Читать книгу Against The Odds - Laura Drake - Страница 11

CHAPTER FOUR

BEAR UNLOCKED THE padlock on his rickety barn, still chewing his energy bar breakfast. He’d rather have had eggs, but money came from work, not from cooking. He left the door open to get a cross breeze, flipped on the big overhead lights and walked the narrow corridor formed by crates and various flotsam he’d moved aside to create a work area in the center. He bent over and gave in to an explosive sneeze.

Maybe someday there’d be time to clean the place, too. But he wasn’t being paid to do that, either, so it was going to have to wait.

Bear had saved his soldier pay, invested it and let it to grow while he was in prison. He liked the golden rolling hills he’d seen from behind the razor wire–crowned fence at the California Men’s Colony in San Luis Obispo. So when he got out, he scouted around until he’d found this place; a remote tumbledown cabin and barn, outside Widow’s Grove. It didn’t look like anything. Hell, it wasn’t anything. Yet.

He flipped on his pole lights, strode into the open area in the center of the spotless concrete floor and sank to his knees beside his latest job, a 1989 Harley-Davidson Electra Glide Classic. On the tank, orange-tipped gold flames rose through the black paint—some of the best ghost flames he’d ever done. He’d laid the last clear coat two days ago, and returned the tank to the bike last night. Two coats of wax this morning, and it’d be ready for pickup this afternoon, right on schedule.

This was what brought in money. He’d opened The Gaudy Widow Custom Paint Shop six months ago. Turned out, Widow’s Grove sat in the heart of some of California’s best motorcycle roads, as well as being a stop on the custom car circuit. He had all the business he could handle.

He smoothed a finger over the edge of the tank. “Pretty damned sweet, if I do say so myself.” Pushing himself to his feet, he walked to the back of the barn to open the big door there, then put on a pot of coffee.

A half hour later, he was in the loft, trying to locate a custom-welded metal easel to hold his next job, when he heard a scuffle and a kid’s awestruck voice.

“Oh, wow.”

He strode to the ladder, and had to grab it to steady himself. A brown-skinned kid was on his knees in front of the Harley. He didn’t look much like the kid from Bear’s waking nightmare, but that didn’t stop his mind from running through the stop-action film anyway: a boy around the same age, in a traditional long shirt and long linen pants, a round kapol on his black hair. But it was the eyes, huge and black with panic that chased Bear through his dreams.

Bear used to like kids. Before.

The one downstairs reached his fingers to the tank.

“Don’t you touch that!” Bear’s voice was too loud and splintered with pain.

The kid jerked his hand back as if the ghost flames had burned him.

A young woman with black spiky hair stepped from the box corridor and looked up at Bear, mouth open.

He glared down at them. “Do. Not. Move.”

The warning wasn’t needed. The two stood, shocked to stillness.

He turned and started down the ladder, anger building with every step. Last week some kids had broken in and stolen a case of spray paint. Where were these kids coming from? Why couldn’t they just leave him be?

At the bottom of the ladder, he turned, and hands fisted, stalked to them. “Goddamn kids. You come to rip me off, too?”

Eyes huge, the kid just stared.

“Hey!” The woman, too young to be the kid’s mother, stepped between them. “Back off, dude. He’s not hurting anything.”

He had to give it to her, she had balls. She turned her back and took the kid’s hands. He shook her off, raised his chin and hung his thumbs in the belt loops of his baggy jeans, a kid’s version of chilly.

“I had a break-in last week. I thought—”

She spun. “Bet you get a lot of repeat customers by scaring the crap out of people.”

Damn lights make it cook in here. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his purple bandanna, folded it lengthwise and tied it around his forehead. “What do you want?”

The woman stepped from between him and the kid, but not far. “My brother needs to talk to you.”

* * *

A NANOSECOND OF pure terror crossed the kid’s face. “Um. I didn’t steal your paint.” His eyes darted. Probably scouting the nearest escape route. “But I used it.” The rest of his breath huffed out. “For tagging.”

Bear frowned down at the kid, knowing it made him look even scarier. “Where?”

“The Bekins warehouse.” His voice shook, but he stood his ground.

He’d seen that. On the long wall of the building that faced the road, black letters, leaning back, as if they were zipping by. Yellow and orange flames trailing every letter. He bit back a smile. Kid was young, but had a set on him.

The spiky-haired spitfire watched close, ready to step between them again.

“Oh, yeah, I saw that.” He squinted down at the kid. “What’s your name?”

“N-Nacho.”

“Well, N-Nacho, not bad work. For a beginner.”

The kid looked like a prisoner whose firing squad had just taken a smoke break.

“But.” He pointed, and put every bit of badass into his voice. “Defacing private property is a crime, and accepting stolen property can land you in jail.” He leaned into the kid’s personal space. “Did you learn anything?” He raised an eyebrow. He was having a tough time holding his face hard. He hadn’t had this much fun in a long time.

“Y-yessir.”

“What?”

“Crime costs more than it’s worth.”

He couldn’t help it. His lips quirked, but they probably wouldn’t see it through the beard. “Good answer.”

The woman let out a breath and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Okay, we can go now.”

The boy shrugged from under her hand. “Um, sir?”

“Name’s Bear.”

“Mister Bear—could you tell me how you did this?” He pointed to the flames on the bike’s gas tank. “They’re epic.”

Bear chuckled. The kid was cute. For a delinquent. “It takes years of practice kid, and the right tools.”

Nacho looked up at Bear, hero worship plain on his face. “Would you show me?”

The woman put her hand on the back of the kid’s neck. “Getting late. We gotta go. Sorry to bother you.” Steering him ahead of her, they motored for the exit, then disappeared among the boxes.

The prison priest had told him he could atone, by helping children. That was bullshit.

Most likely bullshit.

But there was something about this one. The odd combination of innocence and hardcase made Bear wonder what the kid’s story was.

None of your business.

Another, not so different pair of eyes shivered through his mind.

He raised his voice, and it boomed through the barn. “If you come back sometime, we’ll talk.”

He could always tell the kid to get lost if he got irritating. Besides, from that woman’s body language, that was probably the last Bear would see of...what’d he say his name was? Nacho?

* * *

“THANK YOU BOTH. I don’t know how this would have happened without you.” Hope stood in her new doorway, rubbing moving day bruises, trying to choke out a goodbye to her work crew. They’d refused to leave until every picture was hung, every drawer was full.

“Our pleasure, sweetie.”

Maybe, but her cousin looked very un-Jesse-like. In faded shorts, a stained T-shirt and holey Keds, she was downright disheveled.

Hope reached out to tuck a hank of Jesse’s blond hair behind her ear. “I feel bad, making you two do all the work.” She’d had every intention of packing up the apartment herself, earlier in the week. But she’d only gotten the door open—her feet refused to cross the threshold. Even after fifteen minutes of trying.

Today, with Jesse and Carl there, she’d managed to step inside. She’d even managed to pack the kitchen, probably because the men hadn’t gone in that room that awful night. But she still hadn’t been able to force herself down the hall to her bedroom. Even picturing Carl packing her underwear drawer couldn’t get her to budge.

She was bone tired and emotionally spent, but if she felt past those, there was a tiny warm spot of pride. She hadn’t done it all, but by God, she’d done something.

“Are you sure you’re okay here alone?” Carl studied her from under creased Nordic brows.

She considered her injuries—emotional, as well as physical. “You know, I think I am.”

“This place is the start of your new life.” Jesse reached up and cupped Hope’s face in her hands. “Go find out what it holds for you.”

“I will, Jess.” Hope closed the door of her cottage, then waved to Jesse and Carl through the bay window as they walked the flagstone path to the driveway. She sank onto her mother’s antique settee and hugged herself, only partially to quiet the bullet track burning in her gut.

The antiques fit the cottage’s Victorian style so perfectly, she felt she’d fallen through time. In the quiet, a delicate peace came and settled like a cat in her lap.

Mine.

It was as if, with the closing of the door, the cottage wrapped itself around her, new, yet familiar. Comforting. It already felt more like home than anywhere she’d ever lived, including the house she’d grown up in. Maybe this was an omen. A bridge, between her past to the life she felt coming, emerging from the darkness, touching the edges of her present.

She’d always been good at waiting. She’d waited to grow up. She’d waited for the chance to live her own life. But looking back, she could see that when the cage door had opened, she’d just built another.

Maybe because a cage was all she knew.

She’d moved to Widow’s Grove and still, she waited. Waited in her adequate career, her adequate life, for something to happen. Something wonderful, that would transport her from a little church mouse to...she didn’t even know what.

It had taken her almost dying to realize that with all the waiting, she hadn’t yet lived.

Well, that ended today. Jesse was right. No more waiting. If she wanted a different life, it was up to her to find it.

Now she just had to decide what that was. She stood and walked to the kitchen, pulled a steno pad and pen from the drawer, then sat at the tiny round table she used as a dining table. At the top of a blank page, she wrote “New Life” in tidy cursive. Then she sat, staring at the wall for five minutes.

How can you not know?

Well, maybe a place to start would be to consider what she admired in other people. Who would she be if she didn’t have to consider anyone, or anything else?

“Who would you be, if you weren’t afraid?”

Something about the question broke the logjam in her head and she wrote fast, trying to catch the thoughts before they floated downstream.

Adventurous Independent

Pioneering Brave

A fizz of thrill, like bubbles of champagne, coursed into her blood. Oh, yes, she’d admire someone like that. She wanted to be someone like that. But how?

What would a person like that do in their leisure time? She jotted:

Surf Skydive

Outdoorsman Jog, ride a bike, sports

Who knew you could plot out your life? So, what career would a person like that have? She wrote what came to her, without filters.

StewardessWilderness guide

Park rangerPilot

ParamedicBusiness owner

Tennis proTruck driver

HitchhikerMountaineer

Okay, so the last two weren’t careers, and some may not be practical, but dang it, the cage door had been blown off its hinges, and she was going to open herself to all possibilities.

So there, Mom.

Smiling, she added to her list.

* * *

THE NEXT DAY, Hope walked into the empty basement classroom of the hospital, nervous, but determined. So far, her new life was just pages of lists. Today it would exist, because she’d say it out loud. Once it was out, and people heard it, she couldn’t back out. After that, she’d get started living it. She tugged to straighten the collar of her best business blouse, walked to the circle of orange plastic chairs and sat in the same one as last time.

Then she got up, and sat in one across the circle. She was going to have to watch herself. Habits, held long enough, became cages. And she was done with those. She unbuttoned her blazer and retrieved the newsprint from the pocket:

WANTED: Full-time Retail Specialist. Room for advancement. Apply to:

The Adventure Outfitter in Widow’s Grove—Your gateway to adventure!

* * *

“WELL, GOOD MORNING, early bird.”

Bina sat across the circle. Hope hadn’t even heard her come in, but there she sat, two chairs to Hope’s left. “Hello, Ms. Rani.”

“Please, I’m Bina.”

“Okay. Bina.” Hope smiled.

The rest of the group must have shared an elevator, because they all filed into the room and sat. Hope tried to recall their names. A minute later, Bear walked in and took the last open chair, beside her.

She had no problem remembering his name, because it fit him so well. He was well over six feet tall, and built like a bear—thick, and muscular, with hair the red-brown color of a grizzly, pulled back into a ponytail, a bushy beard. His plain white T-shirt pulled tight across his upper arms and chest, displaying the fact that though he may be big, he was lean.

It wasn’t just his body that took up room, either. She could feel attitude rolling off him. With a furtive twitch of her hips, she scooted her chair an inch farther away.

The chair tips made a loud screech across the tile.

His big head swiveled her way. Under heavy brows, his eyes were a dusky shade of chocolate brown. And not angry at all. In fact, she saw more curiosity than animosity. And pain. Those eyes had seen more than they wanted to. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew it sure as her mother’s rules of deportment.

She continued her study. His big forearms rested on his thighs. On the back of one was a tattoo. She recognized the eagle and anchor, but in the center, where the globe should be, were the crosshairs of a rifle scope. A shiver shimmered through her.

“Well, let’s get started, shall we?” Bina’s voice broke into her thoughts.

Realizing she was staring, Hope looked away fast, her face hot enough to be glowing. She scrubbed her palms over her dress slacks, crossed her feet and tucked them under her chair.

“The last time we talked a bit about why each of you is here,” Bina began. “Today, I’d like some of you to share your stories in more detail. I know it will be hard, speaking about such emotional events with strangers, but this is a safe place, and talking about it will help your mind process the traumas you’ve suffered. It will help ease the horror and begin the healing.” She glanced around the circle of faces. “Who would like to start?”

The left side of Hope’s face tingled as Bear’s regard slid across her skin.

The redheaded boy raised his hand. “How do you heal from something that could happen again at any time?”

Bina nodded. “Traumatic incidents tend to make us aware of how dangerous the world is, and how fragile we are, Bryan. Will you tell us what happened that night?”

He looked down at his hands, twisting together in his lap. “Curtis is an IT guy. He works crazy-long hours. Weekends, too. So we don’t get to go out much.” His face relaxed into a small, intimate smile as he stared, unfocused at the empty center of the circle. “That night we went to Aurelio’s, our favorite trattoria. I chose it the first time we went out, because it was like Curtis—Aurelio means golden in Italian, you know.”

Beside her, Bear made a strangled sound.

Bryan’s face flushed blotchy pink, the way only a redhead’s can. “Are you some kind of homophobe?” He put a fist on his hip. “Because I really don’t need that kind of judgment right now.”

Bear held up a hand. “Peace out, dude. I just swallowed wrong.”

“Go ahead, Bryan,” Bina urged.

“We sat in our usual secluded corner. The candlelight loves Curtis. His eyes, that blond scruff...” Bryan sighed. “He looks like a god.” His body seemed to shrink into itself. “Curtis paid, and we were leaving. It was late, and the room was almost empty. We stopped at the bathroom on the way out. It’s down a brick corridor, next to the back door.” He dropped his head, and watched his hands gripping each other, knuckles white. “Three men came in and blocked the way out. Thugs. Said they watched us through dinner, and since Curtis was obviously infatuated with me, they wanted to know the reason.” His breath came faster. “Ugly, filthy men. They leered at me. Curtis put me behind him and told them to go away. That we didn’t want any trouble.” His mouth twisted. “They laughed. One grabbed Curtis. I started forward, but he put a knife to Curtis’s throat.” His shoulders rose to earlobe level. “I had no choice. They were going to hurt Curtis if I didn’t!”

“Take a breath, Bryan.” Bina’s calm voice was in stark contrast to the tension-filled air. “It’s in the past. You’re safe now.”

His shoulders lowered maybe a quarter of an inch.

“If you didn’t what, Bryan?”

“The last guy, the leader, he made me...you know. Go down on him.” He threw his head back and said to the ceiling, “I had to! He said he’d kill Curtis!”

Lowering his head, he pulled a halting breath through his nose. “They made Curtis watch, the whole time.” He put a hand across his mouth. “I can’t tell you—” He choked a sob.

Someone hissed in a breath. Beside her, Bear whispered, “Jesus.”

Hope sat stunned, suddenly and thoroughly grateful to have only taken a bullet.

“Afterward, they beat us. We tried to fight, but there were three of them.” He looked up, his horrified eyes liquid. “Do you know what steel-toed boots sound like, hitting bone?” He shuddered and tried to gather himself. “I was in the hospital for a week. Curtis...” He pulled in another shuddering breath and his shoulders collapsed. His elbows hit his knees. He buried his face in his hands. “Curtis is upstairs, still in a coma.”

The room’s air felt heavy, saturated with shock, shame and silence.

Bina’s soft voice cut through it. “I’m so sorry, Bryan.”

“That’s horrible. Did they catch those bastards?” Anger tinged Mark’s face red, leaving his horrific scar a bloodless white.

“Not yet.” Bryan sniffed. “It’s been a nightmare. I think I see them everywhere. At the hospital, at work, in the grocery store.”

“Do you think they’re still following you?” Hope asked.

“I think I’m just paranoid. From worry and not sleeping.” He looked at Bina. “But they’re still out there, so...how do you ever get over something like this?”

“You know this isn’t in any way your fault, don’t you, Bryan?”

He nodded.

“Good.” Bina’s shoulder-length helmet of black glossy hair swung when she tipped her head to the side. “How do you feel now, after having talked about it?”

He thought a moment.

Hope knew from experience that he was feeling around the edges of the hole in himself.

“A little calmer, I think.”

Bina’s smile was soft as suede. “Then I think you may have the beginning of your answer.”

She stood. “Why don’t we stand and shake off the tension? This work can be intense, and it helps to loosen our muscles.” She demonstrated, shaking out her hands and rolling her shoulders.

Hope stood and took a deep breath and did neck extensions to break the grip of muscle tension.

Popping came from her left, where Bear cracked his knuckles, then, with a hand under his chin, twisted his neck until several vertebrae popped. She winced.

Bina lowered herself into her chair. “We have more time. Does anyone else have anything they’d like to share?”

The rest of the group settled.

Hope threw back her shoulders, excitement and worry sparring in her stomach. Write it, talk about it, do it. She took a breath and pushed the words out. “I have some good news to report.”

“I think we all could use some of that,” Bina said. “Will you begin by telling us about your trauma?”

Hope walked them through the events of that day, feeling an odd detachment, as if she stood outside herself and watched. She couldn’t help the comparison to Bryan’s story. Not the story itself, but the emotion. She felt his experience in her gut—as if it had happened to her. Her own story felt as though it had happened to someone else.

She trailed off at the end, leaving the last words dangling in the air.

Bina’s brows pulled together. “You sound very detached from the trauma, Hope.”

Feeling the regard of the others, especially the solid presence on her left, she shifted in her seat. “I am. That’s because it happened to the old me.”

“The old you?”

“I can’t go back to that life. I have no interest in it any longer. So I’m starting a new one. I’ve rented a wonderful little Victorian cottage. I moved in just yesterday.” She tightened her muscles, her resolve and her courage. Once said out loud, this would be real. “And, after this meeting, I’m hoping to begin my new career.”

“Congratulations,” Mark said.

Hope didn’t know Bina well, but her face seemed to be held carefully neutral. “What is your new career?”

“I’m applying for a job as an adventure specialist.” She loved the way it rolled off her tongue, the words round and fat with promise.

“Oh, that sounds fascinating. What exactly does that entail?”

“I’m not really sure.” She smiled, projecting a confidence that would be real soon. Hopefully. “But I’m excited to find out.”