Breaking Out (9 page)

She shrugged. “Go ahead and open it.”

He smiled shyly and lifted the package, giving it a little shake. It was wide and cumbersome. He carried it to the sofa and sat, staring at the paper.

She slid into the seat across from him. “Well, are you going to open it?”

His grin was precious. One would think he was never given a thing in his life. The tear of the paper made a slow ripping sound as he peeled it back. The glass shone. When he noticed Patras Hotel in the frame, his smile doubled. “Hey, I know that place,” he said teasingly.

The paper tore away in heavy scraps and he tipped the frame, balancing it on his knees. Evelyn stood and moved to stand next to him. His thumb traced the small brass plate at the bottom. HOME.

He glanced up at her. “Home,” he whispered.

She nodded and the tense mood turned to something weighted and tender. He reached for her hand, gliding his thumb over the backs of her fingers much like he'd glided it over the plaque.

“Thank you for this.”

Her throat was tight. “Thank you for giving me a home,” she whispered in return.

He nodded and glanced back at the picture. “This
is
your home, Evelyn. You've made it a home for me, a sanctuary. This is a beautiful gift.”

She lowered into the seat beside him. “We're okay, right, Lucian?”

His throat worked as he swallowed. “Yes, I believe we are.” It was as though her gift had offered some much needed reassurance to him, but she didn't understand where his need for such a thing stemmed from.

Leaning up, she softly pressed a kiss into his cheek. He turned and kissed her fully. After a while, he placed the picture against the wall and led her to bed. They made love languidly, each caress a slow unraveling treasure, and fell asleep in each other's arms.

Evelyn's last thought was that it was nice to have shelter, but it was Lucian who truly was her home.

Chapter 6

Equal Opportunity

Evelyn made a conscious effort to not think about the Parker situation anymore. Whatever had been bothering Lucian on Friday seemed to have passed by Sunday. They did their usual routine of breakfast followed by ledger entries. As she read him the last entry, she lowered the pages in her lap and watched him make his notations. It always intrigued her that Lucian kept his own books.

“Is that the last one?”

“Yup.”

He leaned back and stretched, swiping his glasses from his nose in the process. “What do you say we get out of here for a while? How would you like to take a ride to visit Pearl?”

Evelyn never turned down the chance to visit her mother, especially now that she'd somewhat forgiven Scout for checking her into the rehab facility Lucian found. “Okay.”

“I need to read over this contract. Why don't you get a shower and we can go in a little bit.”

Rather than stand, she watched him. As he realized something was keeping her there, he turned back to her. “Say it, Evelyn.” He always knew when something was on her mind.

“I need to start looking for another job, Lucian.” She had been dreading this conversation.

His expression tightened. “I'll talk to the concierge and see what openings he has.”

“I don't want to work at the front desk. You know that. It's too much reading for me.”

“I wasn't talking about the front desk. There are other, less high-profile, positions.”

“Less high-profile as in you invent a position, put a fancy title on it and feel justified in giving me a paycheck every week? I don't think so. I want to find a real job.”

“It
will
be a real job.”

She deliberately gave him a knowing look, shoving her tongue in her cheek and rolling her eyes. “Come on, Lucian. I need to work. We've been through this.”

“Why do you need to work? I provide everything you need. You have a heap of money in your top drawer and if you want something I'll buy it for you.”

“There's a name for women who let lovers leave money on the nightstand.” He gave her a warning glance and she amended, “I don't like feeling indebted.”

“You aren't.” His tone took on an offended ring. “I give you those things because I want to.”

“Lucian, a man can buy a woman gifts, but only a whore gets money on the nightstand.”

He glared at her. “Evelyn, don't. We aren't going there again. I have money. I spend it on those I love. End of story. Compare yourself to a whore again and you'll regret it.”

“Well, I want money too. Money I earned, so that I can spend it on the people I . . .”

He looked at her, waiting for her to finish the statement. She couldn't. She never spoke words of love. Her experiences with love only taught her that it was the strongest weapon a person could wield. She'd loved her mother, and for twenty years Pearl did nothing but take advantage of her affection, use it to manipulate her. Every time her mother stood a breath away from death's door, Evelyn's heart was flayed deeply. She cared about Lucian in ways she never cared for anyone else, including her mother. She couldn't give him that kind of power over her. She would give him anything else, but not that.

She cleared her throat and looked away. “Please don't fight me about this. If you help me find a job I could probably land a better one. You know I have a hard time with the help wanted ads.”

“Fine. But you wait a few weeks.”

“Lucian!”

“Just a couple weeks, and then I'll help you. I'll ask around and see who's hiring. I don't want you working somewhere shady. Let me find you a job in a respectable part of the city with a boss you can trust.”

She laughed. “Yeah, because my last boss didn't understand the definition of inappropriate behavior at the workplace.”

He smiled evilly. “Very true and precisely why I want to know exactly who you're working for. Now come here and let's examine your skills.”

Evelyn understood the playful look in his eyes and went to him willingly. She giggled and yelped as he pulled her into his lap and kissed her soundly.

***

Visiting Pearl was always like visiting a place remembered fondly. It never quite lived up to one's expectations and afterward it left one feeling incomplete and slightly off.

Pearl was quiet and subdued. When Lucian gave them some privacy she brightened a little. She looked weathered, but clean. Her hair was no longer matted and her usual, sallow coloring had eased. She didn't have a healthy glow, but she looked better than she had in years.

There were those moments as a child when Evelyn could remember idolizing her mother, before she realized she was a vagrant and an addict and someone who sold her body to get high.

She assumed every child had those moments, when a mother, no matter who she was, was the most beautiful human being in the world. She also assumed every child was disappointed when they realized mothers were just as human and flawed as everybody else. Evelyn had once idolized Pearl as beautiful and flawless, but now she only saw the shell of a human being, too far gone to ever fit back in place.

Her jaundiced eyes focused on Evelyn as her mouth worked like a goat chewing over some straw. Pearl had barely any good teeth left. If she asked, she knew Lucian would pay for an oral surgeon, but Pearl didn't have much interest in such things.

“Where's your friend, Scout?”

“Lucian went to the lobby to wait.”

“Nah him. Your other friend. The nice one,” her mother said as she rocked too quickly to appear relaxed.

“Lucian's a nice man, Momma.”

“No, he ain't. He got me locked up here.”

They'd agreed it was in Pearl's best interest that she not know she had every right to walk out the front door. Luckily, she was nasty to most of the rehab staff so none of them ever talked to her much or educated her otherwise.

“Are you talking about Parker?”

“That nice gentleman of yours. Use to come to the tracks now and again. Brought me gloves once. He was a nice boy.”

“I haven't seen Parker in a few months.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I don't live at the shelter anymore.”

“Oh, right. You a big fancy rich woman now. I barely recognize you in your fancy clothes.”

Evelyn looked down at her lap. It was absurd to feel embarrassed for her nice clothing when all of her life she'd worn rags. “Your clothes are nicer now too, Momma. I know you like those sneakers I brought you.”

“Yeah, they all right. But I ain't ever have no visitors no more so what do I care?”

“I visit.”

She snorted. “You my keeper.” She looked back at the door and stopped rocking. Leaning forward she whispered, “Come on, Scout, let's get out a here. We can go back to the way things were.”

Her mother's recollection of their previous life was skewed and nothing remotely close to reality. “It's cold out there, Momma. Look, you have a bed and blankets, and a big window to see the people going by—”

“I don't want any of that shit,” she snapped, slicing her hand through the air. “They've probably taken all my stuff by now, ransacked everything. I'm gonna have to start new now.”

Pearl didn't have stuff. She had a pallet of cardboard boxes, some dry, rotted rags that were once clothes, and a cart with a broken wheel. She also had a stash of heroin, but even Evelyn knew that was long gone.

“Do you want me to bring you anything, Momma?”

“Why, you talk to someone? You get me a hit?”

Hope crumbled in her chest. Of course her mother's mind would go right to that. Four months sobriety hadn't made a bit of difference. “No. I meant clothes or games or shampoo. Anything like that.”

Pearl made a fed-up sound, turned away and leaned back in her rocker. Evelyn knew it was time for her to go.

“You ain't worth shit,” her mother mumbled as she rocked, facing the wall.

Evelyn stood and kissed her mother's cheek. “I'll be back to visit again soon.” She left without being acknowledged.

Chapter 7

Unwelcome

Evelyn's conscience fluttered awake at the press of Lucian's lips to her temple. “Have a good day, beautiful. Love you.”

She rolled to her back, trapped in that dreamy place between being asleep and awake. “Mmm, don't go.”

“Have to. I have meetings all day.” His fingers coasted down the soft side of her breast as she stretched languidly. “But you have no idea how tempting you are.”

She peeked at him from under her lashes. He wore a pressed white dress shirt under a pinstriped black vest and tailored slacks. The warm scent of fresh coffee steamed from the mug in his other hand, and his jacket was draped over his arm.

“I left you a little present in the hall. I have to get going. I have an appointment in twenty minutes.” He kissed her again and as he walked out the door, longing pinched her heart. The sound of the front door closing behind him created an actual twinge of pain in her veins.

Sighing, she rolled out of bed and slipped into her robe. After using the bathroom she wandered into the hall to see what he'd left her. Her steps faltered as she spotted the enormous box wrapped in red glossy paper, and several other smaller, but still large, boxes wrapped and scattered around it. There was a black bow—so very Lucian—tacked to the top of the biggest box with a tag.

She shouldn't be surprised this was what he considered a “little present,” but she was. Shaking her head, still half asleep, she shuffled over to the boxes and looked at the tag. He had written in legible, boxy print using only small words.

CALL FRONT DESK. WILL BUILD. HAVE FUN.

~L.

She plucked the corner of the paper on the largest box carefully. She liked to save a scrap of the paper from every gift Lucian gave her. Her collection was becoming a bit of a hoarder's fantasy, but she couldn't help it. He always had things wrapped in such pretty paper.

Finding the folded seam, she pulled the paper back and frowned. The picture on the front showed a woman drawing at a big, square slab. There was a word she sounded out. “
Cruh . . . cruff . . . cruft.”
She shook her head and tried again.
A says ah. “Crahfft. Craft.”

Looking at the picture again, she noticed the shelves of the counter were filled with baskets of paintbrushes, scissors, and markers. He got her a craft table? The phone rang and she moved to his desk to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Do you like it?”

She smiled. “It's a craft table.”

“I know. Do you like it?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I figured you could use it to do whatever you plan on doing with your collections. The front desk is awaiting your call. Get dressed and give them a buzz. Someone from maintenance is scheduled to come up and put it together.”

“Where should they put it?” It was a large, square table, judging by the picture.

“You can put it in the guest room or put it next to my desk if you want. That way while I'm working you can work beside me.”

Her face stretched to accommodate her smile. He was amazing. “Thank you, Lucian. I love it.”

“I love
you.”

He'd been saying that more and more. Maybe she should just say it back. But she had this sickening fear the moment she said those words everything would turn delicate and shatter. “Thank you.” She could only confide her love once she was certain she wouldn't regret it, but she knew there were no guarantees in matters of the heart.

He sighed and she hated, after everything he had given her, that she still couldn't give him that. “Have a good day, Evelyn. I won't be home until after seven. Go ahead and eat without me.” The line went dead.

She quickly dressed in a pair of jeans and a soft periwinkle sweater, fixed her hair and washed up for the day, then called down to the front desk. A man by the name of José came right up bearing a toolbox and wearing a more serviceable Patras uniform.

Evelyn opened all the boxes. They were filled with beautiful baskets and jars to organize her stuff. José went right to work. The table was enormous, twice the size of Lucian's antique desk. It looked juvenile next to his fancy setup. She went to her room and pulled a tip out of the top drawer for José. He was done within an hour.

When he left, she stood staring at her new table. José had put some of her items from the craft store in various compartments. Her stones and trinkets from the sidewalk sale filled pretty apothecary jars, catching the sun coming through the large window. She sat at the stool Lucian had bought to go with the table and stared at all her stuff, a bit afraid to touch it and mess it up.

Her fingers brushed the jar holding her sea glass. She turned it until her favorite piece showed and caught the sunlight. Drawing in a deep breath and releasing it slowly, her shoulders slumped.
Now what?

She hadn't really thought through her whole craft project yet. The legs of the table were bulky shelves. José placed her library books there. Evelyn pulled them out and flipped through the one about jewelry making. Her fingers tapped the surface of the table as she spaced out, thinking random, weightless thoughts and passing a good part of the hour.

Finally, without giving it much thought, she went to find her shoes. Slipping into her leather boots, she wrapped a navy blue scarf around her neck. Opening the top drawer, she pulled out two hundred dollars and stuffed it into the inside pocket of her
Dolce & Gabbana
purse. Zipping it tight, she found her coat and key, and left.

Evelyn took the gilded elevator to the thirtieth floor, then walked past the elevators that dropped guests into the lobby. She took the one delivering guests to the fitness center. Moving quickly, with her head lowered, she hurried down the hall, past the gym, past the indoor pool, and out the side entrance.

The cold March morning air cut down the collar of her coat and she tightened her scarf. She should have grabbed a real scarf. This one was nothing more than an accessory. Looking left, then right, she saw no one she recognized and quickly headed east, away from the front of the hotel.

It was still fairly early, and the morning rush of pedestrian traffic mostly moved into the commercial district to settle in with their first cups of coffee for the day. The sidewalks were fairly vacant, lacking the blending roar of the footed rush hour of Folsom. Cabs busily chauffeured people where they needed to go, and as the cold, blustery morning again cut through her clothes, Evelyn considered hailing a taxi for herself.

She didn't really have a plan. She only knew she had several hours until Lucian returned and this would likely be her only chance.

“Ms. Keats!”

Spine stiffening, Evelyn turned and saw a man in the unmistakable Patras uniform chasing after her. He held a phone to his ear and ran awkwardly through a cluster of pedestrians.

Are you kidding me?

Decision made, she threw up her hand and a yellow cab pulled quickly to the curb.

“Ms. Keats!” the man called again as she slammed the door.

“The old St. Christopher's church,” she said as her heart raced. “Go!”

The Patras employee neared just as the cab pulled away. She felt bad for whoever the man was. Twisting in her seat, she stared out the rear window of the cab as his shoulders drooped and he spoke into a phone, despair clear on his face.

“You know that church ain't open no more,” the cabby said. His voice spoke of too many cigarettes, and the scent of the cab's interior confirmed he was a smoker.

“I know.”

“Girl like you shouldn't be in that section of town alone. You picking someone up?”

“I don't know.” It honestly all depended on if she found Parker and how he was doing.

The driver was quiet the rest of the way as he navigated down the busy streets. She tapped her foot anxiously and fiddled with the zipper of her purse. If Lucian was in a meeting he wouldn't be disturbed. Seth, his assistant, knew better than to interrupt Lucian when he had important clients in town. She hoped whenever Seth got the call advising she'd left without Dugan that such would be the case. If Lucian was occupied she would at least have somewhat of a chance to find Parker and get back to Patras safe and sound so she could prove he had nothing to worry about.

Her cell phone buzzed. Unzipping her bag, she pulled it out and looked at the screen. It was a missed call from Dugan.

“Shit,” she mumbled under her breath. People probably escaped the Nazis easier than one could escape Lucian's paid staff.

Not wanting the bother or the heartburn, she shut off her phone and stuffed it back in her bag. Twenty minutes later the cab pulled up in front of St. Christopher's. It was so familiar and at the same time different.

Lucian had funded a great deal of the renovations. The church and old school had new roofs, and the stone facing had all been repointed. The concrete steps were redone, and the dilapidated railing going up the center was now gone, replaced by a brand new sturdy one. There were no cars in the lot, but she expected that. Residents had to be out of the shelter by eight and couldn't return until curfew.

“I told you. Nobody's here.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a twenty. “Thank you.” Handing the money over the front seat, she reached for the door.

“You want me to wait?” the driver asked.

There was no point in him sticking around. She knew Parker could be hiding in a ton of places by this time of day. She was going to have to walk back, but she'd made that walk a hundred times before.

“It's okay. Thanks though.”

“Okay,” the driver said reluctantly. “You be careful. A girl like you shouldn't be walkin' these parts alone.”

“I'll be fine.” She climbed out of the cab and watched as it slowly pulled away. Trepidation, having everything to do with Lucian and nothing to do with her surroundings, tickled her spine. She should have been uncomfortable in this part of the city, but she wasn't. It was home, her home before Lucian, even if he was her home now. Besides, she'd grown up at the tracks. St. Christopher's district was like a country club compared to the tracks.

She knew no one was there, but she tried the heavy doors anyway. Locked. Walking around the perimeter of the building, she searched for signs of the living. Sometimes people would find a place to rest in the empty flowerbeds, being that the brick embankments were slightly raised and could block a good bit of wind.

She'd forgotten how quiet this section of the city was. No cars rushed by. No pedestrians walked on the broken pavement the city council tried to pass off as sidewalks. Even the basketball nets were without the jangle of their netted chains. Once Parker read her a book called
How the Grinch Stole Christmas!
This section of Folsom looked like the Grinch had been by. Even the mice running over the storm drains looked emaciated and cold, without even a crumb to nibble on.

The sound of gravel crunching directly behind her had her pivoting quickly. She hadn't realized anyone was around. She squinted at the mangy face staring back at her and recognized the eyes belonging to a man who sometimes stayed with the rest of them at St. Christopher's. Paul or Marty was his name. She couldn't remember.

“I'll take that bag of yours there, missy,” he said and Evelyn noticed, gripped within his dirty fingers peeking from the frayed tips of his gloves, was a small, but very sharp, knife.

She frowned at him in no mood for nonsense. “Do you know where Parker is?”

“How you know Parker?” He didn't lower the weapon.

“I'm Scout. You remember me, right?”

He looked her over, his gaze snagging on the bracelet Lucian had given her. When his eyes met hers again he said, “You don't look like Scout by the way you dressed, but you got her eyes. I ain't seen Parker in months.”

Months?
Evelyn's stomach dropped. Oh, God. Was he dead? Her voice shook. “Do you know where he went?”

The man shrugged. “Maybe I'll be able to remember more if you give me that bracelet.”

Anger had her clamping her jaw tight. “Look, I'm trying to find my friend. You can either help me or not, but you aren't getting a damn thing from me. If you tell me where Parker might be I can give you enough money for something decent to eat—”

“I think you confused,
Scout
. You see, I gots me a knife and all you gots is some fancy clothes, new jewelry, and that big expensive pocketbook where this money you talkin' of is probably hidin'. I'm thinking with all that I can get more than a decent meal. Now hand it over.”

“Or what? You'll cut me? I don't think so.”

His dirty face darkened and he took a step forward. Evelyn immediately stepped back, her hands balling into fists. She didn't spend twenty years on the street not knowing how to take care of herself. This motherfucker was going to lose a hand if he came any closer with that dingy knife.

“Last chance, Scout. Give me—”

There was a strange click. “Step
the fuck
away from her.”

Evelyn spun on her heel and came face to barrel with a handgun. “Jesus!” She jumped out of the line of fire and saw Dugan looking fiercer than he ever had.

“Go get in the limo, Ms. Keats.”

“Dugan, I—”

“Now.”

She looked back at Paul or Marty or whomever, who looked about ready to piss himself, and decided it was time for her to leave. She quickly walked back to the limo and found it unlocked. She clambered inside, suddenly sick to her stomach. This was not good.

The front door of the limo opened only a minute later and Dugan climbed behind the wheel. He stuck his gun in the glove compartment and lifted his phone to his ear.

“Dugan—”

“Not. A. Word.”

“Dugan, please . . .” The privacy glass went up. The doors clicked, all locking on command, and the limo pulled away.
Well shit.