Honesty (Mark of Nexus) (14 page)

I stiffened.

“You know I’m right.”

“Tell you what,” I gritted out, removing his arm from my shoulders. “You look out for what’s yours, and I’ll look out for what’s mine. Sound fair?”

“Cole…”

“C’mon, girls.” I started for the Jeep and waved over my shoulder. “We’ll think of secret alliance names in the car.”

As if things weren’t complicated enough…

Aiden showed no change from when I’d left him the week before, save for the fact that he’d been dressed in some kind of ERA-issue hospital gown.

It was still a fruitful trip, though. Rena and Gabby got their boo-hoos out, Wallace was able to poke around The Underground a little more, and Corynn—well, she got to stand with the good guys for once.

Since I practically lived at ERA HQ these days—what, with all the stealing—I lagged behind and considered my situation. My brother meant well, but he was overlooking the obvious about Rachel. ERA already recognized her as a known associate of ours. They’d been keeping tabs on us for months, documenting her interactions with Rena and Wallace before our paths had ever crossed. As things stood, she was already in danger. The best thing to do right now was keep her close.
Very
close.

Beyond that, I had to ask Grandma about her connection to Jackie, make arrangements to move the house, and then look into Gene Brewster. Oh, and figure out a way to stop ERA before they rained apocalyptic hell down upon us. That was always a priority…

I needed a vacation.

Fortunately, the next best thing to a trip is taking a beautiful woman out on the town. The next evening, I rolled up the sleeves of my dress shirt and splashed on some cologne from the console.

A sudden knock on my passenger window nearly made me drop the bottle.

Rachel waved from the sidewalk, before opening the door to get in. A teasing grin lit her features. “Still getting ready?”

“Primping,” I corrected. “A man’s got to look his best.”

She buckled her seatbelt and smoothed her skirt. “Smell his best too, it seems.”

I found myself jealous of her hands as they glided down the thin material, grazing her thighs. The subtle friction, the warmth—

“So, where are we headed?”

To the backseat.

“I was thinking Botticelli’s,” I answered, lifting my gaze to derail my thoughts. “You like Italian?”

“Sure.”

The ride there wasn’t memorable—small talk, her glancing at me every time she thought I wasn’t paying attention, me glancing at her every time I
knew
she wasn’t, et cetera. Finally, we pulled up to the little bistro Rena had recommended.

It wasn’t much to look at, but she’d said the ravioli gave her a foodgasm. Since that was the closest I’d get to any word ending with ‘-asm’ this weekend, I figured it was worth a shot.

“I’ve heard about this place,” Rachel commented, opening her door. “It’s supposed to be really good.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “You live like six minutes away. You’ve never been here?”

“No.” Her cheeks turned rosy, and I had the sudden urge to kick my own ass.

Ya dumb shit, you know she has some kind of financial complex. Check your mouth, next time.

I plastered on a grin. “Me neither. First time for everything.”

As we made our way inside, I made sure to pull out all the chivalry stops—opening doors, not punching the host with wandering eyes. Grandma would’ve been so proud, she would’ve busted out her old Polaroid. Finally, we were seated in the corner.

The booth was intimate, to say the least. I wasn’t a huge guy, but we were practically sitting on top of each other. Plus, it was dark as all hell. People found this romantic? I couldn’t even see the door.

Freakin’ deathtrap…

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Rachel smiled as she leaned in, the candlelight flickering over her features.

“Yeah,” I lied. “That’s the word I was thinking, too.”

Thank God for opera music and ambient chatter. Otherwise, we would’ve had an awkward pause on our hands.

“So, do you come up to Wilcox often? Wallace mentioned you live in Columbus.”

“Lived,” I corrected, idly flicking my hand over the closest flame. “I actually moved to Cleveland a few days ago, for work.”

She tried, and failed, to mask her pleasure. “So, I might see you around more often?”

“You might.” I teased with an obvious shrug. “We’ll see how the date goes.”

“Of course.” She patted my arm and laughed. “I’ll be on my very best behavior.”

Great. That’ll make two of us.

The candle flame danced and shifted, deftly avoiding my advances. There was something about its reaction to my unnatural currents that drew me in, left me transfixed. I couldn’t—

“Do you enjoy playing with fire?”

“Yes,” I answered, not needing to think twice.

“Well, that’s good to know.”

“Mhm…”

Silence.

Known facts about Rachel, known facts about Rachel…

“So, you and Jesus, huh?” I asked, picking up my knife to twirl it through my fingers.

“What about us?”

“You’re close.”

She smiled. “You could say that. What about you?”

I hunched my shoulders in a shrug. “I think of him like the IRS. I’m pretty sure he exists, but I won’t know for sure until he comes to collect.”

Two lines pinched between her brows, but she didn’t comment right away. No doubt that wasn’t the answer she was expecting, especially after Bible-thumping with my brother for almost a year. “That’s an…interesting way to look at it.”

“Mhm…”

Okay, this was getting awkward. We were running low on surface conversation, and without fondling under the table, there was no way to pass the time. At least we’d have an excuse for our silence when the food came.

She must’ve been thinking along similar lines, because she eyed me while she fiddled with the napkin in her lap. “So, what do you like to do during your free time?”

“Free time?” I blinked.
Assault, breaking and entering, theft…

Really, aside from rounds and keeping tabs on ERA, what had I done lately? I’d shot the shit with Tits a few times, but that wasn’t a hobby. Maybe I could gloss over it with a blanket statement. “Volunteering.”

“Really?” Her face lit up, and she clasped my arm. “Me too!”

My mouth wrenched back in a painful smile. “Yay.”

“I don’t get the chance as much as I’d like to, but I really like spending time at the soup kitchen and the animal shelter. What about you?”

“I…like to help people on the street.” Sweat broke out along my hairline in bodily malfunction. I didn’t get nervous from lying. Hell, I enjoyed the challenge. Why was I stumbling over this?

“The homeless?” she asked, filling in the blank I’d left. “Wow. I’ve never taken my outreach into the world like that. The direct approach. I’m really impressed.”

I tugged at the collar of my shirt and made a face. “It’s nothing.”

“You’re so modest.” She poked me in my side. “I think you and Wallace are more alike than you think.”

“We’re not.” Another response that took no deliberation.

I didn’t mind her getting a slightly skewed vision of my extracurriculars, but I wasn’t sharing a saint pedestal with my brother. If she and I were going to form any kind of connection over the next four weeks, she had to understand one thing—I was
not
like Wallace.

“We share some DNA,” I explained, softening the blow of my curt reply. “That’s it.”

“Okay. What about your grandmother?”

A waiter came by and took our drink orders. I waited until he was gone to answer. “What about her?”

“I can tell, whenever he talks about her, that he holds that woman in such high esteem. You’re the same way. I noticed it when you mentioned the thing about denting cans.”

Well, that was surprisingly perceptive.

I should’ve given her props, but I had to deflect. “You’re going to liken us by our mutual respect for the woman who
raised
us? That’s a bit of a stretch.”

Rachel opened her mouth, and then shut it. Her lips rolled inward, like she’d thought better of whatever had crossed her mind.

Unfortunately, that didn’t sit well with me. “What?”

She startled and shook her head. “N-Nothing. I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Your…parents?”

My breath hitched in my chest. “What about them?”

“It’s none of my business. Never mind me.”

“No, go ahead.”

“I—”

Our drinks came back way too fast, and we paused to give our orders. I put my faith in the foodgasmic ravioli, while she opted for a simple plate of spaghetti and meatballs. Boom. Done. Back to the conversation.

“You…?” I prompted.

She wrung her hands and lifted her shoulders. “It’s just…I know you two were raised by your grandmother after…after…
you know.
”

“Yeah?”

“Wallace told me that much, but he wasn’t specific in what…um…”

I worked my jaw. “You wanna know how they died?”

Her eyes widened. “No! I mean, I’ve wondered, but…you certainly don’t have to tell me.”

“It’s fine,” I told her with a sigh. “Short version—Grandma was watching us, because our folks were headed to a parent-teacher conference. Our mom worked at a school. Anyway, they were killed by a drunk driver on the way home. We were eight, at the time.”

Tears trembled in the low light before spilling down her cheeks. “I didn’t…I can’t believe I…I’m
so
sorry, Cole.”

I didn’t know how to interpret her reaction. Was she that touched by all sob stories, or was mine special? I shook my head and grabbed a fork to fiddle with. “It was a long time ago.”

“Did they get the driver?”

The fork froze between my fingers.

Newspaper clippings, overheard conversations, court records—they all surged through my mind at once. A careful “yes” barely passed my lips.

“Good.” She touched my hand, but didn’t pull away. “What happened to them?”

“He was…”

Unremorseful. Drunk. Belligerent. A monster. Brought to justice. Killed. A human. A mistake. Heavy. Cold…

Dead.

I swallowed and fought a foreign swell of emotion, wanting more than anything to confess what Wallace and I had done that night. To tell her. To scare her. To let her know just what kind of screwed-up bastard she was dealing with.

To see how she’d react.

But I couldn’t. Regardless of the tricks my mind played on me, Rachel was still very much an outsider. I’d learned this lesson with Wallace and Rena. You pull one loose thread and the whole thing unravels. There’s no going back from that.

“He was incarcerated,” I finished, clearing my throat. “But he got out early on parole. I guess he was out for a few weeks, before he, uh…went missing.”

“Did they ever find him?”

I shook my head.

She frowned. “I’m ashamed to admit my first thought was that it served him right. Is that terrible?”

I could’ve laughed. Instead, I turned my hand and gave hers a squeeze. “No, Rach, I think they call that being human.”

So, what’s my excuse?

She tilted her chin, the candlelight accentuating the red shine in her hair. “Well, regardless, I want to thank you for sharing that with me. I know it must hurt to talk about.”

“It’s fine,” I repeated my usual brush-off, ready to move on. Hurt, I would welcome, but it never came in that form. Talking about my folks brought on a wistful kind of homesickness that lingered for days. Then I’d get all irritable, and people would get their asses beaten. Not a pretty cycle.

“To come through all that…” She shook her head. “You’ve grown into such a sweet and giving man. I’m sure your parents are watching over you with so much pride, right now.”

Watching over me? The thought was unsettling in more ways than one. I didn’t want them to see me as I was now. I wanted them to remember the decent kid I was back then. Before I…I…

My gaze settled on our waiter, carrying a tray across the restaurant, and I nearly lunged over the table. “Look! Food!”

Rachel jumped and played it off with a laugh. “Hungry, Cole?”

“Mhm…” And ready to salvage what’s left of this date.

At least she forgot to ask about her exam.

“I must say, I’m impressed.” Rachel grinned up at me on her porch, moonlight washing her porcelain skin. “I don’t think I’ve ever had two perfect dates in a row.”

My mouth twitched. “Care to try for a three-peat?”

“Only if I get to pick, next time.”

“Oh yeah?” I leaned in. “What did you have in mind?”

She toyed with her bottom lip, rolling it between her teeth. “Maybe we could volunteer togeth—”

The light flipped on in our faces.

“Well, well…” Gene appeared in the doorway, smug and amused. “If it isn’t Mr. Porch again. Why don’t you two come inside? Ma and I are just watchin’ a little boob tube.”

Creeper. The man was a creeper.

Even if he didn’t have the look and the timing, he was still a grown-ass man who referred to his partner as Ma. Not to mention the fact that no one had called the TV a “boob tube” since the sixties. Just standing two feet away from him skeeved me out.

“Uh…” I stalled, casting a sideways glance at Rachel.

“You ever see that show where they compete to lose all the weight?” Gene went on. “I tried to sign Wanda up, but they said they’re fitness coaches—not miracle workers!”

His bark of self-appreciating laughter pulled the trigger on my dark switch, and I almost strangled him where he stood.

Rachel rubbed her arms and looked down at her shoes.

“Now that wasn’t nice,” I told him, careful to keep my voice even.

“Get a sense of humor, kid.”

He reached out to clap a hand on my shoulder, and I swatted the gesture on reflex. “Try learning a little respect, first.”

His laughing expression melted into something eerily serious. “You think you can come to my house and talk to me like that?”

“Cole…” Rachel shifted the sack of leftovers in her arms and reached for my hand. “It’s fine. Just let it—”

“What’s that, Rach?” Gene redirected his attention to her doggie bag and raised his voice. “Pretending you don’t eat again? Bringing it back to scarf down later, so he won’t think you’ll whale up like your mama? I hate to tell you, but genetics are genetics.”

The need to strike bubbled up inside me, heating my veins. “That’s enough.”

“That’s enough?” He raised his eyebrows. “You know, you’ve got a real mouth on you. Was your old man a deadbeat or somethin’? Apparently, he never taught you to respect your elders.”