Fade To Midnight (20 page)

“I'll write you a note,” he suggested.

Giggles burst out before she could stop them. “I can't risk messing this dress up. Maybe later we can, ah, use it. As a prop.”

He grasped the skirt, and hiked it up, over her knees, her thighs. “You'd let me fuck you?” he asked, sounding fascinated. “In this dress?”

“Why not?” She plucked the fabric from his hands, let the skirt drop. “I won't be allowed to wear it again. Would it turn you on, to toss the skirt of an eight thousand dollar evening dress over my face?”

His eyes widened. “Eight thousand? Really? Holy shit!”

“Really,” she said, glumly. “Egregious waste, I say. I don't approve. I was bullied into it.”

“Ah.” He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “Yeah. OK. Just, ah, tripping out on erotic footage in my head. The part after I abduct the princess and lock her in my apartment. Maybe we should forget going out tonight. Just go straight to my place, and order in.”

Her face must be red as a plum. “That would be fine with me.”

“But I won't throw the skirt over your face,” he said. “Talk about an egregious waste.”

Aw. What a sweet thing to say. She couldn't bear to look at him, she was so flustered. “Unhook me, please.”

“Wait.” He held up his cell, and snapped a picture of her. Then he slid it back into his pocket. “To keep me company while I wait.”

He took his time unfastening the hooks, fingers lingering over her back, each touch of his fingers echoing through her nerves.

She hung up the dress and threw jeans and a loose sweater over the lingerie. Aunt Evelyn had opted to keep her niece's stole, evening bag and shoes in her own possession, since Edie lived in such a dangerous, disgraceful dump. Edie only had the dress herself because it happened to have required fittings. A necessary risk.

She shrugged her sweater jacket on, and abruptly remembered her contacts. Oh, God. Her hideous horn-rimmed glasses were persona non grata at family functions. She shoved the bottles that held the lenses and the saline solution into her purse, and turned to Kev. “So, um. If you want to avoid the bodyguards, go around to the back—”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Her mouth worked. “Well…I…I—”

“I want to check them out,” he said. “I want to see if they're worthy of the job of protecting someone as special as you. I'd like to take note of their faces, their cars, and their license plates. Here, I'll carry the dress down for you.”

He grabbed the garment bag, and opened the door for her.

Wow. That was a shift in focus. Talk about accentuating the positive. The happiness blazing out from deep inside her was scary.

Calm down.
She had to put this experience in perspective. She'd had a one-afternoon stand. That might be all. He might disappear. She had to be prepared for it. It had been worth it. He'd been wonderful.

She was a big girl. She could handle it.

They exchanged numbers, established meeting plans, and he slid his arm through hers. Floated her out her door. Wafted her down the stairs, inches above the ground. Puffy pink clouds bore her feet along.

The limo was waiting. Paul was driving, as luck would have it. A humorless, three-hundred-pound ex-Ranger, Paul was Daddy's man, through and through. He considered Edie to be an ungrateful, pinheaded piece of fluff for not toeing the Parrish line.

When Paul saw Kev, he straightened up, put his hand under his coat. His face was openly hostile as he jerked the limo door open.

Edie slid into the limo, took the garment bag Kev handed to her, and watched the silent showdown after Paul slammed the door. Paul, swaggering and scowling. Kev relaxed and alert, taking it in.

Paul lifted his cell, framed a shot, and snapped a couple photos of Kev. He got into the car without a word. Edie stared over her shoulder as the limo pulled away. Kev lifted his hand, smiling at her. The look in his eyes was so soft. He looked so…God, he looked so happy.

An impulse seized her, swelling into something uncontrollable.

“Stop!” she yelled.

Paul jerked to a stop. Horns blared. “What is the matter with you?” he snarled.

Edie shoved open her door, leaped out of the vehicle and almost fell on her face. Kev caught her headlong rush, looking startled.

“Hey,” he said. “What's wrong?”

“There's something else,” she confessed. “I didn't want to say anything, because I don't have any info, or proof, and I was afraid to get your hopes up and then be dead wrong and make things worse for you, but…but I just want to…to…” Her voice trailed off, in an agony of doubt. “To give you something,” she finished.

Kev's face looked stark and taut, braced for anything. “Tell me.”

Paul slammed the limo door shut, with the force of pure disgust.

Kev's eyes flicked up and looked over her shoulder. He lifted his hand in silent command, indicating that Paul keep his distance.

Amazingly, Paul stopped.

Edie glanced around, startled. Paul looked like he'd swallowed a lemon, tricked into obeying an unspoken order, but he stayed where he was, shifting from foot to foot, beefy arms folded over his big chest.

The words came out in a rush. “I had dinner with my father a few weeks ago. He told me three years ago he got a visit from some men who were looking for you. They said that they were your brothers.”

Kev's hands had been resting on her shoulders. They suddenly tightened, to a painful grip. His lips went white. “Brothers?”

“Your brothers,” she repeated. “They're out there, Kev. Looking for you, thinking about you. Missing you. My dad said they were very, um, intense. The way they questioned him. He had nothing to tell them, but he said that one of them actually, ah…threatened him physically.”

Kev let out a sharp breath, and put his hand over his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, hoarsely.

She stood on her tiptoes, tilted his head down, and kissed him, but his face was stiff, his eyes distant.

“He didn't say their names?” he asked.

“Not to me,” she admitted. “Sorry.”

He nodded, and swayed forward, placing his forehead gently against hers as his hand cupped her face. “Thank you,” he said again, in a whisper she could barely hear.

“Anytime,” she said. “I just hope that it's true. And that it works out for you.” Her throat bumped over a painful lump. “I would hate to disappoint you, and hurt you even more. That's why I hesitated to tell you. But I just…I couldn't wait.”

“I'm glad,” he said. “And it wouldn't matter. Even if nothing comes of it. Thank you anyway. You're very, very sweet, Edie.”

He kissed her temples, her cheek, and then suddenly they were kissing each other again, clinging, hanging on like it was the end of the world and the only way to survive was to get closer, tighter.

Paul cleared his throat, a loud, hacking sound. Then the wet
plop
of a glob of spit hit the sidewalk, insultingly close to them.

“Ms. Parrish,” Paul said. “You're forty minutes late already.”

Edie detached herself, stumbling, and backed toward the car.

Paul opened her door, helping her in with a little more force than pure professionality called for. He slammed the door shut.

He turned to Kev, and snapped three more pictures on the cell, then baldly tapped into his device, e-mailing them.

Kev did not appear to notice.

Edie craned her neck as the car pulled away. He stood on the sidewalk as if he'd been turned to stone, staring back until the car turned and he was lost to sight.

“Who was that guy?” Paul demanded, glaring over his shoulder.

Like it was any of his goddamned business. “A friend,” she said.

Paul grunted. “Friend, huh?”

“That's right. Watch the road, Paul.”

He screeched to a stop at the light. “Doesn't matter,” he said. “We'll find out about him. I have a team following him right now.”

The man's pointless, hostile arrogance made her feel sick and tired. “Leave him alone,” she said, knowing the order to be useless.

Whatever she did would be stomped on, messed with, corrupted. After Paul's team caught up with him, Kev might well conclude that the down side of hanging out with Edie Parrish outweighed the up side.

But nothing could take away what had happened that afternoon. And if that was all it could be, for whatever reason, she'd still be grateful. Goddamnit. For every wonderful, perfect, shining crumb of it.

No matter what happened. She hugged herself, tried to breathe.

Tried to believe it.

B
rothers.

Brakes squealed, horns blared. Kev jerked away from sudden death in the form of a red Toyota FourRunner.

Pay attention. Lack of vigilance will get you killed.
There it was, that stern voice floating up from the depths of memory. He assumed that it was memory. Since Tony found him, nobody had ever lectured him about vigilance, or lack thereof. This voice was from before.

Brothers.
He stopped just short of braining himself on a light pole.

Fuck, maybe he should take a cab the rest of the way home. Except that he was too wound up. He'd bust an artery, cooped up in the back seat of a taxi. Better to keep moving.

Calm the fuck down, bozo.
Right. After hours in the angel's arms? And what an angel. Complicated, seductive. Wounded and wary. So gorgeous, she made his eyes sting to say nothing of his throbbing dick.

His mind was bouncing around like a pinball machine. Overloaded, lights flashing, bells dinging. Edie. Brothers. It was a long walk to his neighborhood, but he had wild energy to burn off. And he needed to talk himself down from this dangerous euphoria.

Not the Edie component. That part he didn't have a chance of suppressing, nor did he want to. He was entitled to that euphoria, and he'd goddamn well enjoy it. Edie was a miracle.

He wasn't sure how to sort it all out yet. Finding out that his magical talisman had been a sad, lonely little girl, dressed up for her birthday party. He'd clung to his angel for so long, used her to such good effect, he was convinced there had been real power in it. His angel wasn't just a self-induced head trip. She'd saved his life and his sanity, many times over. There was grace in that, and he would honor it.

But now he'd traded it. For another kind of grace. A different miracle.

Brothers.
God.

He couldn't allow himself to get all intense about these possible brothers til he knew more about Parrish's agenda. What Parrish knew, what he was hiding. The guys who claimed to be his brothers could be the ones who'd tried to kill him in the first place. Edie said that they'd threatened her father, so these men were no strangers to violence.

But then again, neither was Kev himself. He made an effort to keep his relationship to the world polite and respectful, but when the world kicked him in the teeth, he kicked back. And he kicked hard.

Parrish could have been wrong. Or just lying. But why? Why invent something random like that, out of the blue, eighteen years after the fact? And to Edie, too? There was no reason for it. No sense in it.

But the intensity of his desire for it to be true could bend his perceptions, make him blind to things that were stupidly obvious. The only way to protect himself from that danger was to stay cool, detached. To wait quietly for the muddy waters to clear.

Brothers?
Holy shit. Holy…fucking…
shit.

He was almost home when it happened. Like divine punishment for letting himself get so distracted. The guy was built like a fucking refrigerator, and he didn't even notice the clown until he did a dance step to block Kev's way and got right in his face. “Excuse me, sir,” he said. “We need to talk to you.”

Another one seized his arms from behind. His Fade Shadowseeker books fell. He was in motion before they hit the sidewalk, whipping to head butt the arm grabber. Cursing himself in that instant of grace before the pain hit while he took advantage of the man's loosened grip.

It hit.
Fuck,
that hurt
,
but he ignored it as he loaded the meathead onto his hip and sent him hurtling headfirst into his buddy's midriff. They skidded, bounced off the brick, tripping over garbage. Savage back kick to the nose of the guy who had spoken,
whap.
Side kick to the knee of the one struggling to get up,
crunch.

He heaved the first guy headfirst into the brick wall of his apartment building. Damn. One would think he could come up with a defense strategy that didn't involve using his own healing skull with its bruised, long-suffering brain as a club. Like the headaches and nausea weren't fucking him left, right, and sideways already.

Anger at himself loaded the kick he aimed at the guy's coccyx and sent him stumbling once again into the mold-slimed bricks. “Who the fuck are you, and who sent you?” Kev snarled.

The guy whose knee he'd smashed was whimpering, curled into a comma around his fucked up leg. The other one coughed, splayed against the wall. He peeked around, spat out a tooth.

Kev grabbed him by the shirt collar, and yanked him back a few inches. “Want to kiss the wall again, asshole? No? Then talk!”

“Charles Parrish,” the guy gasped out. “Security staff.”

Blank dismay flooded him, fizzling out the combat buzz. “Oh,
fuck
,” he muttered savagely. “Why didn't you say so before you put your hands on me? You morons! I wouldn't have broken your nose! I wouldn't have broken his kneecap!”

The guy coughed wetly. Blood spattered from his mouth. “We were, uh, supposed to take you in,” he rasped. “Boss's orders.”

Kev rubbed the back of his aching meat mallet of a skull. He dropped his head back and stared up at the strip of cobalt-blue evening sky that showed between the buildings, cursing in Calabrese dialect. He'd learned it from years in the diner kitchen with Tony. Tony's principle mode of communication was virulent profanity, and Kev had had lots of opportunity to learn. Years of silent, intense listening.

Great. What a way to open a dialogue with the guy who held the secrets to unlock your whole life. To say nothing of being your new girlfriend's father. What a calling card. Maim one of his employees, why didn't he. Shatter a kneecap. Knock out some fucking teeth.

Sweet, as Bruno would say. Awesome first impression. Stellar.

He sighed, dug in his coat pocket for his wallet, but couldn't find a pen. Goddamn things were all over the place until you needed one.

“You got a pen?” he asked the guy, gruffly.

The man peeked around his shoulder, eyes wide and white-rimmed, blood reddened lips trembling. “Huh?”

“A pen,” Kev repeated, patiently. “I need one.”

The man fumbled in his leather jacket pocket for a moment, and produced a sleek, heavy gold pen, liberally smeared with blood. Kev dragged out one of his Lost Boys Flywear business cards, and shoved the guy against the wall. “I need your back to write against. Hold still.” He scribbled for a moment. “This is my home phone, cell, and personal e-mail. Take this, and give it to your boss, if he wants to get in touch.”

The other guy didn't seem inclined to move, so Kev jerked the man's shoulder around and shoved the card into the guy's hand. He dug in his pocket for the pack of tissues he had stashed in there, since his eyes tended to water in strong light since the waterfall incident.

He handed one to the man. “Here. Mop yourself up.”

The guy held it against his streaming nose, and dabbed, wincing.

“Give me one of your business cards,” Kev said.

The other man stared at him, stupidly. “Huh?”

“I gave you mine,” Kev pointed out.

“Why would you want—”

“Why would that be any of your fucking business? I might want to get in touch with you. You're my new best buddy, right?”

The man shrank back as he dug into his pocket. He handed Kev a blood-smeared card. “The first one's the main number of the security service,” he said. “The one below is my personal cell.”

Kev peered at the card. “Max Collier. That's you?” The guy coughed, and nodded. “OK, Max,” he went on. “Tell Mr. Parrish I'm sorry I fucked up his employees.” He tried to leave it at that, he really did, but he was so fucking irritated, the impulse to scold outstripped his self-control. “But you guys were assholes to jump me like that! I would have been happy to talk to you, or to Parrish himself, at any time! Just call me. Make an appointment, like a civilized person, OK? I don't like getting jumped on the street. It's rude. It makes me tense. It also makes me spout pompous lectures, which is embarrassing. OK?” He waited for a moment. “OK?” he prompted, more forcefully. “We clear on that, Max? For the next time?”

The guy nodded, jerkily. “Crystal clear.”

“Good.” Kev collected the graphic novels scattered on the sidewalk, and gazed at the guy groaning and rocking in the garbage. “How far are you guys from your car? Need some help moving him?”

“No, thanks, I'm good,” Max said hastily.

Kev shoved his hands into his pockets. “OK. Get that guy to Urgent Care before he goes into shock. And, uh, have a good evening.”

“Thanks.” Max Collier's voice shook. He seized his colleague under the armpits, and started to drag him.

Ay yi yi. Kev winced, and gritted his teeth at the gurgling shriek of pain that came out as the man's injured leg bumped and dragged over the scattered bags of garbage. The guy's patella was probably in several small, bloody pieces. That had to hurt.

Kev waited, making sure the guy got his buddy safely loaded into the back seat of the black SUV that idled half a block down the street before he unlocked his door. Then Edie and her revelations rushed back into his mind. He promptly forgot the incident as he ran up the steps, springs in his feet. He was enjoying the springy sensation so much, he got blindsided when he opened the door and flipped on the light.

“Where the
fuck
have you been?” Bruno spun around in the computer chair to face him.

The graphic novels exploded out of Kev's arms. “Sweet Jesus!” he yelled. “Don't do this to me! My nerves can't take it.”

“Your nerves? Yours?” Bruno got up. “I've been sitting here for hours, waiting for a phone call from an emergency room, or a prison—”

“You knew where I was going! We discussed it! At great length!”

“You fucked me over! We had a deal! You were supposed to drop into the bookstore, discreetly check her out, and then call me!” Bruno roared. “But you turned off your fucking phone!”

Kev felt a twinge of guilt. He had promised that, to get Bruno off his back. And the second he'd seen those angel eyes, he'd forgotten everything. Nothing existed but Edie. He tried not to smile, but Bruno was quick at reading faces, even a deadpan scarred mask like his own.

“What's so fucking funny?” his brother snarled. “Did you talk to her? Where did you go? What happened to you? You did something dumb, didn't you? I can tell. I can smell it on you.”

“Jesus, Bruno. Calm down.”

Bruno opened his mouth, and then stopped. “You're smiling,” he said. “What's up with that? Are you on some new type of pain pill?”

Kev shook his head. Bruno stepped closer, his eyes narrowing.

“Wait. You saw that girl, didn't you? You approached her. You talked to her. You promised you wouldn't. You goddamn lying
dog!
”

Kev had never told Bruno about his little angel. Now didn't seem an opportune time to explain that he and Edie had already met.

He shrugged off his coat. “Leave me alone. I'm tired.”

Bruno's eyes lit up. “Oh, my God. You got laid, didn't you? You didn't just talk to Edie Parrish, you dirty bastard. You nailed her!”

Kev flinched. What had happened between himself and Edie could not be reduced to that crude phrase. “Don't speak about her that way.”

But Bruno was capering and crowing like the twelve-year-old that he truly was. “I can't believe it! So why didn't you bring her back here?”

“I tried,” Kev snapped. “She's busy tonight. A Helix banquet to honor the big cheese dad who's retiring. I've got a date with her after.”

Bruno blew out a breath, like a stallion. “You're making me dizzy. You meet Edie Parrish, dance the horizontal tango with her, get the shit pounded out of you by her daddy's security, and now, you're taking her out on a date? All in a day's work for Kevlar, the mystery man.”

“I told you not to talk about her that way,” Kev repeated. “And they didn't pound me. I pounded them.”

“Whoa!” Bruno blinked. “So, ah, how was it? How is she?”

He frowned at his brother. “That's private,” he muttered.

Bruno waggled his eyebrows. “Lest my filthy mind skulk too near your shining goddess? Soiling her with my nasty—
mmhph!
”

He pinned Bruno to the wall. His brother struggled, clutching at Kev's hand, which was clamped over his throat. “I meant it,” Kev said, his voice steely. “Be respectful, or I'll beat you to a bloody pulp.”

Bruno made a theatrical gagging sound, but an uncontrollable grin was carving out the very dimples Edie had so admired. “You've got a lot of energy today,” his brother croaked out, looking impressed.

“You have no idea,” Kev held Bruno clamped to the wall for a moment, and decided to keep Edie's brothers bombshell to himself for now. No need to get Bruno into a jealous snit until Kev knew more.

He let Bruno drop. His brother rubbed his throat, his face thoughtful. “It occurs to me that you're probably the one guy on the planet who might be a halfway decent boyfriend for this Parrish chick.”

Kev was startled, the Fade Shadowseeker books flashing through his mind. He crouched to gather them up. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you genuinely do not give a fuck about the money.”

Kev laid the books on his desk, and frowned, genuinely puzzled. “What does money have to do with anything?”

Bruno rolled his eyes. “Hello? Helix heiress? Multiple billions? Never crossed your mind? Of course not. That's Kevlar for you.”

Kev shook his head. “She lives in a two room, fourth floor walk-up on NE Helmut with a broken knob lock, Bruno. She's not rich.”

“You don't even know what I'm talking about, do you?” Bruno shook his head. “You are one crazy-ass son of a bitch.”