Rock Chick Reckoning

  And second, my life was still a shambles.

  With my head filled with these things, it took awhile for me to feel the pleasant warmth sweeping up the back of my neck.

  I lifted my gaze to see Mace’s eyes were on me. They were warm and sweet and his lips were turned up at the ends.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Missed your cooking, Kitten.” Came his soft answer. “Don’t know anyone who can whip up eggs benedict like she was makin’ toast.”

  I was guessing he liked his eggs.

  There it went, freak out obliterated.

  I smiled at him.

  He smiled back.

  He had a great smile.

  Why did we spend a week fighting with him? My brain asked me.

  Oh shut up, I told my brain.

  Mace’s attention went back to his plate and he forked into another egg. “Hank’s started a collection.”

  I was chewing so I swallowed, chased the eggs with some coffee and asked, “A collection?”

  He didn’t answer my question, instead he said, “Everyone’s in, including Marcus, Malcolm and Tom. Hank’ll go after Tod and Stevie and Shirleen when you and I come out. They got about fifteen large so far.”

  I was confused and not following. “Fifteen large what?”

  “Fifteen large dollars.”

  I stared at him.

  “Sorry, Mace,” I explained. “I’m not following.”

  His eyes went from his plate to me. “For your folks.”

  Gut kick. It wasn’t unpleasant but for a moment it was paralyzing.

  I jerked out of my temporary paralysis and asked, “Hank did a collection for my Mom and Dad and, in one day, they’ve got fifteen thousand dollars?”

  Mace nodded, eyes back to his plate, he kept talking. “Luke’s loaded, so is Lee. Darius has got money put away. Before Vance met Jules, he kept his overheard low, lived tight, didn’t spend much. Even though they’re lookin’ to put money down on a house, Jules has got some huge account that’s supposed to be her Uncle Nick’s but he’s demandin’ she put it down when they find a place. I don’t get that, don’t care, bottom line, Vance was generous. Marcus said that once Daisy found out about it, she’d want to be top the heap so he doubled the highest kick in.”

  My mouth had dropped open.

  Finally, I said, “Fifteen thousand dollars?”

  Mace went back to eating after he said, “Yep.”

  “And you?” I asked. “How much did it take to bring them current on their mortgage?”

  “Six K. Marcus doesn’t know about that,” Mace replied calmly, forked up the last of his eggs, grabbed his plate and walked it to the sink.

  I was not calm.

  The freak out had returned with a vengeance.

  He was running hot water on his plate when I told his profile, “That’s twenty-one thousand dollars.”

  “Yep,” Mace repeated.

  “Twenty-one thousand dollars in… one… day,” I went on.

  Mace turned off the water and shifted to face me. His eyes were alert and he watched me closely.

  “Yep,” he said again.

  “That’s…” I started then stopped then started again. “That’s insane.”

  “Their debt tops a hundred K or it did. I looked over your parents’ shit last night. Your Mom’s not workin’, your Dad barely makes enough to cover the mortgage and household bills. They doubled up on the mortgage to take care of the first round of treatments. This round is bringin’ them low.”

  Another gut kick, this one was unpleasant.

  “One hundred thousand dollars?” I whispered.

  “Yeah,” Mace replied softly.

  I looked at him.

  He returned my stare.

  Then I shouted, “Oh my God! That’s… I can’t… oh my God! I can’t wrap my head around that!”

  “Stella –”

  I shook my head, dropped my fork in my plate, put the plate on the counter and raised my hands then dropped them.

  “Not counting the money from the last three gigs, which, by the way, Monk hasn’t paid yet, though The Little Bear paid Floyd I just don’t have my take, I’ve got seven hundred and fifty dollars in savings, just over a thousand in checking and maybe a thousand in the savings bonds Mom used to buy me for Christmas,” I told Mace then walked out of the kitchen, whipped around on one foot and walked back to see Mace had turned to watch me. “Oh my God. I can’t help them. I can’t… even fifteen thousand dollars can’t… and we can’t take that money!”

  “Kitten –”

  “It’s too much!” I yelled.

  He smiled which, for your information, I thought was totally insane in a world that was completely insane.

  “You try talkin’ Hank and Lee out of givin’ your folks that money.”

  I considered this.

  I didn’t know Hank all that well, he seemed really nice, a little less intense and more laidback than the other Hot Bunch boys but not that much less intense and laidback.

  Lee, on the other hand, sometimes just plain scared me. He was bossy and, you could tell, used to getting his way.

  Shitsofuckit!

  When I was about to come to terms with all this, Mace spoke again. “My father’s gonna pay off the rest and give them a nest egg. Whatever happens with your Mom, it’ll happen with her feelin’ comfortable.”

  My mouth had dropped open again and I was staring at him like he’d just announced his intention to spend the next six years travelling to Mars so he could set up a colony of super-Mace-humans.

  “What?” I breathed.

  “My father is gonna make your family comfortable. He’s gonna give them a million dollars, that’ll pay off their bills, pay off the house and pay for whatever lies ahead.”

  I still hadn’t stopped staring at him.

  “You’re crazy,” I breathed.

  He shook his head.

  I put my hands to my hips and leaned toward Mace before I spoke. “First, I don’t want his money. I know he’s your Dad, Mace, but he’s a jerk. Second, he’s mean. He’s not going to give my parents one million dollars. Third, I don’t want his money!”

  I ended this on a shout, my body so tense I could feel the muscles in my neck pulsating.

  Mace, however, was calm. “It isn’t his money.”

  “What do you mean, it isn’t his money?”

  “I mean it’s mine and it’s my Mom’s. It’s also Caitlin’s and Caitlin’s Mom’s. He owes us all and the time for him to pay has come.”

  I blinked and asked, “Caitlin?”

  “My sister.”

  My tense body froze solid.

  It was time.

  Effing hell, it was time.

  I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to go to him but I didn’t think that was right. It also wasn’t right to hold my ground. I was at least three feet away from him. It seemed a mile. He still seemed calm but he couldn’t be. There was no way.

  I made a decision, stayed where I was and forced my body to relax.

  Then I asked softly, “Her name was Caitlin?”

  Mace stayed where he was too and replied, “Yeah.”

  I took in a breath then let it go, tried to find something innocuous to start with, settled on an idea and continued, “Did she look like you?”

  Mace watched me a beat then shook his head once and answered, “No. She was blonde. Blue eyes. Tiny.”

  I kept my silence and my distance, only my eyes were on him. But my brain was emanating comfort vibes as hard as it could and I hoped like crazy he was receiving them.

  He put a hand to the counter and leaned into it.

  Then he repeated on a tortured murmur, “Tiny.”

  I knew in an instant the conversation had changed.

  Something about the way he said that word made my heart squeeze.

  I waited, eyes on him. He kept his eyes on me.

  When he didn’t say anything, I whispered, “Tiny?”

  When I said the word, h
is eyes closed, when they opened the demons were there, I saw them, clear as day.

  Effing bloody hell.

  I held my breath but kept my distance and I hoped to all that was holy I was doing the right thing.

  He spoke again. “She was a dancer. Ballet. Good at it. So petite, Christ, so fuckin’ small. But graceful. Just the way she moved was like a dance.” He stopped and started again, “She was pure elegance. All she had to move was her hands. She had exquisite hands.” He stopped again then went on, his voice quiet, “Jesus, I’ll never forget the way she moved her hands.”

  He stopped again and I thought there was something important about this but somehow I knew it wasn’t the time to push it.

  “You were proud of her.” My voice was soft.

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. I knew the answer was an affirmative.

  Instead he said, “She wanted to move to New York.”

  I nodded.

  He kept talking and his voice was getting low and rough and my heart squeezed again at the sound of it. “I took her there when she was fourteen. She fell in love with the place.”

  I pressed my lips together and nodded again. This was hard. I wanted to go to him, it hurt to hold my ground but I stayed away.

  “You guys didn’t have the same Mom?” I asked.

  Mace shook his head.

  “Half sister,” I went on.

  Mace just looked at me.

  “You were close,” I guessed on a whisper.

  “I called her Tiny,” Mace shared.

  Understanding the importance of that word, I felt the tears hit my eyes and thought about having a cool, tall, handsome, surfer dude brother who took me to New York, loved the way I moved my hands and called me Tiny.

  It was an immensely happy thought at the time it was devastatingly sad.

  Softly I said, “I bet you were a good brother.”

  “Not good enough,” he returned, his voice now unbearably rough and so low, it was barely a mumble.

  And his eyes were haunted.

  I couldn’t help it, it hurt too much to keep looking at him, I closed my eyes.

  I felt a streak of wetness roll down my left cheek, opened my eyes again and whispered, “Tell me.”

  I held his gaze for a beat then two then he muttered, “Fuck, Kitten…”

  He stopped speaking, his head dropped, he stared at the floor and that’s when I moved.

  I went right to him, fit myself into his body, the top of my head under his face, my arms tight around him. All the while I did this, he didn’t move, not a muscle. Didn’t even put his arms around me, just kept leaning against the counter.

  I pressed my cheek into his chest.

  “Tell me,” I whispered again.

  I heard his cell ring and his taut body went tighter.

  “Ignore it,” I said.

  He didn’t.

  His head came up, he pulled the phone out of his pocket and I leaned back to look at him.

  It was over.

  The guard had slid down over his eyes.

  I lost him.

  Shitsofuckit.

  Even so, he wrapped an arm loosely about my waist as he flipped open his phone with his thumb, put it to his ear and muttered, “Yeah?”

  I turned to face his chest and put my forehead there so I felt his body give a small jerk as his fingers flexed into my hip with such strength, it caused a little bit of pain.

  My head snapped back. I saw his jaw was clenched and I felt a coldness start seeping through my veins.

  “I’ll be there in ten,” he clipped into the phone, flipped it shut and without hesitation let me go, on the move to something urgent.

  I turned to watch him nab his belt and boots, the oxygen burning in my lungs.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, scared shitless whatever it was was about the Rock Chicks.

  He dumped his boots on the edge of the platform and started to slide his belt through the loops.

  Then his eyes came to me.

  “Carter branched out,” Mace’s voice was hard. “With the Rock Chicks protected, this morning he went after Shirleen.”

  I took a step back as if he’d dealt me a physical blow.

  Effing hell.

  Chapter Eighteen

  La La La

  Stella

  Mace took off after he put a gentle fist under my chin, tilted my face to his and brushed his mouth on mine, muttering a promise that he’d let me know as soon as he knew anything.

  He called twenty minutes later (a long twenty minutes) to tell me a squad car with two uniformed officers would be at my house to pick me up “in five”. He also told me I was not to let the cops in unless they said the code words. As he was talking, I heard angry, male shouting in the background but Mace disconnected without giving me an update.

  When my buzzer went, I saw a uniform on the video display who showed his badge and said, “Hunky dory.”

  At that, Juno and I headed out.

  The officers balked at Juno taking a ride in the squad car but I held my ground and since that ground was outside and exposed, Juno went with me to Nightingale Investigations.

  No way in hell I was leaving my dog behind.

  If Sidney Carter was branching out, how soon would it be before he went after pets?

  Even if my luck had started to turn, I was taking no chances.

  The not-very-informative officers didn’t update me about Shirleen either except to say they were still sorting things out “at the scene”.

  The only scenes that involved my friends that I liked were the ones we created ourselves (and, for your information, I didn’t like those much either).

  The officers escorted me to the outer office door of Nightingale Investigations. We were greeted by a silent, tight-faced, angry-looking Jack (and an angry Jack scared me enough to stay silent too), who took over, walking Juno and me to the down room.

  The down room was where the boys had meetings and hung out if they were on call. It also had a variety of fitness and weight lifting equipment. There was a couch but in the few times Mace had taken me to the offices the last time we were together, I’d never seen anyone sitting on it. The boys were usually on the treadmill or the weight bench.

  In other words (if you hadn’t already figured this out), the Nightingale Men didn’t really know the meaning of “down time”.

  As Juno and I entered the room, I saw Jules, Ava and Jet had their asses planted on the couch and they were sipping coffee. Daisy was sitting in a chair, leaned back, filing her nails. Ally had lifted up the back of the weight bench and she was lounging on it, legs straddling the bench. Indy and Roxie were seated at a table, playing double solitaire, mugs of coffee beside the cards.

  In case this had not been proved irrefutably, their mellow demeanor was verification they were all effing nuts.

  “Is Shirleen okay?” I asked upon entry, Juno loping toward Roxie who had leaned to the side and was snapping her fingers at my dog.

  “She’s fine but she’s pissed. She has to buy a new couch,” Ally replied.

  I stared at Ally.

  This answer both relieved and confused me.

  “Thank God. Looking at that old one gave me a migraine,” Jet muttered.

  I turned to stare at Jet.

  “I liked it. All those big swirls, black against white. Drama. It was pure Shirleen,” Indy commented.

  My gaze swung to Indy.

  “Maybe Luke and I should get a new couch,” Ava put in thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I’m into all that leather.”

  I looked to Ava.

  “I like Eddie’s couch,” Jet was still muttering. When my eyes moved to her, I saw she had a small smile on her face and it didn’t take a mind reader to know why she liked Eddie’s couch.

  “Sugar, how you doin’?” Daisy asked and my gaze went to her to see hers was sharp on me.

  I was pretty happy we weren’t talking about couches anymore, that’s how I was doing.

  I opened m
y mouth to speak then clamped it shut.

  Mace told me the Rock Chicks needed to be kept in the dark.

  Effing hell.

  So instead of sharing (anything), I said, “Hanging in there,” and it wasn’t a total lie.

  Things were good with Mace and me (which I couldn’t tell them), shit everywhere else (but that wasn’t news). However, I had a feeling that I had one more trial to get through when Mace finally told me the whole truth about Caitlin. And, after what happened that morning, I preferred someone shooting at me to whatever Mace had to say.

  I walked deeper into the room and in order to get off the subject of me, I asked (against my will taking the conversation back to couches), “What’s this about Shirleen’s couch?”

  Daisy waved a hand in the air. “Oh, she just shot the guy who broke in this mornin’, used her .44, which means mess, comprende?”

  It was Daisy I was staring at now.

  Shirleen just shot the guy who broke in?

  With a .44?

  Why did Shirleen have a .44?

  Strike that, I didn’t want to know.

  When it appeared Daisy was waiting for me to confirm this information had sunk in, I nodded and Daisy continued, “He reeled back, landed on her couch, blood everywhere. She’s pissed. She loved that couch.”

  “Did he shoot at her?” I asked.

  “Yeah, she ain’t stupid,” Daisy kept talking but her attention went back to her nails. “With her history, no way she’d shoot someone, even an intruder, without him shootin’ first. Got three bullet holes in her wall but that’s okay, just needs a little spackle.”

  Her history?

  A little spackle?

  Effing hell.

  “He dropped the gun when she nailed him,” Daisy went on. “Problem is, she’d disarmed him but she was so pissed about him bleedin’ on her couch, she cold-cocked him with her gun butt anyway. She’s gonna have a bit of a problem explainin’ that.”

  Oh my Lord.

  “Anyway, they’ll be here soon,” Daisy said, her eyes moving from her nails back to me. “And you and me got to talk about Dixon Jones.”

  Nope.

  No way.

  Not gonna happen.

  I pulled a chair toward the couch and sat down. Juno decided to make the rounds and began doing person-to-person greetings. That was to say sniffing everyone.