Hidden Scars (11 page)

       It would be fine. Her parents weren’t about to tell Sam where she’d moved to. Neither was Krista. That was the sum total of people from before who knew where she was. Sam couldn’t leave the state without violating parole, right? Maybe she should inform Portland PD just in case.

       She stared at the Chinese food on the counter. She should set it out. Or put it away. She should call Taylor and tell him not to bother coming back tonight. She’d be terrible company. The thump on her front door had her jumping out of her skin. It was probably Taylor.

       She crept toward the front door, glad she’d neglected to switch on lights in the living room. The peephole was almost too high for her to reach, but the glimpse she got through it showed it was definitely Taylor on her doorstep.
I am not going to throw myself at him. I don’t need to be coddled. I’m stronger than I was. I handled this before. I can do it myself this time, too.
She pulled open the door.

       His smile came easier and quicker than it had when they’d first started spending time together. She couldn’t bring herself to do the same. Numb. She couldn’t feel anything. “Hi.” The word felt foreign in her mouth.

       The next few minutes were a blur. He clasped her elbow, steered her into the living room, and got her onto the couch. The lamp next to the couch came on. A blanket was tucked around her legs, and he vanished, reappearing with a glass of water. He handed it to her and sat at her feet, one hand on her ankle.

       The water felt strange going down, and did nothing to alleviate the odd numbness in her limbs. She clutched the glass with her good hand, staring at it until he pried it from her.

       She lost track of time. It was probably minutes; it could have been well over an hour. “The food. You should eat some of it before it gets cold.” That was how her mouth was supposed to work, wasn’t it? To form words, to force them out so they could be heard.

       He left her on the couch, and the sounds of silverware clinking against plates drifted out from the kitchen. He was being…Taylor. Not asking questions. Now she wanted to cry. Her throat ached as tears welled, blurring her vision. Now she wanted to sob all over him, grateful he wasn’t going to ask.

       She could keep it to herself, at least until she’d figured out what to do.

       The scent of savory Chinese preceded the appearance of Taylor in her living room, and he handed her a plate heaped with food. The portion of sweet and sour chicken was larger than the others on her plate, and she swallowed hard, blinking to clear away the tears. The way he could figure things out, like that sweet and sour chicken was her favorite, was scary and comforting. She wanted to crawl onto his lap and hold on tight.

       He picked up the remote from the coffee table and handed it to her, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. “What were you planning to watch tonight?”

       For a moment, she stared at him. He really wasn’t going to say anything. Nothing at all. His normal behavior hammered at her fog, breaking it apart wisp by wisp. “
Bleak House
. They reran part one last night.” The TV flared to life, and she located the program on her DVR and hit Play.

       She picked at her food, the story drawing her in, letting it wash over the memory of the past few hours, obliterating her anger with Jeremy, making her forget about her swollen hand, pushing Sam and his parole and the nasty phone call into the back of her mind. The sweet and sour chicken disappeared, followed by the egg roll. She set the plate on the coffee table without touching the moo-shu pork and the fried rice.

       At some point, Taylor rose and collected the plates, carrying them off to the kitchen. She’d started to wonder if he’d left without her noticing when he set an ice pack and a towel on the coffee table and stood in front of her, blocking her view of the TV. She picked up the remote, leaned around him, and paused the show. “What?”

       He nudged her out of her corner and sat, pulling her close enough her knees rested on his lap. He curled a hand around the back of her neck, hazel eyes intent. “You’re okay?”

       Was she? She was calmer. There were steps she could take to handle Sam. Her hand throbbed, and she winced. “Hand hurts, if that’s what you’re asking.” She knew he wasn’t.

       He brushed a kiss over her knuckles and picked up the towel and the ice pack, wrapping the towel around it. She placed it over her knuckles, then picked up the remote and restarted the program.

       Taylor was still watching her, his gaze weighing on her. His hand slid down, over her back, and she shifted closer. She leaned into him. She hated herself for taking comfort from his embrace. That she finally felt safe. She’d created her own safety all these years.

       But as his arms tightened around her, she knew she could move away at any time, and he wouldn’t come after her. So she stayed.

* * *

       His brother Jamie’s most recent email wanted to shove its way into his thoughts. Focusing on Sara pushed it back. She was obviously upset about something. Upset to the point she appeared to be in shock.

       When no explanation was forthcoming, Taylor decided to make the evening as normal as possible. He started with the Chinese food she’d ordered. Clicking on the BBC crap she’d planned to watch was the next step, and he found himself drawn into Dickens’ classic tale.

       She’d set her plate aside after she’d eaten half of it, her attention on the screen in front of her.

       With Sara curled into him, an ice pack on her hand, he wondered if it was worth it to attempt to get it, whatever
it
was, out of her. It was big enough to scare her again.

       Gillian Anderson popped up onscreen, swanning around some dark cemetery. Sara snuggled closer. He’d hold his tongue. She’d tell him when she was ready. And if not, that was her choice.

       His thoughts drifted to Jamie’s message. Tony Flaherty had heard he’d relocated to the West Coast. Tony wanted to talk to him. He had no desire to talk to Tony. It might be smarter to do so, though, especially if Tony was talking to his family. Tony didn’t make threats very often, because when he threatened, he followed through. Taylor had the scars to prove it. Finding out what the man wanted meant he could figure out a way to divert his attention.

       Times had changed. The Pretty Boys, according to Jamie, were losing ground in Boston, being forced out of Charlestown, little by little. If Tony wanted to get in touch, he had to want something, and it had to be something he thought only Taylor could get for him.

       He was going to do everything he could to keep Tony away from Sara.

       Her head grew heavy on his shoulder, and he slid a hand up into her hair. Soft. Soft and warm on his skin, and he imagined the rest of her would feel the same.

       He shook her gently, and her head came up, brown eyes blurry with fatigue. “I need to get going.”

       Her sleep softened mouth was a temptation, and he allowed himself to indulge. He took his time, drawing in her sigh as her lips parted, letting her deepen it. It was as soft and warm as her hair, wholly unstudied and natural. A temptation leading to a seduction. Her hand crept up his chest, her mouth moving away from his to kiss along his jaw. Christ. She found the spot on his neck that drove him crazy, nibbling at it. She inched closer and shifted to straddle him.

       Her moan as their hips rocked together shot straight to his dick. He stroked a hand under her sweatshirt, and it was his turn to groan when he discovered she wasn’t wearing a bra. Cupping her breast, he rubbed his thumb over her nipple, the point hardening under his touch.

       Breaking the kiss was the last thing he wanted to do. Self-preservation demanded he do it. Otherwise he’d be carrying her to the bedroom.

       Her frustration was evident. “I’m not going to break,” she grumbled.

       He pushed a hand through his hair. “Believe me, I think I’ve figured that out by now.” He nodded to her hand, deliberately misunderstanding her. She climbed off the couch, snatched up the ice pack, and stalked into the kitchen.

       He needed a few minutes. Hell, he needed to get out of there, before he took something from her she wasn’t ready to give. Need for her was spiraling out of control, and he’d always prided himself on his extraordinary hold.

       “Do you want to take some of the food with you?”

       Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her silhouetted in the entryway to the kitchen. “Yeah.” He pushed to his feet and followed her in, picking up the containers of moo-shu pork and the last of the egg rolls. The plastic bag crinkled as he tied the handles shut.

       She looked a lot better than when he’d shown up. Stronger. Whatever had thrown her, she was handling it. It was one less thing for him to worry about. He lifted her injured hand and studied it. “Swelling’s gone down some, though I seriously doubt you’ll be able to use it tomorrow.”

       The face she made had him smiling. “I’ll worry about it then. Go. I need to lock up behind you.”

       He’d noticed the sophisticated alarm system and sturdy deadbolts on her front and kitchen doors. She was definitely not going to let anything scare her off.

       The kiss he gave her as he left was torture. He wasn’t all together pleased with the prospect of going home to a cold, lonely bed. Shaking it off, he pulled out his phone and blocked his outgoing number. The gesture was useless — Tony could get his hands on his phone number, address, place of employment, bank records, whatever he thought would be useful. But it made Taylor feel slightly less impotent as he input Tony’s number from memory.

       Even with the late hour, Tony answered on the third ring. “Tony Flaherty.”

       “It’s Taylor. I’m told you’ve been trying to track me down.”

       “How’s my favorite shadow these days? It’s been some time. You never come back to visit.”

       That’s because he wanted to stay away from the Pretty Boys. “Things are fine.”

       “Always so succinct. You’re on the West Coast these days, correct?” Taylor grunted in the affirmative. Denying it would be pointless. Tony likely already knew. “I’m in need of some information, and I’m hoping you’d be able to get it for me.”

       Absolutely not. “What are you looking for?”

       “We’re interested in some product out of Mexico. Fans out through the Midwest. We’ve been offered a share and an open market in Boston. No one else in the city has this product yet, but we need to know if it’s worth the trouble transporting it all the way across the country.”

       This
would be highly illegal. “Can’t help you, Tony. I’ve been out of the loop since I left Charlestown.” The light ahead of him turned red, and he slowed to a stop.

       Tony chuckled. “That’s what you’re good at, though. Finding the source without any clues. I’ve got a starting point for you, though, so you wouldn’t be flying blind.”

       “No.” His hand tightened on the steering wheel. He imagined it breaking beneath them, cracking into tiny pieces. “Honestly, from what little you’ve given me it sounds like this enterprise, whatever it is, is shakier than anything you’ve tried before. Do you really want to risk it?” The Pretty Boys had never gone in for narcotics, and if it was coming up from Mexico, that’s most likely what it was. They ran the standard protection rackets and hookers. Heists. If they were considering drugs of any kind, they were hard up for cash.

       “I hope you’ll take some time to consider my offer, Taylor.” Tony’s friendly voice went hard. “I’d prefer to use you, because the information you’ve provided in the past has been beyond valuable. Think of the benefit to your family. Your parents just took out a second mortgage, didn’t they? And after your pop got laid off.”

       Taylor gritted his teeth and focused on the road in front of him. The threat was clear: do as we tell you, and no one gets hurt. His parents were in a difficult enough situation as it was, even with Taylor and his brothers chipping in. Tony had the ability to make it worse. Much worse, to the point of pain.

       “I’ll give you a few days to think it over. I expect an answer by next Wednesday.”

       He pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex. “I don’t need to. The answer’s no, Tony. I haven’t done anything like what you need in over ten years. Even with a starting point, I doubt I could get what you’re after.”
Leave my family alone, asshole
.

       “Ah, now that’s too bad. I’m giving you until Wednesday in case you change your mind. Have a good evening, m’boy.” The line went dead.

       Tony Flaherty was not going anywhere near his family. He grabbed the bag with the Chinese food and headed for his apartment.

       Inside, he booted up his laptop and shot off a quick email to his parents. Ma would throw a fit. He hoped Pop would be able to talk her down. His youngest brother, Matt, had left the neighborhood a while ago, relocating to Milwaukee, but he emailed him as well. After a quick check of the time, he called Jamie instead of emailing him, since Jamie had been the go between so far.

       “’Sup.”

       “Tony’s up to something. Drugs, most likely. Wants me to check out a route from Mexico up through the Midwest. How bad has it gotten?”

       Jamie whistled. “Damn bad, if they’re considering that. They’re losing a lot of ground, man. A lot. Their presence is running toward obsolete, and I’d heard Tony was pissed.”

       “He threatened Ma and Pop. Financial stuff for now, although I don’t doubt he’ll go full bore when he realizes I’m not changing my mind.”

       “Shit.” Taylor stared out his kitchen window at the darkened parking lot while he waited for Jamie’s answer. “I’ll talk to them.”

       “Do that. Stay away from Tony.” Jamie had been smarter than him, avoiding the traps and pitfalls a lot of their classmates had fallen prey to, getting himself hired on with the utility company, buying a condo nearby so he was around to help their folks out if they needed it. But he could be hotheaded at times, and Taylor didn’t want his brother taking on trouble he couldn’t handle.