Great Exploitations: Sin in San Fran (2 page)

“Changing the subject,” I said, giving him a warning look.

“And what if I don’t want to change the subject?”

I resisted the urge to shove him—mainly because I was still too weak to execute a proper shove. “And what if you don’t want me to bolt away from you this instant?”

“Bolt? I don’t think you’re in bolting shape.”

Just when I thought I couldn’t get any more exasperated . . . “Could you do me a favor and just drop the subject? Please? I appreciate the offer, but I can’t come home with you—on a private jet or not—quite yet. I’m not ready.” I still have to dish out a little payback to a son of a bitch.

“Sure, I’ll drop the subject,” Henry answered. “Once you tell me why.”

The sliding doors opened, and we stepped into the courtyard. The fresh air and sunshine assaulted me, and I got too caught up in basking in them to let my irritation with Henry grow. “I have to stay because I haven’t finished what I came here for yet.”

“And you came here to finish what?”

“I could tell you . . . but I’d have to—”

“Kill me?” he guessed.

I shrugged. “Or cut off your tongue so you couldn’t speak and your hands so you couldn’t write.”

Henry smiled as we made our way to our bench in the center of the courtyard. “Good thing I’ve been practicing typing with my toes then. You know a tech guy like me needs to have a back-up plan.”

“Fine, I’d have to cut off your toes as well,” I said with an eye roll.

“Then it’s just as good a thing Callahan Industries has been working on an artificial intelligence that can decipher thoughts. You know, because a tech guy needs more than just
one
back-up plan.”

“Oh my god. Enough already,” I groaned, elbowing him.

After helping me maneuver my stiff, bruised body onto the bench, he sat beside me. “So nothing I can say, do, bargain with, or bribe you with will get you to fly back with me tonight?”

I closed my eyes and inclined my face toward the sky. The sun and fresh air were just as healing as the therapy and meds they were doling out inside the hospital walls. “There’s absolutely nothing. I started something here, and I’m going to finish it.”

“Yeah, when you say cryptic things like that, I’m not convinced you’ll be okay if I leave you by yourself.”

“You of all people should know I can take care of myself. I was good at it back when we were together, and I’ve only gotten better in the years since.” I soaked in a bit more sunshine before opening my eyes.

“You’ve always been good at taking care of yourself, that’s for sure.” Henry nudged me, looking not quite, but almost, sad.

“I had to be. The first half of our time together, I was checking over my shoulder for some hit man to take me out, and the second half I was waiting for your mom’s hands to reach for my neck,” I said dryly.

“My mom just takes a while to warm up to people. Her only son’s girlfriends especially.”

I huffed. “As long as you and I were together, your mom never warmed up half a degree to me. In fact, I’m positive she went from icy to frigid when it came to her feelings for me.”

Mrs. Callahan had had no qualms about making sure I knew I wasn’t welcome in her home, her life, or most importantly, her son’s life. That was part of the reason Henry and I rarely visited his home, a.k.a. the Callahan Estate. The other part was because even Henry didn’t like spending much time with his family. They considered themselves the social elite in a time when hierarchies were vanishing. In other words? They were a bunch of elitist bastards—Henry’s term, not mine.

“My mom doesn’t like anyone really. Herself most of all. It wasn’t anything personal that she didn’t come around to you.” Henry studied the ground as he wrung his hands in his lap. That meant he wasn’t telling the truth. At least not all of it.

“Oh, please. You’re telling me your mom wouldn’t have cracked a once-in-a-lifetime smile and flipped a cartwheel if you went for that smiling, ponytail bobbing, sweater-set wearing girl you grew up next to on Mansion Row?”

Henry’s eyebrows came together. “I don’t know who you’re talking about or what you’re talking about, but it sounds crazy, so I’m going to dismiss it to that corner of my brain.”

“Denial. The first signs of—”

“Besides, Eve, it wouldn’t have mattered if my mom ever warmed up to you. I don’t let her or anyone else make those kinds of decisions for me. I choose who I want to be with.”

Bite your tongue. Don’t say it. Stuff it back into that bitchy cave inside.
“Yeah. I remember walking in on you and your
choice
.”

And damn it.

Clasping his hands together, Henry leaned forward and sighed. “I’d really like the opportunity to tell you my side of the story one day.”

I regretted what I’d said, but not as much as I regretted what he said. I didn’t want to know his side of the story because I knew there would be no explanation that could soften me to what had happened. I didn’t want to know the details of who she was or how they’d met or how they’d stumbled into bed together because it would be like living that night all over again. As much as I wanted to believe I’d moved on from the pain of that night—getting revenge was another matter—I hadn’t. Pain was shredding me just talking about the subject. What would hearing Henry’s account of it feel like? I never wanted to find out.

“I know you would,” I answered.

He glanced at me. “But you don’t want to hear it.”

I shook my head. “I don’t.”

“Maybe one day though?” His tone was hopeful, but his expression wasn’t.

“Probably not.”

The dark circles under Henry’s eyes went a shade darker. “If you ever change your mind . . .”

“You’ll be the first person I’ll inform,” I said, resting my hand on his leg. I probably would have left it there longer if his eyes hadn’t lingered on my hand or if I hadn’t felt heat radiating up my arm.

He studied the spot on his leg I’d just touched. “Will you also promise me that I’ll be the first person you’ll inform when your memories of who put you in here come back?”

“I promise.”

I could never tell Henry what had happened, who had done it, or why it had. The main reason I could never explain was because Henry was a Target. The other reason I couldn’t tell him was because I didn’t doubt he’d confront Rob Tucker himself. That was a bloody mess I wanted to save both Henry and myself from. Even if I had wanted to tell Henry the truth, I couldn’t have. We Eves took a vow of secrecy because an underground operation loses its usefulness if the entire world finds out about it.

“I take it from your continued silence that you still don’t remember anything that happened that night?” Henry lifted a brow and waited.

“You’d be correct,” I said, keeping my eyes locked on his.

I knew he was looking for a reason to call me out. He was waiting for me to deflect my gaze, or bite my lip, or change the subject because then he’d have one more piece of evidence that I was lying. Of course, he was right. I
was
lying. I remembered every last thing about the night Rob Tucker had turned me into a black-and-blue piece of tenderized flesh. Henry knew I was lying, but that didn’t mean I would tell him anything. It was better to continue lying because there was no way the conclusions he would arrive at would be even a tenth as elaborate as the truth.

“Come on, Eve. This is me you’re talking to.” He leaned in closer. “You can trust me with whatever it is you’re hiding.”

“Two things,” I said, lifting my index finger. “One, how come you’re so convinced I’m hiding something? You don’t know me anymore, Henry—what I’m hiding or not hiding couldn’t be so glaringly obvious. And two”—I lifted another finger—“no, I can’t trust you. Not anymore, anyway. You had my trust once, but you lost it all in one night, so don’t ask me to trust you when you’ve done nothing to earn it back.”

Henry’s expression fractured for one moment. His eyes never left mine, though. In fact, I’m not sure he even blinked. “You’re wrong, Eve.”

“About what?”

“About everything,” he answered. “If you’d drop your defenses for ten minutes and see a situation from another person’s point of view, you might discover you don’t have the market cornered on omniscient.”

The first emotion that flashed through me was anger. How dare he call me out after what he’d done? The next thing I felt was something of a eureka moment. As much as it killed me to admit it, Henry was right. I rarely, if ever, came out from behind my walls to evaluate a situation from another person’s perspective. I didn’t do the whole “walk in another person’s shoes” thing very well.

Eureka moment or not, I didn’t want Henry Callahan being responsible for it. I didn’t want him to be the person to make me a better one. I didn’t want him teaching me lessons about life when I wanted to ruin his.

So I let the anger lead . . .

“I’m wrong about everything?
I’m
wrong? About everything?” My eyes narrowed as I scooted away from him. “For being such an intelligent person, you can be a real idiot, Henry.”

He didn’t flinch; his expression didn’t even change. In fact, he scooted right up next to me.

“You’re so convinced I’m hiding something, huh? Well, guess what?” My voice was rising. Good thing we were alone in the courtyard. “I’m even more convinced that you’re hiding something from me. So since we both seem to be hiding something of significance”—I waved at him—“you first.”

He was just as calm as he’d been before I went off on him, which only pissed me off more. He dropped his hand on my knee. The only thing that upset me more than him putting it there was that I did nothing to remove it. In fact, it soothed me.

“When you’re ready to reveal what you’re hiding, I’ll be ready to reveal what I am,” he said.

Sure he wasn’t. With a huff, I called his bluff. “What makes you so sure you’ll be ready to reveal what you’re hiding?”

He gently squeezed my leg as he gave a small smile. “Because I’m ready now. But something tells me you’re not quite there yet.”

TAKE TWO

WHEN HENRY SAID good-bye before jumping on his private jet and heading home, the air between us had been thick with what remained unsaid. We both knew the other was holding back, but about what and to what extent remained to be seen . . . Well, I knew a good part of what he was keeping from me—that he was a married man—but I sensed I had yet to uncover something else just as monumental. Whatever it was, I’d find out. With a bit of time and a ton of persistence, I could find out anything I wanted about anyone. Henry Callahan and his secrets were no exception.

The next morning was my official release date from prison—I mean the hospital—and to say I was eager was like saying that Rob Tucker was the top-runner for Asshole of the Century. After informing me he’d pick me up, he proceeded to yell at just about every nurse on the floor about my dinner arriving five minutes late and one of them leaving a baseball cap on a chair in my room. I kept my lips sealed, as did the nurse working a double, about the person to whom that ball cap actually belonged.

I didn’t have to be a genius to know I shouldn’t mention Henry to Rob unless I wanted to sustain another serious beating. I doubted Rob would have cared if Henry was my brother. Rob was territorial in a way that I guessed would translate to lovers, friends, or even brothers.

So, yeah. The same guy who was responsible for putting me in the hospital was the one who was picking me up from it. Messed up was the term that came to mind.

But I’d made up my mind to see the Errand out. If I had to play a broken woman for a few days to close it, so be it. To give up would be like handing the win to Rob from both myself and his wife. Giving up wasn’t an option, so when he’d asked—
ordered
—to be the one to pick me up, I smiled, nodded, and answered
yes, please
. A few pleases and feigned smiles were worth bringing scum like him to his knees.

Since I didn’t want to leave the hospital in the paper gown I’d worn all week and I didn’t want to wear the new outfit Rob had bought me—I was playing accommodating, not spineless—that left me one choice: the clothes I’d been wearing when I was admitted. Sure, they were bloodied and wrinkled and probably more in need of a trash can than a washing machine, but I was looking to prove a point. That point being?

A man could knock me down, but I’d keep getting up—sporting my bloody clothes so that every time he looked at me, he’d be reminded of what he’d done. No forgiving and forgetting from this woman. Yes, I’ll play the sick and twisted game, but no, I will not pretend nothing ever happened. So far, Rob hadn’t seemed upset by the fine line of submission I was walking, but who knew what might set him off.

It took me almost ten minutes to get both of my heels strapped on, but I did it, bruised body and cracked ribs be damned. I was just tossing Henry’s ball cap into my purse when my phone rang—my
G
phone rang. I groaned and collapsed into the nearest chair. That was the first call I’d gotten from her all week, which meant she was back from vacation and she and her barely-legal boy of the month had broken up because all good thirty-year-old age differences must come to an end. G would be in fine form. Or finer form than usual.