Through Fire (Portland, ME #3) (23 page)

“Sure am,” I confirm honestly. “This coming Sunday.” That shuts him up, just as Ruby reappears with two beers in her hand, offering one to each of us. “What about you, Boop? No beer?”

“I put on some coffee. I want to keep my wits about me,” she says, with a furtive look in Mark’s direction. “Shall we go in?” She indicates the living room, evidently ready to hear what he has to say now. Still, she looks like a lamb lead to slaughter as she moves to sit on the couch. I sit down beside her and tuck her under my arm.

I can’t quite identify the look Mark shoots me, but it doesn’t fill me with confidence. Something that is confirmed when he opens his mouth. “Got good news and bad. What would you like first?”

“Good,” Ruby says at the same time I say, “Bad”.

Mark’s eyes go back and forth between Ruby and me before he makes up his mind. “Good it is,” he says, with a little smile for Ruby. “Talked to Mike yesterday. A few times in fact, he needed to get clearance to discuss things with me. He was very interested, finding out I might have a lead for him. The name Terry Milano was not new to him. He’s one of a few of Boston’s finest that is apparently being looked into, Eduardo Lima is another. He’s a detective in the SAU, the sexual assault unit. The task force Mike is part of is investigating the possible involvement of members of the Boston PD in the abduction and smuggling of women from South and Central America into the U.S.”

“So far I fail to recognize good news in any of that,” I interrupt Mark’s description.

“Getting to it,” he says, ignoring me otherwise, as his eyes stay on Ruby who sits near frozen on the edge of her seat. “He explained the girl I told you about, the one who took her own life while in FBI custody, had been offered a T visa, in return for her cooperation in the investigation. A temporary legal status in the U.S., specifically for victim’s of human trafficking, who were brought into this country against their will. After three years, those with a T visa become eligible to become permanent residents.”

I hear Ruby’s sharp intake of breath as the magnitude of what he’s saying hits her. Her hand reaches for purchase on me, and I quickly take it in mine, holding on tight. “I can stay?” she says, her voice breathy and disbelieving.

“Yes, you can stay.
But
...it would require you to assist the FBI in their investigation.” He pauses for that to sink in. The sudden slump of her shoulders shows she is starting to clue into the meaning of that. “I haven’t mentioned your name or where you are, but Mike is eager to sit down with you and talk.”

“I guess that part was the bad news,” she says, sounding a little shaky.

“Part of it. The other part is the possibility the FBI will want to put you up in a safe house for the duration of the investigation.”

“Like hell,” I grind out, standing up to face Mark. “Not letting her out of my sight, buddy. Not gonna happen.” He holds up his hands in defense.

“Whoa, hang on here. I’m not the one calling those shots, Tim. Don’t fucking shoot the messenger.”

After an angry stare down, it’s me who looks away first. He’s right. I’m barking up the wrong tree. The moment I turn to find Ruby’s shocked face staring at me, Mark’s hand comes down on my shoulder. “I told him she’s safe where she is. Hell, I’ll offer to keep her safe myself, but there is no way to avoid talking to Mike,” he calmly but firmly says.

“I know,” I concede to him, but keep my eyes firmly on Ruby’s panicked ones. “Ruby? You know I won’t let anything happen to you, right?” The short, jerky nods of her head tell me she hears me, but she’s not quite reassured. Frankly, neither am I and to make her, and myself, feel better, I pull her up and fold her in my arms.

“Can we have some time to decide?” I ask Mark over Ruby’s head. He gives me a half smile and a nod.

“Yeah. Just don’t take too long.”

“Wait,” Ruby turns her head. “Why did the girl kill herself if she was about to get help?”

Mark runs his hand through his hair, looking down at the tips of his stocking feet before lifting his eyes to meet hers. “Can’t be sure, but after what you told us a few days ago, I’m guessing she had no reason to trust the FBI’s promises. She was probably brainwashed to believe the authorities couldn’t be trusted.”

“I can’t blame her,” Ruby says in a thick voice. “I would’ve believed the same thing. Wouldn’t have trusted anyone...” Her eyes come up to meet mine. “If I hadn’t found friends, who prove to me every day there
are
still trustworthy people out there.”

R
uby

“Oh my God. What happened to you?”

I’m frozen on the spot when a woman with grey ringlets in a riot around her face comes barreling out of the house. I presume she’s Tim’s mother, wrapping her arms around me in a bear-hug of epic proportions. Next thing I know, she’s shoving me back by the shoulders and eyeing the useless arm strapped against my body.

“Erm...” I manage to squeak out before feeling Tim’s reassuring hand in the small of my back.

“Mom, this is Ruby. Ruby, meet my mom, Jane,” he introduces her calmly.

“But what happened to her?” his mother insists, now talking over my shoulder at her son.

“She was...”

“I fell,” I interrupt him, not wanting to get into any details. Jane snaps her eyes to me and raises a doubtful eyebrow, but she doesn’t push.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she says sincerely, making me believe she knows there’s more to the story than that simple explanation. “Well, let’s go inside and get comfortable,” she suggests, spinning around on her heels, her long flowing tunic whipping around her body. “It’s way too cold out here.”

“You think?” Tim quietly mumbles behind me, but his mother must’ve heard.

“Don’t smart mouth me, Timothy,” she aims at him over her shoulder.

“Come on,” he says for my ears only this time. “Nothing to be worried about.”

I’m not so sure, as I let him lead me into the nice family house, in the quiet neighborhood. When he first told me
we
were going over to his parents’ house for dinner on Sunday, I’d told him I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t. For one, I hadn’t yet spoken with Mark since earlier in the week. Oh, I’d talked to Tim about it at length. The decision is not difficult; if I want a chance at any sort of life at all, that is. I’d just been postponing doing anything about it. Even Pam got on my case on Friday when I saw her again. She’s the one who reminded me that the only way to get out of this situation is to move through it. One bite at a time. One step at a time. Going for dinner at Tim’s parents place was a perfect opportunity. According to Pam...and Tim.

Then yesterday, Viv called and demanded to speak with me. No longer willing to stand guard for me apparently, Tim had shoved the phone in my hand and walked out the back to hide in the garage. Coward. Viv told me, in no uncertain terms, that since The Skipper was closed on Mondays, she and Syd were coming over. It wasn’t a very long telephone conversation, since Viv didn’t give me a chance to talk, and I was angry at Tim for putting me on the spot like that.

Truthfully, I’d been angry with him before that. Today marks a week since he introduced me to the surprising pleasures of sex, and I’ve been aching for a repeat. Yet, every time he gets me all steamed up, he pulls back. I know it’s having an effect on him too. Hard to miss the large bulge behind his fly, no matter how much he’s trying to hide it. I’m frustrated. I’ve never felt quite like this before, and it’s making me cranky. What’s worse is the little smirk that dances across his lips when I let him feel my displeasure. Like he’s enjoying my frustrations.

Tim is hanging up my coat, and I smooth the front of the blouse I’d picked up for a steal at the thrift store a few months ago. It seemed like a good choice this morning when I put it on. A pretty floral pattern in pastels, with long gathered sleeves, and a high collar. Feminine and a little dressy, yet covering all the important parts. Most importantly, unlike anything I’d ever worn before. No plunging necklines revealing my ample cleavage. No skin tight T-shirts that leave nothing to the imagination, and certainly no mile-high heels to add some lift to my legs and ass. I paired it with my best pair of comfortable jeans, after Tim assured me this was just a casual weekly gathering for football and food. I thought it spelled dressy casual, but after spotting Tim trying to hide a grin behind his hand when I came down, I’m not so sure.

“Come with me.” His mother grabs me by my good arm and drags me past an empty living room and into a large family kitchen. “Don’t worry about the boys, they’ll be stuck to the TV in the rec room downstairs until at least half time. We have time to chat. Have a seat.” She waves at a stool by the kitchen island, and I hoist myself up. “Drink? Or would you prefer tea?” She wants to know. I’m not about to drink any alcohol so I opt for tea.

“So how long have you known my son?” she asks, as she pours a cup and places it in front of me.

“Maybe four months? I met him at The Skipper.” I nervously sip at my tea and almost burn my mouth.

“You go there a lot?”

“No. Well, yes, I guess. I mean, I don’t visit there, I work there.” I know I’m rambling, but her intense scrutiny is making me squirm. “We never really talked until a few weeks ago, when he gave me a hand in the kitchen.”

Her eyes light up. “Oh, you’re a cook? I love cooking. You’ll have to let me in on some of Dino’s secrets. He guards his recipes like they come straight from the National Archives.”

“No, no,” I hurry to interrupt. “I’m not a cook. That’s one of the reasons Tim was helping me. I wasn’t doing so well in the kitchen.”

“Really? You don’t know how to cook? Perfect.” She claps her hands. “I can teach you!”

“Teach her what, Mom?” Tim says, as he saunters into the kitchen, followed by Mark and finally a big burly man who must be their father. The older man’s eyes are on me as he ignores the others and walks over to me in a straight line. The rest of my nerves twitch and shrivel when he stops a foot in front of me, tilting his head to one side and scrutinizing me from top to toe. In the next moment, he reaches out and wraps me in a tight hug. I can barely breathe, pressed against his barrel chest. Hugs are big in this family, apparently.

“Arthur!” Jane scolds her husband. “You’re smothering the poor girl.”

A nervous giggle escapes me. Hardly a girl. The relief I feel at the ability to draw a proper breath is short-lived, when Arthur holds me in place by the shoulders and goes back to his scrutinizing.

“Arthur,” he says, his voice even deeper than Tim’s. “My name is Arthur. Or you can call me Dad.” Confusion must be evident on my face when he chuckles. “Maybe Dad is a bit too soon? What’s your name, darlin’?”

“Dad, this is...” Tim starts, but is cut off when his father lifts his hand.

“Hush. Let her talk. I want to know if her voice is as sweet as she looks.”

Of course my voice is stuck somewhere between my stomach and my throat, and other than gasping for air like a fish, not much sound comes out. I feel a bit better when Tim moves in behind me, his solid heat at my back. “My name is Ruby. Ruby Soto,” I manage

One side of Arthur’s mouth tilts up as he grabs my hand and lifts it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Delighted to meet you, Ruby. Ruby Soto.” He’s teasing me, judging by the twinkle in his eyes, as he repeats my name back to me.

“Your making Ruby nervous, Dad. Knock it off. Hey, Ruby. How’s the arm?” Mark unceremoniously shoves his father out of the way, and then he too moves in for a hug. Definitely a family thing. I’d been nervous about seeing Mark, knowing he’s been waiting for my call, but when I start to apologize he quickly stops me. “Later, Ruby.” He tilts his head in the direction of his parents and gives me a wink.

Right. Maybe not a good time. Not with the curious looks his mother throws between us.

In the middle of an animated football discussion that develops in the kitchen, Tim leans his chin on my shoulder. “You okay, Boop?”

Am I? I feel a little shell shocked at the intensity of his parents. They seem very friendly, in an intrusive way. Not threatening, just really intense. Now that I’m no longer the focus of their attention, I can observe the loving way they interact. With each other and with their sons, who both seem so much more laid back. Loving and nurturing.

My mind jumps back to a time when I last experienced that. With my own parents in the large kitchen at the farm.
Mamá
stirring the
molé
sauce on the stove and
Papi
coming in, throwing me a wink and pressing a finger against his lips, to keep me quiet, as he snuck up and wrapped her up in his arms from behind.
Mamá
angry at first, but then laughing softly as my father kisses her neck.

I’d forgotten how much they loved each other. How much they loved me.

For many years, my last memories were of my mother’s screams and my father’s enraged voice, only to be silenced by the deafening sound of the bullets entering them. It was the jerking of their bodies, the blood spatter, and the shock in their eyes as their life drained out of them.

T
im