Mobster's Bones (Mobster #5) (6 page)

“Shit! Watch where you’re going!” I swing around out of annoyance but the person melts into the crowd. I barely get a glimpse of dark hair before it is swallowed up. I rub my arm and get in line, trying to shake the innocuous bump from someone in a crowd. It could happen to anyone, but there was something off about it.

I am relieved to find Alessandra exactly where I left her. “Here you go.” I hand her a burger wrapped with foil. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted on it so I grabbed a bunch of condiment packets.”

“Plain is great.”

“A plain burger? You need to load that up with ketchup and mayonnaise.”

“Yuck! No thanks.” She wrinkles her nose. I have the overwhelming urge to kiss it. Everyone around us jumps up cheering. I have no clue what happened. I scan the field and listen to the announcer over the loudspeaker.

“He zips the ball into the end zone to the running back just before getting taken down by a linebacker! Perfect!”

“He’s talking about Jake?”

“Yes.” I take a bite of my hotdog. It’s cold and the bun is soggy. I toss it into the little cardboard tray that I carried the food with.

“You don’t like it?” Alessandra questions, eating her burger.

“Nah, I’m not that hungry.” Normally, I would down the food without caring about the temperature or condition. But my mind keeps going back to the guy at the concession stand.

I spin around in my desk chair and the vision of Alessandra crossed-legged reading a magazine on my bed stuns me.
How can someone be so beautiful?
The morning sunlight leaks through the blinds on my window, casting a soft glow around her. She has been here for a week, and we have fallen into a routine. It is sort of like she has always been here. These seven days have turned into a connection that feels like it has been there my entire life. Imagining her leaving gives me an unwanted stone in my stomach.

Knock, knock.

I stand and unlock the door.

“Hey. Blow off English and let’s get some breakfast.” Jake is leaning on the doorframe.
              “I can’t.” I sigh. “I already missed a class and it is getting close to midterms.”

“How about I go with Jake?” My face falls at Alessandra’s request. “I don’t think I can take another day of Professor Droning-on-and-on.” She drops her magazine on my desk, joining us at the door. My immediate reaction is no, and it’s not because Vito said I have to watch her and not let her out of my sight. It’s because I
want
her with me. I am getting used to her being around and liking it way too much.

“Uh?”

“Hanging out with Jake should be fine.” Alessandra’s tone is hopeful and persuasive.

“Um… Let me talk to Jake for a minute.”

Alessandra waves her hand at me, a little disgusted, but doesn’t argue. She walks away from the door and picks her magazine back up.

I push Jake out into the hall.

“You’ll have to stay with her until I get back.”

“Why?”

“You just do.” My eyebrows cinch together, sending Jake the message that I can’t talk about it.

“That’s fine,” he agrees.

Jake steps around me back into my room.

“So, where do you want to go?”

Alessandra bounces off the bed, snatching her purse off my desk.

“Some place I haven’t been.”

The autumn sunlight blinds me immediately as I step out of the dorm with Jake and Alessandra. She is going with Jake and not me. I really don’t like that.

As I glance at her, movement grabs my attention. Someone is on the other side of a tree directly across from where we are standing.

“We’ll catch up with you after.” Jake bounces away, pleased to have a breakfast partner. I look again at Alessandra and feel a pang at the thought of not being with her. I peer again at the tree and the person is gone.

“Bye.” I glimpse at my watch, not wanting to be late. But the whole scenario seems unfinished, like I should give her a kiss goodbye. Maybe it’s that my feelings want me to. I gaze at her face and I see what I have been seeing on and off all week, a haunting dread. I question whether it’s from what she has gone through, which I still don’t know what that is, or it’s because she’s having second thoughts about going with Jake instead of me.

“Bye,” we say in harmony and discomfort rises to the surface. As I watch her and Jake walk away, I want to kick myself because I should have kissed her.

***

The clock on the wall above the professor’s head clicks by at a snail’s pace. I look down at my watch for what good it does. It is exactly the same fucking time. My fingers itch to take out my phone to check to make sure both the clock on the wall and the watch on my wrist are correct. My leg is bouncing underneath my desk.

What is she doing right now?

And with Jake?

              Maybe I should send a text?

Jake’s a good-looking guy.
What if she falls for him? She was a bit too happy to go to breakfast with him. What if something happens and I’m not there? Is being with Jake really safe?

Nothing has happened since she’s been here. I don’t even know what I expect to happen, just that Vito tells me to stay with her. He left me a gun so it must be bad.

“Troy?” Carl whispers, pulling me out of my inner messed up tirade. “Where’s that girl?”

“Why the fuck do you want to know?” All bodies in the room turn to me because what I said came out way too loud.

“Mr. O’Connell? Is there a problem?”

“No. No. Sorry, Professor Sisal,” I stammer. My eyes narrow at Carl. He sniggers and turns back to the front of the room.

Ass!

“Where are we going?”

It is a sunny Sunday afternoon, and I love hanging out together. Troy is being very secretive when he pulls his car in front of a small string of stores in South Bend.

“I think you need something sweet.”

“What?”

We get out of the car and Troy takes my hand, leading me to a tiny store on the end. A wooden sign decorated with a chocolate cupcake with pink frosting hangs strategically on an angle with the words
Cupcake Queens.

I peer through the window, passed the billowing candy-striped curtains to the counter lined with all sorts of fancy cupcakes. Old-fashioned ice cream tables and chairs painted white are scattered across the quaint shop. Troy opens the door and a little bell rings.

“It is so cute in here,” I tell him.

“I thought you would like it.”

I stand over the rows on rows of cupcakes, deciding on the one I want. They have creative flavors like s’mores, mint chip, and lemon meringue pie.

“Can I help you?”

I am grinning ear to ear when I tell the clerk that I can’t decide.

“Get whatever you want. We can take some back to the dorm for later,” Troy suggests.

“What are you going to get?”

“I am going with the traditional white cake and chocolate frosting.”

“Really? There are so many different flavors here.”

I bend down, taking another good look into the brightly lit case.

“I have to go with the s’mores,” I declare. “It reminds me of barbequing in our small back yard in Palmetto.”

Troy sits at a table by the window, and I am right behind him carrying my enormous cupcake with half of a Hershey bar stuck into the graham cracker–dusted frosting.

“This looks so delicious.”

I peel the wrapper off the bottom, getting icing on my finger. I lick it off and catch Troy watching me. When my gaze falls to his a glob of chocolate frosting sits on the side of his lip. I can’t resist it so I lean across the table slowly and place my lips right over the wayward chocolate and suck it off.

Troy dips his finger into the top of his cupcake and wipes it on his lips. I laugh and lean forward again, sucking it off. Troy doesn’t let me move away. His hand tangles in my hair and he holds me close, kissing me. It’s sweet in more ways than one.

“I am definitely taking you for cupcakes more often.” Troy lets me go and we sit silently eating. I can’t shake off my grin.

***

It’s bedtime. I dread and look forward to it. I hate it because I never know when the nightmares are going to strike but I love it because Troy is lying inches from me, his bed close to mine. If the nightmares do come, he always consoles me. He sits by me until I can fall back to sleep. I turn on my side and cradle my hands beneath my head, staring at his empty pillow.

I wrestle with if I should push the beds together. It’s such a small space. It is insignificant. If I push the beds together, then Troy can be more comfortable if I have a bad dream.

I leap up, making the decision, and shove my bed into his, the blankets crumpling together as they are squished between my bed and his. I get back in mine, fixing my sheet. I fluff and punch my pillow and lie back down.

The door to the bathroom opens and Troy notices the beds. He takes his watch off and places it on his side table. He is wearing a pair of shorts. From what I can tell since coming here, he doesn’t really like to sleep in clothes.

He lifts his blankets and crawls in. He tugs on his sheets, freeing them from where I crushed them in between the beds.

“Is this okay?” I ask. He flips over to face me and props his head on his hand.

“This way you can be more comfortable and not have to get out of bed.” Am I trying to sound convincing?

“I love a thoughtful woman,” he jeers. He closes the short gap between us and gives me a quick kiss. “Goodnight.”

“’Night, Troy.” I shift, getting comfortable.

Bad dreams are going to be few and far between tonight. The small action of closing the gap between us makes me feel more settled and secure. The kiss was nice. I could get addicted to kissing Troy.

I squirm into the softness of the mattress, getting cozier before falling into a dreamless sleep.

Even while I rifle through my clothes, the daily weight of the haunting vision of my mother steals all of my energy. It sucks the life from me to the point of exhausting distraction. I hate it. I want it to stop. Some days are better than others. Waking up entangled in Troy’s arms has been comforting but eventually it all comes back in a tidal wave.

I’ve been trying really hard to hide it but sometimes when Troy looks at me it’s like he can see right through me. He’s waiting for me to talk about something that I’m not ready to share. I toss aside the few shirts I have with me in disgust.

Troy comes out of the bathroom from his shower.

“Do you think we could take a trip to the mall? I could use a few things.”

“Sure. We can go to University Park. It’s crowded on a Saturday but they have just about any store you can think of,” he declares, rubbing a towel in his hair to get the moisture out. His pale skin glistens with small undried beads of water. I would have loved to have taken a shower with him. With his blond hair and pale skin, he looks yummy. He catches me staring, and I turn away from him, my cheeks burning.

“Give me a few minutes.”

I walk to the bathroom and shut the door, deciding that today I am going to try really hard to go more than five minutes without thinking about stalkers and corpses. I owe it to Troy, who has been nothing short of wonderful since I have been here. Mixed with the haunting thoughts are ones that feel like I have always been here and that this is what life should be like. Being here with Troy feels right.

***

              University Park Mall is enormous with boutiques, specialty vendors, and large department stores. I know exactly where I want to go—Nordstrom’s. Troy pulls into the parking garage and I direct him to the store’s elevators. Car exhaust seeps in through the vents and the dark gray concrete steals all of the light, making it depressing and eerie.

“How do you know where to go? You’ve never been here,” Troy asks, impressed by my navigating abilities.

“It’s a mall. You learn the layouts by frequenting them. They all have the same basic philosophy.”

“O-kay,” Troy draws out.

Inside, I scan the store directory and see where I want to go.
Women’s clothes.
I go to the escalator in the center of the store and Troy follows. How I love the mall—the sights, the sounds, the smell of fresh fabrics and new perfumes. I’m in my element. I miss Megan.

“I like going shopping with Megan. We think the same way.”

“Really. I like hanging with Megan too, but the mall isn’t my first choice.”

“I’ll try to make it painless.” I spin a little sarcasm in my voice and smile at him. “If you’re good, I’ll get you a candy bar at Godiva.”

“Thanks,” he says, and the edges of his lips curl into a smirk as we step off the escalator.

I walk straight ahead and begin to scan the racks. I could use more jeans, a sweater, and a few more pairs of underwear. I sling a couple of hangers over my arm and continue to sift through the rounders and then walk over to the wall of jeans.

“I smell coffee,” Troy comments, sniffing loudly.

“Yeah, there is a coffee place right in the store.” I peer around quickly. I point. “Over there.”

“That is awesome. I’m going to grab a cup. Do you want some?”

“Sure. Small decaf with Splenda.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll be in the fitting room.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

I snatch a couple pairs of pants off the shelf in my size and head over to find a place to try them on. Four deluxe changing rooms are before me. A huge three-sectioned mirror with a platform is laid out in the main area. The carpet and furniture is done up in golds and purples with chandeliers dangling from the ceiling.

The mini doors to the rooms are paneled with elaborate knobs. I pick the first one, shut the door, and slide the lock into place. I take in the small area, hanging up my selections and piling the jeans on the chair. I kick off my heels and immediately become three inches shorter. I look down to unbutton my pants and begin wiggling out of them while reaching for a pair to try on.

Icy slivers of dread slip down my back as motion in the mirror in front of me grabs my attention. Reflected back through the mirror is a pair of black shoes beneath the short door. My eyes widen, breaching their sockets and biting into the tender skin around them. Paralyzing fear seizes me, and I stare at the shoes. My mind shuffles around thinking about what kind of shoes Troy had on. I’m sure it was sneakers, but my terror has made me one of the mannequins that are lined up on display in between the racks, immobile and helpless.

The shoes shift in their stance, hangers rattle, and from above I see a small edge of cloth pass over the top of the changing room door. Lacy fabric falls in slow motion as a scream claws up my neck and I let it go. The screech hurts and the shoes turn, leaving quickly.

Troy is calling my name.

“Alessandra!” I hear him outside my door. I fumble for the lock, slip it back. I open the door a crack. Troy pushes it open and I do a double step back as he forces himself in. “What’s wrong?” Troy grabs my arms and I am like a limp rag doll. “What happened?!” he urges. I reach up and wrap myself around his neck, sobbing into his shirt, scared shitless.

I pull away. “Did you see anyone?”

“No. Who was it?” Troy’s face is haunted and he is scanning around us, probably in reaction to my own horror. Did I overreact?

“I don’t know.”

“What happened?” he asks again, and I search around in my mind for an answer.

I gesture to the mirror and see Troy and me in it. He’s taller than I am, especially without my shoes on. Our complexions and hair are complete opposites. My hair is dark, almost black, while his is light, almost a sandy blond. Troy’s lips are a hard line, worried and perplexed; mine are parted in dread and misery.

He reaches down and picks up a lace nightgown.

“Someone threw that over the door,” I mutter, completely shaken up.

A small crowd has gathered outside the fitting room, and I notice that I don’t have any pants on. My hands are trembling.

“Let me get dressed,” I tell Troy, embarrassed.

“Okay.” Troy is hesitant, takes a deep look at me, but steps out. “I’ll be right here.” He is adamant, pointing his finger toward the floor.

Unsteady, I stumble, trying to put my jeans back on. I slip on my heels and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Who am I? My eyes are sunken; purplish crescents have made a home beneath them. My face is washed out with fear. I open the dressing room door and Troy is right there guarding it. The small group of onlookers has dispersed.

“Ready?” he probes, concerned.

“Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

He slides his arm around my shoulders and holds me as we walk back through Nordstrom’s to the parking garage where it is quiet. A couple of cars start up and maneuver toward the exit.

Troy’s arm slips off my shoulder and a warm hand envelops mine. It is a comfort. Actually, it is the most ease that I have experienced in a very long time. The whole dressing room episode slides away, but it has left me really tired, and my body wants to check out. The temperature change from the mall to the garage sends a small tremor through me.

“Are you tired?” Troy’s voice is soft and tender and his hand squeezes mine.

I smile and lean into him. Going back to the time when I first met Troy, I must have fantasized about a relationship with him about a million times. I think he represented an escape for me. He is someone different from anyone I have ever met. He’s not like the guys I grew up with. He didn’t even grow up in my neighborhood. I found him fascinating. The fact that I haven’t truly been able to enjoy my time with him because of all the shit that is going on pisses me off.

“Hey.” Troy stops walking and turns me to face him. “What’s up? Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.” Right now feels very intimate between us—a stolen moment. He taps the tip of my nose with his index finger and for a second I think he is going to lean in and kiss me. I brace for it. I want it. I angle my body, letting him know as we stand here face to face that it’s what I want. The sloppy kisses the other night in my alcohol-induced haze are sitting on the back burner never discussed like they didn’t happen. I appreciate that. It makes me appreciate Troy even more.

Sluicing the air, the ping of a bullet whizzes by our heads in the cold, concrete parking garage; I go rigid with the familiar sound of a gun with a silencer.

With our fingers linked, I yank Troy behind a beige SUV.
I am so freaked I don’t know what’s real or imaginary anymore
.
The small bit of calm disintegrates and my body goes in full fear mode.

“Shit!” Troy and I cry out in unison.

“Silencer!” I rasp to Troy before intense shaking racks my body. My mind is jumbled and it’s hard for me to think as I sink to the ground.