Rock Chick Revolution

  “You know how to pick a lock?” he asked.

  I forced my mouth to move. “Um… not yet.”

  “We’ll go through that tomorrow night, too.”

  Holy shit!

  “I—” I started, but Vance kept going.

  “We document those hours, I sign off on them for the License Board.”

  Holy shit!

  “I… uh,” Pull it together, Ally! “Why?” I asked.

  “Saw the tape,” Vance answered as I heard the door to the inner sanctum open.

  But I didn’t look there.

  I kept my eyes to Vance. “What tape?”

  “You, cool as shit, dealin’ with those guys in Lincoln’s.”

  “Impressive.” I heard muttered, and saw Hector standing with us, the strap of a workout bag over his shoulder. He was looking at Vance. “You offer ride along?”

  “Yep,” Vance answered.

  Hector looked at me. “You need help on a case and someone to sign off on your hours, call me.”

  I stared.

  Was this happening?

  Hector did a chin lift to Vance and me and sauntered out.

  I looked from the door that closed on Hector back to Vance. “What’s going on?”

  “What’s goin’ on is the team saw the tape. Darius and Brody both talk you up. But we saw evidence of what they’ve been sayin’. You want this. You’re good at it. You should have it. So some of the guys are up for backin’ your play.”

  Oh my God.

  I didn’t know what to do.

  I did know what to feel.

  Ecstatically freaking happy.

  I also knew what to ask.

  “Is Lee okay with this?”

  “None of us work here to have someone tell us what to do unless we need direction. So it doesn’t matter. He knows we do what we do. He also knows we won’t work here anymore if he gets up in our shit about what we do.”

  This, I knew, was true.

  However.

  “But you’re offering me ride along on one of his cases,” I pointed out.

  “Yeah. And after he trained me or if we’re not workin’ a team operation, he does not send me out, micromanaging how I deal with a case. And he’s fuckin’ smart. Definitely smart enough to know it would not go down good if he started doin’ that shit.”

  Before I could reply, the inside door opened again and I watched Ike move out.

  He gave a chin lift to Vance, a mini-smile to me and walked by us to the door.

  But at the door, he stopped, turned and said to me, “You need backup with that Smithie gig, you got my number.”

  I had no chance to say anything before he was gone.

  “I’m outta here,” Vance murmured, and I looked back at him. “Text you tomorrow when to meet me. We’ll meet here and move out.”

  “I… uh, okay,” I agreed.

  “Don’t be late,” he returned, then he, too, was gone.

  I stared at the door.

  I did this for a good long while.

  Then I smiled.

  I was still smiling when I tested the door to command central and found it unlocked, which was unusual, but likely left open for me.

  I made my way to Lee’s office and entered it, yep… still smiling.

  In it were the expected. Dad, Hank and Lee with the not expected but not surprising addition of Tom Savage, Indy’s father, my second dad and my dad’s best friend.

  What was surprising was that Monty, another of Lee’s guys was there.

  Monty took one look at me then looked to Lee and declared, “Vance offered the ride along.”

  I looked to Lee and saw he was studying his boots, jaw hard.

  I decided not to confirm this. If Lee’s boys were offering help, I’d take it. What I wouldn’t do was cause friction between Lee and his men. If they made their decisions and carried them out, that was one thing and they had to deal with that and any ramifications. If I stuck my nose in, say to gloat (or the like), that was another.

  So I kept my mouth shut.

  “Ally,” Monty called, and I looked back at him. “The men in this room are here because we know your plans and we’re askin’ you, with respect, to think long and hard about carrying them through.”

  I held his eyes.

  I’d known Monty a long time. He was the oldest member of the team, an ex-Navy SEAL who didn’t work in the field often for Lee due to an injury he sustained during his time in the military.

  I liked him. He was solid guy; nice, funny, a family man. I also respected him.

  But this pissed me off.

  My father, second father and brothers, I’d show them respect and listen to what they had to say.

  But Monty?

  What the hell?

  It must be said, I failed at not getting pissed-off, but I succeeded in keeping my shit together and therefore pointed out (somewhat) calmly, “I’ve been thinking on this for two years.”

  “We’d like you to think on it longer,” Monty replied.

  I drew in a deep breath.

  “Monty’s here because he gives a shit, Ally,” Lee put in.

  “I get that,” I said to my brother, then looked at Monty, “And due respect to you, what I do with my life is none of your business.”

  “I’ve been doin’ this awhile, longer than your brother, and I’ve seen women chewed up and spit out in this business,” Monty returned.

  “Yeah? So every man you know who tried his hand did spectacularly?” I shot back.

  “Honey,” he started, and I fought back being even more pissed-off; not at the endearment, but at his patronizing tone. “Your first case has you stripping.”

  “Yes. I’m working for Smithie. And to get the job done, it requires me doing something that’s uncomfortable. But you do what you have to do to get the job done, and I shouldn’t need to tell you that. Marcus Sloan has you on retainer, and don’t try to bullshit me that the things he pulls you boys in to do are the like of acting as crossing guards at the local school.”

  Monty shut his mouth and looked at Lee.

  In silent badass speak, that meant That was a good point. I said my piece. It’s now up to you.

  It was then I got it. Monty was there as the objective voice of reason.

  And this definitely pissed me off more, because it inferred they thought I was being unreasonable.

  I slid my gaze through everyone in the room and stated, “Due respect to all of you, and I’ll note, that’s a lot of respect and it’s not just out of love. I know you all are skilled and experienced and exceptionally good at what you do.” I pinpointed Dad. “But you did not have a chat with Hank before he entered the Academy. You did not have a chat with Lee before he went into the Army or when he got out and built his team. You let them do what they had to do and you did that proud. The only reason I can think that I’m standing here is because I’m a woman. And that does not fly with me.”

  “Ally,” Tom cut in, and I looked his way. “If Indy was doing this, I’d be worried.”

  “Indy’s about coffee, books, family, friends, Lee and rock ‘n’ roll. In other words, Indy is not me,” I retorted and kept at it. “We’ve also sat down and she knows that she will not ever be involved in my business. She’s down with that.” I moved my gaze to Hank. “All of the Rock Chicks understand this and are down with it. So if that’s a concern, I assure you, that’s covered.”

  “What Tom’s saying,” Dad put in, “is that, as fathers and brothers,” he tipped his head Lee and Hank’s way, “we’re worried.”

  “As they go about their business, are you worried about Hank and Lee?” I asked.

  “Every day,” Dad replied quietly, and my body locked. “It’s what fathers do, sweetheart.”

  There was no retort to that.

  So I didn’t give him one.

  Instead, I said, just as quietly. “I get you and I love you for it. But this is what I want to do and I want to do it because I’m good at it and I like it. You know I’ve stru
ggled to find my calling. I’m not struggling anymore. I’ve found it, Dad.”

  And Dad had no retort for that. I knew because he didn’t give me one.

  “Hector, Vance, Ike and Bobby, as well as Darius and Brody are backin’ your play, Ally,” Lee said, and I turned my attention to him, surprised and pleased at the unknown addition of Bobby. “And I’m not gettin’ in their shit about that. But they’re not your brothers and—”

  I interrupted him. “Darius is.”

  “You know what I mean,” Lee replied.

  “And you know what I mean,” I returned softly.

  His jaw clenched.

  I held his eyes and kept speaking softly. “You can try to stop me. But you won’t. I know you have the means to do it. But I’ll keep going. Ren’s behind me. Daisy’s behind me and that means Marcus has my back, and you know Daisy’s support means I have Marcus’s support. You won’t sway him your way if Daisy is standing in between.”

  His jaw clenched harder.

  He knew.

  “The Rock Chicks are backing this too, so if you think the rest of the men won’t fall, or at least won’t stand in my way, you’re wrong about that, too,” I went on.

  A muscle jumped in his cheek.

  He knew that, too.

  “And I’ll finish with this,” I told him, still soft but firm, and my eyes went to Hank, Dad, Tom and even Monty but they ended back on Lee. “If you make moves to shut me down,” I looked to Hank, “Or you,” I looked through Dad, Tom and Monty again, “Any of you.” My eyes went back to Lee. “That hurt will dig deep. So deep I may get over it, eventually. What I won’t do is forgive you.”

  Lee held my eyes.

  I returned the gesture.

  Since I had preparations to do and a date to make, I couldn’t do it for what it seemed it would take to win it.

  Eternity.

  So I broke the staredown and I moved to the door, but turned at it and swept a glance through them all again, my eyes ending on Hank and Lee.

  “One last thing. There’s something wrong with Darius, and if you two haven’t clocked that, color me stunned. But I figure you have, and since you’re dudes and dudes don’t get up in the business of other dudes, you’re steering clear. A heads up: I’m done steering clear. I’m gonna sort that, and if I had your help, I’d be obliged.”

  On that, I left.

  And by the time I got in my car, I felt my throat burning. My eyes were hot and my hands were shaking.

  Not from nerves or fear.

  From emotion.

  Because I honestly didn’t know which way any of them would swing.

  I just knew I did not lie.

  If they moved to shut me down, these people I loved I’d never forgive.

  * * * * *

  I opened the door to Ren’s place and smelled garlic.

  What the hell?

  I dumped my purse on an armchair and walked into the kitchen.

  Ren was wearing jeans, a loose pale yellow shirt, sleeves rolled up, feet bare, and he was at the stove, a stove that held steaming pots and pans.

  “What’s going on?” I asked and he turned to me.

  “Kiss, Ally,” he ordered instead of telling me what was going on.

  I walked to him, noting, “I thought we were going out.”

  He again didn’t respond until I got close, put a hand to his abs and rolled up on my toes to touch my mouth to his.

  When I rolled back but stayed close, he answered, “You didn’t wanna miss your show. I’m makin’ stuffed shells.”

  Jeez.

  I couldn’t take it.

  Just when I thought my man couldn’t get any better, he did.

  “We’ll go out tomorrow night,” he muttered.

  I focused on him and saw his eyes were probing.

  That was when, again, he got even better.

  He did this by saying in his sweet voice, “The meet didn’t go well.”

  He read me.

  “Not really.”

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  “Nothing to say. They don’t want me in the business. That’s not a surprise. Now they have a decision to make because I already made mine.”

  He nodded, read me again and did what I needed.

  He let it go.

  “You want me to turn on the sauna?” he asked.

  That sounded awesome, but if I was in there, I wanted to be in there with him. Not up there alone and him downstairs cooking.

  “No, baby,” I murmured. “But thanks.”

  “Then sit your ass on the counter. I’ll get you a glass of wine and you can keep me company while I put the shells together.”

  That sounded better so I complied and Ren got me a glass of wine.

  I sipped.

  Ren worked.

  When he was nearly done, I got off the counter and got on cleaning the pots, pans and utensils so later clean up would be a snap.

  I heard the oven door close then I felt arms wrap around me from behind at the same time I felt Ren’s hard heat at my back and his mouth at my ear.

  “They’ll come around,” he whispered there.

  I closed my eyes, opened them and rinsed a pot.

  I put it in the drainer, saying, “I hope so.”

  He gave me a squeeze. “I know so.”

  I turned off the faucet and twisted my neck to look at him. “How do you know?”

  “Because they love you.”

  I pressed my lips together and my eyes got hot again.

  Then he again gave me what I needed. He bent, kissed my neck and lifted to catch my eyes.

  “We’ll eat in front of the TV. I’ll go turn it on.”

  I nodded.

  He grinned and gave me a squeeze.

  He went to turn on the TV, came back and refilled our wine glasses.

  I put the last pot in the drainer and followed my man to the TV to veg out and await stuffed shells.

  * * * * *

  “Jesus,” Ren muttered, and I tore my eyes off Castle to lift my head from where it was resting on his chest seeing as we were both stretched out on the couch, Ren on his back, me tucked to his side between him and the couch.

  “What?”

  “Jesus,” he repeated, eyes glued to the TV.

  He was making me miss it!

  “What?” I snapped.

  He lifted a hand that held the remote and paused the show.

  Then he turned his head to me. “Do you watch this show because of that woman?”

  I felt my brows draw together. “What woman?”

  “The brunette who’s the spittin’ image of you.”

  What was he talking about?

  “Do you mean Stana Katic?” I asked.

  “I don’t know her name. The tall knockout brunette.”

  Jeez. Did he think I looked like Stana Katic, otherwise known as the most beautiful woman on American television today?

  “You think I look like Kate Beckett?” I asked.

  “Who’s Kate Beckett?” he asked back.

  “Stana Katic. She plays Detective Kate Beckett, Castle’s partner on the show. Or, more accurately, Castle’s her partner,” I informed him.

  “Then no. If she’s the gorgeous, bossy, badass homicide detective I just watched for the last five minutes, I don’t think you look like her. I think she’s the spittin’ image of you.”

  Wow.

  Cool!

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  “Babe,” he muttered, his eyes wandering back to the TV where Beckett was paused having a conversation with Castle, “fuck me, definitely seriously.”

  This.

  Was.

  Awesome.

  I didn’t share I felt that, nor did I tell him that wasn’t the reason I watched Castle (though it was part of it; Kate Beckett was the freaking bomb).

  I just said the truth. “I never noticed.”

  He looked back at me. “How could you not notice?”

  I probably didn’t notice because I wa
s paying more attention to Nathan Fillion.

  Since this was the reason, the answer I gave Ren was a shrug.

  Ren’s arm around me curled me closer, his head turned back to the TV and he hit play.

  I turned my eyes to the TV and studied Kate Beckett.

  She did kinda look like me.

  Totally cool.

  I relaxed into Ren and tangled my legs with his.

  It was then it hit me we’d never done this, something totally normal like relaxing in front of a TV.

  It also hit me it felt nice.

  And last, it hit me that after a busy day that didn’t end great, this, just this, was exactly what I needed. A belly full of Ren’s cooking. A wine glass that, unless I wanted it to be, never was empty. A couch. A TV. A good show.

  But most of all.

  Ren.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Impossible

  The next morning, post-coffee rush at Fortnum’s, the bell over the door rang.

  I had a lot to do, and unfortunately part of that was keeping liquid until my insurance check came in. My credit card balance was getting high and my bank account balance was never high. Thus I needed my take from the tip jar.

  I twisted from doing dishes at the sink, looked and saw Mr. Kumar and his mother-in-law, Mrs. Salim, enter the store.

  They were regulars. They were also (kind of) part of our posse.

  Mr. Kumar owned a corner store on Tex’s block and he’d been dragged into two Rock Chick Rides, Indy’s and Ava’s. He was a good guy who, against the odds, kept his little store open. I helped by shopping there occasionally, even though it was out of my way.

  I didn’t know much about Mrs. Salim except that every time I saw her, I feared she’d keel over and quit breathing, she looked that old. And this wasn’t being mean. Seriously, she looked that old. Just saying, the woman’s wrinkles had wrinkles.

  I also knew she liked to read.

  As usual, Mrs. Salim shuffled to the books.

  Mr. Kumar came to the coffee counter and, weirdly, had his eyes on me.

  He stopped and looked at Tex. “Did you speak with her?”

  I turned from the sink, grabbing a towel to wipe my hands.

  “Talk with me about what?” I asked.

  “No,” Tex answered Mr. Kumar “I talked to Hank.”

  “But the police aren’t doing anything!” Mr. Kumar suddenly cried, and the skin on the back of my neck prickled.