Liberty Begins (The Liberty Series) (5 page)

“Tomorrow,” he said. He reached out, grabbed my hand and held it to his lips. “I can’t wait.”

* * *

I woke up to sun streaming through my windows and again, a ridiculous smile on my face. I was going to pay for this later. I would pay for letting myself think happy thoughts, for enjoying someone touching me, for letting myself hope for God knows what. When John left, or when he turned out to be recruiting me for some sex ring or whatever horrible alternate ending awaited — this was going to hurt me too much.
I would have to learn again not to let my guard down.
I would have to learn it again, the hard way.
Then I was going to have to close my heart down for the final time so I never ended up like this again, with a silly smile on my face, hoping for something that was never going to happen.

I was berating myself in this fashion while I was pouring my coffee. Then the doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole and it was the same courier, wearing what appeared to be the same clothes as yesterday. Ew.

“You know the drill,” he said through the door. He rang the buzzer and left.

Again, I quickly opened the door, grabbed the package and relocked. This one was much bigger and heavier. I got out my scissors to cut the heavy packaging tape. Inside was a silver backpack, large and heavy. I laughed. So now John wanted me to wear a backpack to work, to complete the schoolgirl look. He really was crazy.

I unzipped the backpack and gasped.
What?

Okay. He really
was
crazy.

The silly smile was long gone from my face as I trudged back into work. So I could confront him with it, I’d brought the back pack. I had shoved my glasses, ruler, stilettos and clean work underwear into it. There wasn’t much room left because of all the other items John had packed.

“Hey girl,” said Tracey, as I started listlessly pulling my outfit out of my locker.

“Hey,” I mumbled.

“Aw, Liberty! What’s the matter?” she asked, and plopped down in the chair beside me. Tonight Tracey was wearing her “Charlie’s Angels” look. Feathered bangs, hair parted down the middle, frosted lipstick, pink satin shorts with glitter hearts on the back pockets and a tube top so tiny that it looked like she would pop out of it. Which of course was the point.

“You look cute,” I said, and sniffled as I started to put some foundation on.

“Is this about that hot guy in the suit who’s been here hounding you every night?” Tracey asked sympathetically. She took out a pot of my disco-pink cream eyeshadow and started absentmindedly rubbing it over her already done-up eyes. I nodded and she frowned at me in commiseration.

“Honey,” she said, “you can’t let them get to you. You can’t get attached. The suit’s going home to his wife or his girlfriend at some point, and you just have to take what you have with him at face value. He wants to get his whore on — his
boarding school
whore on,” she said, looking at my outfit. “You know how this works, honey. You’re gonna get his freaky shit that’s too good for his wife. At some point, he’s gonna get tired of you, find someone prettier than you and younger than you. There’s always a new crop coming up. You gotta just take it at face value, like I said.
And wallet value. Don’t forget the wallet value!”

I smiled weakly at her and nodded. “You’re right, you’re right. I know you’re right.”

“You’re a good girl. Too good to be sitting back here with the rest of us,” she said, returning the pot of eyeshadow to my makeup bag. “If you get out of here, maybe
you could land somebody like that. Somebody who’d take care of you. But you gotta get out of here, first.” She rubbed my arm as she got up to fluff her hair. “I gotta go pee....but think about it. Get out of here before you get too old and jiggly!” She raised her hands above her head and shook her arms for emphasis, so the tops of them quivered.

I was still half laughing about Tracey and half crying about John when Alex showed up at my chair.

“Don’t you ever take a night off?” he asked, slouching into the chair that Tracey had left not that long ago.

“Don’t you?”
I asked, looking up at him from under my eyelash curler.

He was picking at his cuticles, distracted. “Prince Charming’s here again,” he said, not looking at me. “He wants to see you.”

“Lucky me,” I said, and tossed my eyelash curler towards the mirror.

“Cruz expects you to be nice to him,” Alex said, looking up from his nails.

I stood up and started putting my makeup bag away. I took a look at the backpack, stuffed into my locker. “And you?” I asked.

“I expect you to be you,” he said and stood up. “He seems to like that, so you’ll be fine. And you’re back in the sweet spot in the lineup. Nice job last night.” He wagged his eyebrows at me in typical Alex fashion and I put my backside against the row of lockers in case he wanted to slap it. I liked Alex, but I didn’t have much patience tonight.

It was good news about the lineup, but it was bad news about John. It was time to face him, to end the craziness. The craziness of my longing, the craziness of our brief connection. All the crazy shit he’d stuffed into that backpack. I was going to have to be a big girl and say goodbye.

I grabbed the bag, careful to take out my heels and underwear. He could have the ruler and alas, the glasses, though I would miss them both. I took a deep breath and looked at myself in the mirror. Oxford shirt, plaid skirt, tennis shoes. Alex would probably be mad if I went out on the floor in my sneakers, but I needed to be able to move fast, just in case. Just in case I started crying saying goodbye to the crazy guy I thought I was falling for, who I crazily thought had come for me. Or in case I had to run because he really
was
crazy, and I would have to run away from him and his entourage and his weird backpack.

I squared my shoulders and shook my hair out, so my ringlets sprung up and cascaded down my shoulders. It was reassuring to see my own eyes in the mirror, but I was not as calmed by them as I normally was. I hoped I would go back to normal after this, relying on myself and not needing anything else. I hoped I didn’t feel like I was missing something.

I carried the pack out onto the floor and looked for John. It was easier for me being in flats; most of the crowd paid no attention to me because I was now 5’7” compared to my usual towering self in three-inch stilettos. I saw John and his group in the far corner by the bar, and I made my way over towards them through the sea of men and the occasional couple. Sunday night was “Industry Night” in Vegas, which meant that all the locals who’d been working in the bars and clubs all weekend were off and had no cover charges at most places. People came in to see their friends, to catch up, to relax. The atmosphere in the Treasure Chest was always at its best on Sundays, when women were in the crowd and everyone there was supportive, not predatory. There weren’t guys trying to justify that fifteen dollar drink, expensive hotel and pricey plane ticket. It was just mostly people who worked in the business who wanted to have cocktails and relax.

I usually liked Sundays. This one? Not so much.

John saw me from across the room. I waved
lamely and moved towards him, a pit in my stomach. Then someone grabbed my wrist. “Hello gorgeous,” said an unfriendly voice. It was a youngish guy, with gelled hair, a big nose, olive skin and a strong grip.

“Hiiiii,” I said, fake smiling at him. I lifted my arm up and tried to pry his fingers off of me. I couldn’t get them to budge.

“I’m busy. I have to go now,” I said, in my fake-nice voice, trying to yank my arm out of his grasp.

He pulled me closer and whispered in my ear. “I’m a friend of Cruz’s. You should be nicer,” he said, and released his hold. His breath smelled like mints and not like booze, which surprised me.

“Lovely to meet you,” I said sarcastically
over my shoulder as I headed towards the comparative safety of John. What was it with Cruz’s taste in friends? Really, he needed to screen people a little more closely.

John pulled me to him when I got there, and because I knew it was the last time, I didn’t resist. “What did he say?” he whispered urgently into my ear. It was more of a command than it was a question.

“He said he was a friend of Cruz’s and that I should be nicer,” I said. But for a second I wasn’t thinking about the scary guy, the scary backpack, the fact that I had to say goodbye to John tonight. It just felt so good to be in his arms. I let myself close my eyes and rest against his strong chest, careful not to smudge my makeup on him. Then I put my face against his neck and inhaled. He smelled like the outdoors, like sunshine, like clean, white towels. The opposite of stripping, of crazy, of trouble. I let myself stay for a moment there so I would remember it always. They say that smell is the strongest of all the memory senses. I wanted to be sure that I would still have him with me after this was all over, whether he was crazy or not.

“Your backpack,” John said. He pushed me back so he could hold me at arm’s length and look into my eyes.

“About that,” I said, willing myself back to reality. “A taser? Really? And a smartphone? I just met you three days ago. I can’t —”

“Put it on,” John growled into my ear. “Now! We can argue about the contents later.” He looked back over his shoulder at one of his men who was standing there, waiting. “We need to move. Keep her safe — that’s the most important thing.” I saw him take a gun out from a holster hidden under his jacket. My whole body turned to ice. This was it — he really was crazy.

“John, don’t!” I screamed, but then all I could hear was loud bangs, like fireworks, as the young guy behind me jumped on me, knocking me to the ground.

“John!” I screamed again, and I saw him run towards someone or something with his gun out. There was smoke in the club, and people were screaming and running. The guy on me slid off and pulled me by the backpack towards the bar so we wouldn’t be trampled. “Let go of me!” I yelled, and turned around to beat him off me. I had to go warn the girls. I had to go get John. We had to get out of here. But I might as well have been beating a mountain, because that’s what his chest felt like. He didn’t budge.

“Easy, Liberty,” he said. He seemed pretty unfazed given the chaos that surrounded us. He was in his late twenties, with thick blond hair and a nice suit that now had wet, black smudges all over it from the floor.

“Let me go — they’re shooting! I have to tell my friends! We have to get John!” I tried to wrench myself away from him but he took both my hands and held them behind my back so I couldn’t move.

“John will be fine,” he said and laughed. “Trust me. He loves this! And your friends will be fine. This will all be over in a minute.”

“You’re hurting me,” I whimpered, and he relaxed his grip a little. Just what I needed. I wrenched my arms free and ran for it, into the smoke and the sounds of shouting.

“Dammit! Get back here!” Blondie yelled, but I ignored him, ducking when he reached out for me, and booking it towards the center of the room.

“John! John!” I yelled. I couldn’t see anything. There was smoke and people were everywhere, running for the exit, huddled on the ground. It was like a war zone. I heard more shots and I ducked again.

“John, PLEASE!” I yelled again, this time huddled on the floor.

A pair of big strong arms lifted me up and threw me over a huge shoulder. Unfortunately, it was the wrong shoulder. “Are you trying to get me fired?” asked Blondie, obviously annoyed.

“Matthew!” yelled another voice. “Get her to the car! NOW!”

I looked up and saw John sitting in the middle of the floor,
tying up
the guy who had grabbed me earlier. The grabber’s mouth was taped shut.

“See you in a minute,” John called to me, cheerfully. I didn’t pass out then, like I wanted to, but I did close my eyes and stop thinking. I needed to. Today had to stop. It had been the craziest day of my life, and that was saying something.

This is no car,
I was thinking, looking through the window at the early morning sky, where there were still a few stars fading into the gray light.
This is a tour bus.
I was on tour with a group of suits with guns — and a kidnapping victim with olive skin, a firm grip, and a taped-over mouth. Darius was lucky in one respect: at least he knew where he stood.
I
had no idea if I’d just been saved or if I’d been hijacked.

John was next to me, sleeping. His hand was on my thigh, which felt wonderful. I was torn between being thrilled that he had survived and that his hand was on me, and being petrified that he carried a concealed weapon, took prisoners cheerfully and had his hand on me — and that I liked it.

I had no idea what had happened to Alex or the girls.

Matthew was driving the bus. We were in the second row of seats behind him, where he had put me when we left the club. I had kept my eyes closed and ignored him when he put me down; I hadn’t been able to talk anymore. Maybe I was a little in shock.

I estimated that there were ten other men on the bus, not including the prisoner, which one of the other guys had carried, fireman’s carry style, onto the bus. That was how Matthew had carried me out of the club. It must have been their signature move. I didn’t look at the prisoner when they carried him past me, struggling; I just looked through half-closed lids at his reflection in the window. His eyes were wild, searching.

I didn’t know what to make of any of this.

When everyone else had gotten settled on the bus John went up to Matthew. I was still pretending to be asleep so no one tried to talk to me or ask me to duck and cover. “Don’t
ever
let that happen again,” John said. He sounded angry. I knew he was talking about me.

“I know. I won’t,” Matthew said. “She just wanted to get to you.”

I squinted though one eye and saw John smile a little at this. Then he shook his head. “You’re going to have to take care of her if something happens if I get hurt. I have to be able to trust you. Do you understand?”

Take care of me?
I didn’t know what he meant, and I didn’t know if I should be pleased or petrified. I felt a little of both.

Matthew was silent so I guessed he nodded. That’s when John came and sat next to me. He didn’t speak, just grabbed my hand and held it. Warmth spread through my body. Even given the weird circumstances, it felt wonderful. I felt oddly safe. Complete. When his breathing got heavy I figured he was asleep. I had never held hands with anyone before, never had anyone fall asleep next to me. I was afraid to move and break the spell.

Eventually I had the nerve to open my eyes, to watch the sky as we drove through it, the mountains in the distance. A million stars, all laid out like a blanket. Like a map I knew I should be able to
read but
couldn’t. They were there every night, I mused, finally falling asleep, with John beside me. They were there every night and I wasn’t any closer to knowing what they meant.

I only slept a little bit, and then I woke to the gray sky and the few stars left. Matthew was still driving, John was still sleeping.

“Liberty,” John said and sat up suddenly, rubbing his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Um, I think so,” I said, and I realized then that I did feel okay, not shaky anymore, not sore or bruised.

“You must need the bathroom.” When he said it, I realized it was true. “It’s in the back. Do you want me to take you?”

“What am I, five?” I asked, and laughed. John laughed, too, and touched my face. I felt that warm heat spread through my body. I really wanted to kiss him. I had never felt like that about anyone before; but right then I understood the need. In that moment, I didn’t care if he had a concealed weapon and I really had to pee. All I cared about were the fading stars, the stark desert, his beautiful face.

Of course I chickened out. I stood up to walk down the aisle. “Oh, wait!” I said, and plopped down in the seat opposite him, ignoring my bladder. “What happened at the club? Did anybody get hurt? Are my friends okay?”

“The only person who got hurt didn’t get hurt enough,” John said, gesturing towards the back. “I spoke with Cruz. Everyone got out fine.”

“I thought our passenger was friends with Cruz,” I said. “Does he know you have him?”

John laughed. “We are being paid to babysit him as we speak,” John said. “Now, go have some privacy. When you get back we can talk about logistics.”

I made my way towards the back of the bus, nodding at the guys who made eye contact with me. They were mostly young, in their twenties and thirties. They were all well dressed, although most of them had undone or abandoned their ties at this point. The hostage was in the third to the last row, seated next to the window, with two guys behind him, next to him and in front. He glared up at me with a filthy stare, hate in his eyes. I was glad his mouth was taped shut. I looked down until I made it to the bathroom.

When I said this was a tour bus I was right: the bathroom would have been fit for a major rock band. There were granite countertops, a stall shower with ceramic tiles, and a huge gilded mirror. It was the nicest bathroom I had ever been into in my life. The soap smelled fantastic. Best of all was the fact that there were baskets full of new supplies on the vanity — toothbrushes, toothpaste, floss, deodorant and some sort of organic cleansing wipe that probably cost a gazillion dollars and smelled like heaven. Nina would have known what it was. I used all of it and then fluffed my hair out. I felt infinitely better now that I had an empty bladder, clean teeth and organically wiped body parts.
Now I just had to figure out what the hell was going on.

I didn’t look at the hostage on my way back. It was barely six am and I’d been glared at enough already for one day.

John was waiting for me, a patient smile on his face.

“Nice bathroom,” I said, sitting across from him so I wouldn’t touch him and get all warm, fuzzy and confused again. I had finally gotten my thoughts together.

“Don’t you want to sit here?” he asked, and patted the seat next to him. His eyes sparkled with mischief and he gave me a wicked smile. “It’s nice over here. I think you like it.”

I had to laugh at him. “Not yet,” I said, willing myself not to jump into his lap. “I have some stuff I need to figure out.”

He sighed, leaned back in his seat and looked resigned. His tie was off and the first two buttons of his shirt
were
undone. I could just glimpse the top of his tanned, muscular chest. I had to take a deep breath and close my eyes. I really needed to calm down. I was starting to lose it.

“Okay,” I said, clearing my throat, trying to clear my head. “I have three questions to start with: (1) Why is Cruz paying you to babysit his friend while his mouth is taped shut? (2) Who are you, really? and (3) Where are we, and how fast can we get back to Vegas? I have to work at four tomorrow.”

“Liberty is back to business, I see!” John laughed and rubbed his face, which was starting to show a little bit of scruff.
Very hot scruff.
I fought the urge to sit on my hands so I wouldn’t reach over and rub it.

“How about some coffee?” he said, and when I nodded, trying to recover myself, he waved towards the back and a young guy with spiky black hair stood up. “Corey, can you get us two coffees, please? And some food?” Corey nodded and headed for the back of the bus, past the bathroom, to what I assumed was the kitchen.

My stomach grumbled. Thank goodness there was food.

“Okay, back to your questions,” John said. “I’ll address them in order — I’m guessing you’ll appreciate that.” He mock-rolled his eyes at me and I had to laugh again. “Number one, our taped-up guest is named Darius, and he is no friend of Cruz’s. Cruz has retained my company’s services to take Darius back east, to see if we can acquire any interesting information from him. We are to await further instructions.”

I sat there with my brow furrowed. “You said you were in ‘acquisitions and repurposing,’” I said. “I don’t know what that means, but I remember you saying it. It intimidated me, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with
kidnapping
.”

“That’s exactly why I say acquisitions and repurposing! No one knows it includes kidnapping.” He smiled again, but noted my disapproving look. “To answer your second question: I am really named John. John Carter Quinn. I run Quinn and Son Enterprises, which is my father’s company, of which he is the President and CEO and I am the Vice President.”

“And?” I asked. “Your company does what?”

“Well, it was true what I told you — acquisitions and repurposing. We
acquire
assets, like Darius,” he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the back, “and we
repurpose
them.”

Just then Corey showed up with a tray filled with large mugs of steaming coffee, cream, sugar, croissants, scones, bagels and cream cheese. My stomach howled and I felt a blush starting. Just perfect.

John pulled down a tray table from the seat in front of him, reached across the aisle and did the same for me, and started serving us both. “Corey, like me, is a Retaliation Operative. All of us are. We are hired by private clients and sometimes the odd government to capture assets.”

Corey nodded and walked quickly towards the back. I made myself take a sip of coffee. Black. Normally I took cream, but I needed as high a concentration of caffeine as I could get right now. My stomach growled again and I shoved some croissant into my mouth gracelessly. I couldn’t be worried about how I looked eating while I was being told that my first-ever love interest was some sort of bounty hunter.

“And the repurposing?” I managed to whisper out, past my croissant. I was starting to worry about what that might mean.

“It’s not what you might think,” John said sympathetically, generously spreading raspberry jam on a blueberry scone. “Well, sometimes it is. But we only take cases that we believe in. We screen them carefully. The cases we accept involve what we believe is a real injustice, where the asset has done something really wrong. So we believe that punishment is necessary.”

I finished chewing before I asked my next question. “What about just leaving it to the proper authorities? The police? The FBI?”

“We don’t interfere with their work,” John said. “We take cases that they might not be able to prosecute for various reasons, and also cases where they can’t properly make arrests. Clients come to us when they can’t find justice through the normal channels.”

I sat and finished my croissant, drinking more coffee. I had a lot more questions about this, but I wasn’t sure if he would answer them. I wasn’t really sure I wanted the answers.

“As for question number three, we are in Colorado, heading east. Cruz has agreed to give you a paid leave of absence as part of his arrangement with us.” John smiled at me and finished his scone.

“Colorado?” I asked. “Huh?” I shook my head, confused. “I have to work tomorrow. I don’t want to lose my shifts — and I have to pay rent at the end of this week,” I said, starting to panic. “I need to go home.”

“Don’t worry about any of that,” John said, sitting back in his chair with his coffee. He looked gorgeous and relaxed. “Everything is taken care of.”

He was starting to irritate me.
He didn’t understand. There were no vacations when you lived paycheck to paycheck, and there were plenty of hungry girls in Vegas who would love my job.

“I don’t want everything to be taken care of,” I said, my voice rising. I was becoming totally overwhelmed. “
I
want to take care of everything. That’s what I do. Not ride around in a tour bus with a hostage and a bunch of vigilantes.”

The rest of what he had said was just starting to dawn on me. What had Cruz and John done, striking a deal involving me? Like I was some sort of trading card? Yes, I had held John’s hand. Yes, I had used my stripper pose on him. Yes, he had made me throb
down
there
just by looking at me with those sexy eyes. None of this meant I was for sale.

“You have the wrong idea about me, John,” I said, my voice loud. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression — but I’m
not
going to be some part of an arrangement where Cruz is paying me to be your escort.”

I stood up. “I may be a stripper,” I yelled, “but I’m not a prostitute!”

Then I turned and saw that the other guys on the bus were studiously not watching us, except Darius, who looked like he might be smiling underneath the duct tape. I quickly sat down.

“No, no, Liberty! Of course not. You don’t have to say that,” John said, reaching across the aisle to grab both of my wrists and almost knocking all the food to the floor. The plates clattered but then settled. “Please.”

Corey appeared with the tray and within a moment, everything was cleared away. I was still barely breathing.

“Come here,” John said, and pulled me into the seat next to him. His eyes were pleading.