The Red Ledger, Book 5 Page 9

  “Tristan killed her?”

  She looks up at me with those severe blue eyes. “She had a gun to my head, and Tristan had the best angle.”

  I’m quiet after that.

  I find Noam’s shower and wash the horrors of the day off with hard scrubs that leave my skin red and raw. As I do, I reach for the familiar sting of loss and regret knowing Martine’s dead and the muddled cocktail of emotions that comes with loving a man who kills without ever feeling those things. Except the sting is dull at best. All I can muster is tolerable discomfort.

  My feelings for Tristan haven’t changed. Any doubts I had about being with him, knowing what I know, dissolved somewhere on our travels. Inside the chaos our life has become, I’ve learned how to love all of him. All his flaws. All his darkness.

  TRISTAN

  Locusts chirp in the vegetation along the street. Townsend paces the empty sidewalk, back and forth, while I lean against Noam’s building. He’s puffing on a cigarette. If I smoked, I’d probably want one or ten right now too.

  “You were quick on the draw back there.”

  His lip quirks up. “Dunny?”

  I nod.

  “Not my weapon of choice, but I get by.”

  About three seconds after Martine dropped, Townsend turned on Dunny. Further delay would have been dangerous. Dunny would have been asking questions about how he was going to get paid without the goods—me. We didn’t have time for that mess. We barely got out of there ahead of the police or any other witnesses noticing us. Last thing I need is to be on a most-wanted poster.

  “With your travel companions out of the picture, I have to ask, who else knows you came here?” I ask.

  “I never gave them our target location. Bones and Dunny didn’t even know until we showed up to stake out the house. Unless they fed it back to the Company when I wasn’t paying attention—which I don’t see why they would and risk messing up their payday—you probably have a few days before they’re on your scent. The police will find records on Dunny eventually, once they figure out who he is. Double homicide will hit the news circuit. That’ll tip the Company off. Then you’ll have someone else here trying to pull the same thing.” He stamps the cigarette butt into the sidewalk. “Which means we should split up sooner rather than later.”

  “And I’m supposed to let you both just walk away?”

  He stares up at the night sky without answering. I roll the little glass bottle around in my pocket and trace the masking tape label on the bottle with my thumb. SP-131. Asking Townsend to cook up something else for me carries its own risks. He could give me anything. Kill me. Melt my brain like another dose of Elysium Dream would have. But whatever’s in the bottle I swiped from his black bag before we went into the church is a concoction I already know.

  I pull it out and hold it up. “How much of this can I take?”

  He drops his gaze, squints, and then relaxes with recognition. “I gave you a low dose because you already had the tranquilizer in your system. I needed you lucid to answer questions, not pass out on me. You could easily double it or more.”

  A vision of him plunging several units of the clear liquid into my vein flashes in my brain. It’s barely out of my system. I can’t believe I’m considering pumping more in. But the possibility of getting my memories back is no less intoxicating than when Isabel recognized me that day in Rio.

  Sometimes you can’t know what you truly want until you get a taste of it. The nightmares and visions that hit me at random times were like flinging one piece of a puzzle at me at a time. This is more. I feel like under the right circumstances, maybe I could put it all together. Enough pieces of the puzzle could start to reveal the big picture, and this veil over my past could be lifted for good.

  I put the vial back in my pocket and catch Townsend staring at me.

  “I wouldn’t make any big plans if that’s what you’re thinking of doing, Red. It could take you out for a couple days.”

  “Got it.”

  The door slams. We both turn. Jay walks toward us, her arms folded over her chest.

  “Where’s Isabel?” I ask.

  “In the shower.”

  “You should get some rest.”

  She shrugs. “We can’t stay here.” A moment passes. “What do you want from me, Tristan?”

  “You know what I want.”

  She tilts her head with a soft sigh. “I can download every detail from every job for you and give you a thorough rundown of everyone in the Company. It’s not going to bring them down.”

  “Then what will?”

  She purses her lips, like she’s calculating exactly what to say. Always calculating…

  “Right now you only have one enemy in the Company. Kristopher Boswell and his children. The Company is leveraging its collective resources to hunt you—us—down, but it’s not personal. You have to remember that members aren’t bound to each other by honor, but only to the laws they’ve established among themselves for the benefit of the whole. They have as many enemies between them as they have friends. Everything is about strategy and measuring gains and losses.”

  “Your point?”

  “My point is that you should be concentrating on Boswell and Soloman. Reverse engineering every hit is only going to piss everyone off. And I mean everyone.”

  “So give me another option. You want to end this too, right?”

  She hesitates. I can see her mind working.

  “We have to. We have no other choice. I never thought I’d say it, but we’re in this together.”

  “Are we now?” Townsend’s sarcasm is both playful and begrudging, like I’m the last person he wanted to team up with.

  She rolls her eyes. “Your plan didn’t work. And neither will yours, Tristan. They don’t have you or me in their custody. They’re down two more men, and now they have a fourth target to add to their list.”

  “So I take care of Boswell,” I say. “That’s easy enough, even though they’ll be expecting it.”

  “They will be. But this is what you do. These kinds of people know how to pull strings and play puppet master. That’s what they’re good at. They don’t know how to work their televisions, let alone protect themselves from someone like you.”

  Townsend chuckles.

  “But Soloman’s the key. Even with Boswell gone, he’ll be under pressure to fix this to prove it won’t ever happen again. The members are in this for power and influence. He’s in it for money, and he gets plenty of it from them. If you can take him out, the Company will be in a panic. Without leadership, without knowing the extent of their exposure once Soloman isn’t there to hold it all together, they’ll disassemble.”

  I roll the vial around in my pocket absently, absorbing everything she’s said.

  “You’re certain that would do it.”

  She lifts her shoulders a little. “I’m not sure of anything anymore, but it’s our best shot.”

  “I guess I need to get a meeting with Soloman, then.”

  She nods. “He travels alone. He expects his clients to also. No bodyguards. No assistants.”

  “You’d think in his line of work, he’d be a little paranoid about traveling without protection.”

  “Everything is a gentlemen’s agreement. A handshake commitment between two amenable parties. No witnesses. He’s more worried about indiscretions than he is about someone killing him in a meeting.”

  “That’s about to change.”

  A long moment passes. She looks to Townsend and then down at the dirty sidewalk. An unspoken question lingers between us.

  “I want to help you, Tristan. I will help you.”

  “But you want me to let you go.”

  She releases a tired sigh. “Splitting up is safer for everyone. You know that as well as I do.”

  True enough. I don’t trust Townsend. I’d be looking over my shoulder at every turn. That and he’d be waiting for any opportunity to disappear with Jay. Trying to hold them here is impractical, and as much as Jay know
s, only so much of it will be useful to me now. Plus, Townsend can keep her safe, a relief unto itself.

  “Where will you go?”

  “I have a place,” Townsend says. “It’s remote. They’ll have an easier time finding Jimmy Hoffa.”

  “I think Noam might be heading back soon to get Zeda. He can probably give you a ride to the car if the coast is clear.”

  Jay shifts the weight on her feet a couple of times. “You can reach me through the chat. It’s protected. They never had access to it.”

  “Okay. That’d be good.”

  Fine drops of water drip from the sky.

  Not quite knowing how to say goodbye but eager for this day to be over, I push off the building and head toward the door.

  “Tristan,” she says, stopping me.

  I look back.

  “Be careful.”

  I answer with a short nod and turn my back to them both. Inside I see Noam, who agrees to drive them back to the church. The reverend is stable, but Zeda’s still with the police. It’s going to be a long night for both of them.

  I climb the metal staircase to the room upstairs. When I enter it, Isabel is arranged messily on the bed, her chest moving softly. The sight of her, safe and unburdened of her worry in sleep, is like a freight train through me. My heart aches in my chest when I realize all over again I could have lost her. Townsend—the bastard who came here to rescue Jay and turn my brain into an empty wasteland—could have killed her right in front of me.

  My throat constricts, and my breaths come hard and unevenly. Somehow she saved us both…

  Raindrops ping loudly on the metal roof now.

  Suddenly I’m more exhausted than I ever thought possible. I undress, fall into bed beside her, and give in to sleep.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Tristan

  It’s perfect weather for mourning. I’m sitting at the little breakfast table. We used to eat here whenever we could catch a meal together between her work schedule and mine. Rain drizzles down the windowpane, making the view out the front window even more miserable. Death in the springtime, when the earth is just starting to come back to life, seems so wrong.

  I see Isabel’s faint reflection in the glass as she comes up behind me. She kneads my shoulders through my dress shirt. It feels good, breaks through the numbness that’s been building up since Mom died. Funerals are supposed to give you closure, but I don’t feel any different. The parade of her coworkers, people from our neighborhood, and a few teachers from school through the funeral home didn’t usher in another stage of grief. I just feel raw.

  I close my eyes and sigh heavily. I reach up and take Isabel’s hand in one of mine, caress up and down her forearm. At least she’s here. The best thing to help me get through the worst thing. She walks around me and sits on my lap. We’ve been connected all day. A hundred little touches that reminded me she was with me every minute.

  She touches my cheek. “You doing okay?”

  People have been asking me the same thing all day. But this is different. The way she’s looking at me, with more love than pity in her eyes, makes me think she could actually bring me through this if I let her. I close my eyes and swallow hard. I fight it. I push it all down. All the pain. All the love she makes me feel. The grief is tearing me apart on the inside, but somehow her arms around me feel like the safest place I’ve ever known.

  “It’s going to be all right, Tristan,” she whispers. “We’re going to get through this.”

  The gentle slide of her fingertips along my nape—every touch—is searing. An invitation to show her how bad it hurts.

  I hide my tears against her chest until there’s no stopping this rush of emotion. I’ve gone from raw to bleeding. A fragile shell collapsing in on itself. I draw in a ragged breath, exhale a painful sob. The cradle of her embrace is all I know as the past week comes crashing down on me in a sudden deluge. She answers with gentle touches and soothing words. I’m right here. Everything’s going to be okay. I love you so much.

  I cry until I’m empty. The worst of the pain recedes to the dark corners of my heart, making room for something else. Hope. Desire. Isabel.

  I don’t know how long we stay that way, holding each other like one of us might disappear if we dare let go. I just want to touch her everywhere, soak up every inch of her warmth and energy. The past is death and loss and pain. She’s here, light and alive. The only thing in my world that really matters now.

  When I think I’ve pieced myself back together enough, I look into her stormy eyes.

  “I want you to stay.”

  Her lips part a little. “I’ll stay for as long as you need me.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “They’ll understand. They know I want to be here for you right now. Nothing else matters.”

  She threads her fingers through my hair absently. I close my eyes at the sensation. Every touch makes me crave more. It seems crazy, but I never want to be apart from her. I think I could hold her this way and revel in her for the rest of my life.

  I touch her face. Trace her lips, darker now from the makeup she wore today. I lean in to kiss her. Softly at first. A re-exploration of something we know well by now. The comfort of silken lips and velvet tongues. The promise of more…of all the places we haven’t gone yet.

  I take the kiss deeper and slide my palm up her thigh, pushing her black dress up with it. Need to get closer. Need to feel her go breathless. And when she does and we break apart, heat and hesitation swim in her pretty hazel eyes. I go farther, easing my hand between her thighs. Farther and farther until the only thing stopping me is the barrier of her panties. I can feel her heat through them.

  We’re barely breathing. This isn’t how it usually is. Our touches are always careful. Cautious. Measured. I never want to push her. I always let her show me how far she wants to go. But I feel so desperate now. Desperate to overwhelm this agony that’s still clinging to the edges of my heart. With her…

  Her eyes flutter closed. The little puffs of air from her uneven breaths tingle my lips. She makes the smallest sound of protest when I push the fabric over, push inside, and stroke along her slick inner walls with my fingers. I try not to think too hard about how badly I want to claim this part of her in other ways. With our bodies pressed together like this, there’s no hiding how this is affecting me, though.

  I brush my lips over hers, the barest graze. “Isabel…”

  Give me more, I silently beg. Give me everything…

  She slips her hand from my neck down to the second button on my shirt, like she wants to tug it free. Being this close, this deep, this everything, I’m ten seconds from dragging her to my bedroom and ripping her clothes off. I need to know where this is going before I go too far and ruin everything.

  “I need you,” I utter through my teeth, preparing myself for the possibility of stopping this. Letting her go seems impossible. In this moment, I’m certain I’ve never needed anything more in my life.

  The little flare of her anxiety melts into something else. Hints of arousal. The anxious shift of her thighs. Soft whimpers tumbling from her lips.

  It’s not a green light, but I can’t bring myself to slow this down yet.

  I scoop her into my arms and carry her to my room. I kick the door open and step into the darkness. The moody sky casts a blue hue on the walls and my unmade bed. I lower her to her feet but keep her tight against me. Somehow in the few seconds that have passed, I’ve reined in my desire a few notches.

  Then she circles her arms around my neck, lifts to her toes, and brings our mouths together again, like we’re two magnets no force can keep apart. I feel her teeth, her tongue, and the unmistakable intent behind the kiss. It’s deep and passionate and threatens the patience I’m trying like hell to cling to.

  I drag my hands up her sides, find the zipper in the back of her dress, and pull it down until it falls into a pile at her feet. I break the kiss long enough to admire her body and obsess over the lacy black under
garments covering the rest of her.

  A sharp surge of desire I’m helpless to subdue rushes over me. I nudge her back so she falls down onto the bed. She stares up at me, her cheeks flushed, her chest moving under quick breaths. She’s perfection. My whole life.

  We’re eighteen, and we think we know everything. Maybe we know nothing. But the way she makes me feel is real. When she’s in the room, suddenly I’m safe and loved and the most important person in her world. No way can I reason my way out of being with her now, even if I wanted to.

  And I don’t. I’m aching to get inside her. To fuse our bodies together until I forget anything exists outside the perfect way she feels. I unbutton my shirt and toss it away.

  Following her onto the bed, I settle between her thighs. There’s so little between us. It’s heady and intimate and right.

  She skims her hands down my torso and rolls her hips. My breath leaves me in a rush of relief and longing for more. I brush my lips over hers, the barest graze. “Are you sure you want this?”

  Her eyes sparkle in the dim light. “I want this.”

  Thank God. I pray she doesn’t change her mind. We’ve waited long enough. Passed up dozens of chances waiting for the perfect time…the moment when it all felt right.

  “I’ll go slow,” I promise. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Ever. In any way.

  But she’s a virgin, and I can’t take that first stab of pain away, no matter how much I wish I could.

  She caresses her palms down my chest, resting over my heart. “I don’t care about the pain. If it hurts, it won’t be forever. And it’ll be with you.”

  ISABEL

  I’m sitting on the edge of the bed when Tristan’s sharp intake of breath breaks my silent staring contest with the wall. I release my legs from my chest and turn toward him. His breathing picks up and then evens out. He sits up and puts his head in his hands a moment before looking up. Our eyes meet in the dark.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nod and lie. “I’m okay.”