Worcester Nights - The Boxed Set (11 page)

He reached to hold my hand, and I yanked it back as if his grasp was red hot. As he moved, the glimmer of silver at his neck caught my eye.

He was wearing my father’s medallion.

My anger, frustration, and exhaustion boiled over into a new, lethal combination, one that cored me with iron. I stared at him with cold fury.

“Give me my necklace back.”

His hand automatically went up to his chest, and his eyes widened.

His voice was hoarse. “Kay –”

I took a step forward, my hand out. “Give it to me. Now.”

He paled, but his hands went behind his neck, and in a moment he was holding out the pendant to me.

I grabbed it from his hands, my eyes welling yet again. This couldn’t be happening. I was utterly lost, and there was no way to rewind back to when things were OK.

Things would never be OK again.

I stuffed the pendant into my left back pocket, and then from my right I pulled out my phone. I brought it around to my face. My entire body was solidifying, calcifying, being coated with ice and layered over with feet of snow. I was submerging. Soon I would be drowned.

Sean’s voice was distant, a whisper in the wind. “Kay, what are you doing?”

I barely recognized my own voice, its guttural growl. “I am calling the fucking police.”

My finger was nearly at the screen when he popped the phone out of my hand. “Kay –”

He was six-feet, one-hundred-eighty pounds of solid muscle, and I stepped up in front of him with clenched fists. “That girl is fifteen, and I am calling the police,” I seethed. “And you and I are done.”

I reached for the phone, but he held it higher, his gaze pleading with me to trust him. “Kay, just give me –”

I turned, ready to storm straight across Kelley Square and find somewhere – anywhere – with a phone. I didn’t want to take one step back into that bar without sirens blaring and lights flashing.

He grabbed at my arm, his strong fingers holding me in place. “Kay, listen to me.” His eyes were now swirling with a wealth of emotions I could not even name.

“I trusted you,” I spat. “I trusted you, and look what you turned out to be.”

His voice was hoarse. “I trust you with my life.”

I stared at him, beyond any emotion I could name, beyond anything I had ever felt before.

“Then prove it.”

He stared at me for a long moment, the connection between us a sizzling bolt of energy which could have lit up the darkest night.

And then at last, at long last, he spoke, and his words resonated with a kaleidoscope of emotion.

“Kay, that girl is twenty-two.”

I gazed at him in disbelief. “You liar! She was in the paper! She’s fifteen!”

He shook his head, his gaze locked on mine. “She’s a woman, Kay. And she’s in there on purpose, to get close to Jimmy.”

I stared at him in shock, the world taking on a dream-like state. Lisa Gerrard’s ethereal vocals soared around us, but all I could see was the tense line of his shoulders, the hollowed shadows in his eyes.

My voice was barely a whisper. “How could you possibly know that?”

He released my arm, put his hands out to the side, and it was as if he were surrendering himself wholly to me.

“Because I’m an undercover cop.”

Book 2: A Soul Ajar

Chapter 1

The soul should always stand ajar,

ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.

-- Emily Dickinson

S
ean was an undercover cop.

The run-down shed with its rickety shelves faded from view. Lisa Gerrard’s soaring vocals drifted into silence. My senses detached, one by one, until all that was left was Sean’s face before me, his eyes, the window to his soul.

He was trusting me with his life.

I’d grown up the daughter of a cop. I knew the risks taken by those who went undercover, the violent results which often came about if they were discovered. By sharing his secret with me, Sean had put himself into my hands.

Not only that, but he was risking the life of the blonde who, even now, was in Jimmy’s office pretending to be a helpless fifteen-year-old girl.

The world wound up into motion around me as that vision shimmered into my consciousness. She was still in there. Whoever she was, I had no doubt that Sean was serving as some sort of backup for her.

I glanced at the speakers; they filled the air with rich music, masking our conversation. I pitched my voice low. “Later on tonight, you and I are going to have a long talk,” I stated, my tone sounding sharper than I’d intended. “However, I imagine right now it’s important for you to be in the building.”

His brow creased with concern. He half reached for me before allowing his hand to fall back at his side. His voice was tight when he spoke. “Yes, I should be at the bar right now.”

He paused for a moment, and his jaw tightened as if he was resisting speaking. Finally, he let out a breath. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be better for me to drive you home? You were sick, after all, and they wouldn’t question it. That way you wouldn’t have to maintain a front.”

I shook my head. “I will stay with you, and after closing we will have our talk,” I insisted. “I swear I won’t put her at risk.” I gave a small shrug. “And, besides, as you said, they think I’ve got some sort of a flu. They’ll brush off any oddness on my part as being related to that.”

He looked as if he might pursue the issue, but at last he nodded. He took his phone out of its cradle, the shed went silent, and that heavy blanket lay over us as we walked across the small lot and in through the back door of the bar. Jimmy’s office was mercifully quiet as we moved past it. In a moment we were back in our usual places – me behind the bar, Sean sitting at a stool before it.

It seemed almost inconceivable that the two pool players traded their quiet jibes as they always had, that Joey took in a long sip of his Bushmills while watching some reality show involving couples trying to choose the prettiest camel. The chaotic whirl of Kelley Square continued unabated on the other side of the row of windows. And yet, somehow, my entire world had been turned sunny side down.

I took up a handful of limes, placed them on the white cutting board, and focused my attention on the dimpled fruits, not on the man who sat before me.

Sunny side down.

But was it, really? I had spent the last two days in torment because of the pornography ring filming in the warehouse, one Jimmy was apparently intimately involved with. I had, only ten minutes ago, been willing to do whatever it took to alert the police.

And here he was.

I knew how delicate an operation like this had to be. I knew about the outstretched tendrils of most criminal organizations, how hastily rounding up the workers could easily let those truly responsible go scot-free. The crime lords would simply lay low for a few months, then set up shop again, larger and more lethal than before.

If Sean was here, submerging himself in their world, law enforcement was undoubtedly looking to excise the entire tumor, not just trim away its edges. He was doing exactly what I had wanted to be done. And he was risking his own life to save those girls.

My eyes moved up to his of their own accord, and the shadowed tangle of emotions deep within his gaze made my breath leave in a long sigh. I put down the lime and knife, stepped over to him, and laid my hand on the table before him.

An easing ripple ran down his shoulder blades, releasing the tension a hair, and he brought his own hand on top of mine. The faintest hint of a smile came to his lips, and he dropped his head, acknowledging me.

There was a movement from the hallway, and we both turned. The moppet’s face was wry, apologetic, and she tucked her phone back into her purse. “I’m sorry about my mom calling like that,” she sighed as they reached the door. “It’s just, with it being a school night and all, she wants me home.”

“Of course, of course,” reassured Jimmy, patting her on the shoulder. “Still, I have so much to talk with you about. Maybe if you came by tomorrow, a bit earlier, then we could have more time together.”

She bit her lip, giving it some thought. Then at last she nodded. “I could come by right after crew,” she agreed. “How does that sound?”

His eyes lit up. “That sounds perfect. It’s a date.”

Her cheeks tinted pink, and she looked down at her feet. “Sure, if you say so,” she murmured. Then she stepped back, turned, and was out through the door.

Jimmy’s eyes followed her until she vanished from sight, and then he sighed with pleasure, rolling his shoulders. He stepped jauntily over to the stool, plunking down on it as if he’d just chosen a winning ticket from the MegaMillions. “A Redbreast, my dear.”

I turned to the green bottle, wondering at the calmness within me. Surely I should be berating him for his pond-scum morals, or laughing in delight at the impending doom which hovered unseen just over his head. Sean was Jimmy’s own personal Sword of Damocles. But somehow I was able to lay the glass before Jimmy, pour out his double, and even offer him a smile as I placed the bottle next to his glass.

He nudged his head toward the glass. “You know your job, Katie.”

My hand was rock steady as I picked up the glass and let a trickle of the whiskey coat the back of my throat. Toffee. Honey. I found strength in it, strength in the knowledge that soon he, his wife, and everyone else involved in their despicable operation would be deep behind bars. And I knew well how pedophiles were treated in prison.

I did smile at that.

Jimmy grinned as he took the glass back from me. “There’s my Katie,” he praised. “I knew you’d feel better after a drink. It makes the world seem brighter.” He looked at the glass, then drank it all down in one long pull. Stretching, he stood again. “Well, lass, you know where to find me.” In a moment he’d vanished into the darkness of the hall.

I settled against the back of the bar, bringing my eyes determinedly up to the TV. If I looked at Sean, or said anything to him, the floodgates would be hard to keep shut. There was a great deal to say – and it would have to wait until we got on that Triumph of his and made our way to safety.

Chapter 2

T
he bar had finally been locked up for the night, we had ridden north on 290, and now we were moving along a quiet road in the dead of night. He turned right, taking us up a long driveway lined by dense trees. Up ahead was a large building of some sort.

It wasn’t until he switched off the engine in the parking lot that I finally realized where we were. “We’re at Tower Hill Botanical Gardens, aren’t we?”

He nodded, and I climbed off, removing my helmet. He took off his as well, tucking them to one side. Then he led me along the path. We went around the main building, to the far end of the formal gardens, and then he pulled a flashlight from a pocket.

A distant part of me wondered if I should be worried, going into this quiet wood with him. But one look in his eyes and that flutter of concern faded. He had trusted me with his life, I had come through for him, and I could see in his gaze he was deeply honored.

We took the quiet path up a short distance through the trees. I knew where he was leading me, and even so, as we crested the rise, the vista took my breath away.

Where the orchards we had visited several days ago faced south, toward Worcester, this view stretched northwest over the Wachusett Reservoir. The moonlight was strong, shimmering silver in a clear ebony sky, and an almost magical glow gilded the landscape. We could have been Diana and Verbius, tending with care to our stags and great horned owls.

He turned, his voice strained with tension. “From that first time that we talked all night long at the bar, I have wanted to take you here. If this is to be our last evening together … well, I wanted you to see it in its glory. I wanted to be there with you when you did.”

I took a long look at the gorgeous nocturnal landscape, the rippling hills of oak and pine. Then I gently dropped cross-legged onto the grass. I folded my arms across my chest.

“Well, then, this is the ideal backdrop for the truth. Start from the beginning.”

He ran his hand through his thick hair, then settled to sit before me.

“I got my degree in criminal justice from Berkeley, then went into the police academy,” he began, his gaze on mine. “Spent much of the last six years in vice, deep in the Bronx.”

It was still hard for my brain to reconcile these two different views of the man before me. Of course he hadn’t been a felon. Of course that had been a cover story. Still, a stab of pain wrenched through my core as I said the words. “So you lied about the raiding of the Italian restaurant?”

He flushed, but nodded. “There was an incident that took place, but I wasn’t involved. My support team altered the records in case anyone went digging.”

My chest constricted, but I forced myself to continue. “Your aunt? And your mother in Ireland?”

His breath was coming in slow, even draws, as if strong emotions were roiling within him and he was doing his best to remain still. “All of that was true. My father, my childhood, that is all what happened. We figured it was best to stick with the facts as much as possible. There’s less to mis-remember that way.”