Ceasefire (16 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

We
never made it to breakfast.  Five minutes of afterglow was all we got to
experience, blissfully wrapped in each other’s arms, before my cell rang and
ruined the moment.

“Damn,”
I hissed.  “I should’ve turned that thing off.”

“Don’t
answer it,” he mumbled into my ear, nuzzling against my neck.  “I’ve waited a
year for this.”

“God,
me too, but I need to get it.  It’s probably Michelle and she’s worried that
I’m not in the office yet.  I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t let her
know I’m fine.”

He
chuckled as he rolled away and sat up on the couch.  “I hope you’re more than
fine.”

“Absolutely.” 
I gave him a peck on the cheek and scampered over to my purse, naked and still
slick from before.  I didn’t care.  My modesty had disappeared long ago.  And
besides, it was kind of fun to give him a little show.  I glanced at the
display and saw that I’d been right.  I answered, “Hey, Mish, I’m on my way.”

“Where
are you?”  Her voice sounded desperate, frantic.  Too urgent for me being only thirty
minutes late
,
according to the clock on Finn’s
wall.

“You’re
never going to guess who I ran into.”  I winked at Finn, then continued, “I’ll
tell you about it later, but what’s wrong?  Everything okay?”

“Get
here fast.  Like ten minutes ago fast.”

“What
happened?”  Dread seeped into my stomach.  It’s that fear of the unknown that
gets me.  What could’ve gone wrong?  Computer failure?  Leaky faucets?  An
unhappy client?  The possibilities were endless.  Finn raised an eyebrow at
me.  I shrugged.

Michelle’s
words flew out of her mouth in a jumbled, panicked mess.  “I’ll explain when
you get here, but for now, please, for God’s sake, just hurry up and get your
ass to the office, like I said, like ten minutes ago, okay?  I don’t know what
to do and I’m freaking the hell out.  Hurry.”

“Okay,
okay, take a deep breath.  Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine.”

“It’s
definitely
not
fine.”  One harsh click, and she hung up.

I
stared at my phone, wondering what just happened.  “Um, I—I think I have to
go.”

Finn
stood, pulling his pants up as he went, hooking the button and fastening his
belt.  “What was that all about?”

“I
have no clue.  Shit!”  I glanced around at my feet and found my crumpled mass
of clothes.  “I’m sorry,” I said, as I hurriedly got dressed, “but Michelle’s
freaking out and I don’t have the slightest clue what’s going on.”

“Is
it serious?  And, who’s Michelle?”

“Best
friend.  Business partner.  Whatever it is, I’ll tell you about it later, but
this sounds like a five-alarm emergency.”  I fumbled around in my purse, found
a pen, and tore a scrap of paper off an old envelope.  “Here’s my number.  Do
not
lose it this time.”  I dashed over, shoved it in his hand, and then kissed his
soft, magnificent lips.

“When
should I call?”

“Tonight? 
Tonight.  I’m sorry, I know this really sucks, but please call this evening.”

One
last kiss and I hurried out Finn’s front door, down the sidewalk, and into my
car.  I didn’t peel away on the blacktop, but I hit the gas pedal so hard my
head snapped back into the seat.

***

Michelle
paced around the office waiting room as I walked through the front door.  She
had her arms crossed, tucked tight around herself, and it was easy to see that
she’d been crying.  Her normal spotless perfection was now a muddled, chaotic
web of tangled hair, a runny nose, and streaking mascara.  She swiped her nose
on a green sweater sleeve and practically leapt forward, pulling me into a hug.

“What
happened?” I asked as I returned the embrace, then leaned back to look at her.

“Lucy’s
in the hospital.”

My
mouth dropped open.  “Oh no, is she okay?”

Michelle
shook her head.

“Was
she in a car accident or something?”

She
shook her head once more, looking away.  “That probably would’ve done less
damage.”

“Really? 
But what—”

“A
client did it.”

“No,”
I said, dragging out the word in a long whisper of disbelief.  I tried to
recall whom she’d been with the night before.  Lucy had a huge collection of
A-list clients that had stuck with her for years.  Wealthy, powerful, famous
men that would never risk getting too rough, much less hurt her badly enough to
require a hospital visit.  From the way she talked, they adored her.

Only
recently, like within the past week, had she even entertained the idea of
bringing some new clients on board.  There were a couple of prospects, but I
didn’t think she’d finalized anyone.  We hadn’t even processed the background
checks yet.

“Who
was it?” I asked, feeling the anger roiling inside. 

Michelle
whimpered, “I don’t know.  She called last night, after you left to go pick up
Joey, and said she’d met a guy with deep pockets and wanted to take him out for
a test drive.”

“You
told her no, right?  Not without the background check?”

“Well,
yeah.  I mean, I did at first, but then she said he was offering numbers with,
like, five zeroes behind them, just to
start
, and that he planned to
stick around for a while.”

“You
didn’t…”

The
corners of Michelle’s mouth pitched downward as her bottom lip trembled.  She
couldn’t hold back the tears.  “I thought it would be okay,” she insisted. 
“Lucy knows—she
knows
people and how they are.  And we’ll need that kind
of money when the time comes, Kim.  I didn’t know.  I didn’t know.”  Shoulders
bent, shaking, she sobbed into her hands.

I
pulled her close, hugging her, stroking her hair.  “I would’ve done the same
thing,” I lied. 

She
sniffed and pulled away.  “No, you wouldn’t have.  I know you better than
that.  You would’ve made her wait.  You would’ve told her that the risk wasn’t
worth it.”

I
pinched my lips together.  She did know me pretty well.  “Maybe, but that’s
beside the point, Mish.  How’d you find out?”

“A
nurse called from the hospital, right before I called you.  She said Lucy can’t
even hold a phone, but she wanted us to know that she’s okay and that she won’t
be working for a while.”

“Come
on,” I said, grabbing her arm.

“Where
are we going?”

“To
the hospital.”

***

Our
ride to Blessed Heart Memorial was a quiet one after I’d pressed Michelle for
all the details she’d been able to gather from the nurse.  The news of Finn’s
return, and our subsequent lustful celebration, could wait.  Lucy’s health and
safety were infinitely more important, no matter how badly I wanted to tell
Michelle that something wonderful was on the horizon.

I
almost fainted when we walked into Lucy’s room.  The sight of her lying there,
damaged, beaten and broken like a doll tossed out of a speeding car’s window,
was nearly too much to bear.  And really, it looked like she’d been run over by
a rig and dragged down the highway.

Such
a gorgeous, brilliant woman, reduced to a crippled heap of tubes, casts, and
blackened bruises.

A
nurse, tall and thin with wispy gray hair, finished readjusting an I.V. and
sidestepped over to us.  “She can talk,” the nurse said, “but she doesn’t
remember anything, or doesn’t want to tell us what happened.  Maybe you can get
it out of her, but don’t press too much, okay?  She needs her rest.  I’ll check
back in a bit.”

While
I managed to maintain my composure, barely—I’m not sure that choking back
nausea counts—Michelle disintegrated into a puddle of tears, sobbing, and
unintelligible words.  The only thing I could pick out was, “My fault,” before
she stumbled over to a chair and fell into it.

I
took Lucy’s hand.  It felt cool and dry.  The long, exquisitely manicured nails
seemed out of place, foreign, there in the hospital bed.

My
heart ached.  She opened her left eye only; the right was black, purple, and
swollen shut.  What was once white in the good eye was now a deep, blood red. 
She smiled through puffy lips, and from what I could see, thank God, she still
had all of her teeth.  “Hey, Kim,” she squeaked.

“God,
Lucy, I’m so sorry.”

“Why’s
she’s crying?” Lucy asked, wincing and lifting her chin toward Michelle.

“She
thinks it’s her fault.”

Michelle
looked up long enough to say, “It is.  It
is
my fault,” before returning
her disassociated gaze back out the window.  She picked at a loose piece of
skin on her bottom lip and stared off into the distance.

“No,”
Lucy said.  “No, sweetheart, I knew better.”  But Michelle wouldn’t listen. 

“Who
was it?” I asked.  “Who did this shit to you?”

“I
can’t remember.”

“Try. 
What did he look like?  What was his name?”

She
shook her head, hissing at the pain in her neck.  Her left arm was in a cast,
as was her right leg.  Her face was a swollen mass, and from the looks of it,
she had bandages wrapped around her middle, likely for a number of broken
ribs.  One long gauze pad taped to the side of her forehead, stained with
seeping blood.  She was lucky she survived the attack. 

Lucy
said, “I really don’t know.  When I try to picture him, it’s just a fuzzy, gray
mess in my head.  We were at the Concord Hotel downtown, that’s all I
remember.”

“Then
there should be a record of you guys checking in, right?  That should give the
police something to go on.”

Her
left eye popped open further.  “No cops.”

“Jesus,
Lucy, we have to.  Look what happened to you.”

She
swallowed hard.  “My mouth’s so dry.  Can you hand me some of that water?”  I
did, and she sucked through the straw while I held the cup.  Water dribbled
from the corner of her mouth.  “I don’t want the police involved.”

“Why?”
I pleaded.

“And
tell them what I was doing there?  No thank you.”

I
pulled up a nearby chair and sat beside the bed, holding Lucy’s hand.  As much
as I hated to admit it, and wanted the guy that did this to be caught and
punished, she had a point.  While we were officially in the “entertainment”
business, getting the police involved would lead to more questions than we
wanted to answer.  Shit like this was the reason Roman hired guys like my
former bodyguard, Saunders, to stand outside in the hallway.

I’d
been meaning to do it, but it wasn’t in the budget, not until the six-month
period was up and we had income to work with.  Such an idiotic idea to forsake
everyone’s safety in the name of the bottom line.  I didn’t throw the punches,
but it was just as much my fault for not making safety a priority.  As I stared
at Lucy, who grimaced every time she took a breath, I decided that we
absolutely had to hire security detail as soon as possible.  I felt horrible.

I
asked, “You can’t remember anything at all about him?  Nothing whatsoever?”

Lucy
managed to turn her head toward me.  “Not a thing.  I wouldn’t even know where
to start.”

“Maybe
I could go down to the Concord and ask some questions.  Did you talk to anyone
at the front desk?  Did they see you with him?”

“Kim…no. 
I don’t want you getting involved.  What if he finds out you’re asking around? 
You could be in that other bed over there, and I don’t want that weighing on my
chest.”  She tried to smile.  “It’s too hard to breathe already.”

“It
won’t be like that, I promise.”

“Too
risky.  Maybe if you had a friend that owed you a favor or something, but I
don’t want you anywhere near this guy.  Mama Hen’s orders.” 
Mama Hen
. 
That’s what all the other ladies called her, and even though Michelle and I were
the owners and technically her boss, we were part of her brood, too.

Michelle
came to life in the corner.  “What did you say?”  She pushed herself up from
the chair and walked briskly toward us.  “You said something about a favor.”

“I
don’t know,” Lucy mumbled.  “Just a thought.”

Michelle
said to me, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I
might be?” I said, twisting the sentence into a question.  If we were thinking
the same thing, it was our best option until we could scrape together the funds
to hire bodyguards, or possibly even a private investigator.

Or
a hitman.

“That
guy,” she said.  “The oilman from Texas.  Remember how you always said he
adored you?  What was his name?”

“Walter
Wickam.”  Where was she going with this?  I thought she was talking about
having me do a couple of nights with my old clients to raise some petty cash.

“I
didn’t have a chance to tell you.  He called yesterday.”

“He
did?  Why?”  As far as I knew, he’d found someone in Dallas to cater to his
scandalous desires once he found out I’d left Roman and was no longer
available.