Breaking Out

  Parker had a plan. He needed money, because Scout saw money as freedom. Parker saw money as a noose around the neck, tightening and choking his peripheral, cutting away all humanistic qualities until nothing but greedy breaths for more sneaked by. It was a challenge not to fall under its spell the way his father had. However, if money was what she needed in order to see him as a man, then so be it.

  He’d intended on working his ass off. Not as a bellhop like Patras would’ve enjoyed. That was only a small stepping-stone. He had plans of finding a better job as soon as he found the means. Running into Slade had been nothing short of a miracle.

  Slade Bishop was a shrewd man. It was no wonder he and Patras hung in the same circles. And, for whatever reason, Slade was out to get his partner. Parker didn’t care. He was smart enough to let the other man’s vindictive nature work in his favor. They’d quickly formed an understanding—fuck Patras and get him away from Scout.

  Parker didn’t know what the other man’s issue with the couple was. He didn’t care, so long as no one hurt Scout. All he cared about was getting her safely away from all of them.

  He could support her. He could give her a life off of the streets and under a roof. He’d do whatever he had to in order to put food on their table and shelter over their heads. He’d keep her clothed and warm throughout the colder months and he knew—he just knew—he could win her heart.

  Once he secured a good-paying job, he quickly fell into step with the rest of the rats in the race and forged a fast route to the top. It wasn’t easy. In everything, Parker liked to keep a strong hold on his dignity. He had to be smart and cunning in order to find success in a swift and honorable manner. But all was fair in love and war.

  He found an apartment he could afford in one of the safer sections of Folsom and rapidly came up with a deposit. His furniture was functional and simple. His bed was the warmest thing he’d slept in in ages and it was a blessing to once again have a stove to heat his food.

  It was easy to get wrapped up in the game of it all. He was his father’s son and as such, he saw numerous opportunities to make money.

  Slade claimed Parker was a prodigy when it came to the market. Parker didn’t see this at first, but soon realized others who’d been watching capitals and trends for years simply couldn’t read the stocks the way he could. It was something he’d learned to do as a young boy when his father would hand him the business section at the breakfast table and quiz him over their morning meal.

  He felt the fiscal heartbeat of the world as though it pounded from his very own chest. It was a pulse, once identified, impossible to turn off. The rhythms were easy to track. Simple tremors led to ripples and he had a gift for forecasting exactly how the chips would fall.

  The day he told Slade to pull out of Winslow Cherokee Pharmaceuticals was the day he earned his promotion and corner office. The company had dealt out a contract with an overseas drug company that had taken some criticism for medications intended to curb the effects of dialysis. Lab rats were dying, and Parker saw this as a risk factor.

  The company ignored the warnings, bought in with the questionable company and just like that, statistics came back, people were hospitalized, and the drug was recalled.

  Stocks fell like stones from the Empire State Building, and Leningrad was saved from the collapse of Winslow Cherokee because of Parker’s quick intervention.

  The partners were beyond impressed with his ability to not just know the brand names they promoted, but to see past the numbers and actually know the pulse of the companies themselves. He memorized the names of each CEO of every company they represented, studied their fiscal histories, and seemed to be unstoppable when it came to spotting the invisible red flags.

  His clientele list had grown to a hefty figure, a number that men who’d been with the firm for years could envy. Parker didn’t give a shit about any of his clients. He needed to make money and if making them money made him money, then so be it. In the past four months he’d piled away what most middle-class men made in two years.

  Now it was time to collect, but what he wanted most was hidden away where he couldn’t find her. Where could she be? She wasn’t at Patras. She wasn’t at the shelter. He knew Lucian could be a selfish prick when life required it of him, but something told him—something about that look in his eyes that day he stormed into his office—that he would not leave Scout stranded with nowhere to go.

  He’d hid her somewhere. Parker just didn’t have a fucking clue where.

  He paced his apartment waiting for Sherry to return. She was his only hope. He didn’t have a clue what else he could do. He’d never counted on not being able to find Scout. Not that he expected her to be handed to him on a silver platter, but the other week when they sat down to dinner he assumed they would reestablish contact and she’d keep him in the know.

  Unfortunately that hadn’t happened. Lucian warned him he was taking her out of town. Did he leave her there? Was she even in Folsom?

  The elevator dinged and Parker tensed, his eyes staring hard at the door. Three knocks and he let out a harsh breath.

  “Thank fucking God.”

  He opened the door and there stood Sherry. The resemblance was uncanny. “Hey, handsome,” she purred as she stepped inside.

  “Hey, how’d it go?”

  “Umm, well, it didn’t go like we had planned.”

  “What does that mean? Did you fuck him?”

  She plopped down on the couch. “Nice, Parker. No. It only took about a minute for him to realize I wasn’t her. He probably would have realized it sooner if he wasn’t stone drunk.”

  He cursed under his breath and sat next to her. “Did you get it?”

  She pursed her lips and arched a brow. “No hello? No how have you been? I’ve missed you? No kiss.”

  “I don’t have time for this, Sherry,” he snapped and dragged a frustrated hand through his hair.

  She looked crestfallen, but a woman like Sherry was made of tougher stuff. She quickly straightened her spine and reached into the breast pocket of her coat. Her fingers withdrew a slip of paper folded in thirds. “Is this what you’re looking for? Lucky for you it was on top of his desk. I nabbed it while buttoning up my coat. You owe me, because if he would have caught me . . .”

  He snatched to paper from her and quickly unfolded it. His eyes greedily scanned the words. It was a lease signed by Lucian Patras himself for a Ms. Evelyn Keats. He kissed her. “You’re a genius!”

  She looked uncertain. “Listen, I know you’re all goo-goo gaga for this girl, but I gotta tell you, that man isn’t someone you should underestimate. He’s sort of scary.”

  “What makes you say that? Did he do something to you?”

  Her mouth opened and shut. He leveled her with a hard look.

  “Sherry, tell me what happened.”

  For the first time ever, he noticed Sherry looked unsure, scared. “I . . . I just worry you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. That man’s intimidating as hell. He knew you sent me.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “Well, I didn’t have to. He asked. There was no point in lying.”

  “What else did you tell him? I need to know.”

  “Okay, calm down.” She took a deep breath. “He said you would never get what you were after. He told me to warn you off.”

  “That’s because he’s scared.” The words came out to reassure her, but he knew they were partially meant to reassure him.

  “Parker, I don’t think he was kidding. I think if you try to mess with a man like that you’re going to wind up getting yourself hurt or worse.”

  “He’s a goddamn hotel owner, not the mob.”

  “He’s fucking powerful, that’s what he is, Parker. He has more money than Midas. You should have seen his place.”

  “So what?”

  “So, I just think
you should watch out. What’s so special about this girl anyway?”

  What wasn’t special about Scout? “Don’t worry about it. Did he say anything else? I need to know everything that transpired from the moment you walked through the door.”

  She considered her answer, and that pissed him off. He paid her to do a job. She was working for him.

  She swallowed. “I don’t think I want anything to do with this anymore, Parker.”

  He wasn’t expecting that, but that was fine. He’d hired Sherry to serve a purpose. He’d hoped he could get Patras to fuck her. She looked so much like Scout, just a little harder and less pretty, but she had the same dark hair and the same bone structure. She also had more sexual knowledge than a tantric how-to book.

  He’d found her while using one of the computers at work. Her agency was simple enough to reach. Once he’d slept with her the first time, he arranged a private deal with her. She helped him figure out how to properly touch a lady. It was a lesson he needed to learn.

  Parker was no white dove, but he surely couldn’t treat a woman like Scout the way he treated the women of his past. Growing up on the streets, sex was about one thing, release. It was a free pastime he’d indulged in often, but he never made love.

  He’d never slept with a woman completely unclothed. Sex was always about getting off and getting done without catching frostbite or something worse.

  Sherry showed him how to use a gentle hand. She’d taught him how to hold a woman. Some nights he paid her to simply lie with him. He’d stroke her arms and curves and she’d tell him what she found especially appealing and comforting. When it came time to be intimate with Scout, he wanted to offer her all the tenderness a girl like her could possibly need.

  Scout was an extremely independent woman. She’d need to maintain a certain level of control. He wanted to be the perfect lover for her. When they finally made love it would be tender, and giving, and everything it should be.

  “Parker, are you listening to me?”

  He turned to Sherry, her brown eyes rife with concern. “Sorry, no. What did you say?”

  She grasped his hands tightly. He should probably start pulling back from her, limiting the ways he let her touch him. Now that he had Scout’s whereabouts he wouldn’t need her anymore.

  “I said why can’t you just forget about this girl? She’s got this whole other mess going with that guy. You’re handsome and well off. Why don’t you find someone a little less complicated?”

  He gently pried his hands from hers and touched her cheek. “You don’t understand, Sherry. She’s in a bad way with this guy. I have to help her.”

  “What if she doesn’t want to be helped?”

  “She can’t go back to him. A man like that would destroy her. I need to save her.”

  She scowled at him. “Why do all men think that women need saving when the most dangerous thing to us is men in general? You’re all capable of ruining us. Who’s to say you’re any better for her than this guy?”

  He frowned. “I am. I’m to say. Lucian Patras is a greedy, manipulative, self-serving prick. He collects pretty things he covets so no one else can have them, and then when he loses interest in them he throws them away or puts them on a shelf until they lose their value.”

  “And this girl . . . this Evelyn, you want her for more than just satisfying some need to possess her so other men can’t.”

  He grit his teeth. “Her name is Scout, and yes. I want to love her.”

  Sherry paled. “The lease said Evelyn. What if she doesn’t love you?”

  “I can make her love me.”

  Her gaze dropped to her knees. Softly she said, “Really, Parker, I thought you were a smart man.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  When she met his gaze there were tears in her brown eyes. “It means that you can’t make someone love you any more than you can choose who you love, especially when their heart is elsewhere. I should know.”

  When a tear tumbled down her freckled cheek, regret washed over him. “Honey, you know how I feel. I’ve never kept it a secret from you.”

  “I know. I just . . . it’s been three months.”

  “And for three months I’ve never changed my course or my plans,” he reminded her gently.

  She nodded tightly. “I know. And here I am, just another fool in the room, wishing I had the love of someone in love with someone else. Stupid, right?”

  “She doesn’t love him.” He was only concerned with Scout’s feelings.

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t, but I know if she falls in love with him it’s a mistake.”

  She sat quietly for several long moments. It was too late to go to Scout tonight, so he let Sherry have this time. No sense in rushing her off.

  “Will I ever see you again?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. If my plans go accordingly . . . no.”

  She gave a sad laugh and wiped her eyes. “I never should have agreed to help you. I never should have let things go this far.”

  Wanting to comfort her, he tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “You knew what this was, Sherry. Was it so bad, letting a guy be nice to you for a few months?”

  Her head shook. “No, but going back to men who see me as only a vessel will make every other encounter from here on out so much harder. Every time I let a stranger touch me I’ll think, Parker didn’t just touch me, he made me feel. Parker didn’t just look at my body, he saw me. Parker didn’t just fuck me. He made love to me. I’ve never had that before and I’ll never have that again.”

  That wasn’t necessarily true. When he looked at her he searched for someone else, and when he made love to her, it wasn’t her he was holding. “I’m sorry.”

  She sniffled. “I should go.”

  “Will you be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He didn’t know if she was being honest or brave, but he had his own problems to worry about. He had to save Scout. Saving Sherry wasn’t on the agenda. “You know you can call me at the office if you ever need anything.”

  “What I need you aren’t willing to offer, Mr. Hughes.”

  “I never led you to believe this was anything more.”

  She nodded and stood. “And I suppose that should make it all right. Pardon me if I find it cold comfort in the face of reality.”

  Guilt pinched at his nerves. He shoved those emotions away. He’d spent ten years on the street, held his mother while she died crying about the injustice of it all. There were plenty of sad cases on every corner. Sherry’s sad life wasn’t his fault. “You offered a service and I paid you for it.”

  Her face fell and all her color drained. Perhaps his words were a little too honest for her to cope with at the moment.

  She stood. “Wow. I don’t know what’s more frightening, the idea of that man getting his claws into you or the idea that you may actually deserve whatever he does. Whoever you are, you’re not the man I thought you were. Good-bye.”

  He stood as well. “Wait.” She paused by the door, but didn’t turn around. “I owe you money.”

  Her back stiffened. “Parker Hughes, if you dare hand me a dollar right now I’m afraid of what will happen. Enjoy your life. Send my best to the poor girl you’re after.” She opened the door and shut it without a second glance.

  Part VIII

  Scout

  Chapter 22

  Walls

  She was definitely under some form of paralysis. If she knew how to move, she would get up and find a phone, then perhaps try to call Dr. Sheffield, but she couldn’t. So she lay there and continued to cry.

  Under a ceiling of untouchable stars, she lay with no walls holding her in. Something was holding her physical body together. Her mind had unhinged many days ago. She was floating, lost somewhere between two names, and neither one told her
who to be.

  It was evening and the sun had set. Her fuzzy mind worked to count the days. The first night she’d slept on the floor by the door. The second night she moved to the couch. The third she stared at the pristine bed awaiting her tired body but was too afraid to touch it.

  Days were lost to sleep and nights were filled with anxious need to do something. So tired. Waking hurt, and she dreaded the moments before her conscience roused her physical body. All she wanted to do was sleep.

  Seeing the thought he had put into her apartment was agony. The walls she had envied all of her life were suddenly suffocating her. She needed to get out.

  She’d taken to sleeping on the balcony. It was cold, but she wasn’t as claustrophobic under the blanket of sky. Walls. She hated those fucking walls.

  It was day eight, she believed. Eight long, lonely days and she wasn’t quite dead yet. She’d formed an addiction to sadness. When her mind slipped away and took a reprieve from the desolate introspection of her life, she felt its absence. Interestingly enough, Scout realized, even when she’d been one of several, sleeping on a mat on the floor of an overcrowded shelter, she was never really a part of anything.

  She was and would always be a loner. She didn’t fit in at the tracks. She didn’t fit in at St. Christopher’s. And she didn’t fit in at Patras. So where was she supposed to go? She wanted Pearl, but didn’t know if her heart could tolerate her mother’s cool welcome. Getting to Pearl was a daunting task as well, so she shoved off any plans of visiting her mother.

  As she stared up at the clouded night sky, she tucked her quivering shoulders under her blanket. The apartment was filled with parts of her that only existed through him. She hated it. Spring was coming, and she found solace in the terrace garden where she spent most of her time gazing at the empty, cold sky, wondering what the point of it all was.

  She’d sleep with no recollection of letting go, only waking up. Her body temperature adapted to the gentled elements, and she simply adjusted her blankets and snuggled deeper into the soft cushion of the lounge chair she was slowly becoming fused to.