Текст книги "Surviving Ice "

Автор книги: K. A. Tucker

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

TWENTY-FIVE

IVY

“How does it feel this morning?”

Dakota struts into the greenhouse in a gauzy tank top and turns her shoulder toward me, the fresh ink boldly displayed on her arm. “Perfect, as expected from my talented friend.”

“Everyone’s my friend when they want some ink,” I mutter. I have tattooed almost every last one of my closest friends, and if I haven’t inked them, then I’ve designed their work. Jesse Welles was the first person to ever take my design and actually put it on his body, back in my sophomore year of high school. I inked Dakota’s design on Alex’s shoulder. I’ve done six of Dakota’s seven tattoos, which she designed herself, and I embellished because it’s a compulsion. I even did Amber’s Irish fling’s tattoo—for free—just to keep him occupied one night last year, while I was in Dublin. The only good friend who won’t let me near her skin is Amber.

“So you said it was four hundred an hour?”

I shoot her a flat look from my curled-up perch in the wicker chair, my oversize coffee mug in hand. “For the freeloading leech, yes. But you are not paying me a dime. If anyone owes anyone anything, I owe you.”

She waves it off with a laugh. “People like that make life interesting, don’t they? And you know me, the more the merrier. That room is yours for as long as you want it.”

I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but I could get used to rooming with Dakota, despite her questionable choice in dinner guests. And I know the offer will still stand even if she figures out that, while she was smoking a joint with her homeless friend, my bare ass was on her bathroom sink, next to her toothbrush, last night, when I was getting nailed by Sebastian. God, he was something else. Spending hours working on—and admiring—his body the day before did not prepare me for the nerves I would feel when he pulled those doors shut.

And then he took off, like a convict on the run.

“What are you and your Navy SEAL doing today?” Dakota asks, pushing the spout of a watering can into one of her plants. She must spend hours every day tending to her plants.

“I am going to start bagging all the trash in the house.” I climb out of the chair. “And I’m sure that last night was the last time I’ll ever see him.” Saying that out loud gives me a small twinge of disappointment, but I’m no idiot. He got what he wanted, and it was off-the-charts amazing. Let’s be honest—I got what I wanted last night, too.

The problem is, now I want more of it. I can’t remember the last time I actually missed a man after he left. Jesse, maybe, but that was completely different. Jesse was a high school junior, I was a gangly sophomore, and that little fling of ours lasted only a couple of weeks before he broke it off for no good reason. And we never slept together during that time. Sometimes I think my hurt feelings were more about my own ego than my feelings for him, even though they were strong.

But Sebastian . . . I already crave the feel of his hands peeling away my clothes. I crave the way he so confidently took my body. I crave the sensation of his all-consuming presence.

For the short time that we were within the walls of that bathroom I didn’t care about anything else. I focused on nothing but him.

And then he ran.

I’m not stupid enough to believe that he’s going to ring this doorbell at ten a.m. today. In fact, I’m going to leave early.

“Hmm . . .” She frowns deeply, her eyes glued to the lemon tree.

“Hmm . . . what?”

She doesn’t respond. That’s not surprising, though. Dakota can be spacey at the best of times.

“Dakota!”

“He’s very guarded, isn’t he?”

“Understatement of the millennium.” I grab a blueberry-and-God-knows-what-else muffin from the plate she brought out. Given that she bakes almost every day, I’m going to put on weight living here. That’s probably a good thing, though.

“The aura that surrounds him is”—her face pinches up; here we go—“dark and troubled. He’s not at peace with himself.”

I’d love to dismiss what she says, but at the same time, I like getting someone else’s take on this odd bodyguard who strolled into my shop and insinuated himself into my life. “He was a soldier. He saw terrible things that he probably can’t forget.” Just like I saw a terrible thing that I can’t forget. “He served two tours in Afghanistan, and he’s got some nasty scars. So I’m not surprised if you think his aura is troubled.” I hear enough in the news about PTSD and other challenges for these soldiers who return. In fact, the common message seems to be that they never come back the same person they were when they left.

There’s this ginger-haired guy, Ross, who hangs out a lot on the corner near Pasquale’s sometimes. He was in the army. I don’t know what he was like before the Iraq War, but I’m guessing he wasn’t the angry drunk Fez occasionally gives free slices to now.

Sebastian’s much more put together than Ross, though. Aloof, yes. Closed off, yes.

But he also seems to be operating with principle, and purpose.

Right now, that purpose is me. At least it was, until last night when I let him fuck me.

Am I regretting it? No, that’s not what this is.

I’m just dreading the inevitable swift end.

“He carries a heavy burden on his shoulders,” Dakota adds. “I think you’ll be good for him. I can already see that he’s been good for you.”

I laugh. “Good for him? Dakota, we barely know each other. It’s already over. Done.”

“You’ll give him the space he needs in order to open up to you,” she says, as if I hadn’t just spoken, “and he will, eventually. He just needs to know that he can trust you with his darkness.” The heavy frown vanishes with a sudden, excited look. “Oh! And you should tell him how you feel about him. He’ll want to hear that.”

“Hi. Have we met?” I don’t tell guys how I feel about them. I don’t tell anyone how I feel about them.

She smiles. “Don’t be so afraid, Ivy.”

I need to get out of here. “Well, while he’s deciding what to do with his darkness, I’m going to be cleaning up glass and couch stuffing so I can sell Ned’s house before the bank forecloses. Actually, first”—I pull out Bobby’s business card, my anger flaring—“I’ve got a bone to pick with someone.”

“Have fun! I’ll see you and Sebastian here for dinner around six?”

I roll my eyes but don’t bother to deny Dakota her delusion, grabbing my purse and keys and heading out.

I’m guessing the two guys flanking Bobby are the brothers in Bobby and Brothers Towing and Automotive. Both are even bigger than he is.

I make a point of slamming my car door as I march toward the open garage doors.

“Ivy.” Bobby saunters over, the chain hanging off his stained work pants clattering with each step. “What are you doin’ here? Comin’ to check on your ink?” He holds out his arm to show me the brilliant colors that I filled in. It’s scabbing over nicely. “I drove by Black Rabbit yesterday.” His face scrunches up. “Man, why white? Ned would lose his shit if he saw that. It looks—”

“You lied to me,” I snap, cutting him off before he sends me into a panic over what’s happening at the shop. Given the auto shop behind me—in a run-down area of Daly City, where trees are sparse and litter plenty—is a grimy mix of cobalt blue and construction orange, I shouldn’t let his opinion sway me too much.

“Look at you, with your hands on your little hips.” He chuckles, giving me a once-over, like I’m some cute little kid.

I have the urge to punch him in the face, but I restrain myself.

Pulling a rag out from his back pocket, he casually wipes the oil from his hands. “So, what’re you goin’ on about now?”

“When I asked you if Ned owed one of your guys money and you said no, you were lying right to my face, weren’t you?”

A frown takes over his jovial expression as he glances over his shoulder at the other guys. “What have you heard?”

“That Ned had a sizable gambling debt with one of your guys.”

His boots drag over the gravel as he gets closer. “And who told you that?” His eyes aren’t nearly as soft, his face not nearly as friendly as it was a moment ago.

Maybe I shouldn’t have charged in here like this. I straighten my back. “The cops.”

He laughs. “Bullshit.” I guess the idea that the cops know about Iron’s internal affairs is crazy.

I hold his gaze until he realizes I’m not lying, and his grin falls off his face.

“Who told them?”

“You’ll have to ask Detective Fields that.”

He runs his tongue over his teeth. “Ned didn’t owe us nothin’. Tell your detective he has a shitty source.”

The meaning behind his words, his inflection, isn’t lost on me. “Who did he owe, then?”

Bobby heaves a sigh, muttering something unintelligible to himself. “Ned was into it with a guy named Sullivan. He’s not Iron. He’s . . . an associate of ours, who sometimes joins our game nights.”

“What kind of ‘associate’?”

“A business one,” he answers vaguely.

I fold my arms over my chest. “Guns?”

“No.”

“Hookers?”

“No.”

“Drugs?”

He falters. “No.”

My stomach turns. So Ned owed money to a drug dealer. Hell, that’s worse than owing one of these bikers. “How much?”

Bobby sighs. “Two hundred and fifty g’s, originally. He paid up a hundred of that, but couldn’t get any more from the bank.”

My mouth drops open. “How the hell did Ned end up owing someone a quarter of a million dollars?”

“Poker. Your uncle had a bit of a gambling problem.”

I scowl. “No he didn’t.”

“Yeah . . . he did,” Bobby says, his voice firm. “For a few years now. Dad warned him about owing money to a guy like Sullivan, but he wouldn’t listen. Fucking stubborn old man.”

Ned had a gambling problem? Was it worse than he let on? Obviously yes, if he owed that kind of money. I rack my brain, trying to think of a particular Wednesday night over the past few months when he came home distraught from a poker night. The problem is, I was never home to see him come in. And by Thursday when I strolled into Black Rabbit at noon . . . well, Ned was always on the grouchy side to begin with. “And you didn’t think it was important to tell the cops all this?”

Bobby snorts. “Nobody’s tellin’ the pigs shit. You know that, Ivy. Besides, why would it matter? Sullivan didn’t take out Ned. What good would that do? He wouldn’t get his money.”

“Well, he obviously wasn’t getting his money anyway. Ned had no money!”

“Not cash. But he had Black Rabbit.” Bobby gives me a knowing look. “And Sullivan was after that.”

Oh my God. Ned would have lost his mind if he had to hand over the shop. But now that Ned’s gone . . . “This Sullivan guy trashed Ned’s house the other night looking for cash, didn’t he?”

Bobby’s brow furrows. He looks genuinely surprised. “What?”

“Ned’s house was torn apart two nights ago. Someone was looking for money. Or something.”

“I don’t know nothin’ about that.” Bobby heaves a sigh and reaches up to scratch his scraggly beard.

“What?” He knows more than he’s telling me.

“It’s nothing, really. It’s just . . .”

“Spit it out, Bobby!”

“Okay! Okay.” He glances over his shoulder at the guys again, who are focused on the car on the hoist. “Dad said that Ned came by the clubhouse to talk to him and Tiny.”

Moe and Tiny are two fifty-something-year-old bikers who have been coming to Ned since he opened up. I remember sitting on Tiny’s giant lap when I was just six, while Ned worked on his sleeve.

“Ned wanted their backup for a meet he had with someone in a few days’ time.”

I frown. “Backup? What does that mean, like protection?” Did he know he was in danger?

“Sounds like it, but Ned didn’t tell them too much. Alls he said was that he had something to trade that was worth a lot of dough and he’d be able to pay Sullivan and get him off his back about the shop. He needed a couple guys with him, so he wasn’t going to the exchange alone. He said he’d give them a five percent cut.”

“What was he exchanging?”

“Don’t know. Honest. But it sounds like Ned had something going on the side. And that’s a lot of money for one deal . . .”

My stomach sinks. What the hell was Ned into? “When was this supposed to happen?”

Bobby’s lips purse. “He came by to ask Tiny for help around noon. The exchange was supposed to happen four days from then. And then a few hours later, he was taken out.”

“The same day!” I yell, making him flinch. “Are you serious?” This means it wasn’t a random robbery at all. “You need to tell this to the cops!”

“Not gonna happen, darlin’, so you can stop with the screaming. I don’t like being yelled at.”

“The hell I will!” Sure, it incriminates Ned, but maybe the police will make more of an effort to solve the case if they know there was a clear motive here. If these guys had just told the cops the truth in the beginning, then maybe more could have been done by now.

Behind me, I hear the sound of tires on gravel and a car coming to a stop, but I’m so overwhelmed by what Bobby just told me, I dismiss it—and everyone else—for the moment.

“You know what? I’m going to tell the cops myself then. And they’re going to come here and question your ass about it until you tell them the truth.”

“Good luck with that. Tiny and Moe will never admit a damn thing to the pigs. They’ll deny everything I just told you.” Bobby looks over my head. “What the hell is he doing here?”

I turn just in time to see Sebastian marching over, his eyes covered by his glasses but the stern jaw telling me he’s anything but happy.

He showed up, just like he said he would.

He showed up and Dakota must have told him where I went, and he is oh-so-pissed with me right now.

But I can’t ignore the tiny bubble of relief that he’s here.

I push it away, though, because I need to deal with Bobby. “So, let me get this straight. Ned had something worth a lot of money to give to someone. He felt he needed backup with him during the exchange, and then he ends up dead. Now someone’s torn apart our house—which we’re trying to sell because we can’t pay the mortgage and we have no insurance, by the way—because they were likely trying to find whatever he was handing over at this exchange, and you guys, who are supposed to be Ned’s friends, won’t do a thing to help me? Fucking bikers!”

All amusement has left Bobby’s face. “Me telling you what I just did is helping you.” He steps closer and looms over me, and I can’t help but shrink back. “But don’t you fucking dare come here and—”

It all happens so fast. One moment Bobby is hovering over me, the next he’s flat on his back and Sebastian is standing above him. I see that his gun is tucked into the back of his jeans. As if he placed it there before getting out of the car, expecting something like this to happen.

The other two guys come running, their guts bouncing with each step. They’re not coming to see if Bobby’s okay; their focus is zeroed in on Sebastian, who doesn’t seem at all concerned. I instinctively take a step back, because that’s what you do out of self-preservation when six hundred pounds is charging your way.

Sebastian doesn’t, though. He turns to face them square on, his stance relaxed. And when they finally reach him, fists in the air, it’s like one of those horrifically choreographed fight scenes from older movies, where the bad guy swings and the good guy maneuvers out of the way with ease, making the bad guy lose his balance and tumble. That, coupled with a few lightning-quick swings and kicks, and both guys are lying in heaps next to Bobby; one’s moaning and holding his jaw, while the other one is out cold.

“Jesus Christ!” A gruff voice yells from somewhere inside. A moment later, Moe—who is not much smaller than Bobby—comes around the corner. He must have been watching the entire thing from the office windows. “What the hell is goin’ on out here?”

I step up and place a hand on Sebastian’s hand, staying him, because the last thing I want him doing is beating up a fifty-something-year-old man. Even if he’s betraying Ned by not helping the police.

“Just a disagreement, Moe.”

“Yeah, well, I can see that.” He glares at Sebastian and then takes in the three men, all conscious now. “About what?”

“About him talking to Ivy in a way I didn’t appreciate,” Sebastian says with complete calm.

“She fucking started it!” Bobby bellows, like a child.

Moe smirks. “You know, when you were five, you used to chase Ivy around Black Rabbit, trying to get her to kiss you?” He turns to look at me. “Didn’t work then, and I assume it’s not gonna work now. What’s the matter, honey?”

“Someone trashed Ned’s house two nights ago. They were looking for something.”

Understanding flickers past Moe’s eyes. “We’re looking around. We’re asking some questions. Be patient.”

Ned always said that these guys don’t work with the police, even when it has no impact on them, out of principle. But at least they haven’t just forgotten about him. Unless Moe’s lying to me right now.

“What about this debt that Ned has with Sullivan? Do I have to worry about some asshole trying to take Black Rabbit from me?”

Moe turns and spears his son with a stern look. I’m guessing he wasn’t supposed to mention that. “It’s taken care of.”

I frown. “What does that mean?”

“It means that Sully ain’t seein’ another dime out of a gambling bet that didn’t cost him none anyway and he’s just gonna have to live with that. We made sure he gets it. Now leave it be!”

I bite my tongue from any snappy reply. Yelling at Bobby is one thing . . . “Thanks, Moe. Sorry about . . . this.” I wave a hand at the three guys still sitting on their asses in the gravel.

“Yeah, well . . .” Moe glances at them and starts to chuckle.

“I gotta get back to Ned’s house now. There’s a month’s worth of work there.” I grab Sebastian’s biceps and pull him back to his car before Bobby can get to his feet and take a run at him.

“You were supposed to stay at Dakota’s until I came,” Sebastian says evenly, though I hear the irritation hidden.

You were supposed to stay last night! “Ten o’clock didn’t work for me,” I say instead, calmly.

I attempt to move past him to my car but he grabs my arm, pulling me into him. I stand my ground, my heart racing. Daring him to say something confrontational about the fact that I disobeyed him. And struggling not to grin like an asshole with relief.

Sebastian came back.

His jaw clenches. “What did that guy tell you before I got here?”

“That Ned owed someone a lot of money and he was probably doing something stupid to earn it. I’m going to the house now.” I glare at him, and catch myself staring at his handsome features for too long.

He releases my arm and I march to my car, my mind spinning with possibilities. My insides filled with rage.

What did you get yourself into, Ned?

“We can’t put the house on the market like this,” Becca announces, peering down her nose at the pile of trash I’ve already swept up. “I just . . . I won’t do it.”

“We’ll get it cleaned up. I promise.”

She sighs. “Absolutely no insurance?”

“Nope.” I let the “p” pop in my mouth for emphasis. Becca—in her indigo pantsuit and white pearls and bleached blond hair pulled back in a professional bun—seems to know what she’s talking about, but she has still managed to irritate me in the fifteen minutes that she’s been here. I’m well aware of how bad this is, and yet she feels the need to keep telling me.

“When do you think it’ll be ready for my photographer?”

“When I call you to tell you that it’s ready.” I honestly don’t know how long it’s going to take to fix this mess. Weeks, maybe. And I don’t have weeks. The bills and mortgage payments on both the house and Black Rabbit need to be paid next week. Ian and I have pooled some money, but he has his own bills, and if I don’t work, I can’t make more money. And I can’t work if I’m here every day trying to fix all this.

Becca turns to Sebastian, her drawn-on brows raised in question, as if he may have a more suitable answer for her.

“We’ll see,” is all he says.

Sebastian hasn’t said a word to me since we parked outside the house and he snatched my house keys out of my hand. He led the way in through the front door and then disappeared, checking rooms and closets, climbing the steps, his giant frame somehow avoiding each creak, as if he already knows the house’s quirks.

“Fine. Let me know.” Dried macaroni crunches beneath her pumps as she picks her way along the floor and out the front door.

“She’s something else,” I mutter.

His eyes flicker to me but it’s still radio silence. This isn’t the passionate guy who took me in the bathroom last night. But it’s also not the cold, protective bodyguard.

He’s genuinely upset.

And now that he isn’t wearing sunglasses anymore, I can see the dark circles lining his eyes. I don’t think he slept last night. So where the hell did he go? Maybe he actually did have to leave.

I shove the last of the burgundy leather couch stuffing into a trash bag and knot the top. I’ve already filled two extra-large bags. Fez’s cousin runs a trash pickup service—basically, an old beat-up cube van that will haul anything to the local transfer station for a fee—and he and Fez will be here in a couple of hours to take whatever I have ready to go for the cost of gas and dumping rates, plus some ink on his shoulder.

Wiping the layer of sweat from my brow with the bottom of my tank top, I take a moment to survey the place. Aside from the devastating mess, the dated walls and furniture, it’s actually a nice house, with good bones. Ian’s right—spending a bit of time and money here could be worth it. I could probably borrow enough to update the kitchen and bathroom, do some landscaping, replace the roof. All the kinds of things a responsible adult who had just inherited an old house would do.

If only I had a compelling reason to stay . . .

I shake my head. Who am I trying to fool? Sebastian is the sole reason I’m even entertaining the idea. Before Sebastian walked in, I was ready to pack my bags. Now he’s got me thinking about home renovations.

I can’t believe I’ve let a guy get under my skin, and so fast.

And I’ve been a complete asshole to him.

“I’m sorry,” I finally offer, dragging my trash bag across the tile floor to toss it onto the front porch.

He picks up the broom that is lying on the floor and begins sweeping the loose macaroni into piles. “Don’t do it again.” His dark eyes flicker up to me as he adds, “Please.”

I want to ask him why he cares, why he came back, why he doesn’t have anything better to do, anyone else to see. Why he’d stick around if I’m being so difficult.

Instead, I quietly pile the magazines and newspapers together and tie them for easy removal.

Because right now, I’m just happy he’s here.

I groan, slumping against the doorframe to Ned’s office. Every file on every customer that Ned has kept over the years—I’m sure he shredded the oldest ones, at least—was neatly organized in the row of cabinets.

Now, every file on every customer that Ned has kept over the years covers the floor. You can’t even see the faded beige rug because of the paper.

“What do you want to do with all that?” Sebastian asks. I feel him standing close behind me.

“Shred it.” I sigh. “Except for any customers I worked on while I was here, I guess. They can’t take Ned’s license away, but they can still take mine.”

“And where are yours?”

“They should be in that pile over there, next to the upturned boxes. I just brought those in the other day.” And the assholes dumped those, too.

“How will you know which ones are yours?”

Paper crunches beneath my boots as I step through the mess and stoop down to pick up a sheet, pointing out my name in Ned’s scrawl on the top of the form. A twinge of sadness stirs in my stomach at the sight of it. “They’ll all say my name like that, on the top.”

Sebastian pulls it from my grasp and steps around me to take a seat in the office chair. He reaches down to grab a stack of papers. “Why don’t you tackle your uncle’s room? I can manage this.”

I leave quietly, but not without a glance over my shoulder to see Sebastian eying me.