Promises I Made

  Marcus shook his head. “Just coffee.”

  The waiter disappeared.

  “What’s Cormac’s real name?” I asked, wondering if it might be a clue to his whereabouts.

  The ghost of a smile touched Marcus’s lips in the moment before it disappeared again. “You’ve been trained by the man you call Cormac. A man who, for all his other faults—and let’s be honest, there are too many to name here—is a professional. That makes me think you must be a professional, too. And a professional knows that information is a commodity. Something to be used and traded. Not something to be given away.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t have anything to trade.”

  He leaned in, lowering his voice to a purposeful whisper. “Now, Grace, I don’t believe that.”

  The waiter reappeared with a cup of coffee and set it in front of Marcus. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, thank you,” Marcus said.

  “What do you want?” I asked when he was out of earshot.

  “Actually, I think our goals are somewhat . . . aligned at the moment,” Marcus said. “Which is one of the reasons I’m here: to make you a proposition.”

  “A proposition?”

  He looked out over the water, his expression belying his boredom. “A scheme or plan of action, a joint project or task.”

  “I know what a proposition is,” I snapped. “It was meant as a rhetorical question. A way to get you to say more.”

  He looked back at me, the boredom gone from his face, replaced by what I would have sworn was interest. His nod was a gesture of apology.

  “Right. As I’ve said, we have the same goal. You want to find information about Cormac—”

  “How do you know that?” I interrupted.

  “That’s not important,” he said.

  His words made my face flush hot with anger. I picked up my bag and stood. “I’ve spent the last six years doing what Cormac and Renee told me to do, letting them pat me on the head and tell me that not knowing anything was for my own good. It hasn’t gotten me anywhere. If you want me to talk to you, you’ll have to be straight with me. Starting now.”

  His unruly eyebrows rose in surprise. He met my eyes for a long moment before speaking. “After years of trying to track Cormac, I finally got a lead on his destination through a mutual . . . associate. From there it was a simple matter of looking at the rentals available on the peninsula.”

  “You knew we were coming to Playa Hermosa before we got there.” I didn’t know whether to be freaked out or impressed.

  He nodded. “The house on Camino Jardin was bugged before you ever arrived. As you now know, I was your neighbor. When you left, I lost track of you all for a while. Except for Parker, although I do have someone keeping an eye on him in jail.” I barely had time to digest this new piece of information before he continued. “But I had a feeling you’d be back. You and Parker seemed too close for you to leave him behind, and you hadn’t been with Cormac long enough to learn his brand of disloyalty.”

  I heard the note of bitterness, the only real emotion he’d shown during our conversation, in his last sentence.

  I sat down. “What do you mean you have someone keeping an eye on Parker?”

  He reached for his coffee cup but didn’t pick it up. “My former profession means that I usually have acquaintances in jail. I have a friend in County who’s been watching Parker for me.” He finally took a drink of his coffee. “Tough kid.”

  I leaned forward. “Is he okay?”

  Marcus shrugged. “As okay as can be expected. He hasn’t pissed off anyone too important. Not yet, anyway. That’s something.”

  I looked down at the table. I was relieved to have some kind of word about Parker, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about someone watching him, and I definitely didn’t like the idea of someone watching me.

  “How did you know where to find me today?” I asked.

  “I’ve had someone watching the Rodriguez and Fairchild houses. A few days ago, my contact informed me that you’d approached your friend—Selena, is it?” Now it was his turn to ask the rhetorical question. Marcus knew Selena’s name and address, and probably a whole lot more about her and Logan. “Once I picked up your trail again, it wasn’t difficult to follow you here.”

  I nodded. “Go back to the part about you and me having the same goals.”

  “It’s simple,” he said. “You want information on Cormac. So do I.”

  “Why?”

  He turned the ceramic coffee cup in his hand. “He was nothing but a street hustler when I met him: stealing wallets, picking pockets, buying merchandise with stolen credit cards and returning his purchases for cash refunds. But he had potential. A lot of it. I saw that right away.”

  “Wait . . . you trained Cormac? Taught him?”

  He looked up. “I was quite a bit younger then, and I admit that my initial interest in Cormac was . . . romantic.”

  My shock must have shown on my face, because he hurried to correct my mistaken understanding of the situation.

  “Oh, no!” he laughed. “The attraction was purely one-sided, but who could blame me? He was a fine-looking man.” He took a drink of coffee. “And it didn’t matter that he didn’t return my feelings. He was good. Very, very good. Before long he was moving onto bigger jobs, longer cons. We were a team. I’d never made as much money as I did with him.”

  “What happened?” I asked, because something obviously had happened.

  “He met your mother.” He glanced up, startled. “I’m sorry. I suppose you don’t think of her that way anymore.”

  “I don’t know how I think of her,” I admitted. “It doesn’t matter. Keep going.”

  “Well, he met your mother and fell in love, and soon the two of them were hatching their own little schemes.” He shook his head. “Even on the grift, everything comes back to love. And sex.”

  I ignored his final words. The last thing I needed was to think about Cormac having sex. With Renee. With Marcus. With anybody. “So what? You stopped working together?”

  “I’m afraid it wasn’t as neat as that,” Marcus said, taking a drink from his cup. “Cormac left. But not before he stole the take from the biggest job we’d worked together.”

  “He stole from you?”

  Marcus nodded. “We were supposed to meet after the job, but when I got there, he was gone. And so was the money, although he did leave a charming note.”

  I thought of the hours after the Fairchild con. Cormac and me arriving at the motel that was supposed to be our meeting spot, only to find a single gold bar and a note from Renee that simply read, I’m sorry.

  Talk about karma.

  “Ah, I see I’ve struck a chord,” Marcus said, watching my face. “Did Renee make a similar exit, then?”

  I sat up straighter. I wasn’t telling him anything until I knew what he wanted from me—and what I could get in return.

  “I’m sorry for what Cormac did to you, but what does it have to do with me?”

  “Very little. The past is the past, after all.” He waved a hand dismissively in the air. “But it goes to our shared goal: you want information about Cormac and his sources, presumably to help Parker. I want the same thing.”

  “Why? To get your money back?”

  He laughed. “We both know how Cormac spends money. Not to mention the woman who called herself your mother.” He shook his head. “No, I’m sure the money from our joint venture is long gone.”

  “Then what?”

  He met my eyes, and I had the feeling he was thinking, trying to decide how much to tell me. “It’s like I said: our goals are aligned, if not exactly the same. You see, I don’t just want information on Cormac.” He hesitated. “I want to bury him.”

  Sixteen

  I leaned back in my chair and turned my eyes to the beach. People rode by on bikes, glided past on Rollerblades. Little kids made their way to the sand with buckets and shovels in hand, hats on their heads to protect them from sunburn, and te
enagers talked and flirted as they leaned against the concrete wall that lined the strand.

  I didn’t belong here. I would never be that carefree. Would never really be young again. My only chance was a fresh start somewhere, and I couldn’t get that without my freedom. Mine and Parker’s. I couldn’t stay with Selena forever, and I couldn’t get a job or even finish high school without a new fake ID, a purchase that was way out of reach with the little bit of money I had left, assuming I could even find someone to do it.

  The only way to freedom was to out Cormac’s sources in exchange for amnesty, but thanks to my apathy in the years I’d been with him and Renee, I couldn’t do it by myself. I didn’t even have a starting a point. I needed help, and the pickings were pretty slim.

  I looked back at Marcus. “How do I know you won’t bail on me, too?”

  Something seemed to soften in his eyes. “I suppose you don’t,” he said. “I can only tell you that I’m not Cormac. Our . . . philosophical differences were the thing that drove a wedge between us. Cormac has no boundaries, no rules. Nothing was ever off-limits.” He rubbed the scruff at his chin. “I am considerably older than Cormac, and I like to think I’ve learned a few things that he hasn’t. One of them is that you can only chip away at your own soul for so long before it crumbles. And once it’s gone, it’s gone forever.” He shook his head. “There are some things I just won’t do, but since I don’t expect you to believe me, perhaps you can rely on good old common sense.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Cormac spent the last year of our alliance developing his own sources. That’s part of why it took me so long to find him. You’re one of the few connections I have to him now. Without you and the knowledge you possess—knowingly or otherwise—I’m at a dead end. And I don’t like dead ends.” He watched the people walking by on the strand. “Not enough escape routes.”

  It made sense, but I was still nervous about working with someone else. The last time I’d had partners, Parker had gone to jail and I’d ended up on the run. “Can I think about it?” I asked.

  He hesitated before nodding. Then he pulled a pen from his pocket and started writing on one of the napkins. “Call within forty-eight hours if the answer is yes. Leave a message with a number where I can reach you, and we’ll arrange a time to meet and get started.” He folded the napkin and extended his hand. When I closed my fingers around it, he held on. “Can I trust you not to go to the police with my offer?”

  I nodded. “I’m not looking to hurt anyone. The only reason I’m doing any of this is to get Parker out of jail. If I decide not to work with you, I just won’t call, that’s all.”

  He let go of the napkin, and I stuffed it in my bag.

  He put his sunglasses back on and stood, digging in his pocket for a minute before throwing a twenty-dollar bill on the table.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” he said, looking out over the beach. “You should try to enjoy it. Our vocation is difficult. Have to find pleasure in the little things.” He turned his face toward me, but his eyes were lost behind his sunglasses. “You be careful now, Grace.”

  He turned and walked away, whistling as he merged with the crowd moving north on the strand. I watched his Hawaiian shirt bob through the masses until it finally disappeared in the sea of bathing suits and board shorts.

  Seventeen

  The conversation with Marcus replayed in my mind as I took the bus back to Selena’s. I felt vindicated. My paranoia about the man next door on Camino Jardin hadn’t been crazy after all. My instincts, honed by Cormac and Renee, had been right on. Now Marcus was my only link to a world I once thought I knew like the back of my hand. However much I hated the idea, I needed him. But if he was telling the truth, he needed me, too.

  It was after three when I got off the bus at the Town Center. I was tired and overwhelmed, my mind spinning with everything Marcus had told me about Cormac and Renee. A year ago, I wouldn’t have believed they could leave a partner high and dry. Now it didn’t surprise me at all, and I wondered if Marcus had felt as surprised and betrayed as I did when Renee abandoned us. I was still thinking about it when I saw the man standing outside Mike’s.

  I knew right away that it was Detective Fletcher. He was big, bigger even than Detective Castillo. His arms, jacked in a snug T-shirt, were crossed over his chest, his legs slightly apart where he stood, like he was in ready stance for some kind of attack even though he was just standing there, talking to a guy in an apron who probably worked at Mike’s. I could sense Fletcher’s coiled energy even across the parking lot, could feel the intensity of his eyes even though they weren’t directed at me.

  For a minute, all I could do was stare, my flight response stalled by the panic flooding my body. The guy with the apron nodded, and Fletcher raised his head, slowly turning my way as he gazed absentmindedly over the parking lot. I put my head down and hurried for the crosswalk, trying to look purposeful instead of scared, just another kid coming home from school or the beach.

  I had to fight the urge to run as I made my way up the peninsula. I felt Fletcher at my back, like he was stalking me from the Town Center, even though there was no sign of him the few times I dared to look back. By the time I sneaked back into the pool house, I felt dizzy, my head roaring with the blood in my veins.

  I put my bag down on the floor and went to the fridge, where I removed a bottle of water. I downed the whole thing in one go and collapsed onto the sofa. I hadn’t bothered opening it up to the bed. I was scared I’d have to make a quick exit, and I didn’t want to get too comfortable. I curled onto my side and listened to the hum of the pool filter and the rustle of leaves in the trees that hung low over the pool house.

  I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew I was sitting up, alert to a noise I was sure I’d just heard. Was it Fletcher? Had he followed me to Selena’s after all? I waited in silence, prepping myself to run. A moment later, it came again: a soft knocking from the door.

  My heart beat like a drum as I picked up my bag and crossed the room. I stood to the side of the door, waiting. Then, three short knocks, followed by a forceful whisper.

  “It’s me. Selena.”

  The air seemed to leave my lungs all at once. I was about to open the door when I stopped, wondering if it could be a trick. Maybe Selena was surrounded by a SWAT team or something. Maybe they were just waiting for me to open the door to take me into custody. There was no peephole on the pool-house door. No way to be sure Selena was alone.

  “Are you going to let me in?” she whispered again.

  Then again, if the police were here, it meant the place was already surrounded. And if the place was surrounded, I was done. I could read people’s body language, lift wallets, ingratiate myself with any high school crowd, but this was real life. I wasn’t the star of some action movie who could escape the police by using my surroundings or throwing stuff in their way to slow them down.

  “Hurry up!” she whispered. “My dad will be home soon.”

  I opened the door a little and peered through the crack. Selena stood there, hair wild around her face.

  I stood behind the door as I opened it wider, just in case anyone was watching from one of the surrounding houses. Selena stepped inside.

  “What took you so long?” she asked when the door was closed.

  I hesitated. How could I explain the fear that pervaded my every waking moment? The way my breath caught in my throat if someone looked at me a little too long, a little too hard? The knowledge that Fletcher was close, and that if he took me into custody, I wouldn’t even have anyone to call for help and Parker would be as good as convicted?

  “I saw a cop at the Town Center,” I finally said. “It was some guy named Fletcher. Detective Castillo told me Fletcher has been assigned to work the Fairchild theft with him, and apparently, he’s pretty enthusiastic about finding new leads.”

  She frowned. “Did he follow you?”

  “No, it just . . . made me nervous.” I hesitated
. “I wasn’t sure you were alone.”

  She studied my face. “If I wanted to turn you in, I would have done it already.” She sat down on the sofa. “We should probably have a code, some way for me to signal you if there’s trouble.”

  “You could text me.”

  “True,” she said, “but I’m thinking about an emergency code. A way for you to know if someone’s with me outside the pool house, just in case everything happens fast and I don’t have time to text you.”

  “That makes sense,” I agreed.

  “How about three knocks if I’m alone, one knock if someone is with me?”

  “One knock seems like a bad idea,” I said. “I don’t want to freak out if one of the pool guys brushes up against the building or something.”

  “True.” She seemed to think about it. “How about four knocks if I’m alone, two if someone is with me?”

  “That works,” I said.

  “And I’ll never use your name,” she added. “Just in case one of the neighbors is listening.”

  I smiled a little. “You’re pretty good at this.”

  “Yeah?”

  I nodded. “Not that I recommend it as a life path or anything.”

  She looked around the pool house. “It does seem to have limited career potential.”

  I couldn’t help laughing, and for the first time, when she met my eyes, she was smiling a little, too. “I’m not letting you off the hook,” she said softly, her expression pained.

  I looked down at my hands. “I know that.”

  “You hurt people, Grace. You hurt me.”

  The now-familiar lump had again lodged itself in my throat. “I know. I don’t even want to say I’m sorry again, because I know it doesn’t cut it, and it just seems . . . insulting to keep saying it. Like it’s enough when I know it isn’t.” I looked up and met her eyes. “You know?”

  She nodded. “You said you wanted to help Parker. That that’s why you’re here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How will you do that?” she asked. “How will you help him?”