school—as if you cared."

"You can't just drop out—"

"If it's any of your business, I didn't." Jay leaned forward staring intently at Chase's face as if searching for something.  "What grade do you think I'm in, Chase?"

KC kept her gaze fixed on Chase Westin's hands, they never moved toward the gun.  Instead they clenched into fists so tight that she thought he would tear the belt loops free of their rivets.  

"What do I know what grade?  You're in high school."

Jay blew his breath out, his mouth tightening in disappointment.  "I should have graduated last year, Chase.  I lost half a year because of you and the best you can do in return is come back and mess up the rest of my life again?" 

That rocked Big Bro.  Westin's hands flew out as if warding off an attack and he took a step back.  "I'm sorry, I never thought—"