Promises I Made (10 page)

The next afternoon I walked cautiously to the Town Center and took the bus to Redondo Beach. I wasn't crazy about being so visible, but I couldn't stay locked up in the pool house if I wanted to help Parker. Besides, the odds of Detective Fletcher being at the Town Center on two consecutive days were slim, and I was craving the ocean. Like an addict who'd taken one hit, I was jonesing for my old life in Playa Hermosa, trying to connect with it in the only ways I could.

I'd known the moment I opened my eyes what I had to do, and I got off the bus and headed for the cluster of shops in an area called the Riviera Village. I was still being paranoid, and I made a mental note to ask Marcus about the cell phone and whether a pay-as-you-go could be traced. The thought caused me to relax, not because I trusted Marcus, but because I'd finally have someone to commiserate with,
someone to ask all the little things I didn't know about being on the run.

The marine layer was back, a damp blanket overhead that turned everything a muddy shade of gray. I ducked into a secondhand store, where I overpaid for two pairs of capris, three T-shirts, and a sundress. I would have preferred a Goodwill or Salvation Army—that was where the really cheap stuff was—but hell would freeze over before the locals would agree to have a real thrift store in their midst.

I left the store with my purchases and walked west, sitting on one of the benches that overlooked the beach. In front of me, a long retaining wall stood above the water with a steep set of stairs every hundred feet or so that led to the strand. The waves were calm, and I watched a few surfers catch the gentle swells, riding them a few feet before sinking slowly into the water.

Finally I took out my phone and dialed the number Marcus had given me, before I could change my mind. Someone picked up on the second ring.

“Yeah.” The voice was male and gruff.

“Hello, I'm calling for Marcus.”

“Number?” The guy sounded bored, like I was calling for a taxi or something. Remembering Marcus's instructions, I recited my cell phone number. The man hung up without saying good-bye.

I looked down at the phone and waited. It rang less than a minute later.

“Hello.”

“How are you on this fine day, my dear?” Marcus asked the question like he cared about the answer, like he wanted to know that I was enjoying the weather.

“I'm fine,” I said. “I'm calling to say yes. I'll work with you.”

“Wonderful,” he said. “Let's meet to discuss the details, shall we?”

“Sure. Where?”

“Where are you? I'll come to you.”

I tried to think of a way to explain my location without being too obvious, just in case I was wrong about the phone. “A little north of where we were yesterday.”

“Ah,” he said. “I understand. Are you near the road?”

I glanced behind me, like I needed to make sure the street was still there even though I could hear the cars whizzing by at my back. “Yes.”

“I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”

He disconnected the call before I could say anything else.

I watched the seagulls fly circles over the water, turning and dipping, sometimes dropping to pluck something off the surface. I should have been nervous. I'd just agreed to work with Marcus, a man I didn't know at all. His desire for revenge and my desperation to save Parker were the only things that united us. Not exactly the makings of a solid business partnership.

But I couldn't muster the energy to care. Being afraid was exhausting, and I'd been afraid more often than not the past few months—probably the past few years, if I was
honest. Now a kind of peace settled over me. I needed help, and I'd called the only person who was offering it. If he turned out to be a traitor or a liar, well, how much worse could things get?

About ten minutes after I'd hung up with Marcus, the sound of traffic behind me changed, the whoosh of cars driving by fading against the soft purr of an idling engine.

I turned to see a familiar blue Range Rover next to the curb. A moment later, the passenger-side window retracted with a hum, and Marcus's face appeared from the across the front seat.

“Get in,” he said. “We'll go somewhere more private.”

I picked up my stuff and walked slowly to the car. This was it. Moment of truth. For all I knew, Marcus would drive me right to the police station or hack me to bits and dump me in the nearest ditch. Not that it mattered.

I got in the car and shut the door, and Marcus merged into the traffic along PCH.

“I'm glad you called,” he said.

I didn't know what to say.
I didn't have a choice
?
You are my last resort
? Neither seemed like a good way to start our partnership.

“I just want to get Parker out of jail,” I said. “The sooner the better.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

“Where are we going?” I asked as he turned toward Playa Hermosa.

He glanced over at me, his blue eyes clear and alert. His
crazy hair was hidden under a bucket hat, the kind old men wore fishing in movies, and he had on another obnoxious Hawaiian shirt. “I'm taking you home. My home,” he clarified. “I have a feeling you haven't had a decent meal in a while, and I've found that being hungry affects decision-making capability. Can't have a hungry partner now, can I?”

“I guess not,” I said weakly. I couldn't tell if he was just nice or if it was some kind of act, like a creeper trying to get a kid in a van by offering him a lollipop.

We wound our way up the peninsula, passing Camino Jardin. I looked back as we passed the road we'd both lived on in the fall. “I thought you said we were going to your house.”

“We are. My new house. I couldn't risk staying on Camino Jardin. Not if I hoped to find you and enlist your help. The house Cormac rented while you were here is still vacant, and the police were still doing drive-bys after you left.” He turned onto a street called Colina Verde. “I wanted to be close in case you reappeared, but if you did, I didn't want to draw unnecessary attention, which is why I rented another place on the peninsula.”

I turned in my seat to watch a peacock strutting calmly down the side of the street.

“Beautiful, aren't they?” he asked.

I nodded.

He pulled the Range Rover into a driveway behind a nondescript sedan. “Here we are.” He turned to look at me. “You did a good job with your hair and makeup. We wouldn't
have recognized you if we hadn't been looking, and I don't think anyone else will either.”

I didn't have time to ponder his use of the word
we
as I got out of the car and followed him to the front door of a bungalow-style house. It was small but cute, with wood siding and large windows. The front yard was boxed in with towering trees and large bushes covered with tiny blue flowers. A winding stone pathway led to a carved wood door that was at least seven feet tall.

Marcus inserted a key into the lock and turned the knob, then held the door open so I could enter the foyer first. “Honey, I'm home,” he called out. His voice held a note of silliness that seemed strangely in character.

The interior was cool and dim, the trees and bushes outside blocking most of the murky daylight. I looked past the two-story foyer, the curved wrought-iron staircase leading to the second floor, wondering who else was in the house.

“Be right there!” a muffled voice called from somewhere beyond the hallway.

Marcus turned to me and winked.

A moment later footsteps sounded from the back of the house. I peered through the shadows at the approaching figure until a man appeared, holding a dish towel. He was younger than Marcus, tall and broad-shouldered, with skin the color of roasted coffee beans. He smiled, flashing teeth so white he could have been in a toothpaste commercial.

He leaned in to kiss Marcus on the cheek. “Did you get the lemons?”

Marcus handed him a bag that I hadn't noticed before. “You say ‘jump,' I say ‘how high,' remember?” He didn't seem unhappy about the arrangement.

The man favored Marcus with a smile before turning to me. “You must be Grace.” He held out his hand. “I'm Scotty. Come on back to the kitchen. You're probably starving.”

Scotty bustled around the kitchen, finishing a salad while Marcus took steaks and corn on the cob to the grill on the back deck. I was tongue-tied by the strange situation, although I don't know what was weirder, the fact that I was in an unfamiliar house witnessing the kind of domestic intimacy I'd only ever seen at the Fairchilds' or the fact that we were all con artists. Or Marcus and I were, anyway.

“So every day he drove twenty miles over the speed limit on that road,” Scotty was saying, “and three days in a row I gave him a ticket. Finally I said, ‘Either you're going to ask me to dinner or I'm going to have your license revoked.' And the rest, as they say, is history.”

“You're a police officer?” I said, my heart tapping out a frenzied rhythm in my chest. What was I doing here? I didn't know these people. What had I been thinking?

“Was,” he corrected. “And don't let that scare you. I know all about Marcus's previous . . . endeavors. We went clean together.”

“So Marcus isn't grifting anymore?” I asked.

“That was our deal: I quit the force, Marcus quit the business, and we started over.” Scotty set tongs in the salad and tipped his head at the French doors leading to the deck. “Let's eat. Those steaks smell done, and if we don't stop him, Marcus will grill them until they're like charcoal.”

I followed him outside. The backyard was green and lush. Flower beds curved along each side, a riot of red, purple, white, and orange. Jasmine bloomed close to the ground, releasing its scent across the lawn, and bird-of-paradise, an odd-looking flower with pointed petals that resembled a beak, jutted up from behind peonies and roses. A Buddha statue, serene in the lotus position, was visible behind some of the bushes. Bird feeders swung from the trees at regular intervals. I could picture Marcus filling them as he talked to the parrots.

“Did Scotty tell you?” Marcus said, turning away from the steaks still on the grill. “I traded a life of glamour and excitement to play house with a cop.”

Scotty removed the tongs from Marcus's hands and pulled the steaks off the grill. “Don't act like you don't love it.”

We sat around the outdoor table, and Scotty loaded my plate up with a giant steak and two ears of corn. My mouth watered as the steak's aroma rose from the plate, and I tried
to restrain myself from cutting giant bites and shoving them into my mouth faster than I could chew. I was hungrier than I thought.

While we ate, we talked about Playa Hermosa, about the peacock controversy, and about Southern California beaches. I knew they were steering clear of Cormac and Renee, of the Fairchild con, trying to give me time to relax and eat, and for just a little bit I felt normal. Like I could be anyone, just an average girl having dinner with family friends.

Scotty was pouring more wine when Marcus finally spoke. “I've been looking into Parker's situation, and I'm guessing we have about six weeks before he goes to trial.”

The words washed away my contentment as quickly as a rogue wave. Six weeks. That was all the time we had to figure out Cormac's sources, to come up with something to trade for Parker's freedom.

I set my fork down on my plate. “That's not very long.” I looked around the backyard, nervous about talking outside.

Marcus glanced from me to the radio playing softly on the deck. “As long as we don't talk too loudly, the music will block our conversation outside, and we have a signal jammer in the house that prevents listening devices from picking up anything. But you don't have to worry here. I'm squeaky clean. Have been for years.”

I nodded, still nervous after years of training by Cormac, who insisted we not talk outside of a designated War Room.

“I don't have enough information to lead us to Cormac's sources before Parker goes to trial,” I said.

Marcus tapped his cigar onto the deck, and Scotty glared at him in disapproval. “We're not going after Cormac's sources.”

“But . . . I thought that's what we agreed. To pool our information and go after Cormac's support network. Shut them down and trade the information for Parker.”

Marcus took a long draw on the cigar, his face thoughtful, before answering. “The thing is, most of the people who support us are decent. They live by an honor code, only do business when it serves a certain purpose. It wouldn't be right to rat them out.”

I shook my head, confused. “Then what am I doing here?” I had to force my voice steady, work to keep it from turning shrill. “I only agreed to work with you because I thought we wanted the same thing.”

“We do,” Marcus said. “You want Parker's freedom, right?”

I nodded.

“Well, I want to out Cormac.” I was just beginning to get his point when he spoke again. “Which is why we're not going after Cormac's sources—we're going after him. And maybe Renee, too, although word on the street is she might be tougher to find.”

I imagined Renee, reclining on a beach somewhere while the money from Warren's gold racked up interest in an offshore account. I wondered if she ever thought of me, if she ever felt bad about leaving me behind or if I had been just another mark. I hated myself for even caring.

“I don't know where Renee is,” I said. “And I don't know where Cormac is, either. Not for sure. I mean, he was in Seattle the last time I saw him. But Detective Castillo said—”

Scotty lifted his eyebrows. “Raul Castillo?”

I nodded.

Marcus set his cigar in the ashtray on the table and leaned forward. “Do you mean to tell me you talked to the police?”

I swallowed hard, suddenly scared that Marcus might change his mind about working with me. “Only to Detective Castillo. And it was off the record.”

“Off the record?” Marcus sighed. “Tell me everything.”

I explained my phone calls to Raul Castillo and our meeting at the promenade, including the part about Detective Fletcher and my sighting of him at the Town Center. They didn't speak, didn't even interrupt me to ask questions. When I was done, Scotty stood to take our empty plates into the kitchen.

“How do you know Castillo didn't have you followed?” Marcus asked. “That he didn't tail you to the beach? Follow us here?”

I couldn't help but be insulted. “I'm smarter than that. No one followed me. Castillo didn't even follow me after our meeting. He left first, and I didn't go straight back to my hotel. And Fletcher definitely didn't follow me to Selena's house, or I wouldn't be here right now.”

Marcus studied me without speaking.

“Look,” I said, uncomfortable with Marcus's silence even though I'd been trained to sit through them, waiting
for a mark to spill their guts, “I had to talk to somebody. I didn't know you then. I was alone. I needed information about Parker, about what I could do to help him. And Detective Castillo seems like he cares, like he wants to help me.” I shook my head, feeling naive. “That's probably hard to believe.”

Marcus shook his head. “Not hard at all, in fact.” He sighed. “Okay, let's establish some ground rules before we get started.”

The thought of rules made me angry. I'd lived by Cormac and Renee's rules, and look where it had gotten me. I needed Marcus, but that didn't mean I had to play the part of loyal puppy dog.

“I'm listening,” I said.

“We'll keep it simple,” he said as Scotty returned for the serving platters. “You don't contact Detective Castillo, or anyone from law enforcement, without speaking to me first and considering my suggestions for security protocol.”

“Considering them?”

He nodded. “I'm a practical man. And you're a smart girl. I'm confident you'll do the right thing when our freedom is at stake. But the choice will be yours.”

“Go ahead,” I prompted.

“I'd like to suggest you move from Ms. Rodriguez's house. It makes you, and by extension us, vulnerable.”

“I don't have anywhere else to go,” I said.

“You can stay here—for now,” Scotty said, setting a fruit tart on the table. “We have two guest bedrooms.”

I looked down at the table. I knew it was risky to stay at Selena's. The pool people might hear me in the pool house. Her father could discover me. Selena might change her mind about helping me. And those were just the possibilities I could think of. But I'd started to hope that Selena and I might be friends again, that her visit to the pool house was the beginning of something new, a fresh start. What would happen to that if I left now?

“I'm not ready to leave Selena's,” I said. “And I just met you.” I cast a glance at Scotty, not sure why I felt the need to apologize to him for the slight. “Sorry.”

“No apology necessary. I get it,” he said.

Marcus drummed his fingers on the table. “All right. You'll stay at Selena's for the time being. But you give me your word that you won't speak of Scotty and me. Our security is intertwined now, yours and mine. I won't speak of you to anyone. Won't let anyone know you're back in town. But I need your word that you'll show us the same courtesy.”

“You have it,” I said.

“And if you get even a hint of trouble, you'll call us and come stay here,” Marcus added.

“Okay. What else?”

“We share everything,” Marcus said. “Every bit of information on Cormac and Renee and their operation. Nothing is held back. If we're going to be partners, we have to trust each other completely. I think I've demonstrated that trust to you. I'm counting on you to do the same.”

“I will,” I said. “I promise.”

“Then I'd say we have a deal—if my terms meet with your approval, of course.”

There was nothing snide in his voice, no hint of sarcasm.

I nodded, and Marcus raised his glass. “I propose a toast: to Parker's freedom,” he said. “And to giving karma the little push it sometimes needs.”