Little Black Break (Little Black Book #2) (7 page)

Turning, I pulled into the parking garage for the courthouse and parked. Before getting out of my car, I took a few deep breaths to prepare myself for a possible letdown. I wasn’t guaranteed the job, but I really hoped I’d get it.

An hour later, I left the courthouse with a smile. Judy had basically given me the job the minute I stepped into her office. After much talking and getting to know each other, as well as all the written evaluations I had to complete, she offered me the job, which I took with a shake of her hand.

I was officially a working woman.

I was going to be contributing to my relationship as well as helping offenders, who were just trying to get back on their feet, with their second chance. In my world, not everyone was guilty, and even if they were, people changed. I was excited to change some lives.

The only problem was that I couldn’t tell Sebastian. At least not right away. At some point, I’d have to let go and spill, but until I knew for sure that this job was a definite keeper, there was no sense in starting an argument. I’d work a few weeks and see how it went. After that, I could decide how I wanted to play the Sebastian situation. Either way, it wasn’t going to end well.

THE WORKING DEBATE WOULD FINALLY be over. Rosslyn got a job working at legal aid, which was great news. The legal aid building was in safe area—an area I knew well—and she was already accustomed to her surroundings since she’d been volunteering there for months.

But none of that mattered as much as her happiness.

Her radiant smile when she announced that she’d found a job we could both be happy about was all I needed. The rest was minor details. I knew she loved working with legal aid. She’d told me stories about some of the families she had worked with. It was a job that made her feel like she was making a difference, and that was important to Rosslyn. Therefore, it was important to me.

I felt good about the outcome of her job search. Ideally, she wouldn’t work at all. She didn’t need to, but since it was something she was hell-bent on doing, legal aid was the perfect compromise. A safe environment for her meant I was no longer the bad guy sitting around worrying about her working with hardened criminals.

She was smiling.

I was smiling.

It was altogether a good day.

Until it wasn’t.

The smile melted off my face the minute Mac came into my office with an aggravated expression.

“Did you find him?”

I knew the answer to my question before Mac had said anything. It was obvious by his reddened face and stiff shoulders.

“I’m having a hard time believing we’re dealing with a fucking mastermind,” I said. “He’s out there!” I pounded my fists against the hard surface of my desk.

It shook angrily, knocking over a cup of pens and sending them scattering across the floor.

Mac didn’t respond.

There wasn’t anything to say that wasn’t going to make me explode into a million pieces.

I turned, facing the large window looking out over the club. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mac move toward the pens.

“Leave them,” I demanded.

I wanted to tell him he wasn’t my fucking maid but taking my anger out on him wasn’t going to solve anything.

I stood there, stewing in my rage.

Mac left the room and shut the door behind him.

I refused to believe that whoever was leaving these letters was smarter than I was. I was street smart. I knew how to handle shit and get things done the right way. I wasn’t going to let some dumb fuck pull this shit on me.

He was out there, and I was going to find him.

IT WAS SATURDAY AFTERNOON, AND I watched from the window as the club below slowly came alive with my employees prepping for the busy night ahead.

I wasn’t feeling the social shit tonight.

Honestly, I wanted to go upstairs, eat dinner with my soon-to-be wife, and then climb into bed where we’d make mad, passionate love—fuck—all night long.

That wasn’t going to happen, though. It was the end of the month, and since I was a total control freak, I was dealing with all the bullshit paperwork that came with closing out yet another successful month at Clive’s.

I had money. I could pay people to do all of this bullshit for me, but secretly, I loved it. Also, I didn’t trust anyone else with my livelihood. People were thieves, including myself. I’d kill anyone who stole from me, so I didn’t even want to put myself in that position.

The door to my office flew open, and I turned away from the window.

“I have news.”

The words were out of Mac’s mouth before he’d completely entered my office and shut the door. Three long strides put him directly in front of me, and I was alert, waiting for him to say the words I longed to hear.

“Another letter was dropped in the mail.”

I moved away and went to my desk, ready to grab my keys and go to wherever the mystery writer was.

“Where is he?” I could hardly contain my excitement.

I was going to get a piece of whoever it was threatening my world. It wasn’t going to be pretty.

“It’s not that simple, Black.”

Sighing, I dropped into my expensive desk chair. “Of course, it’s not. Nothing’s ever fucking simple.”

“He doesn’t drop the letters himself.” Mac sat in a chair in front of my desk, his large frame engulfing the chair completely.

“So who the fuck is dropping the letters off, then? Whoever it is must know who the letters are coming from.”

I was tugging on the end of my hair without even realizing it. For weeks, I’d been trying to find out who was responsible for the mystery letters that kept ending up in my mail.

Mac shrugged his large shoulders. “Sort of.”

This wasn’t fucking rocket science. It was the simple matter of lying in wait, finding a source, and getting all the information from that source regardless of what it took.

“And?” I growled, throwing my arms up in aggravation.

I wasn’t in the mood to play Mac’s word games.

“The guy dropping the letters is picking them up from another location. He said he gets instructions to show up at the same place at a certain time and waiting there is another letter with instructions on when and where to make the drop.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me with this shit. This isn’t fucking
Mission Impossible
.”

“I wish I was, Black.” Mac shook his head.

“Okay, so who the hell is dropping the letter and instructions for the delivery guy?”

Again, Mac shrugged his wide shoulders. “A completely different guy.”

I chuckled sarcastically to myself. “Who, let me guess, is
not
the guy writing the letters either?”

“Right,” he answered. “The letter gets dropped off-”

“By another fucking guy who doesn’t know where the letters are coming from either.” I interrupted him.

He took a deep breath. “Exactly.”

“Fuck!” I kicked the nearest thing to me, which happened to be the trashcan next to my desk.

It flew across the room, smashing into the glass of the window overlooking the club. The glass cracked from one end to the other with a loud crack.

Below, the employees stopped to look up toward my office with surprise and concern. They couldn’t see me, but I could see them. After a few seconds of silence, they went back to work as if nothing had happened.

Something had definitely happened.

I’d been fucked over once again.

By the time I got my hands on whoever was responsible, I’d be too angry to enjoy beating the life out of them.

WEEKS WENT BY AND I developed a routine and fell completely in love with my new job. The hours weren’t compatible with Sebastian’s, which meant when he was home, I wasn’t, and when he wasn’t home, I was.

I missed him like crazy, but I knew it was for the best. We’d get a feel for our new schedule soon. Not to mention, absence made the heart grow fonder, and Sebastian was sure to show me how fond his heart was every afternoon when I got home.

Judy only gave me a few clients at first until I was comfortable with the job, but I was already asking for more work. A new probation case came in every day, and every day, I begged for the file making her laugh. Still, we grew to be friends as we worked side by side to help those who’d gotten off track get back in line.

My first client was a girl my age named Vera. She’d been charged with possession, which meant she had to do drug testing constantly. If she tested positive at any point, it was straight to jail for her. She was a nice girl who was dating the wrong guy, but I really felt like the judge made a good move by giving her probation instead of a jail time. Her boyfriend wasn’t that lucky and got three years, which meant she would hopefully clean herself up and realize her worth before he was back on the streets.

She was doing great so far. I met with her once a week for the first thirty days, and her evaluations were easy and straightforward. After thirty days, we’d meet monthly with the exception of random, unannounced drug tests that I was responsible for scheduling.

About a week after my first meeting with Vera, Judy gave me another client.

Kevin Brewer.

Something about Kevin made me feel uncomfortable at first, but after our first few meetings, I began to lighten up around him. Perhaps it was his dark, sinister eyes. Or the tattoos that worked up his arms and over his neck. He reeked of danger, yet somehow, I began to see the man beneath the ink and rap sheet.

“So who’s the guy?” Kevin asked, pointing at the picture of Sebastian and me on my desk.

It was a picture we’d taken while in Jamaica—him in a flowing white shirt and khaki shorts and me in a yellow sundress and a big, floppy hat. We’d just spent the day on the boat and were headed to a seafood dinner on the beach. It was one of my favorite pictures of us.

“My fiancé.” Quickly changing the subject away from me, I asked, “So did you have any issues this week, Kevin?”

He leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes scanning my face. “Nope. I even found a job.”

I clapped my hands together once in excitement. “You did? That’s great, Kevin!”

I could hardly believe how wonderful he was doing considering his list of prior issues.

“Yep. It’s nothing extravagant, but it puts food on the table and helps pay the bills.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “Well, go on then. Tell me all about it.”

We spend the next thirty minutes talking about his new position at a local restaurant. He was waiting tables and washing dishes between rushes, but it seemed to make him happy and gave him a sense of responsibility that I knew was great for him.

Kevin wasn’t a bad guy, even though he was on probation for assault with a deadly weapon.

Apparently, he’d gotten into a fight with a friend of his, and instead of using his fists, he used a bat. How he managed to get probation after such a violent crime and his past criminal history was beyond me, but it wasn’t my job to question the city’s judges. It was my job to make sure that Kevin wasn’t too dangerous to be on the streets. I was to evaluate him and determine if he was a danger to the outside world.

Kevin had a past that left behind a paper trail a mile long. So long, in fact, that I never really read about anything before the age of twenty-five. I didn’t have that kind of time in my life, and I was positive that nothing he did before then could directly affect my ability to evaluate him for the courts.

Nothing he did when he was eighteen would matter.

At least, I hoped it wouldn’t.

I knew in the back of my mind that I shouldn’t blow off his past, but I had so many other things on my plate to take care of. My workload was starting to grow, but no matter what, I kept asking for more clients.

“So where was this taken?” He pointed at the picture of Sebastian and me again.

His questions were making me a little uncomfortable, but then he smiled and shook his head.

“Looks like Jamaica. When I was younger, a friend of mine and I went. Oh man, we had the best time. There was this little sand shack on the beach that had the best oysters.”

“You mean Jives?” I asked with excitement.

It was the same place Sebastian and I had eaten that night. We went on and on about how great their food was.

“Yes! That’s the place. It was like heaven in our mouths.”

“Agreed. The best fish, too.”

And then the strangest thing happened.

The evaluation shifted. Kevin and I went from talking about his job, to spending the rest of his appointment time chatting about Jives and how fabulous Jamaica was.

It was weird—making friends with someone with a past like his—but again, I knew people were capable of change. Kevin was a nice guy—regardless of his mean looking exterior. And it was just another time I learned that I couldn’t judge a book by its cover. Even if that cover was decorated in tattoos with a rap sheet a mile long under his belt.

Things were going great at my new job, even though I wasn’t fond of the location. I’d even switched gyms to one within walking distance to my office. The new gym wasn’t as nice as the expensive one close to our condo, but it was more convenient. I could leave work, run over and work out for an hour, and still make it home in time to see Sebastian before he headed down to the club for the night.

Driving across town to my old gym took way too much time. Especially considering the afternoon traffic and craziness. The gym wasn’t the best, but it made more sense. Plus, working out after work relieved all my stress from the day. I’d go home refreshed with a smile on my face having left the day’s troubles on the treadmill.

The only problem with my new situation was I hated lying to Sebastian about where I worked. I hated pretending that I was going to legal aid every day when really I was driving across town to the worst neighborhoods all alone. I knew he’d lose his mind if he knew the truth, and I didn’t want to fight with him. It was a guaranteed way to start Armageddon in the Black household.

Working at the probation office wasn’t the dream job, but I loved doing it. I loved being able to help people and Sebastian wouldn’t see that because he would never get past the location.

After a few weeks, it became more about waiting too long to tell him and less about the lie. He was going to be mad that I lied, but he was going to be furious that I’d lied for over a month.

It was the small lies to cover the big one that were sickening. The fibs about my day in my nice office or lunch at one of the expensive restaurants close to my nice office. I couldn’t very well tell him that I’d eaten at The Pit Stop a few days a week without him or that my office had a bug problem.

It would kill him.

I couldn’t tell him yet.

I wasn’t ready to give up on my job or the people who needed me just yet, so I kept lying. He couldn’t really make me quit, but I hated upsetting him. I hated making him worry when I knew there was no need for it. One day soon, I’d tell him, and once he realized there was nothing to worry about—once he realized I could take care of myself—he’d get on board. At least, I hoped he would.

THROWING THE TOWEL AROUND MY neck, I waited until the treadmill slowed to a stop, freeing me from the torture I’d just put myself through for the last hour. I’d come to hate the gym, but if I wanted to look perfect in my wedding dress, which I still had yet to pick out, I felt it was necessary.

Not to mention, my weekly visits to inhale The Pit Stop’s delicious heart attack goodness was starting to show on my hips.

Sweat dripped from every pore as I made my way toward the locker room to grab my stuff and hit the shower. I had a million things going through my mind. I was starving, exhausted, and all I wanted was to crawl into bed and surround myself with Sebastian.

Stepping into the spray, the hot water coated my skin, washing away the day’s events. While I loved doing my job, the paperwork was daunting. I spent more time writing out the evaluations than I spent actually doing the evaluations.

Some days, I had to visit my clients in their homes—I had to see how they lived and even visit with their friends and family. They weren’t in the best shape financially, and I hated to see so many people suffer.

I knew that kind of suffering.

I knew what it was like not knowing if you could feed the people you were responsible for or if you could keep a shelter over their head and clothes on their back. Kyle and I were in the same shoes as some of the people I meet on a daily basis not that long ago.

I felt for these people unlike some of my co-workers who looked down on them as if they weren’t worth the time. I didn’t understand what made them want to work in this field if they couldn’t find the compassion to at least try to understand what some of the families we met were going through.

Seeing these families made me want to work harder to help them—to help my clients better themselves so they could provide for the ones they loved or just for themselves for that matter. To show them there was light at the end of the tunnel and all they needed was a helping hand to get them there.

Turning off the water, I dried off and got dressed as quickly as I could. I didn’t usually stay so late at the gym, but I’d gotten out of work almost an hour later than normal. I contemplated skipping the gym altogether but decided against it since I’d added a milkshake to my order during lunch.

Walking to my car, I noticed how vacant the parking garage was now compared to an hour before when I’d run out to my car to get my gym bag. I tried not to let my mind wander, but it was hard not to jump at every sound that echoed throughout the garage.

I was only a few feet away from my car when I started searching through my workout bag for my keys. I’d been too distracted by my own thoughts to remember to pull them out before I left the gym.

I breathed a sigh of relief when my fingers brushed the uneven edges of my car keys. I pulled them out just as I reached the door and the jingle they made was music to my ears. I hit the unlock button on the remote but nothing happened. Panicking now because I swore I’d heard footsteps behind me, I pushed the button three more times before I realized why it wasn’t unlocking. I cursed myself for not getting it fixed like Sebastian had told me to.

A week before, I’d mentioned to Sebastian that my remote wasn’t working. He was busy with the club and the restaurant remodel, so he’d told me to have Martin take care of it, but I was too busy with work and the gym and everything else to think about even mentioning it to Martin. I was kicking myself now that I felt like someone was right behind me.

The footsteps were getting louder, and my hands shook uncontrollably as I felt completely paralyzed. I was afraid to move, afraid to look behind me. The footsteps couldn’t be more than a few inches behind me, so I waited, holding my breath.

Seconds later, the footsteps were walking past me and I was able to look in the direction they were coming from. An older man smiled and gave me a small nod.

“Good evening,” he said, walking past my car toward his parked two cars down.

“You, too,” I managed to get out lamely before he was out of earshot.

My unwarranted fear was like a splash of cold water as I realized I had nothing to fear at all. I took a deep breath and leaned against my car. Laughter bubbled up from my chest as I couldn’t help but laugh at myself.

My heart was still pounding loudly in my ears, but I managed to get the key in the door and unlocked. I climbed in and locked the door for peace of mind. I felt silly now for being afraid of nothing. I’d been using this parking garage now for weeks and had no reason to be uneasy.

I knew my thoughts had put me on edge, and I made a note not to let that happen again. Lifting my gym bag from my lap, I threw it in the back. The gruff sound startled me and I twisted to turn around but was stopped short.