Recalled (19 page)

“Piper,” she said, interrupting my worried thoughts. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I mustered a smile. “Yes. I ate way too much.” I put a hand to my stomach like I was about to burst.

“Well, you know what the cure for that is,” Frankie sang, getting up and going into the kitchen.

“Don’t say it,” I warned.

A few seconds later she came out of the kitchen carrying a pink box and a smile. “Sugar!” she exclaimed, pushing some of the half-empty cartons of Chinese out of the way and setting down the box.

“Is that what I think it is?” I asked.

“Yep.” She flipped open the top of the bakery box and lifted out a perfect-looking cupcake. It had a pink baking wrapper around the bottom, the top was piled high with white icing and pink sugar sprinkles.

I snatched it out of her hand. “You went to The Iced Princess!”

She laughed and reached into the box to get another perfect treat identical to mine. “I figured after everything you’ve been through you need a little royal treatment.”

The Iced Princess was the best bakery in all of Alaska. It was also way on the other side of town. In the rich district. Everything in the store was pink. Pink couches, pink rugs, a pink counter, and it even had a pink crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. They had a big poster just inside the door that read:
The Iced Princess: Where everyone gets the royal treatment.

The place was so popular she usually had a line around the corner by the time she opened the doors at eleven o’clock every day.

It was one of my favorite places in town, but we rarely went because it was so far and because it was definitely not cheap.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I said as she reached under the box and pulled out a DVD.
Magic Mike.
It was a movie about a bunch of male strippers who basically paraded around in very little clothing the entire time. Or so I heard.

“I figured we princesses needed a little bit of naughty to go with our nice,” Frankie said, waiving it around in front of my face.

Tears sprang to my eyes as I clutched the cupcake in my hand.

She sighed and set the movie down on the table, then placed her cupcake on top of it. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

I shook my head and blinked back the tears. “It’s nothing. I just love you is all. Thank you for all of this.”

“Well, it isn’t flowers,” she said, glancing at my bouquet.

“It’s better,” I whispered.

“Oh, don’t start blubbering,” she said, getting up from the couch to put in the movie. “No tears on girls’ night.”

I swallowed and the vision replayed in my mind.

Frankie lying on the floor, her glassy eyes staring upward—seeing nothing. The curls of her blond bob created a halo and her face was pale except for her red lips.

There was no blood.

There was no screaming or crying.

There was no sense of urgency.

I remembered nothing about the background or her surroundings—only her and the overwhelming sense of sadness and loss.

How would I live with that image forever burning a hole in my mind?

What would I do without her?

I blinked and looked up when I felt a hand on my arm.

“I know something’s wrong. That vision was bad, wasn’t it? That’s why you’re upset.”

“Upset? How could I possibly be upset?” I said. “I got the entire day off, a delivery of flowers, Chinese food, the best cupcakes ever, and I’m about to watch a thoroughly entertaining movie with my favorite person in the world.”

She nodded her head once. “You got it good girl. And to make it even better, I propose a slumber party.”

“We haven’t had one of those since high school.”

“We’re overdue.” She grinned, but I saw the brief cloud of worry in her eyes. She only wanted to sleep over to be certain I was all right.

I liked the idea of having her here tonight. I might not worry as much. I nodded. “That would be fun.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know.” She grabbed her cupcake and settled back onto the couch, picking up the remote to start the movie. Just as the credits were rolling on the screen, she hit the pause button.

“Oh, I forgot. Some guy came by to see you earlier.”

“A guy?” I asked, automatically thinking of Dex. “Was he wearing glasses?”

She shook her head. “Nope. And he looked like a Ken doll. Perfect hair, clothes, and teeth.”

“Well, that’s not Dex,” I mumbled to myself and Frankie laughed. “But he is good looking,” I added.

“Well, he can definitely pick out flowers.” We both looked at the daisies. “Anyway, it was before you got here with the food and I answered the door. He must’ve thought I was you because he was being all slick and charming. When he called me Piper, I laughed and told him he had the wrong girl. Turns out Ken isn’t so perfect after all. All that charm went right out the window. He was arrogant, sarcastic, and rude,” she said with a
how dare he
tone to her voice. “I took great pleasure in throwing him out.”

I laughed. “What did he want?”

“I have no idea. He was probably selling a vacuum and when he figured out I wasn’t buying he decided he didn’t have to be nice.”

“Well, I’m glad you had to deal with him and not me,” I said, using my finger to swipe some of the icing and pink sugar off the top of the cupcake. It melted the second it hit my tongue.

“Yes, well, I figure since I had the job of tossing him out I deserve two cupcakes.” She leaned forward to pull out another cake and held them both up, one on each side of her face, and grinned.

“There better be another one in that box for me.”

“You know it, sister,” she sang, then looked at the TV. “Now hit play. I wanna see some abs!”

I hit play and with the help of some very hot guys and some tasty dessert, I was able to forget about the vision. Even still, I knew the time would come when I would begin to worry again.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Babysitter -
A person who cares for or watches over someone or something that needs attention or guidance.”

Dex

I was upstairs enjoying the comfort of my king-sized bed and the flat screen when the sound of the doorbell echoed through the townhouse. I ignored it, knowing it was probably just some kid selling Girl Scout cookies and Hobbs would answer it anyway. When it rang a few minutes later, I pushed up onto one elbow. “Hobbs! The door!”

I knew he was down there. I could smell dinner cooking. Just because he was cooking dinner didn’t mean he couldn’t answer the door too. He was, after all, a butler. He was probably trained in things like this.

I focused back on the TV and the bell rang again, three times in a row. Whoever was at the door was very impatient. I tossed the remote on a nearby pillow and jumped off the bed and made my way downstairs, muttering the whole time about finding better help.

I walked past the kitchen, where Hobbs was nowhere to be found, but noted that dinner looked done. He was probably at the door right now. Made me sorry I’d gotten up. I walked around the corner and into the entry way where Hobbs wasn’t.

I shook my head and opened the door, expecting to snarl at some little kid, but it wasn’t a kid.

It was a man with a strangely bright red pulsing cloud around him. It was exactly like what I saw at the college.

“About damn time. It’s freezing out here,” the man said, pushing past me to let himself into my house.

“Who the hell are you?” I said, zeroing in on the black duffle bag he carried.

“Your babysitter,” he replied, taking in the entryway, and then spun to look at me.

He was tall, a few inches taller than me, and had dark hair that was styled a little too perfectly. His green eyes watched me as he set down his bag to unbutton his black coat.

“I’d invite you to make yourself at home,” I drawled, “but you aren’t staying.”

He smirked and took his coat off the rest of the way and hung it on the nearby coat rack. Then he walked away, farther into my house.

“Did you not hear what I just said?” I told him as he went into the kitchen.

“Yes, I’m not welcome here. But you don’t make the rules,” he said as he lifted the lid to the pot on the stove. Then he glanced at me. “Honey, you cooked,” he said in falsetto.

“Get out.”

“Here’s the thing. You might live here, but this isn’t your house. Yet,” he said as he looked through all the cabinets. So he was an Escort, like me. Storm had been right about us being able to identify each other.

“What are you talking about?” I said, pretending not to hear the meaning behind his words.

He sighed dramatically and looked at me. “We have the same employer and since you seem to be having trouble completing the job you were assigned, G.R. sent me here to make sure you did it.”

“He gave me two months,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

“One of which is already gone.” He’d resumed his cabinet searching and made a face when he found what he wanted, reaching in to pull out a large white bowl.

“So?” I prompted.

He took the lid off the pot on the stove, grabbed the nearby ladle, and began scooping homemade chili into his bowl.

Where was Hobbs? Why had he suddenly disappeared? Clearly I was going to need help getting this guy out of here. Of course, I was also glad he wasn’t here to listen to the truth behind my income.

“So, a job like this should’ve taken a week, tops,” he said, smug. “My first job took me two days.” He spooned a huge amount of sour cream onto the chili and then added an equal amount of shredded cheese.

Part of me was curious. I wondered about the other Escorts and what it was like to essentially kill people for a living. I also had some questions that I hadn’t thought to ask when I was given my job. I’d been a little preoccupied with the new body and the shiny car. Maybe I could get some answers before I kicked him out.

I went farther into the kitchen and made myself a similar looking bowl of chili and sat at the opposite end of the island.

“So you’re an Escort and you were sent here by G.R. to make sure I did what I was told.” It wasn’t really a question, just me summing up the reason he was here.

In response, he shoved a huge bite of food into his mouth. He certainly didn’t have a problem making himself at home.

“How long have you been an Escort?”

He paused and glanced at me. “A very long time.”

“How many bodies have you had?”

He took another bite and seemed to think it over as he chewed. “A few,” he replied after a while.

We ate in silence for a few minutes, but there was something I really wanted to know. “How many people have you murdered?”

He lowered the spoon toward his bowl. “I’ve lost count.”

I digested that along with my chili. It was good chili, but I wasn’t sure how it would settle with death. Even though I’d tried to “Escort” Piper to her death several times now (and not very successfully), I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around the fact that I was basically an assassin for hire. I had a pretty crappy life, but even to me, that stuff only happened in movies.

I mean, why would a man make a business out of killing people? What did he gain? How did he never get caught? Was this some sort of modern day mob? A crime ring? I’d lived on the streets long enough to know that this wasn’t a gang. It was too upscale to be a gang.