Outside the Lines (17 page)

I hold up the folder. “Got it, boss.”

*   *   *

I pull into the school lot on my way home and wait for Sherm. The image of Adri on her desk with her legs wrapped around me makes me hate myself a little more for fucking things up. Sherm comes out and climbs in.

“How's the arm?”

He glances at me and shrugs. I'm trying not to get my hopes up too much—he still hasn't spoken directly to me—but since I brought the puppies home, he's been less withdrawn. And in every aspect of his life that isn't me, he seems happier. He's settling in. Getting comfortable.

Since we got here, I've thought of all this as very temporary. I had visions of going back to Chicago in an old-school blaze of glory. Reclaiming the Delgado empire. But I'm starting to realize that old school may not be the best option. In Chicago, I felt untouchable. The Delgado name was the armor that protected us. But I'm just now realizing that sense of security was an illusion. We were never safe.

I feel like I should rage against the machine, but the truth is, my seemingly endless reservoir of vengeance is starting to bleed out. Maybe on some level I knew we'd have to stay here for a while.

Or maybe I wanted to
.

The thought is fleeting, but I can't deny it. The Life is all I've ever known. It's all I thought I wanted. I can't even begin to see what other possible paths there are. All I know for sure is that, in the last week, I've been able to really breathe for the first time I can remember. I feel like admitting it makes me a coward, but what I'm feeling deep down at the bottom of everything is relief. If we have to wait things out here, bide our time and formulate a new plan, that might not be a worst-case scenario.

When we pull into the driveway, the dogs run out to greet us at the car. Sherm scoops Burn into his arms. Grant is sitting on the porch with his feet up on the rail, his thumbs flying over the screen of his phone. He doesn't look up as we pass.

Inside, the kitchen is all of a sudden tangerine orange. Ulie's got the laptop open in front of her and vegetables strewn all over the counter in varying stages of sliced and diced.

“You couldn't stop at the bedroom,” I say, surveying her new paint job.

“Nope,” she says with a smirk, peeling an onion. “And the living room's going to be daffodil. I already bought the paint.”

I slide onto one of the stools, turning the laptop so I can see the screen. “Cannazzo,” I read, then look up at her.

She smiles. “Mom's was always so good.”

“Those peels are all going in the trash, right?” I ask before the lump can fully rise in my throat. We now have a supply of Drano, but it would be great not to have to use it. “Nothing down the sink?”

She glowers at me.

An open tab on the browser catches my attention. I click on it. It's a
Chicago Tribune
story about Victor Savoca's trial. There's an archived picture of Victor and his son, Oliver, standing next to the mayor at the ribbon-cutting ceremony of the Savoca Civic Center a year and a half ago.

“Why is this page up?” I ask, turning the laptop back to Ulie.

She shrugs, tears streaming down her face as she chops onions. “No clue. I just grabbed the computer from Lee's room.”

I fish my phone out of my pocket and text Lee.
We need to talk
when you get home
.

Her obsession with the Savocas has to stop. I know she feels responsible for Pop going to prison. Most of the evidence the Feds used to convict him came straight out of her books, which they got their hands on when they raided the house. But if she's blaming herself for the Savocas coming after us, she's dead wrong. It was Pop's choice to turn evidence on Victor Savoca. If it turns out the Savocas contracted the hit on us, they'll pay for it. Oliver Savoca is a sanctimonious prick. It would be my great and enduring pleasure to take him down. But if it comes to that, it's going to be me who extracts that particular pound of flesh. Lee needs to stay the hell out of it.

Adri

“I met Batman today,” Chuck says as I roll the dolly I'm on out from under Frank.

“What?”

“Elaine asked me to come in for a training session for the new guy.”

“New guy?” I say, still not following.

“Batman,” he confirms. “Next time you're kissing him in your classroom, you might want to remind him his left hook needs work.”

A jolt of electric realization shoots through me when I catch on to what he's saying. I roll back under the car so he won't see it on my face, and try to keep it out of my voice. “How do you know it was him?”

He grabs a wrench from the cart and starts tightening the clamp on the radiator hose. “The blue ninety-eight Chevy Lumina he was driving was a pretty good clue. He wanted to know if you and I were messing around.”

“Crap,” I say, rolling back out and looking at him. “What did you tell him?”

“Are we messing around?” he asks with a wicked smile.

“No!”

“Then that must have been what I told him.”

I sit up and throw a greasy shop towel at him. “Stop it! Tell me what he said.”

He leans back on the workbench. “I told him not to fuck with you and he said he wouldn't.”

My stomach sinks to my shoes. “I told you not to worry about that. He shot me down.” I don't add the
twice
. There's very little I keep from Chuck, but I don't even know what to think right now. Rob left me wet and wanting, but he said it was because he would ruin me. His kiss, his touch, everything about him screams passion and desire. He never said he didn't want me. He said
I
didn't want
him
. Which is so not true.

Chuck folds his arms over his chest and his expression goes all serious. “Good.”

“You told me you weren't going to scare off all my prospects.”

He shakes his head. “I think you have selective hearing. I never said that.”

“Oh, God,” I mutter, lowering my face into my hand.

“You really like him?”

I breathe in and hold it a second before exhaling. “I do. A lot.”

“But you said you don't know anything about him.”

I lower my hand and look at him. “What did you think? I mean, does he come off ax murderer to you, or superhero?”

He gives his head a little shake. “Hard to tell, Ade. He's trained in hand to hand, and he's the best Danni has seen on the shooting range. He says it's not military training, so I suppose he could have come through law enforcement. Danni says she's asked him about it and he always hedges, which definitely tells me he's hiding something.”

I feel my face scrunch. “I know. He's not the most forthcoming person I've ever met, but . . .”

“But what?”

I lean into Frank's fender. “But my gut tells me he's not bad. I can't even explain it, except it's all there in his eyes.”

He pushes off the workbench and pulls me into a hug. “Your instincts are pretty fucking amazing. I guess you've got to trust your gut.”

Trusting my gut got me humiliated and jilted. I don't think I'd survive that kind of rejection again.

*   *   *

I'm late getting home from Chuck's so I boil water for frozen ravioli because it's the fastest thing I have in the house, then call Dad to dinner.

“Sorry,” I say when he looks over the table. “It's the best I could do in fifteen minutes.”

He settles into his seat. “Looks good.”

“How was work?”

He shrugs. “Same ol'. How about you?”

I cut a ravioli with the edge of my fork and swirl it in the sauce. “Since the troublemaker in my class got expelled, things have been a lot easier.”

“Any word from the school board yet?” he asks through a bite.

I shake my head. “They said they have ongoing interviews and probably won't have a decision until April.”

He looks up at me from his food. “Another month? That's a long time to make you wait.”

I shrug. “Don't really think I have a choice.”

“I'll talk to Stu, see what I can find out.”

After a lifetime on the Port St. Mary police force, there's no one that Dad doesn't know, so I'm sure Stu is some school admin crony.

“So, what do you know about this Davidson family up at Widow's Leap?” he asks, shoving another ravioli in his mouth. “That's the new boy in your class, right? The one whose older brother drove you home? See a blue Lumina parked up there every day.”

I drop my fork. “What do you mean, every day?”

He shrugs and stabs a ravioli. “I drive most of the island every day, punkin. It's part of my job.”

If I make a big stink about this, he'll know I'm . . . what? Involved? Are Rob and I involved? Because I haven't seen him once since he left me on my bed two days ago. I don't even know if it's him dropping Sherm off at school. He gets dropped off and picked up in the wedge at the far end of the parking lot that I can't see from my window.

“They seem nice. Sherm is a sweet boy, and his brother Rob cares a great deal for him,” I say, my heart throbbing painfully in my chest.

He lifts his eyes without lifting his head. “Where are the parents?”

I think about whether to answer with what I was told, or what I've found out since. I split the difference. “His mom died a few years ago.” I decide to leave out the dad-in-jail part.

The dead-mom thing seems to catch him up for a second, and he sips his water to regroup. “So, the older brother is raising him?”

“I've met his older sister too. She's very attentive to Sherm. They seem to take great care of him.”

“Do any of them work?”

“Yes, I think,” I say, more playing with my food than eating it. I've lost my appetite. If I tell Dad Rob works with Chuck, Chuck will be next on the interrogation list. Dad and Chuck with their heads together about Rob is the last thing anyone needs.

“Who picks the boy up from school?”

“His brother.”
I think
.

“So he's around during the day, which means he's not working,” he says with a pensive nod. “If they don't work, where is all the money for cars and motorcycles coming from? Seems like new vehicles are sprouting up on that property every day.”

“I don't know, Dad. Why do you care so much?”

He rubs his temple as if he's got a headache. “It's my job,” he says again, sharper. “If there's anything illegal going on up there, it's my job to find out, and that's usually what free-flowing money with no apparent source points to.”

“They're not running drugs, if that's what you're thinking. I'm pretty sure the brother works nights.”

“Then that's what I'll find out when I look into it.” There's an edge to his voice that makes me nervous.

“I don't see you doing this with every new person who moves onto this island,” I say and can't totally keep the scorn out of my voice.

“That's because they don't give me any reason to.”

I slam my palm on the table. “What reason have the Davidsons given you?”

His expression hardens as he looks at me, and I know. It's because Rob has been here. Twice.

I let Rob drive away on Wednesday. What choice did I have? I was half-dressed and humiliated. Dad knows he was here. And worse? He probably knows I snuck him past Sergeant Dixon on the way in.

All the blood rushes to my face and I stand and lift my plate. “I'm not hungry. I'm going to bed.”

I dump my dinner down the sink, storm to my room, and drop to the floor, my back against the door. If Rob walked away because he doesn't want me, I'll have to live with that, but that's not what he said. He sounded like he was doing it to protect me.

I need to know how he really feels.

And I'm going to find out.

Rob

It's Saturday night and I've got a date with David, one of the eight Spencer Security drivers. He's older than Pop, with a handlebar mustache and a bad comb-over. I hope he looks better in his chauffer getup.

I haven't forgotten I had a real date with an irresistible blonde before I fucked everything up and left her in the lurch three days ago.

The charity dinner next Saturday is in the grand ballroom of one of the downtown luxury hotels. I make the circuit, jot some notes, head back to the car. David drops his smoke to the ground, grinds it out with the heel of his biker boot, slides into the driver's seat. He throws the car in gear and we roll out of the driveway.

“Why is she staying somewhere else?” I grumble as he weaves us onto the highway.

“Because South Beach is where it's happening. They always stay there,” he tells me with the rasp of a lifetime chain-smoker. “This is why they pay you the big bucks.”

“She's not even going out, according to her itinerary,” I say, flinging the folder onto the dash. “Why the fuck does it matter where she stays?”

He cuts me a chastising look. “Not your call.”

“Should be,” I mutter. “I'm the fucking bodyguard.” I'm grouchy, and it's not his fault, but he's the only one around to take it out on, so lucky him.

By the time I've got my notes on South Beach and we make it back across the everglades, it's after ten.

I turn up the dirt road to the house, hungry and tired, but pull up short when I see a white T-Bird parked at the end of the road, near our driveway. I roll up next to it and park. When Adri steps out of the car, my heart kicks hard in my chest. I take a second to collect my thoughts, then shoulder open the door.

“We had a date,” she says.

There's a full moon tonight. It casts her in a silver glow. She's in a short, pale blue dress, with bare legs and white flip-flops, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looks so fucking beautiful that I swear my heart skips a beat. But I can't help picturing how she looked the last time I saw her, half-naked on her bed. Incredible.

I stuff my hands in my pockets and rock back on my heels. “I figured that was probably off, considering . . .”

She plants her fists on her hips and scowls the sexiest scowl I've ever seen. “Considering what?”

Considering all I can think about every waking minute is fucking you senseless. Considering all your fears about me are true. Considering I'm probably not sticking around.

Take your pick.

I haul a deep breath, shoving my hands deeper into my pockets. “This isn't going to work, Adri. I'm not the guy you want me to be. I'm exactly the guy you think I am. There's a reason Sherm is scared of me. You should be too. I'm not a good person.”

She takes a step closer. “I don't believe you.”

I back up and tip my head at her. “Smart, because I'm also a pathological liar, but in this rare instance I'm telling the truth.”

She steps closer again and her face twists. “You smell like cigarettes. Where were you?”

“Working.”

“The bodyguard thing?”

I nod.

Her expression takes on a cynical edge as her gaze courses over my T-shirt and jeans, but there's also an unmistakable flash of jealousy in those baby blues. “You're not dressed for that.”

I remember what she saw in the waiting room of the ER, and the reason for the inquisition clicks. She thinks I was with Candy.

“Was just casing for a gig next Saturday. We're not in uniform for that.”

She takes another step closer. This time I don't back up. “Do you smoke?”

“No.”

“Drugs?”

I tip my head at her. “Why?”

She gets all defiant, and that look stirs something deep in my gut. “I want to know.”

“There are a lot of things about me you don't know. Drugs are the least of your worries.”

She moves again and she's right in front of me. The gentle breeze lifts her hair. The ends brush against my arm, doing things to me that I can't explain and I'm not sure I like.

“Then tell me,” she says. She lifts a hand, strokes her fingers along the line of my jaw.

I draw a shaky breath. “You don't want anything to do with me, Adri.”

“You're wrong.” Her voice is breathy.

When her fingers thread behind my neck, even though I should, I don't resist as she pulls me into a kiss. Her mouth is warm and inviting. Her kiss makes me want to dive right into her.

I pull away, gaze down into her moonlit eyes. She's this beautiful, perfect thing. All I can do is leave greasy black smudges all over her. But that honesty, the way she trusts, it makes me want to try to be a better person for her.

I step on the heels of my boots and kick them off. “Come on,” I say, turning for the bluff.

We skirt past the house. I curse under my breath and move faster, when I hear Crash bark from inside. In the moonlight, it's easy to see as we pick our way down the path to the beach.

She stops halfway down, looks out over the ocean, rolling gently onto the beach tonight. “When I was a kid, we used to tell ghost stories about the fisherman and his wife who lived in your house. It was our local legend.”

“How does it go?”

She turns to me. “The fisherman was lost at sea, and his widow was so distraught that she threw herself off the bluff into the ocean below. But it turned out the fisherman was only stranded, and when he was rescued and came home, he found out his wife was dead and boarded himself up in the widow's walk, where he died of a broken heart,” she says, pointing up the bluff to my perch atop our house.

“Not to mention starvation,” I say with a smirk.

She huffs a laugh. “The story goes that both their spirits haunt the house and the bluff, looking for each other, but they always just miss, never finding each other. And when the wind blows off the water, you can hear her wails from the ocean and his howls of anguish from the widow's walk as she plunges off the bluff over and over and over again.”

“Tragic.” I turn and make my way to the beach.

“You don't believe it—that people could be so in love that they couldn't live without each other?” she asks as she follows.

Pop essentially died that night on the street with my mother. The person living in his body isn't the same one who loved her. So, yeah, I believe it. “If they loved each other that much, wouldn't they have found their way to each other in the afterlife?”

“Have you heard any wailing or howling?” she asks, amusement in her voice.

“No.”

“So maybe they did, and that part of the story is bullshit,” she says as we step onto the sand. She touches my arm. I turn to face her. “What's haunting
you
, Rob?”

“Everything.”

She lifts a hand and traces the lines of my face with the tip of her index finger. I can't breathe. “Let me help you.”

She takes my hand. We move slowly down the beach without talking. When we reach a wider stretch of beach where the sand is dry, she sits and pulls me down next to her.

“I'm your standard small-town girl,” she says, crossing her ankles and leaning back on her hands, looking out over the rolling surf. “I played with Barbie when I was little, and she and Ken always got married and lived happily ever after. I dreamed of Prince Charming and how he'd show up here, sweep me off my feet, and love me forever.” She turns to me. “But I'm all grown up now, and I get that there are no fairy tales. I'm not asking for that, Rob. All I want from you is whatever you're willing to give me. If that's just today . . . right now . . . I'd be okay with that. But I wish you could see what I see when I look at you. You want to think you're some horrible person, but I see how much you love your family. I see that you'd do anything for Sherm. I don't know what's happened to you to make you so jaded, but if you could just let down your guard for, like, one minute, you'd see that the whole world's not out to get you.”

Christ, I wish that were true. All my guts are churning acid, eating me alive from the inside out. I lie back in the sand, stare up at the blanket of stars. Damn her for seeing so much. And damn her for making me feel too much.

I close my eyes because I can't look into hers and say this. “I killed a man with my bare hands, Adri, so that pretty much shoots your latent good guy theory straight to hell.”

There's a gasp, then nothing. I don't look when I hear a rustle in the sand, because it will kill me to see her walking away.