Four Seconds to Lose

  His hand scratches his chin. “Local news for sure. Maybe New York. I’ll see what I can do. If she’s in some small town in Alaska, she’s not likely going to hear about this.” He smiles. “I know a guy who knows a guy . . . who knows a guy.”

  chapter forty-six

  ■ ■ ■

  CHARLIE

  “See? Doesn’t it look like he’s wearing mascara?”

  Berta has an obsession with a dark-haired reporter on our local news station.

  “He probably is,” I confirm as I count the money in my small waitress apron. On average, I’ll make fifty bucks a night in tips. Seventy, on a really good night, Berta has promised. If she knew what I used to do, and how much money I used to make in one night, she’d have a coronary.

  “And lipstick, too?” Her eyes squint as she studies the screen. “Yesterday, they were more peachy. Now they’re red. What kind of man wears red lipstick?”

  “The kind who deals with harsh lighting and high definition, I suppose.” I quickly begin filling the salt and pepper shakers. The dinner rush is over, but it’s homecoming weekend. Molly and Teena, the day-shift waitresses, are pulling doubles tonight in anticipation of a late rush.

  “Doug’s asking for you,” Teena whispers with a playful wink as she floats by, though it’s loud and raspy enough that half the diner probably heard her. Fortunately, the twenty-six-year-old mechanic is sitting in the far corner. Berta’s fantasy of marrying me off to her nephew was short-lived. She forced me to leave work for an hour last night to watch the parade with Doug.

  His smile reminds me of Ben—broad and dimpled. But he’s not an obnoxious ass like Ben. He also kind of looks like him, with his blond hair and strong jaw. And he’s polite. He was a perfect gentleman last night, walking me back to Becker’s before it closed, offering nothing more than a “good night” head dip as he strolled away.

  I wonder when this empty void inside my chest will shrink. It’s been a month, and some days I think it’s growing bigger. Isn’t time supposed to heal all wounds? Shouldn’t four weeks have given me some relief from the relentless pain and self-doubt?

  I hold on tightly to the belief that I did the right thing. Still, the same regretful longing slams into me the second I open my eyes from a fitful sleep, coiling itself through my thoughts to linger throughout the day. It haunts me through the night, leaving dark circles beneath my eyes that concealer can’t quite cover. It curbs my appetite, my body shedding weight it doesn’t have to spare.

  But the dreams . . . they are the worst. All variations of horror leading to the same outcome.

  Cain, disgusted with me.

  Cain, hurt by me.

  Cain insistent on helping me, because of the man he is.

  And ending up dead.

  No . . . I did the right thing. The same cruel fate that brought us together was bound to rip us apart. It was only a matter of time. I knew it all along and yet I fell hard, all the same.

  Berta’s raised voice pulls me from my thoughts. “See, Katie? I told you that you’re better off staying here instead of moving on to a big city.” Berta is convinced that I should settle down in Mobile, Alabama, and work with her until we’re both old and gray. “One of those movie-style drug murders. This time at a fancy hotel in Miami.”

  A cold shiver radiates from my chest as my eyes flash to the television, dreading . . . waiting . . . The reporter is going on and on, but the words aren’t truly processing. “Execution-style . . . cartel . . . turf war . . . heroin . . . drug dealer . . .”

  A picture flashes onto the screen.

  I bite back a gasp. It’s the man who took me to the park on Sundays, who hoisted me onto my horse, who cheered as I stood on the podiums for my medals, who shouted “encore” as I bowed onstage.

  Who used me as a pawn.

  Who turned me into a criminal.

  Who put me in danger.

  Who stole my life.

  My stepfather—the man who raised me—is dead.

  I can hear Berta talking somewhere in the distance, but her voice is blurred. I can feel her arm on my shoulder, half soothing, half trying to break my sudden daze as I stare at the screen, watching his name—“Big” Sam Arnoni—flash across the bottom.

  “Katie!”

  My eyes finally snap to Berta. She’s staring at me with a wrinkled forehead. Without checking, I know I have the eyes of every single person in the diner on me right now. The feel of them turns my ears hot with embarrassment. “I’m sorry!” I finally manage to get out with a weak giggle. “I thought that was my high school English teacher for a second.” I blow out a big gush of air, feigning relief. “That would have been weird.”

  Berta starts chuckling. “You scared the bezeejus out of me, girl. Go and get some fresh air. We’ll clean up here.” Glancing down, I see the broken glass and scattered salt all over the floor. The shaker must have slipped from my hand. I open my mouth but she’s already ushering me past the counter toward the back exit, waving away my protests.

  Thank God the back of Becker’s is empty. I lean against the deep red brick wall as a shaky exhale leaves my lungs. The fall air, though still warm by Long Island standards, is cooler in the evenings. It doesn’t require a sweater but, all the same, I wrap my arms around my chest.

  “Sam is dead.” Those three words sail out of my mouth in a whisper. I let them hang out in the open, deciding exactly how I should feel about the sudden news.

  There’s no doubt I’m in shock right now. I mean, in my mind, Sam was indestructible. I, Cain, and everyone else was at risk, but nothing could stop Sam.

  Could it be a ruse? Could Sam have staged his own death to lure me back out into the water? No. Sam would never allow his face to appear on the news with a label of “alleged heroin drug dealer.”

  Sam is dead.

  I suspect that, at some point, maybe in an hour, or tomorrow, or next week, the reality of this will truly hit me, bringing with it genuine relief. Not relief that he is dead. Despite all that Sam had done, despite everything that he was, I must admit to myself that I never really wished him dead. No, it will be relief that I am truly free, that unfortunately his death was the only way that could happen.

  Yet an underlying worry is working its way to the surface, bringing waves of nausea with it.

  Sam came to Miami.

  What if he found Cain? Would he have hurt him, even though I was long gone? Cain’s death wouldn’t make the Mobile, Alabama news. I could be pining over a dead man right now.

  Rushing back into the restaurant, I grab my purse. “Can you tell Berta I’ll be about fifteen minutes?” I ask Herald and run out the door before I get his answer.

  Now that Sam is dead, I’m obviously not worried about him finding me. But I don’t know how Cain feels about me. I asked Dan not to tell him about my note, but Dan doesn’t owe me anything.

  What if Cain hates me?

  What if he wants me held accountable for my crime?

  All possible, all reasonable.

  Doing this is risky. Still, I need to know that he’s alive.

  The closest pay phone is four blocks down the street and I run the entire way, cursing myself for not buying a prepaid cell phone. I don’t know how pay-phone tracing works, but I’m hoping it requires more than two seconds of air time.

  It takes every last bit of loose change and three attempts, but I finally manage to accurately punch in Cain’s cell number with my shaky hand.

  It begins to ring.

  I hold my breath.

  A second ring.

  A third ring.

  A sinking feeling dips my stomach, knowing his voice mail will pick up by the fifth.

  And then suddenly, “Hello?”

  His deep voice steals the air from my lungs.

  Cain is safe.

  Sam didn’t find him.

&nbs
p; I reach for the telephone hook to end the call but my hand freezes. I can’t will myself to pull it. To disconnect Cain from my life.

  For just a few seconds, with this weak link, I feel like Cain is still a part of it. I can hear him breathing. I can imagine his phone pressed up against that hint of evening stubble that I’ve felt so many times against my skin.

  “Hello?” he asks again, this time a touch of uncertainty in his voice.

  My lips part just slightly as if to answer, but I can’t. I can’t even form a single word. And I still can’t breathe. All I can do is listen to him as the tears begin to roll down my cheeks.

  Another second passes.

  “Charlie, is that you?”

  My fist slams down on the hook a second before the ragged sob escapes my lungs.

  ■ ■ ■

  “New customer at table fourteen, Honey,” Berta calls out, rubbing my back as she passes.

  “Great!” By her grimace, I’ve failed miserably at sounding cheerful. I should just aim for content, even though I’m far from that as well.

  There’s a reason people say clean breaks are for the best. I had a clean break. It hurt like hell. And then I had to go and call Cain, to listen to his voice, to hear him acknowledge my existence. It was as if someone took a dull saw and hacked into my clean break to make it jagged and fresh. It’s the kind of pain that makes you pass out.

  The kind that feels irreparable.

  That was three days ago. Since then, I’ve grabbed my knapsack each morning, taken the city bus down to the Greyhound terminal, and bought a ticket to Miami.

  And sat on the bench, watching as the bus pulled away, telling myself that just because Sam is no longer a threat, it doesn’t mean Cain wants anything to do with me anymore. That I should let him be. That I’ve brought enough trouble into his life. That the memory of those wonderful weeks with Cain will need to somehow fill the gaping void in my heart, because things can never go back to the way they were.

  Of course Berta knows none of this, because I’m back in time for my shift every night, plastering on a weak smile.

  I make my way over to table fourteen. There’s a large man sitting there with graying hair and a round gut. Sliding a menu in front of him, I give him my best fake smile. “Hi, sir. Welcome to Becker’s. What can I get you tonight?”

  “Oh . . .” He pats his belly, never bothering to open the menu. “A black coffee and a burger.”

  “That’s easy.”

  “I’m a creature of habit.” He grins, and the smile reaches his eyes. “And please, call me John.”

  chapter forty-seven

  ■ ■ ■

  CAIN

  I can’t believe we found her.

  Given the life she used to lead, I can’t believe she made such a rookie mistake. As I sit in my rental car and watch her take John’s order through the diner window, I think about how fucking thankful I am that she did.

  I owe Dan . . . I don’t know what I owe him. A vital organ, perhaps. Through his connections, CNN picked up the murder story, sensationalizing it as part of a national drug problem piece. From there, it filtered out to a lot of smaller news stations.

  After that strange call on my cell three nights ago, John had the number traced to a pay phone in Mobile, Alabama within minutes. He was on the first flight out the next day. I would have been, too, had he not convinced me to stay. He figured she had used a random pay phone and it would take him weeks—or longer—to find her.

  But she didn’t. She used the one only four blocks away. And, thanks to John’s weakness for local diners, he stumbled upon her within forty-eight hours.

  She’s cut her hair. It looks really pretty. It makes her look older, too, despite the light makeup on her face.

  She still looks like a little doll.

  Fuck, have I ever missed her!

  It’s taking every ounce of my willpower not to charge in there right now. I’m torn. I don’t know why she hasn’t come back to me, now that Sam is dead. I assume that’s why she called when she did, but I can’t be certain.

  That makes me think that maybe she doesn’t want to come back to me, regardless. Maybe she wants a clean break, with no memories of her old life. If that’s the case, I don’t want to make a scene in there and mess up all that she has going on. John confirmed that she’s living above the garage of the diner owner—a nice lady with a criminal-free background, who closes the place to attend church early on Sundays.

  And so I sit. And I quietly watch the woman I don’t want to live without live a life without me in it.

  chapter forty-eight

  ■ ■ ■

  CHARLIE

  My keys make a loud noise as they drop onto the dresser beside the door. My apron and purse follow, and then I kick off my shoes. It’s my new nightly ritual. Next is a shower, to wash the greasy diner smell out of my hair. I never bother turning on the lamp because the fluorescent bulbs cast such harsh lighting and, besides, there’s enough light shining into the window from the street.

  I don’t know how I missed him sitting on my bed.

  “You just can’t sleep without these fancy sheets, can you?”

  I yelp out in surprise as I jump back, my back slamming into the wall. “How did you get in here?” I can barely hear my own voice, my blood rushing into my ears.

  He stands and I instinctively take a step forward, toward that beautiful man who was mine for a short period of time, until reality caught up with me. But my feet stall, the truth of what I’ve done to him making me wonder if I should steel myself to defend against an emotional attack.

  One that I deserve.

  My breaths grow shallow with the rising panic.

  Is he here to tell me that he hates me? That the cops will be here in minutes to arrest me?

  Cain doesn’t stop. He keeps moving closer and closer, until his overpowering body makes my knees weak and his stunning face makes me lean in.

  And those dark brown eyes make me burst into tears.

  He grabs my wrist and pulls me against his chest without hesitation, his defined arms wrapping me tight. “You know that I’m resourceful,” I somehow hear him say over my sobs. He releases a deep sigh and I sense the tension in his body slide out. “God, Charlie, you’ve put me through hell.”

  “I’m sorry.” I start crying harder with his words. “I didn’t have a choice. It was—”

  “I know.” He eases his grip on me and takes a step back, tilting my head back with a hand on my chin. His fingers start smoothing away my tears. If he knew how many tears I’ve cried for him . . . “I know everything.”

  Swallowing the enormous lump in my throat, I echo, “Everything?”

  With a sad smile, his eyes dip down to my mouth. “I know how your stepfather took advantage of you. I know what happened at that last drop.”

  I shudder with the memory of that gun against my temple.

  “And I’m guessing you didn’t tell me because you were trying to protect me.” He pauses. “You saw the news, right?”

  “Yes.” I close my eyes, the smell of his cologne as soothing as it is intoxicating.

  “You know that you’re safe now, right?”

  I stare up into those eyes that I thought I’d never see again. “Am I?”

  Cain’s furtive nod makes me believe him. “Dan’s not going to say a word.” His brow furrows deeply. “Is that the only reason you didn’t come home?”

  Home. “I didn’t know if you wanted me there,” I admit through a hard swallow. “I only called because I wanted to make sure Sam hadn’t found you.”

  His arms seal me against his body once again—strong, protective arms that feel like they may never let me go again. I hope they never do. And he lets me cry against him without a word.

  Until a strange thing happens. My tears begin to morph from sadness to reli
ef to complete and utter joy, interspersed with little giggles.

  As I realize that it’s finally over.

  Cain knows what I’ve done and he’s here. And, I think, forgiving me.

  It’s finally, truly over.

  “Your hair smells like French fries,” Cain murmurs, and I feel his lips touch the top of my head.

  “Sorry. I was just about to get into the shower.”

  “Really . . .” I catch the playfulness in his tone and my knees automatically buckle. I want nothing more right now. But, wait. I pull away, though I’m unwilling to release my grip around his ribs. “Cain. What about . . .” I exhale deeply. “Do you know that I used a fake ID?”

  He studies me for a moment, as if deciding what he wants to say. And then that lip curls up. “You certainly have more talents than any eighteen-year-old I’ve ever met, though your dietary choices should have been a dead giveaway.”

  I duck my head slightly. “Are you okay with that?”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, I’ll survive.” The backs of his fingers graze my cheek and I instinctively turn to catch them with my lips. “Besides, I never did live out my twenties like a normal person.” Dipping down, Cain’s lips brush mine as he whispers, “Maybe we can do it together.” And then there’s no more talking, as Cain claims my mouth as if no time has passed.

  As if it belongs to him and him alone.

  And it does. I should have known, from that very first kiss, I had fallen into another trap.

  The difference is that this trap is one I have no desire to escape from. Ever.

  “But . . .” He pulls back slightly and my mouth instantly feels cold. “I’m in love with a woman and I don’t even know what name to call her by.”

  My breath hitches. Did I just hear that right? Pressing my fingers into his lean muscles, I take a moment to compose myself before I burst into tears. Again. “I mean, when Dan showed me a copy of your real ID . . .” His voice trails off as his eyes widen in exaggerated shock. What went through his head when he found out, I wonder. Did he immediately see it as I did? Fate playing its own strange little game?