Surviving Ice

  “Poker. Your uncle had a bit of a gambling problem.”

  I scowl. “No he didn’t.”

  “Yeah . . . he did,” Bobby says, his voice firm. “For a few years now. Dad warned him about owing money to a guy like Sullivan, but he wouldn’t listen. Fucking stubborn old man.”

  Ned had a gambling problem? Was it worse than he let on? Obviously yes, if he owed that kind of money. I rack my brain, trying to think of a particular Wednesday night over the past few months when he came home distraught from a poker night. The problem is, I was never home to see him come in. And by Thursday when I strolled into Black Rabbit at noon . . . well, Ned was always on the grouchy side to begin with. “And you didn’t think it was important to tell the cops all this?”

  Bobby snorts. “Nobody’s tellin’ the pigs shit. You know that, Ivy. Besides, why would it matter? Sullivan didn’t take out Ned. What good would that do? He wouldn’t get his money.”

  “Well, he obviously wasn’t getting his money anyway. Ned had no money!”

  “Not cash. But he had Black Rabbit.” Bobby gives me a knowing look. “And Sullivan was after that.”

  Oh my God. Ned would have lost his mind if he had to hand over the shop. But now that Ned’s gone . . . “This Sullivan guy trashed Ned’s house the other night looking for cash, didn’t he?”

  Bobby’s brow furrows. He looks genuinely surprised. “What?”

  “Ned’s house was torn apart two nights ago. Someone was looking for money. Or something.”

  “I don’t know nothin’ about that.” Bobby heaves a sigh and reaches up to scratch his scraggly beard.

  “What?” He knows more than he’s telling me.

  “It’s nothing, really. It’s just . . .”

  “Spit it out, Bobby!”

  “Okay! Okay.” He glances over his shoulder at the guys again, who are focused on the car on the hoist. “Dad said that Ned came by the clubhouse to talk to him and Tiny.”

  Moe and Tiny are two fifty-something-year-old bikers who have been coming to Ned since he opened up. I remember sitting on Tiny’s giant lap when I was just six, while Ned worked on his sleeve.

  “Ned wanted their backup for a meet he had with someone in a few days’ time.”

  I frown. “Backup? What does that mean, like protection?” Did he know he was in danger?

  “Sounds like it, but Ned didn’t tell them too much. Alls he said was that he had something to trade that was worth a lot of dough and he’d be able to pay Sullivan and get him off his back about the shop. He needed a couple guys with him, so he wasn’t going to the exchange alone. He said he’d give them a five percent cut.”

  “What was he exchanging?”

  “Don’t know. Honest. But it sounds like Ned had something going on the side. And that’s a lot of money for one deal . . .”

  My stomach sinks. What the hell was Ned into? “When was this supposed to happen?”

  Bobby’s lips purse. “He came by to ask Tiny for help around noon. The exchange was supposed to happen four days from then. And then a few hours later, he was taken out.”

  “The same day!” I yell, making him flinch. “Are you serious?” This means it wasn’t a random robbery at all. “You need to tell this to the cops!”

  “Not gonna happen, darlin’, so you can stop with the screaming. I don’t like being yelled at.”

  “The hell I will!” Sure, it incriminates Ned, but maybe the police will make more of an effort to solve the case if they know there was a clear motive here. If these guys had just told the cops the truth in the beginning, then maybe more could have been done by now.

  Behind me, I hear the sound of tires on gravel and a car coming to a stop, but I’m so overwhelmed by what Bobby just told me, I dismiss it—and everyone else—for the moment.

  “You know what? I’m going to tell the cops myself then. And they’re going to come here and question your ass about it until you tell them the truth.”

  “Good luck with that. Tiny and Moe will never admit a damn thing to the pigs. They’ll deny everything I just told you.” Bobby looks over my head. “What the hell is he doing here?”

  I turn just in time to see Sebastian marching over, his eyes covered by his glasses but the stern jaw telling me he’s anything but happy.

  He showed up, just like he said he would.

  He showed up and Dakota must have told him where I went, and he is oh-so-pissed with me right now.

  But I can’t ignore the tiny bubble of relief that he’s here.

  I push it away, though, because I need to deal with Bobby. “So, let me get this straight. Ned had something worth a lot of money to give to someone. He felt he needed backup with him during the exchange, and then he ends up dead. Now someone’s torn apart our house—which we’re trying to sell because we can’t pay the mortgage and we have no insurance, by the way—because they were likely trying to find whatever he was handing over at this exchange, and you guys, who are supposed to be Ned’s friends, won’t do a thing to help me? Fucking bikers!”

  All amusement has left Bobby’s face. “Me telling you what I just did is helping you.” He steps closer and looms over me, and I can’t help but shrink back. “But don’t you fucking dare come here and—”

  It all happens so fast. One moment Bobby is hovering over me, the next he’s flat on his back and Sebastian is standing above him. I see that his gun is tucked into the back of his jeans. As if he placed it there before getting out of the car, expecting something like this to happen.

  The other two guys come running, their guts bouncing with each step. They’re not coming to see if Bobby’s okay; their focus is zeroed in on Sebastian, who doesn’t seem at all concerned. I instinctively take a step back, because that’s what you do out of self-preservation when six hundred pounds is charging your way.

  Sebastian doesn’t, though. He turns to face them square on, his stance relaxed. And when they finally reach him, fists in the air, it’s like one of those horrifically choreographed fight scenes from older movies, where the bad guy swings and the good guy maneuvers out of the way with ease, making the bad guy lose his balance and tumble. That, coupled with a few lightning-quick swings and kicks, and both guys are lying in heaps next to Bobby; one’s moaning and holding his jaw, while the other one is out cold.

  “Jesus Christ!” A gruff voice yells from somewhere inside. A moment later, Moe—who is not much smaller than Bobby—comes around the corner. He must have been watching the entire thing from the office windows. “What the hell is goin’ on out here?”

  I step up and place a hand on Sebastian’s hand, staying him, because the last thing I want him doing is beating up a fifty-something-year-old man. Even if he’s betraying Ned by not helping the police.

  “Just a disagreement, Moe.”

  “Yeah, well, I can see that.” He glares at Sebastian and then takes in the three men, all conscious now. “About what?”

  “About him talking to Ivy in a way I didn’t appreciate,” Sebastian says with complete calm.

  “She fucking started it!” Bobby bellows, like a child.

  Moe smirks. “You know, when you were five, you used to chase Ivy around Black Rabbit, trying to get her to kiss you?” He turns to look at me. “Didn’t work then, and I assume it’s not gonna work now. What’s the matter, honey?”

  “Someone trashed Ned’s house two nights ago. They were looking for something.”

  Understanding flickers past Moe’s eyes. “We’re looking around. We’re asking some questions. Be patient.”

  Ned always said that these guys don’t work with the police, even when it has no impact on them, out of principle. But at least they haven’t just forgotten about him. Unless Moe’s lying to me right now.

  “What about this debt that Ned has with Sullivan? Do I have to worry about some asshole trying to take Black Rabbit from me?”

  Moe turns and spears his son with a stern look. I’m guessing he wasn’t supposed to mention that. “It’s taken care of.” br />
  I frown. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that Sully ain’t seein’ another dime out of a gambling bet that didn’t cost him none anyway and he’s just gonna have to live with that. We made sure he gets it. Now leave it be!”

  I bite my tongue from any snappy reply. Yelling at Bobby is one thing . . . “Thanks, Moe. Sorry about . . . this.” I wave a hand at the three guys still sitting on their asses in the gravel.

  “Yeah, well . . .” Moe glances at them and starts to chuckle.

  “I gotta get back to Ned’s house now. There’s a month’s worth of work there.” I grab Sebastian’s biceps and pull him back to his car before Bobby can get to his feet and take a run at him.

  “You were supposed to stay at Dakota’s until I came,” Sebastian says evenly, though I hear the irritation hidden.

  You were supposed to stay last night! “Ten o’clock didn’t work for me,” I say instead, calmly.

  I attempt to move past him to my car but he grabs my arm, pulling me into him. I stand my ground, my heart racing. Daring him to say something confrontational about the fact that I disobeyed him. And struggling not to grin like an asshole with relief.

  Sebastian came back.

  His jaw clenches. “What did that guy tell you before I got here?”

  “That Ned owed someone a lot of money and he was probably doing something stupid to earn it. I’m going to the house now.” I glare at him, and catch myself staring at his handsome features for too long.

  He releases my arm and I march to my car, my mind spinning with possibilities. My insides filled with rage.

  What did you get yourself into, Ned?

  “We can’t put the house on the market like this,” Becca announces, peering down her nose at the pile of trash I’ve already swept up. “I just . . . I won’t do it.”

  “We’ll get it cleaned up. I promise.”

  She sighs. “Absolutely no insurance?”

  “Nope.” I let the “p” pop in my mouth for emphasis. Becca—in her indigo pantsuit and white pearls and bleached blond hair pulled back in a professional bun—seems to know what she’s talking about, but she has still managed to irritate me in the fifteen minutes that she’s been here. I’m well aware of how bad this is, and yet she feels the need to keep telling me.

  “When do you think it’ll be ready for my photographer?”

  “When I call you to tell you that it’s ready.” I honestly don’t know how long it’s going to take to fix this mess. Weeks, maybe. And I don’t have weeks. The bills and mortgage payments on both the house and Black Rabbit need to be paid next week. Ian and I have pooled some money, but he has his own bills, and if I don’t work, I can’t make more money. And I can’t work if I’m here every day trying to fix all this.

  Becca turns to Sebastian, her drawn-on brows raised in question, as if he may have a more suitable answer for her.

  “We’ll see,” is all he says.

  Sebastian hasn’t said a word to me since we parked outside the house and he snatched my house keys out of my hand. He led the way in through the front door and then disappeared, checking rooms and closets, climbing the steps, his giant frame somehow avoiding each creak, as if he already knows the house’s quirks.

  “Fine. Let me know.” Dried macaroni crunches beneath her pumps as she picks her way along the floor and out the front door.

  “She’s something else,” I mutter.

  His eyes flicker to me but it’s still radio silence. This isn’t the passionate guy who took me in the bathroom last night. But it’s also not the cold, protective bodyguard.

  He’s genuinely upset.

  And now that he isn’t wearing sunglasses anymore, I can see the dark circles lining his eyes. I don’t think he slept last night. So where the hell did he go? Maybe he actually did have to leave.

  I shove the last of the burgundy leather couch stuffing into a trash bag and knot the top. I’ve already filled two extra-large bags. Fez’s cousin runs a trash pickup service—basically, an old beat-up cube van that will haul anything to the local transfer station for a fee—and he and Fez will be here in a couple of hours to take whatever I have ready to go for the cost of gas and dumping rates, plus some ink on his shoulder.

  Wiping the layer of sweat from my brow with the bottom of my tank top, I take a moment to survey the place. Aside from the devastating mess, the dated walls and furniture, it’s actually a nice house, with good bones. Ian’s right—spending a bit of time and money here could be worth it. I could probably borrow enough to update the kitchen and bathroom, do some landscaping, replace the roof. All the kinds of things a responsible adult who had just inherited an old house would do.

  If only I had a compelling reason to stay . . .

  I shake my head. Who am I trying to fool? Sebastian is the sole reason I’m even entertaining the idea. Before Sebastian walked in, I was ready to pack my bags. Now he’s got me thinking about home renovations.

  I can’t believe I’ve let a guy get under my skin, and so fast.

  And I’ve been a complete asshole to him.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally offer, dragging my trash bag across the tile floor to toss it onto the front porch.

  He picks up the broom that is lying on the floor and begins sweeping the loose macaroni into piles. “Don’t do it again.” His dark eyes flicker up to me as he adds, “Please.”

  I want to ask him why he cares, why he came back, why he doesn’t have anything better to do, anyone else to see. Why he’d stick around if I’m being so difficult.

  Instead, I quietly pile the magazines and newspapers together and tie them for easy removal.

  Because right now, I’m just happy he’s here.

  I groan, slumping against the doorframe to Ned’s office. Every file on every customer that Ned has kept over the years—I’m sure he shredded the oldest ones, at least—was neatly organized in the row of cabinets.

  Now, every file on every customer that Ned has kept over the years covers the floor. You can’t even see the faded beige rug because of the paper.

  “What do you want to do with all that?” Sebastian asks. I feel him standing close behind me.

  “Shred it.” I sigh. “Except for any customers I worked on while I was here, I guess. They can’t take Ned’s license away, but they can still take mine.”

  “And where are yours?”

  “They should be in that pile over there, next to the upturned boxes. I just brought those in the other day.” And the assholes dumped those, too.

  “How will you know which ones are yours?”

  Paper crunches beneath my boots as I step through the mess and stoop down to pick up a sheet, pointing out my name in Ned’s scrawl on the top of the form. A twinge of sadness stirs in my stomach at the sight of it. “They’ll all say my name like that, on the top.”

  Sebastian pulls it from my grasp and steps around me to take a seat in the office chair. He reaches down to grab a stack of papers. “Why don’t you tackle your uncle’s room? I can manage this.”

  I leave quietly, but not without a glance over my shoulder to see Sebastian eying me.

  TWENTY-SIX

  SEBASTIAN

  I go for the latest records first, because I know that Ivy’s clients will be in there.

  And because I’m hoping that Royce has a file in here, too. I need his address.

  I need to find out more about him.

  Ivy’s worked on a lot of customers in her seven months at the shop. I’m no longer wondering how she has a chunk of money saved. It’s not on account of any criminal side jobs. She just works really hard, and at two hundred bucks an hour, she’s earning a solid living for herself.

  After twenty minutes of digging, I find the original paperwork Royce filled out. I fold it and tuck it into my back pocket just as Ivy passes by, tossing in two more box flats and several trash bags on her way. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I wouldn’t do it if I were you.”

  I level her with a look
. I don’t normally hold a grudge but I’m still pissed at her, even though she’s apologized.

  I can’t help it. Bentley has the videotape now, so Alliance has no more use for Ivy, alive or otherwise. But Scalero, he has reason not to want her alive, a thought that’s been pricking at my mind since I pulled out of Bentley’s driveway this morning. An hour and a half later, that little prickle had grown into something more difficult to ignore.

  And then I showed up at Dakota’s to find Ivy’s car gone.

  I nearly came straight here, but I’m glad I went to the door first. Dakota told me she had left only ten minutes before, and where she was heading.

  It’s one thing to have Ivy believing that a biker gang is somehow behind all this.

  It’s an entirely different thing to have her confronting them about it. By the time I arrived at that auto shop, it was obvious Ivy and that big guy, Bobby, were well into it. The only other time I’ve had any direct experience with bikers in the past was in San Diego, and the shithead was waling on his woman outside a bar.

  I wasn’t going to stand back and watch that happen again.

  Ivy ducks out without another word, leaving me to this nightmare.

  I could easily make my excuses and leave now.

  I grab a trash bag.

  I’ve survived eighteen months of intensive SEAL training.

  I’ve survived two tours in Afghanistan.

  I’ve survived thirteen assignments for Bentley that no one will ever talk about, or know about.

  I’ve been shot, stabbed, blown up, and beaten.

  But it’s the dozen paper cuts on my fingers that may finally break me.

  “Fuck!” I curse as another page slices across my knuckle. I toss the bag aside and suck my knuckle to relieve the sting, just as Ivy speeds past. I expect a glance, a derisive snort, some mocking.

  When she doesn’t even lift her head, I know that something’s wrong. She’s been on edge all day. When I got to the auto shop, it was clear by the look in her eyes that she was happy to see me. That didn’t stop her from punishing me for leaving so abruptly last night by giving me attitude. But this must be different.