Poughkeepsie (37 page)

“You cleared the lot for the cops?” She gathered her hair in one hand and twirled it into a bun. She slid the knife in to hold it in place.

“I cleared it. Told the douchebags it was the cops, but it’s not.” Merkin tried not to let his voice trip. “The boss told me to tell you to leave. He’s on his way with a few new hookers. He said to tell you, and I quote, ‘I got what I fucking wanted. I’m a hit-it-and-quit-it kind of bastard. She’s fired.’”

Eve didn’t move. No emotion at all. Merkin had been very careful with his choice of words, and he really thought he’d gotten Beckett’s curses down pat.
Come on…Believe me. Get mad. Leave
.

She stood. “When does he arrive?”

“He didn’t want me to tell you. He said, ‘She needs to be a man and leave. You play, you fucking pay.’” Merkin let the rejection marinate in her brain. “I’m sorry, Eve. I really thought you two were good for each other. He can’t be tamed, I guess.” Merkin looked at his shoes with faux embarrassment for her situation.

Eve went to a trunk in Beckett’s office. She pulled out a huge duffle bag and began plucking guns off the wall. She grabbed fistfuls of ammunition boxes from the shelves and piled them in as well.

“You better get out of here, Merkin. Leave now.” Eve slung two Uzis over her shoulders.

When she turned he got a glimpse of her eyes. She was furious.
Fantastic.

She stomped out to the front lobby and cracked open the door to what Beckett had dubbed the “Oh Shit Closet.” Merkin had to look twice to be sure, but she
had
pulled a rocket-propelled grenade launcher out of its depths.
Holy fuck.

The actual rockets came next. Eve held the warheads with an unsettling expertise. She propped up the launcher and positioned the rocket with a sliding, metal-on-metal click. Watching her tuck the two other large rockets into her belt was almost comical—if they hadn’t been fully equipped to blow everything to hell and back.

She kicked open the glass doors and headed for the center of the parking lot. Merkin jumped in his car. He realized that when Eve had said
leave now
earlier, she’d meant, “Leave at this moment. I’m not warning you again.” Merkin floored the car and didn’t even let himself look back.
Eve just might do this job for me!

Cole finished making two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on white bread. He added two cold cans of orange soda and put it all on the tray Father Callahan sometimes used as a table to watch TV while he ate in his room.

After laughing and kissing and promising, he and Kyle were starving. He’d left her in his room, waiting, with the door closed. Saturdays were Father Callahan’s time to visit the housebound members of his congregation, offering them communion and prayer. Cole knew he had the church to himself for at least another three hours. He’d put two and two together and figured Livia had diverted the Pew Crew. He had to remember to thank her later. After investigating the parking lot, he knew her car was now gone.

He tried not to topple the tray as he hurried down the hallway to his small room. Kyle was all his for a few more hours. He let the happiness come from his feet to the top of his head.

But then the hallway felt wrong. There was too much air, lack of a barrier somewhere. His bedroom door was open.

Kyle probably had to use the bathroom
.

That made sense, so Cole wasn’t sure why his internal alarms were still going off. He could have done so many things differently in that instant—whether or not it would’ve changed the outcome, he’d never know—but he proceeded calmly. This was his safe, comforting church. His soul had finally found the arms of his beloved.
Kyle.

The splintered doorframe changed his mind from human to reptilian. He threw the tray through the doorway and entered with a scream.

Two men held Kyle, who’d been silenced with thick duct tape over her mouth. Focused on her, Cole never noticed the man just inside the doorway. The taser hit him in the neck. He fell, numb, but started flailing as soon as his body hit the ground. Animal. Primal.

Another stun blasted him.

“Fuck—is he on crack or something?” one of the men asked. But Cole looked only for her.

His limbs tingled and refused to cooperate. The men in the room wore surgical masks. He screamed again. His own name coming from the stun gun operator stopped his flailing.

“Cole, calm down or we’ll do more than kill her.”

Rage nearly melted his brain. He saw the set of plastic ties just before his wrists were bound together.

Oh. God. No. My hands. I can’t. Kyle
.

She seemed to be nodding, calm for his benefit. Duct tape with a gag attached was wound around his head. They pulled him to his knees and bound his ankles. He almost looked like he was praying.

Cole willed himself to have superhuman strength and strained against the ties.

The man who’d tied his bindings whispered in Cole’s ear. “Fun being the brother of a mobster, huh?”

Cole could not look away from Kyle’s eyes. The whispering man pulled Cole’s cell phone from his pocket. He scrolled through the options before pointing the phone at Cole. The phone’s camera was still factory-programmed with a happy “Say Cheese” before the sound of a camera shutter.

“Now that’s just lovely,” the man sneered. He turned the phone to show Cole the image of himself, bound and gagged. “I’m gonna send that to a special recipient when the time is just right.”

Beckett, of course.

It was a message, a warning, and a threat with the press of a single button. Cole was bait.

The picture-taker hefted Cole over his shoulder. Cole lost sight of Kyle’s eyes.

“Did you get anything back from him? What’d he say? Kill her?” asked one of the attackers.

I love you. Dear Jesus. I love her. No. No.

Cole knew what the chemical smell on the cloth over his nose meant. He took one breath, and his last conscious thought was simple:
Kyle
.

29

Don’t Give Up on Me. Please.

L
IVIA
C
RINGED
A
T
H
ER
father’s words and looked over at Blake. He’d stopped his practice handshake mid-swing. Livia watched hope die in his eyes. Blake had wanted to meet John man to man. But now…

Blake tried to smile at Livia, but only one side of his lip went up. Livia interrupted her father before he could say anything else.

“Dad, I have my friend, Blake Hartt, here to meet you.” Livia tried to convey warning and begging with her eyes.

John stepped in and took off his hat. Livia felt every emotion her heart could hold when Blake stepped forward to greet her father, despite the words he’d just heard. John assessed Blake while rubbing a thumb over his mouth. Livia reached out to touch Blake’s lower back. She outlined a heart with her finger.
I’m proud of you, no matter what happens here
.

Livia knew where to start—she’d learned from Blake’s wonderful manners.

“John McHugh, this is Blake Hartt. Blake, this is my father.” Livia left her hand on Blake’s back, hoping to convey her attachment and acceptance.

Blake nodded and held out his hand, which John grasped firmly. “Sir, it’s a pleasure to see you again. I owe you such gratitude for your many acts of kindness.”

John stepped back from their handshake. “It’s no problem,” he grumbled.

Livia looked from one man to the other. Her father looked embarrassed, and Blake’s shoulders showed a certain slump Livia recognized from before they’d first spoken—when they had just her smiles between them.

“Wait—hold the phone. You two know each other?” Livia felt a little lightheaded.

John shuffled his feet and observed the movement as if it was endlessly fascinating.

Blake turned to Livia. “We were never formally introduced. When your father sees me at the train station from his patrol car, he often stops by later in the day with a bagged meal that he refuses to let me turn down. You, Livia, inherit your generous nature from him.”

Blake did his best to seem cool and collected, but irony coated the room, thick and palpable. Blake ever buying an oven seemed a reckless dream. His homelessness came into sharp relief.

Livia held tight to her heart.
This doesn’t change anything
.
Blake’s the right person for me.

John twisted his hat in his hands and stayed silent.

“Dad, thank you. I had no idea. I wish I’d been smart enough to do that very thing for Blake sooner.” She grabbed Blake’s hand with both of her own and put a kiss on the back of it, forcing a jaunty wink and smile.

He looked at her, but he was only a shadow now. Livia gave him a warning look. He shook his head sadly and in total defeat. Standing in the house of a man who’d brought him food, with his daughter holding his hand, seemed to break some sort of honor code for Blake.

Livia felt her heart beating in her ears. “Don’t give up on me. Please,” she said softly.

He nodded and took a deep breath.

Livia looked at her father’s uniform as if for the first time. His badge had just a number, nothing that said John McHugh and no way for Blake to know he’d been about to meet a benefactor who’d seen him at his worst and taken pity on him.

Livia watched Blake crumble like ash from a burnt cigarette. One stiff wind and he would disintegrate.

John seemed to note Livia’s distress. “Hey, did you guys eat? Should I order a pizza?”

More food offered to Blake. Livia knew what he was thinking—that he hadn’t earned it.
Crap.

“No. Thank you, sir. Livia was kind enough to make me a meal. I appreciate the offer. I would imagine you might wish to spend some private moments with your daughter right now.” Blake made a motion for the door.

Livia squeezed his hand.
I’m not letting you go.

Blake turned to John. “I know you already know this, Mr. McHugh, but your daughter is the most exceptional person I’ve ever had the honor of meeting. She’s a testament to your dedication as a parent.” He squeezed Livia’s hand back.

“Livia and her sister always do me proud. I only want the best for them.” John said the words with kindness, but Livia heard them through Blake’s ears. Disappointment and suspicion were sandwiched around fatherly pride.

“Again, sir. It was a pleasure meeting you.” Blake leaned in and shook John’s hand once more.

Livia looked at her dad. “I’ll be right back. I’ll whip you up something for dinner. Don’t order in.”

She watched as Blake slid the mask out from beneath her sunglasses and pocketed it discreetly. He held the door open for her and followed close behind. She smiled a little when she felt him sniff her hair. Under the little awning over the front door, Blake remained in the shade.

He seemed to be drinking in her face, looking
at
her instead of into her.

“Stop. Stop that. This isn’t goodbye.”

Blake pulled her left hand to his mouth and kissed her ring finger. “I’m still glad it’s empty. He never deserved you. Of that, I’m very sure.”

Livia saw moisture in his eyes. “You’re saying goodbye.
No
. Here’s what
I’m
sure of. I’ll walk away from this house right now, wearing only what I have on my back and be happy. With you I can taste forever—it’s right here.” Livia pointed at her lips and then kissed his.

Blake allowed the kiss, but mumbled a question as well, “How many shotguns does he have?”

“Not enough to get me away from you.” Livia traced his jaw.

Blake took her hand and kissed her palm, then her forehead, “Livia, go in there and let him talk to you. He’s a father. I’d want to talk to my daughter at a moment like this. Let’s give him that respect.”