Reckoning and Ruin (22 page)

Chapter Forty-five

I rested on my side, sated, breathless. Through the window, swaths of moonlight pearled the gathering clouds, gossamer against the black sky. Rain on the way in. Or out. Always one or the other during the springtime.

My phone buzzed with an incoming text. I rolled over and checked the readout. Train, wondering where I was. I sent him a quick reply, told him to go ahead and close up, that I'd be there soon.

“My safe place is safe again.” I rolled back and faced Trey. “Which means I have to go.”

He flinched only the slightest. “I know.”

I took his hand, pressed his knuckles to my mouth. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I am.” He sounded like he meant it. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

I couldn't take my eyes off him. There was a word for the kind of art he was, a charcoal sketch. Sharp lines and angles with artistic blurring here and there to suggest movement or secrets.

“I'm sorry Finn sent you on a wild goose chase. I'm sure she has her reasons, but—”

“It wasn't a goose chase.”

“It wasn't?”

He shook his head. “No. That's what I was trying to tell you before you…Anyway, I couldn't figure out why you'd send me to a bar unless there was a reason you couldn't show up yourself. So I went. And I stayed. And I saw Ivy.”

I suddenly understood. Score another point for Finn. Ivy would have spotted me in an instant, but she'd never seen Trey. He, however, had gotten a good eyeful of her on the surveillance camera at the storage unit.

“So what did you find out?”

“That you were correct—she has at least one secret she's keeping from Jasper.”

“And that is?”

“She's having an affair.”

I sat up, the sheet falling away from my chest. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

He rolled over and fetched his own phone from the bedside table. He scrolled down before turning the screen around so that I could see it.

Sure enough, it was Ivy. I'd have recognized those cupid-bow lips and jazz-babe curls anywhere, even in the blurry, neon-tinged photos. She was seated in a corner booth, across from a rugged guy with his back to the camera. Buzz cut dark hair, tank top showing off gym-rat muscles. And he was locked lip to lip with Ivy.

“So not platonic,” I said.

Trey leaned back against the headboard. “No.”

“What were they talking about?”

“I couldn't hear. The bar was too loud.”

“Yeah, all that brick reverberates. It's probably why they picked that spot. Dang, I knew she was hiding something.” I stabbed the phone with my finger. “This guy. If Jasper knew about this, he'd pluck out this guy's heart and eat it unsalted.”

Trey looked puzzled. “Don't you recognize him?”

I scrolled through the shots. With his back to the camera, he was another anonymous bar crawler. But when he and Ivy stopped sucking face, I pegged him immediately.

“Holy hell, it's Shane Cook!”

I examined the photo closer. Something wasn't quite right. I zoomed in on Ivy's face, on Shane's face, finally zeroing in on the tattoo on his upper arm.

“That's not the same tattoo he had in the parking lot. That one was a dog's head, an army mascot. This one is…I can't make it out.”

“That makes no sense. How can you change a tattoo?”

“Temporarily? Ink-based stencils are the best way. Train made one from your signature to use as a guide. But in Shane's case, I suspect he's using it to hide something, probably something related to his less-than-honorable discharge. He expunged his record—”

“Attempted to.”

“Yes. And now he's attempting to expunge whatever is under that dog-head on his bicep. But only temporarily. It's a disguise, not a change of heart.”

I leaned back against the padded headboard, and Trey draped his arm around my shoulders. I wanted to stay, very much. Too much. My safety was an illusion in that soothing cocoon of a room, and we both knew it. The first law of being on the lam—stay on the move.

“What do you think we should do with this information?” I said. “Tell the police?”

“She's not committing a crime by having an affair.”

“What about Shane? I doubt his job description includes sexing up a prisoner's fiancée.”

“No. And it may be cause for his dismissal, but it's not illegal.”

I forced myself up, abandoning the clean sheets and firm mattress and Trey's naked body. He let me go without a fight. I sat on the edge of the bed and searched the floor for my bra and panties. They were easy to spot, a flaming red puddle of satin and lace on the beige carpet.

I wiggled into the panties. “We could confront Ivy, threaten to tell Jasper unless she spills whatever she's up to, which I am betting has something to do with that missing two hundred and fifty thousand. Or do the same with Shane. Threaten to tell the warden if he doesn't cough up some information.”

Trey shot me another look. “That would be extortion.”

“So that's a no?”

“Yes. I mean, yes, that's a no.”

I found my other clothes next to the armchair. Trey watched me dress. I couldn't imagine the matronly blouse and skirt did anything for him, but he'd picked out the lingerie himself. So I took my time with the bra, a wickedly structured creation with enough push-up to distract an army.

“Oh, one more thing. I saw Hope today—long story, Finn-related, the details aren't important—but she confirmed what I suspected, that she's being coerced into dropping her testimony.”

“From Jasper?”

“No. The KKK. They're putting the screws to her just like they did Jefferson, only they got to her in the detention center. She agreed with Jefferson, though, that they want Jasper walking around and breathing free air so they can take him down on their own terms, which will include poking him with hot sticks until he takes them to their missing money.”

“Is that who's been following her? In the white truck? The Klan?”

“That scenario makes the most sense. But we have no proof.”

I reached behind myself to fasten the bra, but Trey sat up. “Here. Let me do that.”

He leaned forward, then reached around me and engaged the hook and eye closure. Then he adjusted the straps, first the right, and then the left. He took his time, sliding his hands along the curved padding, the Venetian lace décolletage, until he had everything tucked and hoisted to his satisfaction.

“So, what now?” I said. “Wait on Finn to drop another clue? Accost Ivy? Pay a visit to the detention center and catch Shane in the parking lot? Talk to Boone again?”

He gave the brassiere a final adjustment. “I don't know. But I should be doing it, not you. You should stay out of sight as much as possible.”

I sighed. “Yeah. I left you the number of my new burner phone, so you can find me if you need to. But it will only be good for one call, and then I'll have to dump it and get a new one.” I handed him my blouse, and he held it so that I could slip my arms into the sleeves. “You spotted me watching you earlier, didn't you?”

“I did.”

“How?”

He started on the buttons, his fingers nimble and efficient. “I saw the glare from the binoculars. The bookstore makes a good hide site except—”

“—for the fact that it faces the sun, should have remembered that. How did you know I wasn't some cop?”

“Because I'd already spotted the unmarked car outside. And even though you're wanted for questioning, I couldn't imagine they would sent an additional counter-sniper surveillance unit. So I considered all of the other people who might have been inexpertly surveilling me, and I decided it had to be you.”

I put my hand to his face, and he pressed a kiss into my palm. He was close to cracking my resolve, which would be a dangerous thing for both of us.

“So what are we—I mean, you—doing next?” I said.

“I'll chart this new information in the matrix and see what connects. But after that, I don't know. I'll find a way to let you know, if I can. And I do have one thing for you. Before you go.”

He gestured toward the bedside table. A pair of car keys lay next to a folded wad of cash.

“It's the rental. I never returned it. It's still parked in the garage at the corner. The money is for you too.”

I smiled down at him. “That's definitely aiding and abetting.”

“I know. I'm less concerned with that than I am with keeping you out of the detention center.”

“So you have a plan?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I have several plans. But I can't tell you about them. Telling you about them makes it easier to tell other people about them. And we don't want that.”

I didn't argue. He knew his brain, and how to subvert it, better than anyone else. His eyes were tired, and I missed him, even though I was standing barely twelve inches from him. His fingers brushed my skin as he returned me to order and properness, a process almost as sexy as being undressed. He was calm, collected. Not veering into either shutdown or breakdown, his Tower fully intact even if a bit lightning-singed.

I smoothed his hair from his forehead. “You're turning out to be a natural at the underhanded arts.”

“Your brother says atypical cognitive presentations are a part of my recovery complex.”

I pulled his face up so that I could see his eyes. “And the interlude before that? Was that part of your recovery complex too? Or was that the bourbon?”

He finished buttoning the blouse. “Not the bourbon.”

“Good.” I kissed him then, kissed him good, enough to last the rest of the night. “Still, I'll be keeping a bottle of Maker's Mark at your place from now on. Just in case.”

I gathered the keys and cash and started for the door, but he held me in place, his hands on my hips. He had the hem of my blouse crumpled tight in both fists, and I thought, this is it, this is where we both fall apart.

I took his hands in mine. “I have to go.”

“I know.”

He didn't resist when I slipped free from his hold. I saw the same look in his eyes as when I'd left him in the car, and I realized he was exerting every ounce of willpower he had to let me leave him again, and that something was breaking inside even as something else was growing stronger.

His eyes were serious, searching. “Tai? Are you really okay?”

I almost nodded, almost tried to pretend. But then I shook my head. “No. I'm not. But I have to act as if I am, until we're finished with this mess. And then I plan on falling to pieces.”

He inhaled, let it out slow. “I understand.”

Chapter Forty-six

The Friday night crowds ran thick up and down Abercorn, noisy with beer-fueled cheer. In simpler times, this would have been my life, my last tour ended and the pub crawl just beginning, my whole existence a glass waiting to be filled. Now it ran over with trouble and ruin, complication and consequence.

I lit my last cigarette, blew a plume of smoke behind me. Maybe Trey would end up with something useful, a graph or a circle map or a Venn diagram. Something with an arrow pointing clearly to a next step. As things stood, there were too many wild cards at play for me to figure anything out.

Ivy was cheating on Jasper, which meant that her whole lovestruck routine was a cover for some other motive for being with him, most likely the missing money. She'd probably thought it was in the storage unit, but couldn't figure out a way to get into it without causing too much attention to herself. Had she charmed Shane with a Bonnie and Clyde tale of grabbing the loot and hitting the road?

Was Jasper onto her? Or Shane? Using them? Being used? I'd been warned over and over that he was planning something. I'd assumed it had involved me. But what if he were toying with me just for the hell of it, as a distraction from his real agenda—getting revenge on Ivy.

I sucked in a long slow drag and kept walking. God, I'd missed nicotine, the sweet pacifying smack of it.

I had Finn's card in my bag. She'd obviously been suspicious enough to send Trey to spy on Ivy and Shane—had that been a good hunch or a lucky guess? I'd trusted her so far, and she hadn't let me down, but I didn't like being the target of hit-and-run information if I wasn't privy to the agenda.

And then there was Hope. She adjusted her loyalties like sails, her primary objective staying alive. She'd lied to John, let him believe they'd had some kind of life here, which might have been why he'd made the decisions he had. And now she'd fled the scene, the Klan on her tail.

A Savannah Metro car rolled by, and I dropped my head, kept my eyes on the sidewalk.
Look innocent
, I said to myself,
look preoccupied and harmless and innocent
. Another followed right on its bumper, plainsclothes officers behind the wheel, both of them moving purposefully, heading south toward Liberty. Not the routine patrol. These cars had mission and purpose.

I kept them in my sight as I stepped off the sidewalk and under one of the spreading magnolias. I sent a quick text to Trey—Two patrols prowling your way?—and waited. No lights, no sirens. Not that they would engage either for serving a warrant, a stealth move of the first order.

When nothing happened, I continued walking, threading my way through the flowing crowds toward the river. I still hadn't figured out Jefferson's role either. My sympathy for him was knee jerk, like watching a rattlesnake get hit by a car. Cheyanne was just as bad, maybe more so. But those little girls broke my heart, as firecracker-wild as I'd been at their age. I knew their parents would eventually turn them into people just as fiercely deluded as themselves, baby rattlesnakes with the same deadly venom.

And of course, at the center of it, Boone. Dying now, a word that hurt to think, even though there was hope in that frail old package. He'd somehow changed his mind, changed his heart. He was still reckless and stubborn and unreconstructed in every way, but he'd hacked off a huge malignant part of his identity and survived. And that was a miracle, but it had happened. The soul had the same plasticity as the brain perhaps. A recovery complex all its own.

I took the steps down to River Street, the fat slice of moon half-revealing, half-concealing the cobblestones. The dark tunnels that led to the back of Train's shop were quieter this time of night, so there would be no one to harass me about polluting the fine Savannah night with my cigarette.

I exhaled, watched the smoke cloud the darkness. I had my hand on the door of the shop, my key in the lock, when my phone buzzed. Not a text. A call. I examined the number, an Atlanta extension.

I pressed the button. Didn't say anything.

“Tai? Are you there?”

I almost dropped my cigarette. “Gabriella?”

“Yes. Trey just called and gave me this number. He said that two detectives are in the lobby with a warrant, and that you must surrender to lawful custody at this time.”

“Damn it!”

“
Oui
.”

I dropped my cigarette to the cobblestones, ground it out with a twist of my shoe. “So now what?”

Gabriella's voice was firm and calm. “He stressed that you were not—I repeat, not—to surrender to Chatham County authorities. You are to take the rental car to the Statesboro Police Department, out of Chatham County jurisdiction. A lawyer will meet you there, as will Trey, as soon as he can. You'll be interviewed there, and then processed and bonded out without ever setting foot in the Savannah jail.”

So this was Trey's secret plan. As plans went, it was pretty genius. At Gabriella's end, I could hear noise in the background, voices and music. Bar sounds. I pushed my way inside, the creaking door splintering the silence. I instinctively reached for a light switch, but then remembered Train's warning to keep the shop dark. I was getting used to the dark.

Gabriella kept talking. “I've called Garrity—he is on his way back—and your brother, who is on the next flight. We will keep you out of the hands of that fucking monster, I promise.” She delivered the words with real malice. “Do not call back on this number. I borrowed it from an anonymous young man. He is smiling at me, and I am smiling back. He will not connect us.”

I saw Trey's method in the madness of having Gabriella as our go-between. If for some reason the cops checked Trey's phone records, they would see her number, but if anyone checked her records, they'd find no calls to me. They'd have to find the unnamed guy at the unnamed bar, who had lent his phone without hesitation to an attractive damsel in distress, and then they'd have to recognize that number as my burner phone. It was a needle in a sea of haystacks.

I relaxed just the slightest. We had a plan. It was going to work. I could stop running.

“Thank you,” I said.

“
De rien
.” She hesitated. “I am sorry for our previous contretemps. Trey says you and I have to work things out.”

“He told me the same thing.”

“Of course. And you have to go now, but I must explain this first—I read the cards wrong. They weren't about Trey, they were about you. There is death, yes, all around you. And your world is crumbling, dissolving, moving in shape and form. You have no choice in this, it is not a process you can control. All you can do is keep your head above water.”

I remembered the Tower card, the hapless figures tumbling into the raging sea, the structure collapsing around them. I'd never put much stock in Gabriella's predictions, but suddenly, that card made perfect sense.

“I wish I could do more,” she said. “Because you matter to me too. Truly. And I am sorry—”

“We'll figure it out. When we talk.”

“
Bien
. Now be careful. Your main concern is getting out of Savannah. Do not talk to anyone until you do, not even Trey. Understood?”

“Completely and utterly.”

The line went dead. I stared at the phone. Yes, Trey had a plan, but it was one that meant dragging myself back into the night. I dropped the phone into my bag, not wanting to think about it, not wanting to move, bone-weary.

“Train?” I called. “Are you in here?”

The attack came from behind, a thickly muscled forearm tightening around my neck. I instinctively turned my head into the crook of my attacker's arm and saw the blurry black tattoo. Not a dog. A black and twisted cross with drops of blood.

I bit and kicked and twisted, jerked and tried to scream. I tried to go for a throw, tried hard, but the pressure at my throat wasn't stopping. I kicked behind me and connected with meat and bone, but then the color washed from my vision. I felt a prick and burn at my neck, and a black curtain closed off the world.