Unfinished Hero 02 Creed (42 page)

The door opened and my father and a man walked in.

Daddy led the man to me. He couldn’t meet my eyes.

The man was looking at me.

I stared into his eyes and I did not like what I saw. Not at all.

Not at all.

My stomach clenched so hard, I thought I would throw up and I backed up, up, up, up until my body was in the corner.

“Sylvie, I’d like you to meet Richard Scott,” Daddy said to my shoulder.

Richard Scott smiled at me and I did not like that smile. Not at all.

Not at all.

He came toward me. Daddy looked to the floor and I pressed myself into the corner.

Oh God.

Oh God!

Where was Creed?

Consider It Done

Present day, eighteen days later…

I sat on a tall stool at the bar in a swank restaurant staring at myself in the mirror behind the bar and not much liking what I saw.

My hair was three times its normal volume and I had five times as much makeup on. I was wearing a skintight black dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. It had a straight bodice that sat low and tight making my not altogether spectacular cleavage nearly spill out and thus, exposed cleavage, as everyone knew, miraculously became spectacular. It also had spaghetti straps and the little ruffle (yes! a ruffle!) at the hem was the only thing that, when I was standing, saved me from having my ass cheeks hanging out. Sitting, it was a disaster. In other words, near-to crotch shot. Last, on my feet were spike-heeled, bronze sandals that I had to admit where hot but they fucking killed, even when I was sitting.

Serious yuck.

So not me.

Suffice it to say there was nowhere, as in no-freaking-where, to stash a weapon.

This meant I felt exposed in more ways than one and it sucked.

The only good thing was, I’d had my mani/pedi done the day before and in that getup they looked
awesome
.

My eyes slid to the art deco clock behind the cash register and I dipped my chin and muttered into the microphone taped between my shoved together and pushed up tits, “He’s half an hour late.”

In the transparent ear bud receiver tucked in my ear, I heard Hawk Delgado’s deep voice reply, “He’ll show.”

It was go time on Hawk’s job and I was meeting the contact to set up the principals in order to bring them down.

I was antsy for action.

This was partly because I hadn’t had a drink or cigarette in two weeks. I didn’t know if I was pregnant but the amount of effort Creed and I were putting into making me that way meant that undoubtedly would happen (I hoped) and I wasn’t taking any chances. As the days went by, it was getting better but I wasn’t there yet.

This meant I was in a bad mood.

Further, shit was falling into place and I wanted this job done.

I put my house on the market and, miracle of miracles, I got an offer that was acceptable within a week. This, I figured, was because I didn’t really give a shit what it sold for, so the buyers got a screaming deal but, whatever.

Money didn’t mean anything to me.

Starting my life with Creed did.

I’d set up an estate auction to sell everything even though most my shit was junk. Still, there were people who liked junk and I needed to unload it, so they were going to get their chance to have mine. Lucky me, this gave me my chance to kiss that crap good-bye.

As for Charlene, she’d made the decision to move back to her hometown. She had a brother and parents there that were concerned about her and too far away to help out. Her Mom was semi-retired so she could help take care of the kids and her brother owned some asphalt company and he needed an office manager. All she had to do was sell her house, pack up and go. When she unloaded the house, Creed, me and the kids were going to come up and help. Then his kids would go back to Phoenix and Creed and I were going to help drive her down to New Mexico.

I was ecstatic about this decision. First, she’d be close to a number of people who would have her back. Second, her family lived in a burg that was a good haul from Phoenix but it was a fuckuva lot closer than Denver.

Douchebag Dan was
not
ecstatic (which made me more ecstatic). He’d quit his job to start his new life and now was struggling. He wanted his piece of the house and he was balking at child support. On the flipside of that, Knight’s piranha attorney wanted to assist him in finding a way where he could fuck himself and the man was a master at this task.

Douchebag Dan was screwed. Knight’s attorney was already eating him alive, taking his time, making it tortuous and enjoying every second.

So was I.

Charlene hated it being ugly and the kids were subdued in response to their Mom trying but not exactly succeeding in hiding her heartbreak. So I hid the fact I thought it was the fucking bomb that Dan was squirming. It would be over soon, she and the kids would be with people who cared about them, she had a job, the extra income from Creed’s work and Dan would be forced to bend over and grab his ankles.

All was right with that world.

It was also right in mine. Chelle had immediately agreed to Creed getting the kids more when he returned to Phoenix. He’d have them every other weekend and Tuesday night through Thursday after school each week. When we went down there last weekend, it was clear the kids were thrilled with this.

I had been right. Chelle reported to Creed that when she told Kara and Brand that she and Creed had decided they’d spend more time with their Dad, Kara thawed toward her mother. She just wanted more Creed time. Chelle giving it to her and Creed sitting them down and making it clear that was a decision he and Chelle made because he wanted to spend more time with them and Chelle wanted them to have more of their Dad made her the good guy for once.

Further, Creed finally accepting that Chelle held some guilt for the collapse of their marriage and letting go of the burden he held meant that their relationship had also changed. They didn’t phone each other every day to have a gab but the baggage weighing on them was gone. It wasn’t hard to feel the ease that generated not only between those two but the kids sensed it too.

What made really fucking good infinitely better was that Creed was, in his badass way, over the fucking
moon
about all of this. He’d see his kids more, shit was sorted with his ex and he was going to have me.

Never, not in my life, not once, had I seen him this relaxed and happy. I knew why but that didn’t mean he didn’t tell me that he not only had it all but he seriously got off on the fact that, for the first time in sixteen years, our future was bright.

I loved that, fucking
adored
that he finally had that. He was a good man. He deserved it.

So, outside the occasional nic-fit, life was good.

As for me, Creed being pushy as well as bossy meant that, twice a week, I was seeing a therapist. I’d had five appointments and the first three didn’t go so well because I thought it was hogwash. I felt that all I really needed was Creed and eventually I’d work through my shit and get on with life.

At the end of my third appointment, my therapist told me he sensed I thought it was hogwash and suggested I didn’t trust him, thus he couldn’t help me and asked me if I’d like him to refer me to someone else.

I dug his honesty and the fact that he wasn’t willing to take my money even if I was shutting him out so he’d never help me but still get paid for it.

In other words, he broke through.

The next two appointments weren’t great either but only because reliving that shit sucked.

That said, there was something about unloading it on someone objective, watching the expressions on his face mirror some of the shit I felt bottled inside, not having to worry about what I said or how I reacted hurting him or affecting him like I would if I shared it with Creed or even Knight or Charlene that was such a massive relief, it was hard to express.

What it was, was instantaneous.

After the first appointment where I shared, I left feeling almost fucking giddy. The next, the same. My doctor warned me that when I began to dig further into what happened in order to move past it, I would have times when I would not feel giddy. Where it would be difficult, draining and even painful. I got that. It was just good to know that therapy actually worked. I was in the hands of someone who knew what he was doing and it was about me and only me, unloading a huge wad of crap and I didn’t have to drag anyone I loved into it.

Not to mention, I had not had a single dream since I decided to trust my psychologist which, in and of itself, was worth the money.

So all was good in Creed and Sylvie Land. My house was sold. My shit was going to be sold. Charlene and the kids were going to be in a good place. Most of my jobs were sorted and Charlene had billed so those files could be closed. Creed’s shit was sorted. And, after tonight when hopefully we’d tie the bow on Hawk’s job, I figured I had about a week of crap to deal with then I was in my girl and driving down to Phoenix to finally, fucking, fucking
finally
begin my life with Creed.

I couldn’t wait.

So I wanted this done.

Now.

I lifted the martini glass I’d asked the bartender to fill with cranberry juice, took a sip, put it down and murmured into my microphone, “This dress sucks.”

“Shut it, Sylvie,” Hawk ordered in my ear.

I didn’t shut it.

I muttered, “And I’m sitting down and these shoes
still
hurt.”

“Quit bitchin’,” Hawk replied.

“I didn’t sign up for this crap,” I told him which was a lie. It was anything goes with my jobs and this wasn’t the first time I tricked myself out. Usually it was to be a honey trap though I didn’t take that role all the way, ever.

This time, it was different.

“You’re gettin’ paid, babe,
and
I bought the fuckin’ dress and shoes you get to keep. Stop moaning,” Hawk returned.

Like I would ever wear this dress again.

The shoes… that was a different story.

I didn’t tell Hawk that.

“I hope you read the fine print in my contract that says if I have to show cleavage and wear shoes with a heel over three inches, my rate doubles,” I shot back.

“Baby,” another voice came into my ear and this was my man’s, “shut the fuck up, concentrate and don’t sit there muttering into your tits makin’ it look like you’re waitin’ to fuck over some asshole. He sees you doin’ that shit, these guys we’re hunting will take you out and tonight is not my night to lose you.”

That made me shut up and my eyes slid down the bar to take in the reflection of Creed sitting alone across the restaurant in a semi-circular booth with a martini glass in front of him too. He had his hand resting on the table next to the glass and the liquid was so high, I knew he hadn’t brought that glass to his lips.

I was not surprised. Even undercover, he wasn’t a vodka man. He was all about beer and tequila.

Like me.

His eyes were aimed at the room, not me and, since I didn’t have anything better to do, I felt it safe to study him in the mirror.

An excellent way to pass the time.

He was in a suit and I’d never seen him in a suit, not even back in the day.

Needless to say, he rocked it.

Hawk didn’t buy that suit for him, it was Creed’s. It was also made for him as in, literally. And, earlier that night, when I touched the lightweight wool fabric, it was so plush and fabulous, I wanted to rip off my clothes, rip off his jacket, wrap it around me and roll around in it naked.

Alas, this option wasn’t open to me. Still, I told Creed and I did this with intent. As suspected, when I imparted this information on him, Creed’s eyes flashed and then they promised I’d get that opportunity, just later.

Another reason I wanted this job done.

He also had on a tailored shirt, opened at the collar, in a color that matched his eyes. This brought into stark relief not only his tanned face and the strong, muscled line of his throat but also his rugged, scarred features. It too was made for him and fit so well, it hugged his abs, ribs, chest and shoulders in a way that, if it breathed, I’d be jealous.

He had his gun in one side of his shoulder holster, my gun in the other, a .22 in an ankle holster and a knife in his other boot.

In other words, he was seriously strapped and that was good since he was the man who had my back.

After telling me off, I heard him say to Hawk even as I watched him through the mirror and saw his lips did not move, “Do you have any visual at all?”

“Negative,” Hawk answered.

Creed and I were inside. I was the contact. Creed my backup, who would eventually follow me, hopefully undetected, to where the “deal” would go down.

Hawk and his boys were outside. Hawk on the prowl with his main man, Jorge, and another of his crew, Mo. He also had men in a surveillance van and eyes on the street, the back alley, the entrance of a nearby parking garage and the men’s bathroom.

I suspected (accurately) that Hawk was even more ready than me for this to go down. I suspected this because Creed and I had come in on the tail end of a job Hawk had been working for five months.

Apparently, some socialite in LA thought of her Mexican nanny as part of the family. She learned that her nanny’s sister, who had made a connection in Mexico to try to gain entry into the USA, had disappeared in the middle of attempting to seal this deal. Understandably, the nanny was beside herself and the socialite pulled Hawk in.

He investigated and found this happened often over the border to Mexican nationals so desperate to leave or to join loved ones that they didn’t check out the folks they handed their cash over to and thus they lost their money and their freedom.

Hawk wasted no time and got a lock on the slavery ring
and
the sister and it was sheer luck she was in Denver, Hawk’s home turf.

Extracting her safely was another matter which took frustrating amounts of time because it also took extreme amounts of preparation and finesse.

The part, or one of them, that made this job delicate was that, considering these folks were trafficking humans in the US of A, local cops had aligned with a federal task force to take down the entire ring which was operating multi-state. On the other hand, Hawk only had one mission, to recover the sister. So the task force wanted Hawk to back off. Hawk wanted to get the sister back to her family. There had been some butting of heads but Hawk Delgado was the kind of man who didn’t back down.