No Brainer ( The Darcy Walker Series #2) (51 page)

I let out a big heavy sigh.

Some things never changed…

Lincoln twisted the top off his water, eyes immediately darting to the open box of shoes as he helped me up. “Are you okay, dear?”

“My butt feels like I sat in acid.”

He chuckled while he slid into the seat next to me. “So you’re upset about Darky?”

I chose to stick with the obvious. “Yeah.”

He released a moan of condolence. “That’s what happens when you refuse to be interviewed and sneak out the backdoor with a mobster.”

I rolled my eyes glumly, shoving over an untouched plate of hummus and pita chips, opting for a lunch of three glazed doughnuts. “So umm, Bats is … umm … you know,” I stumbled, “Turkey’s guy—”

“Bats is proving useful,” was his politically correct let’s-keep-Darcy-in-the-dark statement. His jaw clamped down like a clam, and I realized Lincoln would never give me information again for the rest of my not-so-long life. Well, you know what, I figured that’d be his response. So before I fell asleep, I located his BlackBerry and copied down two numbers that made several calls to him a week that he never dialed as return calls. One or both had to be his contact. When I dialed, both numbers rang nonstop. Those on the other end either weren’t home, didn’t have an answering machine, or the caller had used a payphone or burner phone. In my humble interpretation of an informant, my thoughts were they’d used the latter.

I tried not to act too overly triumphant, and although a payphone or burner phone would prove difficult to stake out, I didn’t give up easily. Even from an opposite coastline.

Pixie’s tush was mine … even if it took awhile.

Willow inched onto Lincoln’s lap, carrying a container of strawberry cheesecake yogurt. Obviously, Lincoln and Alexandra were beyond ecstatic. My feelings were once Willow flashed her pearly whites, Lincoln would find a way to wrap up loose ends with Detective Battle ...
indefinitely
.

She was barefoot, meticulously coiffed in a casual black sundress, and only 135 pounds at 6’1”. It didn’t matter if you weighed a buck thirty-five when you had that much height on you. It only meant you were one skinny step closer to Heaven.

Willow lifted the lid on the box. “Cute shoes,” she said. “Who are they from?”

First impulse had been to cover my big, white, booty … but Grizzly knew where I’d been staying, and if he kept sniffing around, he’d eventually unearth Willow. I needed to fess up because her days of anonymity went the way of the wooly mammoth. Not to mention, she might have a target on her back.

I nervously unfolded the crumpled note, slowly sliding it over.

Lincoln’s eyes zoomed in on Grizzly, then his breath caught twice, and he winced like his gut burst into an inferno. He never mentioned Jester, and frankly, I don’t think he even registered the word. It was all he could do to keep from aiming his gun. The vice cop was gone, replaced by a frantic father who gripped his daughter’s wrist so hard it looked in danger of snapping.

Willow burst into laughter. “You know Walter?” she giggled. I almost upchucked; Lincoln swallowed his down. Willow registered his discomfort, touching his arm. “Grizzly can be lecherous and inappropriate, Dad, but he’d never hurt our family. He’s gotten me out of a few scrapes with no strings attached.”

From what I’d seen of Grizzly, his world was that outer circle of Dante’s Inferno. That place where nothing but crap happens amongst the baddest of the bad. No doubt, Lincoln pondered what circles his daughter ran in. He believed there were strings attached to everything. After last night, I had to agree.

His voice sounded breathy, like he’d gone into anaphylactic shock. “Did he know of our connection before last night?” he gasped agitated. Willow nodded no. “Does he know of your mother? Has he ever been at this home? Threatened you? Blackmailed you?”

Lincoln’s rage ticked like a thermonuclear device one second away from decimating civilization. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he wasn’t even aware that Willow had begun to wipe them away. No wonder she never told her father anything. Lincoln was eons worse than Murphy.

Willow responded with a tender, “No to all of your questions, Daddy. I’ve always done what you’ve taught me. The less you give people, the less they can use against you. Photographs of you and Momma are only in my room.”

I inched my fingers over to the note and quickly slid it inside my tube sock. Out of sight, out of mind … I hoped.

Willow hugged Lincoln deeply as he took one big breath. Next on his agenda (just my guess) would be to contract private surveillance for his daughter. Possibly from FX, Incorporated. Lincoln divulged that the two men accompanying him and Paddy were Felix Xavier and one of his hired guns. They weren’t too pleased to know they’d been had and volunteered front and center for the party Lincoln had expected. I’m sure they got paid rather handsomely, but then again, guys like that had odd hobbies. The thrill was probably worth a pro bono gig.

Once Lincoln broke free, Willow picked up a shoe, twirling it around, trying to divert his attentions. “I’d ask to borrow,” she smiled, “but I wear a nine.”

Huh, who in the world was the owner of the shoes I’d demolished?
What-evvvs,
I shrugged. Looks like Darcy had a new pair of shoes.

Willow ran a well-manicured nail down the front page, scanning the lead story with a frown. “Darky?” she laughed. I raised my hand. “One would think
The Sentinel
would get it right. They win a lot of awards. I dated the sports editor over there for a while until I discovered he was married.” The muscles ticked in Lincoln’s jaw. I kicked him under the table.

“Are you sure it wasn’t the copy editor?” I mumbled. “That guy’s flubbed up two vital pieces of information. FX, Incorporated and my God-given name.”

Lincoln managed a laugh. “She’s got a point, Will. If he couldn’t get Darky’s name right,” I raised my hand again, “then no wonder he forgot he took a vow.”

Willow gave her father the twinkled-eye look that landed her on the cover of
Vogue
when she was only sixteen. Normally, that conversation would be the death knell for Lincoln, but he was currently on this side of the dirt.

Half a baloney sandwich later, I finished explaining to Herbie how Eleanor siphoned off his money. Kyd had me break it down earlier, but then I concluded he only wanted to talk. Talk about Mary … talk about me … talk about the differences between Mary and me. Kyd confused me, but I didn’t think it wise to tamper with a four-year relationship simply because of a girl you saw for two weeks in the summer. What I
did
know was when I finally picked a boyfriend it wouldn’t be a guy already taken. I had a low enough self-esteem; why put myself in a competitive situation where no one emerged the winner?

Besides, can you just say … skeevy.

Tricky had finished saying goodbye, escorting Herbie back to the Escalade they’d been washing in their circle drive. His exact words, “Eleanor’s not an alien, Herbie. She was just stealing your money.”
Good luck with that conversation
, I thought. No matter how you spun it, Herbie would never be playing with a full deck.

Kyd whispered out a sigh, leaning up against the basketball goal. “I now understand why Taylor finds you so fascinating.”

“Fascinating, no,” I laughed. “Obligated, yes. He keeps my hyperactivity and compulsive tendencies in check.”

“I can see that,” he said quietly. “Come here.” I didn’t want to ‘come here.’ Kyd had that faraway look in his eyes that spoke of joint checking accounts and tag-teaming the nightly baby feedings. The wind came in relentless waves, rocking me back and forth. I couldn’t tell if it tried to blow me back home … or closer to Kyd.

Quickly hammering myself in reverse, I stepped one sneaker inside the soapy bucket they’d used to wash the SUV, the other sliding in a pool of water. It felt like I’d hit an oil slick. I slipped backward onto the grass, backward rolled into a palm frond, then bounced butt-first into a bed of begonias. Instinct told me it wasn’t over. Perhaps the hysterical laughing of Tricky clued me in or the dumbfounded disbelief of Kyd who’d been struck motionless. The bucket slow-mo’d in the air and landed with a ting in the middle of my lap. My shorts and white tank were soaked down to my now frothy underwear.

Immediately my tongue poised to say every sacrilege and cuss word you could think of, but all that came out was, “Wow.”

After everyone took a moment to let that crap gel, Kyd pulled me up into his arms. “Come here, Miss Wow,” he chuckled. At this point, I succumbed to the situation. You hoped no one witnessed your stupidity; unfortunately, mine had been laid out for public consumption.

Kyd held out two towels, and I was in dire need of three. As we blotted my arms and legs dry, the punch in my gut alerted me Kyd wanted to get personal.

“Thanks,” I mumbled as we finished. Kyd threw them to the ground beneath our feet, taking both my hands tenderly in his.

“You’ve hijacked my heart, Darcy,” he murmured. When I responded with a blush, he sighed in explanation. “Yes, Mary and I have our problems, but she’s always been … Mary,” he said wistfully. “
My
Mary. Now, she’ll always be second best.”

I nibbled my bottom lip. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He appeared thoughtful. “
I’m
not. Is it easy for you to talk to me?”
Yup
, I said to myself. “Does that bother you?”
Yup
, I admitted again. “Does it confuse your nice, little compartmentalized world?”
Yuppers
. “Think about what it does to mine.”

“Kyd, I…”

He shook his head, signaling there was no more need for words. “At least, tell me you’ll take care of yourself. I worry about the situations you get yourself into and the varying reasons why.” Okay, so I had self-destructive tendencies, but that was pretty much common knowledge. Unfortunately, no amount of self-talk in the world made me safe to turn loose without a chaperone. “Call me?” he choked out in request.

I made a promise I intended to keep. “Every week,” I vowed.

33. THE DOG DAYS OF SUMMER

R
EFORMED BAD-BOY OR NOT, MY
father had one quality he’d never lost. He was a fighter, especially on another’s behalf. Murphy Walker could break your heart but also had a fist swinging on your behalf if he felt someone hurt you or anyone else down on their luck. My father was the most complicated human being ever engineered.

“So she took a spin in the toilet?” he cackled.

“It was a self-flusher, Murphy. At last count, she spun in the middle of three.” Thankfully, my wire hadn’t stopped transmitting. The technician in the van scored the whole confession on audiotape, found Lincoln when Bats materialized, then placed Cowboys on lockdown once we’d exited the building. Evidently, Grizzly coughed up his suspicion that Eleanor was X once Jackal convinced him the wise thing would be to talk. It wasn’t readily apparent which “Jackal” Lincoln referred to—the 9mm model or his human counterpart. All I knew, was Colton wore a frown bigger than the wrinkles on a prune. In retrospect, my conversation with Bats lasted about twenty minutes of pure terror, but I was dying to know what went down when I’d been bargaining to breathe again.

“And this Polly?” he continued.

“Going back to Washington, I suppose.” Polly worked undercover for the Securities and Exchange Commission. Apparently, Eleanor had been on their radar for some time. Polly discovered the connection with Elmer and walked in his world for a while … although she hadn’t pieced together one single thing about Cisco.

Polly, I’m guessing, had some stupid in her.

Murphy’s voice lowered. “And this …
other man
?”

Lincoln had explained the entire history with Bats Giuseppe, not once … but three times. Evidently, Murphy needed a fourth.

“My feelings are he’s getting a new life, blah, blah, blah after he’s useful.”

“Are you at least getting the Turbo as a consolation prize?” he chuckled.

I wish
. It had been impounded, having been confiscated from Eleanor’s garage. “No,” I groaned, “but the woman in the expensive shoes was an actress they’d hired.”

“Her career’s short-lived, kid. Anyone knows that high heels don’t go with sweatpants.” I heard and felt a sigh coming. “I’m proud of you, Darc. Angry, but still proud. So about the Apple people…”

This wasn’t the time for a joke. I’d only seen my father cry once, but his voice had cracked half a dozen times in this conversation. I needed to receive whatever he was going to say and just shut up. “I’m back on fruit?” I asked.

Murphy backpedaled on the discipline. “You do need to balance out your diet, kid. Apples are no longer forbidden.”

I disconnected with my father. Throwing the last of my clothes into my luggage, I closed up
Atlas of the Stars
after I read the paragraph on Sirius again. Sirius meant “scorcher,” responsible for the phrase the “Dog Days of Summer” or the hottest time of the year. You were supposed to be so exhausted and famished by heat that nothing of any worth ever happened.

We might’ve just proven that statement wrong.