Give Me Hell

  Luke brandishes his phone. “Give me your number. We’ll do beers this Sunday arvo, yeah?”

  MAC

  After hearing the news last night that both our friends were going to be okay, we vacated the waiting room and went home to get some sleep. I’ve come back this morning alone, wanting to check on Grace myself. I know what she’s just been through, and I know how important it is to have those you love surrounding you. So when I step inside Grace’s hospital room it gives me satisfaction to see Casey by her bedside.

  Grace’s head is tipped back at an odd angle on her pillow and her mouth is open, emitting a light snore. Her arm is wrapped up and she’s covered in bruises.

  “How is she?” I ask softly.

  “Her arm is broken,” he replies, watching for my reaction. Frog is out of action as our bass guitarist because he broke his arm. Now our replacement bass guitarist is out of action because she broke her arm.

  My right eye begins to twitch. “Step aside, Hotdog,” I command. “I’m going to break her other arm.”

  I expect Casey to chuckle at my threat. I don’t mean it. Clearly. Yet Casey’s body goes tense and his eyes harden. “Not in this lifetime. Or any other for that matter.”

  My lips curve. “You’re in love with her.”

  “That’s for Grace and I to discuss.”

  “I agree.”

  My expression turns grave. “Make sure you don’t leave her side, Casey.”

  After a group discussion last night in the hospital, we discovered there were witness reports stating the car that hit them sped up rather than slowed down. There were no skid marks on the road and the offender fled the scene. That’s all that’s known so far, but it’s enough cause for concern. Especially after the words Casey had with Morgan last night. She may be a detective, but it doesn’t necessarily mean she’s a good person. I have every reason to believe she’s involved.

  “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” he asks.

  “I’m here to check on my friend.”

  His eyes soften on mine. “You’re here to make sure she isn’t alone. That she has the one person she needs most by her side.”

  I absorb Casey’s comment, coming to the slow realisation that he knows about my past and my own accident. I can only conclude that Travis, being his best friend, must have told him. “She needs you,” I say, for some reason not seeming to mind that he knows. It’s easier than having to explain myself.

  He nods his agreement. “She does. And for what it’s worth, I won’t leave her side. Not for a second.”

  “Good.” I need to leave now before I make a fool of myself and say something nice. “I have to get going. Make sure to tell Grace when she wakes that I’ll be stopping by later to make good on my threat.”

  He chuckles lightly. “I’ll be sure to tell her.”

  The following night I make the time to issue a search for the report Casey is looking for. I figure Morgan’s house is the best place to start. Granted, it’s probably considered breaking and entering—of a detective’s house no less—but that woman is due some retribution, and who better to give it to her than me? Besides, it’s not really theft if the report belongs to Casey, right? I owe him this. And I’m not apprehensive in the least. I give zero fucks for the law I’m about to break. Sometimes you have to do something a little bad to achieve something good.

  Dressed all in black, with black combat pants and boots that keep my footsteps silent, I drive to the address I found on public record for Morgan. I do a slow drive by first. It’s late and dark out, and all the lights in her house are off, but it’s not late enough for her to be home and tucked up in bed. At least I hope. There’s no way to be one hundred percent sure.

  I park a few houses down. When I get out of the car I slide the keys inside the tight pocket of my pants. It’s a small pocket situated on the side of my knee, secured with a zip that keeps them from jingling noisily. It’s where I keep my bobby pins. Four of them. Two for the lock and two for spare. They’re already twisted and bent into position, ready for their infiltrating task.

  I learned lock-picking at the tender age of ten. Funnily enough, it’s a skill my father taught me. His reasoning? I don’t want my little girl ever being put in a position she can’t get out of.

  “Well, sorry, Dad,” I mutter under my breath as I jog toward the lowset red brick house. “This doesn’t really qualify as a position I can’t get out of, but I promise I’m using my powers for good and not for evil.”

  There’s a standard timber fence that sections the backyard from the front. When I find the gate, I turn and give the neighbourhood a quick scan as I slide on a pair of black leather gloves. Satisfied I haven’t been seen, I put my hand through the large hole that serves as a handle and check the latch. It’s padlocked, but tonight is my lucky night because it isn’t secured. It’s left hanging off the sliding bolt, seemingly forgotten. I unhook it quietly and glide the bolt across in one smooth motion, opening the gate. I wince when I close it behind me and it creaks.

  I can’t help but notice her yard, even in the dark. It can do with some work. The grass is overgrown and brown, and the untrimmed trees are in desperate need of love, but I’m not here to perform landscaping miracles. I need to get in and get out.

  My breath comes in short pants as I jog lightly to the back of the house. Christ, I’m a bit unfit, I realise. I take a moment to compose myself while I check the back door. It shows a simple pin and tumbler lock. Sticking one bobby pin in the lock to apply pressure on the barrel, I insert the one I’ve bent into a pick and spend five long damn minutes finding the internal seized pin. After hearing an audible click, I move on to the next pin, and the next, until all five internal pins are released and the lock turns.

  I grin as the door opens. “Come to Momma.”

  The next morning I wake successful, and still dressed in my ‘robbers’ outfit, having crawled into bed and fallen asleep in the early hours. I’d started off the search in Morgan’s bedroom and it hadn’t lasted long. After rifling through a few drawers, and flicking through some books and papers on her desk, I moved to her bed, lifted the mattress, and there it was. Scanning the pages quickly, a few words popped out at me: autopsy and Daniels. Knowing I had the reports Casey needed, a grin of satisfaction spread across my face as I fled the scene.

  With a low chuckle, I roll over on my bed to eyeball the stolen file that I’d slapped on my bedside table last night before crashing.

  I’m feeling rather pleased with myself until my gaze encounters Jake. My gleeful chortle dies a quick death.

  He’s leaning against my bedroom wall, bare-chested, arms folded, and wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer-briefs and a furious glare.

  My gaze drops to the bed where Jake has laid out the black beanie used to cover my pale hair and the black leather gloves that kept my fingerprints from any surface I came in contact with.

  Fuck. The sun is streaming in through the blinds, and I know it must be late morning already. Clearly I’d forgotten to set the morning alarm. A rookie mistake. And now I need to get past the gauntlet that is Jake and somehow get the file to Casey before he enacts his own plan to retrieve it.

  My eyes flick up, meeting his. “Morning,” I say coolly.

  His jaw ticks. “Care to explain?”

  Jake’s car keys rest on top of the report file, and I know he’s seen them. Not only had I performed a break and enter last night, I had also added car theft to my criminal repertoire. Explaining that will likely cause my untimely death. I pretend to consider his question for a moment. “Not really.”

  Jake pushes off from the wall and moves toward the bed, bringing him closer. “Well you’re going to.”

  “No,” I say, casually sliding across the mattress and away from Jake. “Not today. I have things to—”

  Putting one knee on the bed, Jake leans across and grabs the back of my long-sleeved shirt in his fist. He yanks and I hear the distinct sound of a riiipppppp.

  “My shi
rt,” I gasp as I fly through the air and land on my back on the mattress with a hard bounce.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass about your shirt,” he growls, climbing on the bed and straddling my body.

  His hard thighs trap me in place, and his hands pin mine to the bed. Moving will likely end with a cracked rib.

  Jake leans his face down until I can’t look anywhere but in his eyes. “You can start with why you’re dressed like a thieving little bandit.”

  “Because I stole your car.”

  “Why did you steal my car?”

  “Because I couldn’t get a cab.”

  I actually considered calling for a taxi, but then my movements would be on public record, easily placing me at the scene. I’d had to rule it out.

  “Stop leading me in circles, Princess, and spit it out. What did you do?”

  I huff deeply, letting my frustration out. Jake isn’t going to just drop this. It leaves me with two choices: lie or be honest. I chose door number two, because while I sometimes keep things from Jake, he doesn’t deserve outright deceit.

  I spill out my early hours’ adventure, rethinking my choice of honesty as he sits back on the bed, his fury a slow-building thunderstorm.

  There’s silence for a tense moment when I finish speaking.

  “You committed a felony,” he says in a soft voice. I’m not fooled by the tone. His anger is a barely leashed lion. “And you used my car to do it.”

  My lips press into a thin line. I hadn’t thought that particular implication through, and now I’m angry at myself. “I’m sorry.”

  His expression narrows to one of vengeful retribution. “Oh, you’ll be sorry.”

  “I will?”

  “When I paddle your ass.”

  “Jake—”

  “Shut it,” he growls, his voice rising. “You broke into a detective’s house. You stole her property. You—”

  “Casey’s property,” I mutter.

  “Don’t interrupt me when I’m explaining your stupidity to you.”

  That gets my back up. “Stupidity? I parked down the street. I had that lock picked in three minutes.” It was actually over five, but if there’s ever a time for exaggeration … “I was in and out of that house, with the file, in under eight minutes.” It was really ten minutes, maybe a bit more. “I left that room exactly as I found it. And I didn’t get caught.”

  “Yes you did,” Jake corrects. “By me.”

  “Rookie mistake,” I mumble under my breath, because I seem to have made a few of those. Perhaps I still have a little left to learn.

  Disappointment darkens his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were going to do?”

  “So you could stop me?”

  Jake shakes his head, mirthless laughter escaping his lips. “If I’ve learned one thing, there’s no stopping you from doing anything once you have a mind to do it. At the least, I would’ve gone with you.”

  “You would’ve …” I trail off.

  He holds out a hand, palm up. “Let’s go.”

  I take it. “Go?”

  “To deliver the file to Casey at the hospital,” Jake explains, leading me off the bed. “The sooner he has it, the better right?”

  My thoughts exactly, but it turns out that talking about delivering the file and actually doing it are two different things. Deciding not to waste time getting changed, we drive to the hospital, Jake’s jaw grinding over the numerous times he has to adjust his seat to get it right.

  When we arrive, Jake peels off toward the cafeteria to get coffee, and I go in the other direction, cradling the report—now placed inside an A4 sized yellow envelope—in my right arm.

  “Excuse me,” booms the voice of hellfire itself.

  I pretend not to hear and quicken my pace along the corridor of Casey’s ward. Houlihan is bearing down. The nurse runs her ward like a prison. Getting inside a patient’s room involves triplicate forms, the third degree, and potentially a pack of cigarettes as a bribe, if I had the nerve to try. I don’t. She’d probably crush them in her meaty fist.

  “You there!” she booms, her voice closing in.

  I begin to jog, turning to see where she’s situated. My glance encounters no one. Turning back around, I find Houlihan standing right in front of me. I come to an abrupt halt before smacking into her.

  “He’s resting,” she growls.

  I wave the envelope, my evidence, and force a polite smile. “I just need to deliver this.”

  “This is not a mailroom. It’s a hospital. Take your envelope and deliver it during visitation hours.”

  Okay, now she’s beginning to piss me off. I tried nice, even when she came out swinging. All gloves are off now. “Step aside,” I command, my eyes narrowing. “This matter is urgent.”

  “I don’t care if your matter is from the Prime Minister himself. You can wait until visiting hours or I can call security.”

  “And visiting hours are when?”

  Her lips purse. “Ten through to twelve and two ‘til four.”

  I glance at my watch. The display shows 9:55am. Is Houlihan kidding me? When I look back up, her squiggly eyebrows have snapped together and are focused on a man in scrubs entering her nurse’s station. According to his tags and the stethoscope around his neck, he’s clearly a doctor. Apparently even those lofty credentials aren’t going to save him from breaching her domain.

  “Goddammit,” she mutters in her gravelly tone. “Don’t move.”

  Houlihan marches toward the intruder and with her back turned, I grab the handle of the door she was guarding and bolt inside, forgetting my plan to slip the envelope underneath it. Hell, I forgot about the damn envelope itself after that altercation.

  Casey is fully dressed and standing by his bed.

  “Christ you were right, Casey,” I mutter, rolling the tension from my neck. “Houlihan is hardcore.”

  Then my gaze takes in the entire private room. Jared and Travis are standing by the other side of the door, and here I am waving the evidence of my thievery in their faces. I tuck it quickly behind my back. It’s not my smoothest move. I’m beginning to realise that stealing the file had been the easy part. Actually getting it to Casey is the part requiring finesse, and I’m failing miserably. It doesn’t help that they always think the worst when it comes to me.

  Casey narrows his eyes. “What’s that?”

  “What … this?” I bring the envelope back out looking at it as though it miraculously just appeared in my hand.

  “Yes. That.”

  “I’m not sure,” I tell him, widening my eyes in an attempt to portray a baffled expression. “I found it on the floor outside your room just now.”

  “Jared,” Casey says, not taking his gazing from mine. “Was that envelope on the floor outside when you walked in five minutes ago?”

  I look everywhere but at any of them, knowing I’m about to get caught.

  “No,” Jared growls.

  Tension crackles in the room.

  “Well, fun chat,” I tell them in a casual tone, knowing it’s best to leave now rather than die for my efforts. I can’t imagine there ever being a good time to deliver stolen goods, but here and now, with my brothers in attendance, is clearly the worst time in the history of the world. “But I’ve got shit to do.”

  I turn.

  Jared bars the door.

  “Out of my way,” I bark, panic clawing its way up my throat.

  Travis snatches the envelope from my hand and gives it to Casey. Shit. I turn back to Jared. “Move, asshead!” I boom.

  But he doesn’t budge. There’s nothing I can do, so I stand back and watch hell break loose before my very eyes.

  It starts with Casey checking the contents of the envelope. He flicks through the papers, his hands beginning to shake. “Mac,” he breathes. “How did you …”

  Travis eyeballs the report and visibly jerks. When Jared asks what it is and Casey tells him, they turn and look at me, all three taking in my uncharacteristic outfit with
dawning comprehension.

  What ensues is a lot of yelling, bulging veins, and sweeping arm gestures.

  “I only did what you guys were going to do anyway,” I say, using a cool tone in an attempt to diffuse the anger. It’s a bad choice because it only fuels the escalating situation.

  “After we finished her background check and knew what we were dealing with!” Casey roars then flings words at me like “danger” and “putting your life on the line.”

  My own rage builds. That report is a gift. It’s supposed to help and a little appreciation won’t go astray. Maybe even a little admiration at my expertise and aptitude for completing such a daring mission. “And what if Morgan destroyed it while you were all dithering around with background checks?”

  “Then it would have been too damn bad!” Casey yells back, going nose to nose with me, his fury far exceeding mine. “What you did was stupid and dangerous and not worth risking your life!”

  My expression softens, and I throw his words back in his face. “I happen to think you’re worth it, Casey.”

  He sags like a whipped puppy.

  I know then that I have him and that I’ll live to see another day, at least until Jared and Travis start in. Before I can defend myself, Travis has my bicep in a painful grip and starts marching me out the door, saying, “We’re going to have a conversation, Mackenzie ‘Lone Wolf’ Valentine, and by conversation I mean I’m going to talk and you are going to keep your piehole shut and listen.”

  Jake is walking up the corridor when we emerge, takeout coffee cup in hand. I jerk free of my brother. “Enough, Trav.”

  “Enough?” His brows shoot up. “I haven’t even started with you yet.”

  “And you’re not going to,” Jake says mildly, reaching my side.

  “Jake—” he begins.

  “Mac did what any of you would have done yourself had you known about it, so let her be, okay?”

  Travis flares his nostrils. “But she’s—”

  “What? Your sister? Yeah, she is. And you should be proud she has the courage and loyalty to stand up for her friends and family the way she does. Would you rather she turn her back on them when they’re in need?”