Layers Deep (9 page)

I lay beside
him, looking in the same direction, waiting for my turn. The dried
grass tickled the sides of my arms and I was thankful I was wearing
jeans. It held the same smell I’d remembered on Tristan when he
came to the bar, and I wondered whether he scouted like this
often.

Tristan kept
looking through the lens, his face more serious than I’d expected.
What did he want to show me? His lips formed a straight line,
lopsided a fraction by the scar. The curve on my mouth slowly faded
as I concentrated on his face. The pulse on his neck thickened his
jugular. My nerves picked up as I wondered whether we were on one
of his job assignments and he was testing me today. I suspected I
wouldn’t see anything pleasant, not from the way his fists
tightened around the black plastic. After a long exhale, he handed
me the binoculars, wrapped his right arm around me, and directed my
gaze where he wanted me to look.

“One o’clock.
There’s a house in the forest. The patch-of-grass driveway is
greener than the rest around it,” he whispered.

I focused
through the lens, seeking the wooden structure he described
slightly to the right. There it was! A log cabin, not more than
twenty by twenty, windows covered with cardboard box. A simple home
turned sideways, both front and back yard visible.

“I got it.” I
matched his predatory voice. We were on a hunt, looking for a
suspect, I imagined.

“Look in the
back.”

I felt a
tighter squeeze of support on my arm. Tristan had his entire arm
around me now, holding on, smoothing his palm on the back of my
bicep.

“And breathe,
Allie. Please breathe,” he said.

At that moment
I understood the concern that had coated every single word Tristan
had said to me.

“Oh, my God,”
I whispered. My jaw tightened. If I ground my teeth any harder,
it’d snap.

“He lives
closer than you thought, doesn’t he?” Tristan asked.

I nodded,
feeling the lump form in my throat. It had been a few years since
I’d seen the creep, and the feelings of betrayal and guilt rushed
back to me. The bastard had changed: a little older now, with gray
hair covering most of his head. A new hump stuck out at the top of
his back. For a moment, he looked my way and I held my breath. My
heart raced. Wright narrowed his brows before he resumed sharpening
a blade on a whetstone. The scrunched clothing appeared old, but
the mean streak I remembered on his face was still there.

My hands
trembled as my memory searched that day. The blood on my mother’s
clothes, its iron tang on the tip of my tongue, the smell of raw
dough from waffle batter, the scent of hospital antiseptic and
fresh daisies from Emma’s wreath all blended into one.

“My mother
told you?” I asked, looking at the man who ruined our lives. I
couldn’t pull away. Both my resolve and anger boiled inside me.

“Yes.”

I blamed
myself for that. I should have known the day she downed a bottle of
tequila on her own and told me she knew I was under the staircase
that she’d eventually spill it to someone else. When the time was
right, she had to tell someone about what had happened; but why did
it have to be Cross? My body shook and I couldn’t take the
binoculars away. The ovals of the optics stuck around my eyes. I
pressed them harder. Something was wrong. Wright was in his
preparation mode. I’d seen this before when I was a child. I
remembered the way his sleeves were rolled up before he went out
hunting with Daddy; then that day; and again when he almost found
my mother two years ago.

“I have to go,
Tristan. She’s not safe anymore.” The swell in my eyes had been
controlled too well, but my pulse was another story.

“Stay.”
Tristan’s firm grip around me pinned my body in place. “Your
mother’s safe with Julian. I drove them to the airport myself this
morning.”

“What are you
talking about? She went with Julian?” I turned on my side.

“It didn’t
take much persuasion once I told her Wright was in the area.”

“So you knew
before she told you? How? No one knew.”

“People talk.
They suspect things. And someone like Wright has a big enough mouth
to have bragged about your mother to the wrong person.”

“Is that why
you came with me?”

“Yes.”

“You should
have told me.”

“You would
have run. You would have gone to your mother, taken her out, and
left the city. You would have worried about her and about Wright
being too close.”

Cross was
right. That was exactly what would have happened. My mother’s
safety always took priority. The moment Tristan told me about
Wright, I would have fled. And I wasn’t sure I’d have had the
strength to come back.

“I need you
focused, Allie. With your mother safe in my home, will you
focus?”

“She’s at your
house?”

“She’s a guest
at my parents’ house. They don’t ask questions. And I promised your
mother I’d let her leave once Wright was out of the way.”

“Out of the
way?”

“Stay here.”
He stood up and strolled to his rented Bentley. He came back
carrying a long-range rifle, one used by professional snipers. I’d
shot quite a few rounds of those, practicing at different shooting
ranges. It took less than a minute for him to set it up.

“Do it,” he’d
said.

“Now?”

“I’ll get rid
of the body the way you want. I won’t ask any questions. No one
will. You can go on with your life as if nothing had happened. And
on Friday you’ll come to my office to fill out the paperwork I need
you to.”

I got
comfortable in front of the rifle and adjusted my body on the grass
surface. The metal handle felt so right in my hand, its cold grip
eerily soothing to my touch. My elbows dug into crunchy stems;
where the yellowed strands should have tickled my flesh, it felt
like they cut right in. I breathed evenly, looked through the zoom,
and aimed a perfect shot. My finger held steady on the trigger as I
focused the center of the shot on Wright’s temple: right smack in
the middle.

But everything
inside me shook.

Another steady
breath filled my lungs. I released it slowly, bunching my cheeks
like a chipmunk to control the air flow. It didn’t help. Jitters
flew along my skin like shock waves, and as much as I wanted to
calm the trembles, I couldn’t. The beating of my heart pounded
against the ground, trying to free the organ right through my
ribcage. Its pulse vibrated underneath me. I breathed in and out a
few more times, cracked my neck once to each side, and refocused.
Tristan lay at my side, waiting patiently. I bit my lip, and then
wiped my nose into my sleeve and brushed streaking tears away with
my hand. Why the hell was I crying? This was the moment I’d been
waiting for. This was what I’d wanted for thirteen years. I’d
imagined looking into Wright’s eyes as I took his life, but this
was good, too. My mother would be safe. I’d never have to worry
about the bastard again.

“This isn’t
you, Allie.” Tristan whispered. “As much as you want this son of a
bitch dead, you can’t fire unless it’s in self-defense. Your father
wouldn’t want you to do this, and if I know you well enough, you
know this is wrong.”

“I have to,” I
sniffled. My vision through the rifle’s focus glass blurred. I
couldn’t make the shot. The one perfect opportunity I had to kill
him, and I blew it.

“What if I
promise you he won’t bother you again?” Tristan slowly removed my
hand from the trigger.

I shut and
opened my eyes and looked through the fogged lens again. More tears
spilled down my cheeks. “You can’t make that promise. No one can.
He has connections.” I kept adjusting the rifle, determined.

“So do I. Much
better than his, Allie. If you’re looking for revenge, this is not
the way to do it.” His voice soothed me, and my attention slowly
began to drift away from Wright.

“Your mother
will be safe,” he continued. “She’ll go outside more than once a
week. And neither of you will ever see him or have to worry about
him again.”

“You can do
that?” I finally looked at Tristan through my watery eyes.

“Yes. Revenge
is sweetest when it can last forever.”

I sniffled
again, feeling a heavy weight lift off my shoulders. Someone was
finally on my side. And at that moment I realized the mountainous
burden I’d been carrying with me for the past thirteen years.
Tristan Cross climbed up the steep slope toward me, took my hand,
and helped me down before detonating a bomb underneath the mountain
of guilt holding me down.

The rifle fell
over. I sobbed for over an hour. Tristan held me tightly in his
arms. His chest was a perfect comforter for my head, down on the
ground, in the middle of nowhere. For the first time since that
horrible day, I had someone I could confide in whom I trusted not
only with my life but also with my mother’s life. I finally had
someone to depend on. Someone willing to erase the pain and
heartache I’d held inside for years. And I knew I’d found more than
an employer in Tristan Cross. I’d found a friend.

The scars from
the past would remain, but I could heal with Tristan at my side. I
wanted to heal. The deep layers of my wounds were slowly patched up
and stitched with his care and compassion. He was the first person
in my life who understood what I’d gone through and what my family
had endured. I didn’t have to retell the story; my mother already
had. She’d told him everything, even the fact that she’d always
known I was hiding under the staircase, listening to the brutal
attack.

“I’m sorry,” I
said.

“For what?” He
rubbed the sides of my arms, kissing my forehead.

“For using
you. I only wanted this job because I needed your help to get rid
of him. I didn’t think you’d do it unless I worked for you and
earned your trust. And here you are, barely know me, and you’ve
offered to do what I wanted you to without having to be asked,” I
sobbed, feeling as if I’d just swallowed a truth potion. Would he
change his mind about hiring me?

“Work for me,
and we’ll call it even.” He kissed the top of my head squeezing his
arms around me.

“Really?” I
looked up from underneath my soaked lashes. I’d never allowed
anyone to see this side of me. Gosh, I’d never felt this vulnerable
and safe in my life—especially with a man at my side. Could I ever
repay Tristan? If he truly made Wright go away, and I believed he
could, I would be grateful forever. I would owe him my and my
mother’s lives.

“Okay, we’ll
fill out the paperwork on Friday.” I leaned back down.

He held me
there until the sun began setting and cool evening air forced us to
move. We drove straight to the airport and flew back to New York
that night. I spoke to my mother on the phone. She said she didn’t
deserve the luxurious bedroom in the Cross residence, but she felt
safe, and that made me happy. Tristan drove me home, kissed me –
this time on my lips – and left. He assured me I no longer had to
worry about Wright. He’d take care of it, so long as I kept my end
of the bargain and came to his office in two days, on Friday.

I promised I
would. Except before then, I wanted prove myself worthy to Tristan
Cross. I would be the best hooker in town.

The alley
smelled of semen and piss. I stepped onto the sidewalk and stripped
off my casual jeans and comfortable cotton top. The mini from an
eighties boutique rose up my thighs each time I took a step. A gust
of wind blew, but my hair stood in the same position I’d sprayed it
in. A new aroma of cheap perfume hit me: a blend of exotic blooms
with a spice. The only part of my bitchy ensemble I envied were my
boobs, which were usually squished under the bullet proof vest of
my uniform. As naked as I felt without it, this was the only way I
could prove to Tristan Cross I deserved the job at his company.
He’d already done too much for me.

I strolled to
the curb, regarding the redhead at the corner. Portia was her name.
I’d paid her off with three times what she’d earn in a night to let
me join her turf, but she still glared at me like she wanted to rip
my throat out. She worked the sidewalk toward me with her head held
high, her ass swinging behind her like a pendulum. I observed her
every move, soaking the appearance into my own.

“Your lips are
too pale,” she observed as she handed me her red lipstick. Her
Bronx accent was forced; she couldn’t have moved here too long
ago.

“Thanks.” I
pulled out my own from the small pouch I was using as a purse. “So,
you think he’ll show today?”

“He drives by
here every second day but never stops. I figure he goes to the west
side, but a girl I know said he doesn’t. Why do you think he’ll
stop for you?”

I pulled out a
pack of fresh bubble gum and handed her a piece. “Just a hunch. Any
idea why he drives by?”

“What am I,
psychic?” As nice as she had been a minute ago, she turned on her
pumps and strolled back to her corner.

I popped the
strawberry strip into my mouth and chewed it with the full motion
of my jaw the same way the redhead did. Each time a car passed, she
spread her legs wider until you could almost see her panties. And I
wouldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t wearing any. Finally someone
stopped and rolled down his window. She leaned inside,
chit-chatting. Her skirt rose at the back. The undercurve of her
ass hung out. After a minute she jumped inside the car—just like
that. As the Dodge pulled away, she waved out the window and then
flipped me the bird.

I have to
be a bigger bitch than that,
I thought.

The sound of
screeching breaks echoed through the alley. The quiet purr of an
engine rumbled. My stomach tightened and I took a deep breath in.
Although I hadn’t seen him yet, it had to be Cross.