Chasing Luck (13 page)

My face begins to heat, not from the sunshine, but from the knowledge that he might want to listen to
Rock Universe
. “Sure. If you want. I’ll email the URL to you later.”

“Good. Yes, I want to listen.” He puts the sunglasses in his pocket.

“Or we could hang out and I’ll play the recording of the last one for you.”

The ferry reaches the dock and announcements of debarking begin to play on a speaker.

“Time to get to the airport and head home,” Ace says. “You think you’ll be all right on the flight home?”

I squeeze his bicep and grin. “With you there? Sure. I can handle it.”

He moves away from my hand on his arm. “Malerie?”

“Hmm?” I get in line to exit the boat.

“What happened last night can’t happen again. I work for you … for Billy … and it’s not a good idea. We’re not fu—we’re not buddies or more than buddies. I work for you.” He gives me that fake smile again.

His words—after our last conversation—sear me. An actual heartburn in my chest. We
are
friends. And he is attracted to me whether he’ll admit it or not.

“Asshat,” I mutter. This is my new nickname for him. He is a maddening asshat. And I’m definitely falling for him. “Sure. But if you work for me, I say you move into the house. That carriage house thing isn’t going to work. And we need to work around the clock to figure out how to stop whatever’s going to happen.”

His smile hardens into a grim line of displeasure. He examines me like he knows exactly what I’m doing. “Yeah. No problem at all. And you need to be aware of the dangers of living with an asshat.”

“
A
dozen roses
, a dozen lies, a dozen drinks, before you’re mine.” ~ Jelly Bean Queen

A
t Malerie’s house
, the two devil dogs wait with a slobbery kiss for her and a bone-chilling growl for me. The birds are singing, the sun is shining, and I am stepping into hell. Malerie wants me to sleep inside the main house.

“Gertrude?” Malerie drops her bag and walks through the house calling the housekeeper’s name. Housekeeper. Maybe I can convince the woman to move in. A housekeeper to run interference and a chastity belt for Malerie—as good a plan as any.

“I’m going to make a cup of coffee. You want some?”

"No. You go ahead. Mi casas es su casa."

"Si. Oui. Whatever," I mutter. I carry the rest of the bags into the house before making my way to the kitchen.
Ah.
At least there’s this mecca for retreat.

Malerie’s humming some familiar radio tune. She’s a little too cheerful for my taste. Also … too pretty. When I told the kid on the plane she was that overly pretty type? Yeah. All true. And she’s bossy. She orders me to stay here like I have no choice.

I could leave.

Then she yells my name, her voice laced with panic, and I run.

I’m up the staircase in a flash, looking left and right. My feet pound each step and the dogs chase at my heels. Did I run the wrong way? She’s not saying my name now.

“Malerie! Where are you?” I don’t know what’s in most of the rooms in this house. It’s like a damn hotel. “Malerie!”

I’m breathing hard when I pause to listen for her. I hold my breath and stand in the hallway, make my way slowly to her bedroom at the end of the hall. I don’t have a weapon on me.

When I round the corner of the open door, there’s furniture upturned¸ the bed mattress on the floor, a shattered lamp. She sits curled into a ball on the floor. Her chin rests against her knees and her eyes are closed.

“Are you all right?” I kneel down to be closer.

“Why would someone do this?”

I grip her shoulders. “I’m calling the police. Have you looked in the other rooms?”

“No.”

I get to my feet, unnerved that we might not be alone in the house. “You call 911 and I’ll search the place.”

“Don’t leave me alone.” She opens her eyes and the desperation nearly knocks me over.

I run my hand over the top of her head and around to caress her cheek. “Hey now. Everything’s going to be okay.”

She nods and squeezes her eyes closed. She’s so close to tears and I can’t let that happen. “Shh.” I pull to her feet and hand my phone to her. “Call 911 and report a break-in.”

Two officers arrive soon after and take our statement, survey the damage, and finally leave. I check every closet and cranny, but there’s no evidence of anyone still hanging around.

“The universe hates me.” Her words are barely audible. Malerie mashes her lips together. Her entire body shakes. She sits on her bedroom floor and curls into herself, her head tucked into her knees.

“One might get that impression.” I realize my words are not very funny. “No. That’s not true. This is one of those trials-of-life things. You know, to make you stronger.”

“Oh yeah?” Her words are muffled.

I sit beside her on the floor, smooth her hair. She immediately moves to place her head on my chest. I rest my chin on her head. “Sure. Everyone has them. I’ve had mine; these are yours. It will all be fine.”

“You know the saying actually goes, ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’”

“Well shit, Miss MIT. You only think that’s the saying. It really goes, ‘Surviving life’s trials makes you one determined SOB.’”

She laughs then. It’s brief and half-hearted, but the sound is like a salve.

“Hey,” I tilt my head to look at her. “You were fantastic in San Francisco.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Her brow crinkles and I’m amused by her mixture of sexy and innocent. She turns her body toward me, cradled in my arms.

“Taking control of finding out about the boxes. You were like a private investigator. Minus the trench coat.” My mind goes there instantly. Malerie in a trench coat. I’ve told her we have to keep this professional. I gently move her to sit beside me.

“I think Teddy will find something,” she says.

“Me, too. But you seem to have lots of computer skills. I’m guessing you have some other ideas.”

“I do.” She reclines against the wall, her legs in front of her.

Both Dobermans enter the bedroom and lie down near me, paws under their chins and watching our movements. “The devil dogs look happy to see you.”

“Don’t call them that.” She gives me a playful shove and reaches across my legs to rub the head of the smaller one.

Malerie’s almost back to normal. She’s not her sassy self, but it’s better than the despair I saw ten minutes ago.

“Where’s my room?” I get to my feet and stretch. The sun will be down soon, night falling quick as a pulled blind during the fall months. “I’ll put my things away. And then I need to go to my apartment and grab some bags. I didn’t realize I’d be staying.”

She’s still and I can read the torrent of thoughts that must stream through her mind.

“Pick any room,” she says.

“Great.” I hesitate at the door. “I’ll do that.”

She hasn’t moved from her position on the floor. One of the dogs edges closer and places his chin on Malerie’s knee. She pats his head and bites her bottom lip.

“Want to come with me? To my place, to get some things?” I have no doubt she’s afraid to be in this house alone. She can’t be here without me until I install the security system.

There’s no answer, and she continues to rub the Doberman’s head in rhythmic strokes.

“You could help.” I link my hands on the top of my head and stare at the setting sun through her uncurtained window. “Come on, Mal. Help a guy out.”

“Yeah. I can do that.”

“Good. I’ll be ready to leave in a few minutes. Meet you downstairs.”

I turn the corner and stall in the hallway for a second. The air between us is different now and I don’t know how to go back. I’m kidding myself if I think I can put a reverse on this fast-moving train, but I have to find a way.

“
I
fed
her once every day. She missed you.” Mrs. Prata stands in my apartment doorway, peering past my shoulder at Malerie.

“I’ve only been gone a couple of days.”

“I want you to know your cat was taken care of properly. I did pet her … or I tried to … but she is not a friendly girl and she didn’t really respond well to me. Are you petting her on a daily basis? She’ll be wild if you don’t show her some attention. I know people think they can let cats run wild—”

I may lose my mind before she will stop. “Mrs. P? This is my boss, Malerie Toombs.” I motion to Malerie, who has been silent in the shadows of the small kitchen alcove through Mrs. P’s entire cat care lecture. “Malerie, Mrs. Prata is my landlady and lives downstairs.”

A huge smile engulfs Mrs. Prata’s face lined face. “Why Achilles, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

“She’s my boss,” I correct. I don’t look at either one of them as I fill the litter box, bag the old litter, and water my only plant. We all stand in the same general area since my kitchen and living room are only separated by a table.

“And
Achilles
is exaggerating. I’m not his boss. The guardian of my trust hired him.”

I give Malerie a steely look at her use of my given name. “That’s not what you said yesterday.” I try to ignore them as I flip through some mail Mrs. Prata stacked neatly on the table.

Mrs. Prata takes three steps into the room. “Achilles has been a blessing to me. I have a son who lives in Minnesota and never comes to visit.”

The remark about her son makes me worry she’ll need something while I’m living at Malerie’s place. “I’m a phone call away. Okay?”

She turns to Malerie. “I’ve offered to pay him for all he does and he won’t take money.”

“Mrs. P., Malerie and I can’t stay long.” She’s painting me as some choirboy.

“Always in a hurry. You need to slow down.” Mrs. Prata shuffles over and I know the kiss on the cheek is coming, so I bend to her five-foot height.

I spy Malerie’s face and wish she wasn’t here to witness all this. So, I’m nice to the old lady. It’s not a big deal.

“I’ll walk you down.” I take Mrs. Prata’s upper arm and lead her to the apartment door. “Be back in a sec,” I say to Malerie.

“No problem. Nice to meet you.” Malerie calls after us.

Mrs. Prata stops me and turns. “Nice to meet you. You are so pretty. You make Achilles bring you back, but stop at my place first. He was trying to sneak you past, but I saw you two walk by my parlor window. He’s never brought a girl here. Have you?”

“All the time. I’m just too fast for you.” I shut the door without looking behind us.

When I return to my apartment, Malerie hasn’t moved from the spot where I left her. She stands in the middle of the room with her arms folded across her chest. I close the door behind me. She appears so shy and uncomfortable in my space.

“Sorry about that.” I take one last glance around and pick up the duffle I packed three days ago.

“She’s nice.”

I nod. “Yeah. She is. Ready?”

“You have vinyl.”

“What?” Her question comes at me out of nowhere. I follow her gaze to a crate full of old record albums in one corner of my apartment. The entire apartment could fit inside Malerie’s bedroom, so a lot of my personal belongings end up stored in crazy spaces.

“May I look at them?”

“Look all you want. You didn’t have to ask.”

She takes slow steps over to the crate like I might change my mind.

“I don’t have anything to play them on. No record player,” I say.

She kneels down reverently, like it’s an altar, and pulls the first one out. “This is so valuable,” she says. “You know, right?” Her excitement buzzes across the room.

I shrug. “Probably.” I set my duffle bag down and take a seat on the worn sofa.

“Where’d you get them?”

“Belonged to my dad.”

“Oh.” She tucks a few strands of hair behind one ear and I’m glad I can see her face better. My lamps don’t shed a lot of light and she’s almost in shadow.

“You like the old stuff? I thought this podcast thing is new music.”

“It is. But we mix in old stuff because some bands play tribute stuff or remake songs.”

“Nice.”

Her eyes sparkle when she looks at me. “I have a player. You know … if you want to borrow it.”

“Thanks. Nice of you to offer.”

“I mean it. JT bought me one last year. Nostalgia thing. We—Collin and I—always use digital music for the show, but there’s something about vinyl that’s irresistible.”

I put my elbows on my knees and study her. She’s not looking at me but at the covers and back of each album. “Bring the crate.”

“Really?”

“Sure. You can borrow them for a little while. If that’s your thing…”

“I will be careful with this. You know I will.”

“No doubt.”

Someone might think I’d handed the girl a dozen red roses because she squeals—actually lets out this fan-girl, high-pitched ‘eek’ that makes me laugh.

“I’ll carry this.” Malerie grabs the bottom of the crate. “Ow.”

“Hey, don’t hurt yourself.”

She places the records back on the floor. “I forget about my shoulder.”

“I’ve got it.” I pick up my duffel. “I’ll get the crate. You grab the lights.”

A faint mewling sound drifts into the room as the cat drifts in and winds around my leg.

“Hi, kitty.” Malerie stays in her position near the floor and puts a hand out. “Hey.” She extends her fingers and waits.

I bend down and grab the crate with one hand and my cat slinks away from my leg to Malerie’s side.

“What’s her name?”

“Cat.”

“No. Really.”

“Yup. That’s her name.” I raise one eyebrow in challenge.

“You did not name her that. That’s horrible.” Shy, reserved Malerie is gone, and feisty Malerie’s back. It’s about time.

My cat, Evanescence, purrs and rubs her black coat against Malerie’s leg.

“I give her a name and she thinks this is a permanent situation. We’re just hanging out together until something better comes along.”

Keep glaring, sweetheart. Keep glaring.

She follows me down the apartment stairs and to my plain work truck. I wonder if she’s embarrassed riding in it. I need new tires and the paint’s scratched, but it’s mine.

Between the rent and truck payment, I’ve had to work two jobs at a time. But now, Billy says he’ll pay more salary for one month than I earn in six. I feel a double-shot of guilt that I’m thinking about money when Malerie’s life is in danger.

“I can’t wait to tell Collin about your collection.” Malerie clips her seat belt and turns to look at the bed of the truck and the crate filled with albums.

“I don’t collect things. Only keep it since it’s the only thing I have from my father.” I pull out of the parking lot and maneuver through weekend traffic and hope she won’t ask about my last comment. I really don’t want to talk about my screwed up family history. We head into a situation that gets more personal with every minute we spend together.

The darkness hides her face and the expressions I can already read. She has a way of biting her lip when she’s nervous, wrinkling her nose when she doesn’t want to do something, and tilting her head when she’s thinking hard.

It’s the last movement I detect from the corner of my eye when she speaks. “When I was little, I wondered if I was cursed. You know, like some witch put a spell on me.”

“Yeah? Sounds like the things little kids dream up. You’re not cursed, Mal.” I take my gaze off the road ahead and turn down the heater fan so I can hear her better. We’re at a stoplight and I worry I should pull over.

“Do you want to know why I think I lived through the bombing?”

The tone of her voice sends a shiver straight through me. She’s so serious. “Why?”

“Because I crawled to a side room and into some kind of metal cabinet, too scared to do anything else, and I prayed that I didn’t want to die. Over and over. I cried for myself.”