Chasing Luck (15 page)

“Why not, baby girl?” He picks up a pen and draws lazy circles on a piece of paper.

His endearment sends a tantalizing tingle to my toes. “Don’t think I’ll really do something that involves lots of new places and things and people.”

I should add that I’ll probably never make it until the end of the month.

His head is bent as he gives me a sideways glance through his lashes. “Hmm … I don’t agree with that prediction. You went to San Francisco. New. Met Teddy and well, um … Teddy. New. Got on a plane, a ferry, an island. New, new, new.”

I slump back and allow my knees to bob up and down, rocking my chair. “What about you, hotshot?”

I love the way his eyebrow arches at ‘hotshot.’

“Well,” he says, “I have a two-year, five-year, and ten-year plan. Which you want to hear?”

I can’t help but smile at that. “That is unbelievable. How about the two-year plan. Tell me that one.”

“I’ll be working my business, steady clients, and going to college at night.”

“College? Why aren’t you in college now?” One of the Dobermans pads into the room and sits beside my chair. I lean over and rub the top of his head and wait for Ace to explain. I have a flashback of JT asking why Ace wasn’t in college.

He shrugs. “We really getting into this?” He’s silent for a minute and stops drawing circles with the pen. The look he gives me is heartbreaking. It’s sad and wistful and … what?

“I was in school last year. I let somebody stay with me and she cleaned me out. Took all my money. The money from my student loans for rent, books, all of it. Stole my car. She even took my fucking TV. She could’ve left the TV.”

He smiles on the last statement and my heart compresses in my chest.

“Why didn’t you go and get your things back?” My words come out in a huge exasperated exhale. How could some girl do this to him?

“Mal, Mal, Mal,” he drawls. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is. You hunt her down and get your stuff back.”

“The stuff doesn’t really matter. Back to the point. I didn’t have the money to pay rent and didn’t have a car. I dropped out of my classes and got a second job.”

I’m stunned somebody like Ace would let this go. “Did you turn her into the cops?”

A wry smile passes across his lips. “No.”

“Why not? What does this girl have on you that you would let her pull this?” I’m angry and I don’t care if he thought he was going to marry this girl or something. Actually, I do care. The thought of him with a girl makes me want to throw myself on my bed to have a good cry and then beat the heck out of this despicable tramp.

“She’s my mother.” He won’t look at me now. “Should put her ass in jail, but I can’t do it.”

The silence is palpable as neither one of us moves or speaks. I don’t know what to say to make the acidic burning in my throat go away. Then he drops the pen, leans back with his eyes closed, and exhales.

“You must love her a lot,” I finally whisper.

He opens his eyes and sits up. “No. I don’t love her at all.”

Ace rises from the chair, gathers his empty soda can and the whiskey bottle, and shakes his head. “Time to call it a night. I picked that room two doors down from yours. Night.”

He strolls to the door and never looks back.

“
T
he weatherman’s
predictin’ a hurricane of lust. Hold on baby, it’s a category five.” ~Jelly Bean Queen

O
f all the
stupid things I’ve done lately, drinking those shots of whisky last night ranks high on the list. It was enough to loosen my tongue, but not enough to forget what I said. I told Malerie about my mother.

My mother.

I squeeze my eyes shut and see my mother’s tired face. She always looks so much older than her age. Meth has stolen her health. But I won’t feel sorry for her. The woman can die on the streets for all I care.

She created a miserable life for Joe and she used up her last chance with me. That’s what I get for being fooled. Again. I need to quit thinking about my mother, but she’s been on my mind like jock itch. The more I try not to think about her, the more it burns.

A knock at the bedroom door startles me and I push up on one elbow. “Yeah?”

The door inches open and Malerie stands there holding some kind of bamboo tray. “I brought you breakfast.”

Malerie wears an oversized T-shirt that hangs to mid-thigh, and I’m hoping she has on shorts somewhere under there. Her silken hair hangs loosely in a side ponytail down one shoulder. She’s a vision—a guy’s ultimate wake-up call.

I transcend from being revolted by my mother’s drug addiction to hello-morning-horny in five seconds flat.

Keeping my position on my side—because of the two of us, somebody’s going to be embarrassed and it won’t be me—I drop my head back to the pillow. Thankfully, the comforter acts as camouflage so I won’t risk Mal running from the room.

“I brought coffee with sugar and milk. I made toast,” she adds shyly. Malerie sets the tray on the night table and then stands silently next to the bed. I’m eye level with the bottom of her T-shirt. Her skin is tan and smooth. Runner’s legs with lean muscle and a sweet indention down the side.

I remember those legs from the night at the restaurant before JT died. She’d been half-sprawled on the floor and…

“You can eat it in bed.” She waits, and I don’t move.

“Ah, thanks. I’m not sure I’ve ever had breakfast in bed.”
At least not this kind of breakfast.

She still doesn’t move and I don’t either. Sunshine streams through the half-open slats of the wooden blinds. I slept late.

I lean over and carefully grab the tray to transfer it to my lap as I sit up. “Thanks. I can take it from here.” I add a smile in case it’s what she’s waiting for to send her on her merry way.

The tray holds a mug of coffee just the way I like it, a cloth napkin—people actually use these outside of a restaurant?—and a plate with a stack of toast. Two white, two wheat, and two that might be pumpernickel or something I never eat. I stare at the stack of perfectly toasted bread and can’t help the second smile of the morning.

She exhales. “Whew! I thought for a minute there you wouldn’t like it. You know, the toast. I mean, I knew you would like the coffee because it’s made exactly, and I mean
exactly
like you told me, but I wasn’t sure if you like toast because—”

“Mal?”

She pauses and her brows pull together. “What?”

“I like toast.” To prove this, I skip the coffee that I’m almost literally dying to chug and take a bite of the top slice. No butter, but there’s not a chance I’m bringing that up.

“You okay today?” She takes two steps to the end of the bed and has a seat.

Now I continue to eat a couple more bites because I don’t know what to say to that. I swallow the dry mouthful, take a swig of coffee, and grin. “Yeah. What’s up? Is there something bothering you?”

“No.” She lifts her shoulders slowly. “Last night you seemed … I don’t know. Not yourself.”

“Sorry about that. I should leave the booze alone. I don’t drink often. I was tense. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I didn’t mean that. It’s just…”

She gives me this laser look like she’s mentally sending me the rest of her thoughts.

“Just…?” I prompt. “Mal? I need the rest of the words if you want a response.”

She lies back on the bottom edge of the bed. I’m both relieved and disappointed to see a pair of cotton shorts come into view.

“You know you can talk to me.” Malerie turns her head to the side toward me. “I’m a good listener.”

“Got it. I do want to talk about something.”

“Okay.” She perks up and leans on both her elbows.

“Plans for today. You and I make a run to pick up security equipment. We come back here and you work on researching what the hell that third box might reference. I can do the installations. Have you talked to Billy yet? When will he be released?”

“Why do you want to know about Billy?”

“Because … he should be out soon. He’ll come home.”

“He’s already home,” she says, nonchalantly as telling me the weather forecast.

I narrow my eyes at her, take a sip of my cool coffee, put the cup down. “Here? He lives here, right?”

“I sent him to stay with his daughter.”

“You what?”

“He needs someone to take care of him while he recuperates.”

“I guess I thought he’d stay here.” I don’t need her to see how much this disturbs me. If she guesses, she’ll wonder why, and it won’t take long to conclude I’m afraid to be alone with her.
What am I, a girl?
I can control my physical urges and that’s all it is. Physical.

“We’re on our own,” she says. “I’ll be in the library if you need me. Let me know when you’re ready to go pick up the equipment.”

“Be at the door in fifteen minutes.” The sooner I get my supplies, the better.

“
W
hat are you doing now
?” Malerie studies the blueprint I’ve drawn up for the security cameras. She leans over my shoulder so close I can smell her shampoo.

“Making sure I’m done with this part.”

“Oh. Then what?”

“Do you need something?” I don’t turn around, because I’ll want to kiss her. At least it would make her stop asking me questions.

And make me stop thinking about kissing her.

To maintain professionalism and friendship, I keep myself as busy as possible with tasks related and unrelated to the security setup.

“What’s that?” She leans over the desk and places her index finger on the plan.

“That’s your bedroom.”

“I know that. But what is this thing? You’re putting cameras in my room?”

Now there’s a thought.

“Of course not. That’s where a dumb waiter was in the house a long time ago. Somebody sheetrocked over it. Did you notice I cut the sheetrock and installed a panel?”

“No.”

“Good. That means it’s not obvious.”

She puts her hand to her throat and stands.

“Hey, you okay?” I stand quickly and put my hand on her elbow.

“That seriously freaks me out.”

I can’t stop my laugh. “What’s scary about that?’

“Every scary movie in the history of man has something boarded up in the house.”

“It’s not scary. It’s cool. And I’ve come up with an idea to use it.”

I explain about the wireless sensors set at all the entry points of the house—motion sensors that trigger to local emergency numbers.

“It’s a new idea I never had a chance to discuss with JT,” I say. “You’ll love the panic room.”

“In my room? In the wall? Nu-uh.”

“No. The wine cellar. That cellar is awesome.” The idea came to me in a moment of brilliance. Also, I like the idea of hanging out in there with all those bottles representing wealth and fine living.

“Cellar. Do you hear the scare factor in the name? I don’t like it.”

“It’s perfect. I can make it double as a panic room. You lock yourself inside if you need to stay safe until the police arrive. You can operate emergency alarms for help and no one can disable them.”

“It reminds me of a gas chamber down there.”

Her face tells me there’s a little more to it than that. I wish I knew more about the bombing, but I’m afraid to ask.

“Just humor me. Sub-contractors can reinforce the cellar door and we’ll practice how you get there from the dumb waiter inside of your bedroom closet. You need a way in if you aren’t downstairs.”

“I won’t use it,” she says. She folds her arms and stares at the blueprint.

“You’ll probably never have to, but we should practice. Okay? Say yes.”

She gives me a small nod.

The project itself couldn’t go better. Money gets work done with a quickness I couldn’t manage alone. All the workers meet me with a suspicious eye since they are positive I’m too young to find my ass in the dark with both hands. After they listen to me give specs, they realize I know what I’m talking about. A year of working with a well-established security business taught me a lot.

I might bask in my success except for two things: Malerie can’t decipher the meaning of the third box, and I can’t quit trying to decipher why she is under my skin.

“Teddy called,” Malerie says from across the room. She hangs back in silence, as if waiting for my reaction.

“And?” I return my glance to the notes in front of me.

“He says there’s nothing. He’s still looking through some old records, but he’s positive there isn’t a record of the sale from this year. He has an inventory database and it’s not there.”

“I’m sure he’ll come up with something.” I gather my notes, list, and pen. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Ace?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you regret helping me?” She runs her finger along the wood of the threshold instead of looking at me. “Sometimes, I feel like you’re angry with me. Angry about being here.”

I stand there half-ready to bolt. The professional footing we’ve established rocks on a precipice.

“No,” I say neutrally. “Not at all. I like you and this job. I have no idea why you’d think that.”

She folds her arms across her chest and her gaze meets mine. I feel she wants to say more, but she doesn’t. “Okay. Show me how to use the death trap.” At my look, she adds, “The dumb thing in my closet.”

“You’re going to love this. It’ll be fun.”

Her pale face tells me she’s not buying it. “I’ll do it for you.”

“Don’t do this for me. You can handle it. Come on.” I resist the urge to fold her into my arms and instead lead the way to her room.

“Can you go down with me?”

“We both can’t fit.” I grab the hidden pull-tab that allows the panel in the closet to open. We stand so close I can feel the heat from her skin, her breathing a little faster than normal.

“I can’t do it.”

“You have to trust me. Nothing bad will happen. I’ll show you how to start it, and I’ll run like hell to the bottom to be there when you’re in the panic room. You’ll open that door and see me. Then I’ll show you how to lock yourself in.” I grab her hand and lean down to make eye contact.

She breathes harder, and I’m afraid she’s going to hyperventilate.

“Hey,” I say. “Why don’t you sing one of your favorite tunes and concentrate on that while you’re in there? Something about girl power and how all guys are assholes. That kind of thing.”

The corner of her mouth lifts. “I can do that.” She closes her eyes and inhales. “Ready.”

L
ater
, I watch Braveheart for the one-thousandth time. It’s midnight, so I click the TV off and lie back on my pillow. I’m used to being alone, but there’s something solitary about not interacting with someone who is only yards away. Why did she ask me if I regret taking the job? Can she tell how it’s killing me to do the friend thing?

The guy who thinks he can be friends with Malerie must be blind, deaf, and mute.

I sit in this room and wonder if she’s awake. I wonder if she’s reading since I never hear a television. I wonder if she’s on her computer chatting with that Collin guy.

Her door is always cracked. I could go see if her light is on. I get up from the bed and take a couple of steps to my door. If she’s awake, what am I going to do about it?

I give a frustrated laugh and return to my bed. Call me a coward, but I don’t know how to do this friend-with-a-female thing.

Later, there’s a scratching sound at my door and I’m relieved she’s breaking her silence.

I open the door, but she’s not there. Tom, one of the Dobermans, stands in the threshold.

“You want to come in?” I offer. He’s comfortable around me now, but I’m still surprised to find him here.

An unfamiliar sound whispers down the hall. Tom steps back and pivots toward it, his sharp ears flick and he looks back at me once. I follow.

Malerie’s door is ajar, and when I hesitate to invade her privacy, Tom uses his nose to push it open.

Her light’s on so she must be doing something. I back away when I hear a knocking sound. There’s a bang against the wall—once, twice—and it stops, so I step through the open doorway toward the noise and see Malerie twisted in her sheets. The pillows and the bed comforter lay on the floor. She thrashes around like an insect wrapped in a spider’s web.

The movement slams her headboard into the wall a third time.

“Malerie,” I say in a normal voice. I wait for a sign she’s heard me.

I say her name louder, and this time she whimpers. Tom scampers to the edge of the bed and licks her hand that hangs off the side.

My instincts are to scoop up her body and hold her. Climb in the bed with her and chase away her demons throughout the night. I feel responsible for this nightmare. I forced her to practice going to the cellar in that dumb waiter, a tiny coffin delivering her to a place where all the monsters in her head live.

I move to the edge of the bed, not sitting but hovering like some jerk. I won’t stay but a minute. Long enough to make sure she’s awake and long enough to comfort her.

Instead of pulling her to me like I want, I shake her shoulders gently. I hold my breath when she opens her eyes. Her unguarded, sorrowful look filets me with a sharp blade.

“You were having a bad dream.” My hand reaches out as if not paying attention to my brain. I stroke her cheek and she closes her eyes at my touch.