Secret Worlds (575 page)

Ari’s initial anger returned, flaring hot in her chest. She’d momentarily forgotten the incident with The Hulk—Peter. “Curtis was getting the crap beat out of him! He’s my client and my responsibility. I’m not okay with the violence. These boys have seen enough in their lifetime. Abusing them and then training them to be even better fighters? I don’t get it.”

Davis allowed her to rant as he calmly and quietly leaned back in his chair. God, he had an ease about him Ari found equally unnerving and aggravating. “Obviously, you disagree,” she said. “But I’m not sure if the state would approve of your methods if they knew about them.”

Her threat got his attention, if only slightly. “How successful do you find the other programs your clients are in? Percentage wise?”

“That’s not the point.”

“I think it is,” he argued. “I know our methods seem … extreme. But they work and have worked for a long time. The kids we pick to be a part of our program are specifically chosen. They can handle it.”

“Curtis has a black eye! And bruises all over his body! I saw the bandage on Keith’s head. What are you doing? Building soldiers?”

Davis scoffed. “Of course not, Ms. Grant. But we teach them discipline. Control. Another way to let out the anger and the rage they have boiling inside. Better in that ring than on a cop or another kid on the outside with a gun.”

“So you teach them to fight and get out the testosterone. What then? How does that help them in the real world?”

“It’s like any other athletic program. Mental and physical. We train these kids hardcore, teach them how to eat healthy foods and give them the discipline and structure to turn that into productivity in society. We teach them to use their bodies in a positive way. Working with their natural abilities. If they can learn to trust themselves, defensively, then they feel more confident—less likely to lash out.” Davis stood and pulled a yellow sheet of paper off the table. He turned it around and handed to her. “It’s not just random fighting. We compete against other programs. That’s our next event.”

The words “Inter-Club Fight Semi-Finals” were listed across the top. The fight would be held at the GYC next week. “Curtis won’t be competing—yet,” he said. “Probably not ’til next season if he’s ready. But he’s fast, we think he may fit more into the ultimate fighting category anyway.”

“Ultimate fighting? I don’t know. All of this sounds really dangerous.”

Davis rested his elbows on his knees and leaned toward her. “Give us a chance. Come see it yourself. See if you notice a change in Curtis’ behavior over the next couple of weeks.”

“You have a lot of faith in a petty thief thug-wannabe who can run fast.”

“I have a lot of faith in a lot of things,” he said with a wink. “You’ll come?”

“I’ll come,” Ari said, standing up. She walked to the door and touched the smooth leather gloves hanging there. “These yours?”

“My father’s.” He also stood, shoving his hands in his pockets. “He taught me everything I know.”

Ari tilted her head. “You must be pretty good, then.”

Davis looked her up and down. “I can hold my own.”

Right then Ari knew he remembered her. A current ran between them and she caught a hint of mischievousness in his eye, the same one she’d seen that night across the dance floor. She almost caved and confronted him. Almost.

Instead, Ari left the room, because what would happen if she admitted it? Acknowledged it? Would he think she was some kind of skank who trolled dance clubs late at night? Did he already think that?

Davis just said he could hold his own. She knew that firsthand. On her way out the door, under her breath, where he couldn’t hear, she muttered, “I bet,” and left the building.

“Maria called,” Rebecca announced, handing her a pink message slip. “She said she’ll be here by five.”

“She better be. This is her last chance to show up before I place a warrant. I don’t know why she thinks I’m playing games.”

Ari signed in and checked her mail. A lumpy manila envelope sat on top of all the paperwork. She carried it all past Stanton’s office and set it on her desk.

Ari had managed to get herself under control before she came back to the office. The panic attack had been real. Sweaty and jarring. One thing was certain though, that numbness she felt day in and day out left when she was at the GYC—or more specifically, when she was near Davis. Professionally, Davis seemed like he was on the up-and-up. Their encounter in the club threw that off. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something, like some larger picture to the Glory Youth Center. After years of placing kids in various homes and treatment programs, it all seemed a little too good to be true. All it took was a little boxing and hand-to-hand combat and all their problems were solved?

“Stanton,” she called down the hall. “You’re an athletic guy. What do you think about a program based on sports—specifically boxing—for these kids?”

Ari heard Stanton’s chair creak and he appeared in her doorway. “What are you talking about?”

“This program Judge Hatcher got Curtis into. It’s some kind of juvie-fueled fight club or something.”

Stanton leaned into the doorway and crossed his arms. “Fight club?”

“You know, Brad Pitt? Edward Norton?” He looked at her blankly. “Soap? Never mind. It’s this crazy group home with a focus on boxing and fighting and they fight other clubs or something. Davis, the director, swears it works, but when I was there today, Curtis got the snot beat out of him.”

“Curtis probably needed to get the snot beat out of him. Teach him a lesson for once.”

“Stanton!”

“I’m serious, Ari. These kids need discipline and to fully understand consequences. Sounds like a good program to me. Give it a shot.”

Ari sighed and flipped her calendar over in frustration. “That’s what he said.”

“Who?”

“Davis.”

“See? Smart guy. A little controlled violence isn’t going to hurt these kids. Training in a positive way, inside a competitive environment, could help.”

“Okay, okay. I guess I’m just the one with a problem teaching kids how to beat the poo out of each other.”

“Yeah, you probably are.”

Ari wadded up a piece of paper and tossed it in his direction, but he dodged, cackling with delight as it flew past him into the opposite wall. “Maybe you should go work out with Curtis. Improve your aim.”

“Shut it,” Ari said, pushing her door closed. She sighed at the massive pile of papers on her desk and chose to ignore it for the moment. Why not make the pile bigger? She ripped open the mail, pulling out the papers for filing. Two psychological evaluations, one medical form, and a stack of school records. The manila package remained and she tore off the end, dumping out the contents.

A box fell on the table.

Long, sleek, and heavily lacquered, the box had small gold flowers embossed on the side. Ari pushed it away and checked the envelope again. Flipping it over, she saw there was no return address, no identifying marks, nothing but her name printed in large block letters across the front. Again, she picked up the heavy box, and unlatched the tiny gold hook.

“What the heck?” she said. Empty. But wait, lying against the silk lining, Ari spotted a small rectangular slip of paper tucked into the lining. On one side, in narrow, elegant script, were the numbers three, seven, and four. On the other, were the simple words, Thank you.

“You’re late,” Oliver chided from the couch. He pointed to a drink on the coffee table, similar to one in his own hand. She dropped the bag and picked up the drink, taking a gulp. Better. “We’re meeting everyone at seven o’clock at The Garage.”

“Tequila?”

“It’s been one of those weeks,” he said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “But I convinced Veronica to meet us tonight.”

“Outside the office?”

“Yep. Finally wore her down.”

Ari took a fast gulp of the bitter alcohol. “Yowza! That’s strong!” She flung her jacket on the couch and kicked off her shoes. “Sorry I’m so late. Maria never showed up. I had to call the Apprehension offices to place a warrant and that took forever. Plus, today has just been really, really crazy.”

“Really?” Oliver mocked. “That never happens to you.”

“Extra-special crazy. Let me go change and I’ll fill you in on the way to the bar.”

Ari grabbed her bag off the couch and left Oliver for her room. Once inside, she removed the black box from her bag and set it on her dresser. The box must have been from the mystery guy. Had to be. Thank you? For what? Keeping her mouth shut?

She rushed, opening her closet for a pair of jeans and a gray sweater, the color her mother said matched Ari’s eyes. Sitting on the bed, Ari tugged on black leather boots one by one. Her eyes held steady on the box. What was she supposed to do with it? How did he find her? How did he know where she worked?

“Girl!” Oliver called from the living room. “Let’s go!”

“Coming!” she shouted. On a whim, Ari picked up her phone and typed a message. She pressed “Send” hoping she wasn’t making a fool of herself. With one last glance at the box, Ari shut the door, ready for the night.

***

Evenings at The Garage were popular despite its size.

The bar was within walking distance from their house and built in a former auto shop. It had perfect dark corners to meet up and talk, a long bar across the back, and tiny tables crunched together in the middle. Most of Ari’s crowd sat amongst bottles and half-full glasses littering the table. Ari stood in one of the dark corners, drink in hand, talking with Nick.

“Eighteen-wheelers?”

“Yes,” Ari laughed. “Only 18 wheelers. That’s all.”

Nick tipped back his bottle of beer, draining it and discarding it on a table nearby. “So, this kid goes to truck stops, steals 18 wheelers and drives them around the city, until he gets caught or runs out of gas.”

“Yep.”

“Then what happens?”

“Typically he gets arrested, and now that he’s 18, he spends some time in jail, but due to over-crowding they release him out and he does it again.”

Nick shook his head. “If I wasn’t part of this system I wouldn’t believe it.”

“Tell me your craziest case,” Ari suggested. She drained her drink and set it on the table, next to his empty bottle.

“First, I’m getting another drink. You want one?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Nick squeezed off through the crowd and the minute he disappeared, Oliver left his spot at the table and found her.

“Huh. Wonder how Nick knew we were here?”

Ari made a face. “I texted him.”

“Hmm … so you like him.”

“What? Are we in third grade?”

“Yes.” He pulled a strand of her hair and stuck out his tongue.

Ari smacked his hand away and laughed at his stupid behavior. “Why do you care so much?”

“I don’t know. I want you to be happy. And to get laid. And I needed to know if that has a chance of happening tonight, because I can’t decide how tacky it would be to invite myself to Veronica’s house.”

“So really, this is all about you.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Pretty much.”

Nick came back from the bar and handed Ari her glass. He turned to Oliver and smiled wide. “Hey man, what’s going on?”

“Not much, just checking with my girl to see if she needed a walk home.” Oliver tilted his head in her direction and smiled sweetly. Ari narrowed her eyes in response but all that got her was a bigger grin. Way to throw me under the bus, Oliver. She’d deal with him later.

“I can walk myself, Oliver.”

“Like heck you can,” he said with a wink. “An armed robbery and a car vandalism in one week?” Oliver looked at Nick.

“I can walk you,” Nick said.

Oliver pointed a finger at him. “Make sure she gets inside and sets the alarm before you go.”

“I’m happy to walk you back,” Nick offered, looking between the two of them. “If you want?”

“That sounds nice, thank you,” Ari agreed, a little embarrassed. “I think Oliver has other plans anyway.”

“You got that right,” he said, smiling at the two of them. He clapped Nick on the back and said, “Thanks man, I owe you one,” before darting back to Veronica.

“Who’s the girl?” Nick asked, watching him settle back in at the table.

“Some chick he’s messing around with from work. It’s either true love or a pure disaster. Either way I want a front-row seat. “

“To watching our friends fall in love,” Nick held out his beer for a mock toast. “Or crashing disastrously.”

Ari held out her glass and clinked it to his and laughed. “I’ll drink to that.”

***

Nick held her hand on the way home. It was a sly move, one he’d probably perfected years before. While they walked down the cracked and broken sidewalks, he’d slid his hand down hers and wove their fingers together. Calm and casual. Between the lunch and dinners and The Garage, things seemed to be progressing. Ari decided to just accept it even though easily moving into a relationship wasn’t something she was familiar with. Normally, her emotions bounced all over the place and she fought over a million questions … too fast? Too slow? Is he the one? Is this for fun? But none of those questions filled her mind at that point as they walked slowly to her house.

“Which house?” Nick asked as they climbed the hilly street.

“The green one, on the left. With the star pendant light.”

“Oh, I see it. Do you rent?”

Ari shook her head. “I bought it. Oliver rents from me.”

“Homeowner at age 26. Impressive. Living the American dream, huh?”

They reached her driveway and she led Nick to the front porch. “I guess. I came into some money and it seemed like the right decision.”

The money came from her parents’ estate. Money she’d rather not have but she decided to be responsible with it, make the choices they would have wanted her to make.

“I think you have good instincts.”

And there it was, the moment things went from calm and cool, to nerve-wracking and exciting. Nick, in his leather jacket and perfectly fitting jeans, leaned against her door but never let go of her hand. She felt a little woozy from the alcohol but not enough to lose her head. He tugged her closer and bent down to give her a kiss. One she happily returned.