Committed (30 page)

“I am not going to play merry-go-round here.” He chuckled and glanced in the rearview mirror.

A blue sedan rounded the corner of his street, almost thirty yards behind him. He noticed the license plate more than anything else. He could remember the first three digits perfectly.

Poppy chattered away, but he didn’t listen to her. Instead, he slowed down to the point of coasting to see what the other car would do. It slowed for a moment, then sped up. He pulled over and waited for the other car to pass them, at a little more than normal speed.

Two men sat in the front. The one in the passenger seat was a heavyset Hispanic male
who glared at him as he passed.

“What are you doing?” Poppy asked.

Damien pulled out his phone and recorded the license plate before he could forget the numbers or the description of the man inside.

“Damien?”

“That car, I think I’ve seen it before. I’m going to look it up later.” He tried for a nonchalant voice, but from the silence coming from Poppy, he had a bad feeling that he’d failed. He glanced up to find her studying him, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Look, I’ve never had anything happen to me, my family, or my house. This”—he wiggled the phone at her—“is being cautious.”

“Is what you do so dangerous?”

He could lie to her. It would be easy enough, but it would still be a lie.

“Yes. There’s an idea that if you don’t have at least a few hits out on your life, you aren’t a good enough agent.”

“What? What’s to keep people from killing you, then?”

“Economics. It doesn’t make sense for some gang to off me, put themselves and their business at risk. They just have a hit out so it looks as if they’re cracking down against The Man.”

Poppy’s face was lined with worry.

“Would you like for me to take you home?” he asked, even though it killed him.

“No, but now I’m even more worried about you.”

“I’m not that easy to scare off or kill. I’ve been doing this a long time.” He reached over and squeezed her hand.

She held his hand and didn’t say anything more. At least he’d taken her mind off the surprise waiting at his house.

Damien eased back out onto the street, circled the block and pulled into his drive.

“Is there a bathroom I can change in real quick?” she asked.

“Through the living room, under the stairs in the hall.”

She scooped up her bag from the backseat and wrapped her coat around her once more. He got out of the car, shaking his head and laughing at her.

An engine growled. He glanced up as the blue car rolled by his house, the passenger-side window rolled down. The heavyset man held his forefinger and thumb up to form a gun, and jabbed it at him.

Damien gave the car his thousand-yard stare and watched them pass. Who had he ticked off this time? The list was long already, but now he had something precious to protect.

Poppy pushed the front door open and leaned in.

Please let them be at the back of the house
.

Three women sat in the living room, staring back at her, each one’s brows rising higher than the other’s.

“Hello, there,” the oldest said. She wiggled her fingers at Poppy.

“Go in.” Damien gave her a little push.

Her fate was sealed. There was nothing to be done except step into the lion’s lair, though Poppy wanted nothing more than to dive into the bushes and huddle there until the ground opened up and swallowed her whole.

Damien pushed the front door open and took that choice away from her. He ushered her in, arm around her waist.

“Hey.” He grinned at the assembled trio. “All my beautiful ladies in one place. What a lucky man I am.”

Damien made the rounds, hugging each woman and kissing them on the cheek, while Poppy hovered in the doorway, clutching her bag with both hands.

“Who is this?” Grandma said, peering at Poppy from across the room. She wore a red velour tracksuit and appeared very kind.

“This is Poppy.” Damien returned to her side and pulled her farther into the living room.

“Oh, and what does Poppy do?” the other black woman asked. Poppy assumed the younger black woman was Damien’s aunt. She had his smile, evident by the upturned twist of her lips.

“I’m a librarian,” Poppy said. People didn’t freak her out—but meeting Damien’s family was a challenge she hadn’t prepared herself for.

“An educated girl.” Grandma wagged her finger at Damien. “She’s smart. Tie this one up fast and don’t let her get away.”

Poppy’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head. Did his family know?

“Grandma, stop. You’re going to scare my girl.” Damien’s mother rose to her feet from the sofa. Here was where Damien’s height came from. The woman was model-tall and graceful as she crossed the modest living room. She didn’t give Poppy any warning, just enfolded her in a tight squeeze. “Hello, dear. Don’t mind them.”

Damien took her bag, freeing her hands to return the hug.

“What are you ladies doing here?” Damien asked the room at large.

“Honey, we ain’t seen you in so long we had to come and make sure you had a pulse,” Grandma replied.

Damien had the grace to appear a little sheepish. “I know, I know.”

“But now we know why we haven’t seen you lately, and it ain’t because of work,” his aunt added. “By the way, since my nephew has no manners, I’m Ira.”

“Nice to meet—”

“Oh, heavens, didn’t I teach you better manners than that?” Damien’s mother scowled at him before smiling at Poppy. “I’m Monica, but you can always call me Mom.” She finished with a wink.

“I’m too old to be anything but Grandma,” Grandma announced from her chair.

“Nice to meet you.” Poppy clasped her hands in front of her.

“Here, let me take your jacket, since my son can’t seem to remember his manners.” Monica opened a narrow door behind Poppy, revealing a tiny coat closet. A very familiar black suitcase sat in the bottom of it.

Poppy clutched her jacket. “Oh, that’s not necessary—”

“Poppy was at an event earlier and she didn’t have time to change before I picked her up, so she’s worried about her outfit.” Damien tugged the coat off her shoulders.

“Oh, my, aren’t you a doll?” Ira crooned. “Is that a tattoo?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Poppy replied, inwardly cringing.

“Those colors are beautiful. It could be part of the dress.” Ira propped her chin on her fist, content to study her from the sofa.

“You look like—oh, what’s her name?” Monica snapped her fingers.

“Rapunzel?” Damien placed his hands on her shoulders, his heat at her back. She didn’t need to see his face to know he was grinning.

“Yes, she even has the hair for it.” Monica pushed the sleeves on her shirt up to her elbows.

“Great, because that’s what you were going for, wasn’t it?” Damien asked.

“Yeah, you hit it on the head.” Poppy clasped her hands in front of her and took several deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart.

“Well we brought dinner by, but since you have a guest, we can show ourselves out.” Grandma made a show of putting her hands on the armrests, but never got up.

“Don’t be silly, Grandma,” Damien said with a laugh. “Stay a bit.”

“Can I change now?” Poppy whispered over her shoulder.

“Fine.” He handed her her bag and pointed down the hall. “Bathroom’s right there.”

The house was spacious, yet standing at the front door, Poppy could see most of the first floor. Stairs rose to the second level to her left, against the wall. A small hall led back to what appeared to be the dining area and a second den, though she could make out a pool table from here. To the right was a small office, and through an arched door the kitchen beckoned. But first, the bathroom.

Poppy slipped into the powder room and breathed a sigh of relief. She’d survived, but barely.

A few minutes ago, she’d blown Damien in his car, and now she’d met his whole family. She wiped her hand over her brow and examined her reflection.

Could they tell what she’d done?

There was no evidence on her face, though her hair was a bit messy. A quick re-braid and all was back to rights. Except for her dress.

Oh God, this is all Damien’s fault
.

She briefly considered putting on the outfit she’d brought for work the next day, but that was a stuffy, boring dress. Instead she put on her jeans and a black tank top. The bruises were still fully visible, so she wrapped her blue, patterned, silk scarf around her neck and let the ends hang down in front. It added a bit of color to her outfit. Good thing she’d thought to include something besides sexy underwear in her bag, which had been the situation at first. She’d tossed this outfit in at the last moment, just in case.

Poppy took a deep breath and exited the bathroom. She had a sneaking suspicion that if she stayed in here too long, Damien would come and find her.

She dropped her bag by the coat closet for lack of a better place to leave it. Everyone else had moved from the living room into the kitchen, where the lovely aroma of mouthwatering food wafted out to greet her. She paused to admire the living room.

The walls were a medium gray, with more of a green tone. Tribal masks and wooden implements of some sort hung on the wall. He’d mentioned his grandfather being a Maori tribesman from New Zealand. Were these things from there?

The furniture, leather armchairs and a corduroy sofa, was dark brown, and a massive sixty-inch TV took up the front wall. There were little trinkets on the built-in shelves behind the sofa that didn’t appear to be purchased from a store. She wanted to know all the stories, where
they were from, but her stomach rumbled.

Poppy followed her nose into the dark-wood and black-granite kitchen. Everything was a bit masculine side for her tastes, but it suited him.

The three women and Damien moved around each other, bantering and laughing as they uncovered steaming dishes and laid out paper plates. There was such a warm sense of family here; she almost felt like an interloper.

Damien’s gaze flicked to her and his smile widened. “
Star Trek
or
Star Wars
?”

The three women turned toward her, all activity stopped.

Did he even have to ask?

“
Star Wars
,” Poppy replied.

“Yes!” Ira pumped her fist.

“She’s my kind of girl.” Grandma winked at her.

Monica and Damien groaned.

“What?” Poppy crossed to the island and leaned against it, interested to see this family drama play out.

“I should have known.” Damien shook his head. “You and princesses.”

“That’s okay, Poppy can come sit on my side of the table, where she belongs.” Grandma grinned.

“We’ve been debating which is better,
Star Wars
or
Star Trek
. You just broke the tie,” Monica said.

Damien circled the island and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight. He whispered, “Do you have a Princess Leia costume, too?”

“I used to have the slave-girl outfit. It broke, though.”

“Damn.”

“All right, serve yourselves,” Grandma proclaimed.

They lined up around the counter, spooning plates full of food. Veggies smothered in butter and herbs, rotisserie chicken, and bread that smelled and looked homemade. Poppy loaded her plate with as much as she dared and carried it to the table.

Grandma was already seated at the head of the table. She took one peek at Poppy’s plate and shook her head. “Child, you need to eat more than that. Sit here by me.”

Poppy sat to her left, the windows at the back of the house behind her.

Damien grinned at her as he crossed to the table and handed her a bottle of water.

“No, sir, you sit on the other side of the table. She’s on my side.” Ira swatted Damien on the shoulder and pushed past him to take the seat next to Poppy, leaving Damien and his mother the other side.

There were smiles and laughter all around as they settled in for the meal. Most of the
conversation and jibes went over Poppy’s head, but she was more than happy to soak up the atmosphere. It was very different from what she’d known growing up.

In The House there were always plenty of people around, and she considered many who weren’t her blood to be family. There had been many a holiday like this meal, where the camaraderie and love knit them all together. But she never laughed like this with her mother, and motherhood had changed Rose, leaving Poppy behind.

“Tell us more about what you do.” Monica leaned toward her and all eyes followed.

“Oh, nothing exciting. I’m a high school librarian.” Poppy swiped a napkin across her mouth.

“Nonsense. You had to go to school to learn how to be one, didn’t you?” Grandma banged her glass on the table, scowling. “She has your gift for understatement, boy.”

“Yes, she does, Grandma.” Damien winked at her.

“I did go to school,” Poppy said.

“What do you study to be a librarian, anyways?” Ira asked.

“Well you have to get an undergraduate degree of your choice, then a master’s in library science.”

“Wow, all that schooling, you must have just graduated, child.” Grandma tapped her plate. “Keep eating.”

“I actually started college when I was in my teens, so it didn’t take as long as it would have had I started at eighteen.”

“I didn’t know that,” Damien said. “How’d you work that out?”

“I grew up in a commune and we had our own home-school network. I just doubled up on that, so I graduated early and started college at sixteen. I had my undergraduate when I was nineteen, and started my master’s at twenty.” She’d known an education was her way to the life she wanted.

Grandma leaned toward Damien while tapping Poppy’s plate once more. “Keep her. She’s smart.”

Damien chuckled. “I know, Grandma, I know.”

“Don’t tell her about all the stupid stuff you used to do. It’ll scare her off.”

“If you wouldn’t mention it, she’d never know.” Damien cupped his hand over his mouth, but didn’t lower his voice. The whole family seemed like trouble of the best kind.

“What doesn’t he want me to know?” Poppy leaned toward Ira and copied Damien with a hand over her mouth.