Rebelonging (Unbelonging, Book 2) (34 page)

Exactly forty-three minutes after I'd burst
into the house, I heard the back door open. I flew toward it and
met Lawton just as he entered. I plowed into him and threw my arms
around him, hugging him close.

"I was so worried," I said into his chest.
"What were you doing?"

"Well that," he said, "is complicated." He
stepped back, holding both of my hands in his. "Do you trust me?"
he said.

Foolish or not, I did trust him. I hadn't
always. But if I wanted us to have any chance at all, those days
were over. I felt myself nod.

"Say it," he said.

"I trust you."

"Good," he said, "because in about an hour,
you're gonna have to lie like a rug."

He was gripping my hands tighter now. If he
squeezed any tighter, I was sure the bones in my fingers would
shatter.

"Why?" I said, giving a little tug at my
hands. "I didn't do anything wrong."

He looked down, and his fingers loosened, but
he didn't let go. "Was I hurting you? Shit, I'm sorry."

"Tell me why I have to lie," I said. "I
didn't do anything."

"Baby, I know. But these people, they don't
think like you and I do."

"What people?" I said. "Who are you talking
about?"

"People I used to know. That's who." He
pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me. "And I won't let 'em
hurt you, but you've gotta help."

From what we pieced together after the fact,
the Parkers owed everybody and their brother, including a certain
unsavory businessman who specialized in high-interest loans of the
leg-breaking variety.

Apparently, the Parkers were fond of their
legs, if not their pets, which over the last ten years had included
a couple of Bengel cats in Baltimore, a parakeet in Tampa, and a
Siberian Husky in upstate New York.

When they ran out of money, they did what
they always did – hired some sucker to keep up appearances while
they set up shop in a new town under a new name.

Their house was leased, their furniture was
rented, and most of their portraits were totally fake, including
every single one that included Mr. Parker, the so-called retired
surgeon who had also posed as an architect, a hedge fund manager,
and a personal injury lawyer.

Although I didn't realize it at the time, I'd
met Mr. Parker after all. Turns out, he was the flashy financial
guy who'd shown up on that doorstep with a wad of cash. Why they
paid me anything at all, I didn't understand, until Lawton put it
in perspective.

"They needed you to stick around," he said.
"You were the fall girl, the one who'd pay the price when the bills
came due."

"But I didn't have any money," I said.

"I'm not talking about money," he said.
"Think about it. The Parkers give you this wad of cash, which
they're probably planning to steal right back anyway. Then later,
when someone comes looking for the
big
money, they're long
gone. But you're not."

"But that night," I said, "I told that guy I
wasn't Mrs. Parker."

"Yeah. Because nobody lies when they're about
to get their legs broken."

"But they would've found out eventually," I
said. "I mean, let's consider the worst-case scenario. Let's say
they killed me—"

"No," he said. "We're not saying that, even
as a what-if."

"But the point is," I said, "those guys
would've found out pretty quick that I was just someone staying
there."

"Yeah. But so what if it's the wrong person?
You were living there, taking care of the dog, handling all their
stuff. It would be easy for someone to get the idea the Parkers
wouldn't want to see anything bad happen to you."

Over the course of the next few days, I
talked to the police, the FBI, and even a couple of guys from
Homeland Security. I told them all the same thing, that I'd mostly
quit the job a few weeks earlier, when the checks started
bouncing.

That's where the lie came in. If the
neighbors were watching, they'd certainly know that I'd been in and
out of the Parkers' house. But with my car dead in the driveway and
a bunch of dead plants inside the house, thanks to whatever Lawton
did that night, the lies made a weird sort of sense.

But all this misinformation wasn't for the
police or anyone else in law enforcement. It was for the boss of
the two leg-breakers left half-dead in the Parkers' house.

Officially, I wasn't there. And Lawton wasn't
there. And Chucky, well, he'd supposedly run away the previous
week. How sad.

As for the Parkers, well let's just say that
a certain businessman in downtown Detroit isn't too happy with them
right about now. Unsurprisingly, he doesn't take kindly to someone
not just stiffing him for a whole bunch of money, but also jumping
the guys who came to collect.

We were snuggling on our favorite sofa about
a week after Thanksgiving when some other pieces started clicking
into place. I turned to Lawton and said, "You know what? I know
what your big secret is."

"You do, huh?"

"First," I said, "you've got to agree. If I
guess right, will you tell me the truth?"

"Maybe."

I gave him a serious look. "No maybes. You
won't lie to me, will you?"

"Never."

"Alright," I said. "You, and Bishop —" I
narrowed my gaze "—is there anyone else?"

"That sounds like a question," he said, "not
a guess."

"Hard-ass," I said. "Fine. Here's my guess.
You fix things."

He raised his eyebrows. "Like cars?"

"Oh shut up. You know what I mean. You right
wrongs."

"Interesting theory."

"It's more than a theory," I said. "Look what
happened with me and those two guys in ski masks. You and Bishop,
you did to them
exactly
what they were gonna do to me." I
bit my lip. "Well, I guess not exactly, since you beat them up too,
but I'm thinking that's mostly incidental."

"Mostly incidental, huh? Where have I heard
that before?"

"Stop distracting me," I said. "Am I
close?"

"Keep going," he said.

"Alright," I said. "So then with the Parkers,
they were trying to get
me
in trouble for the things they
did. But the way you worked it out, they're not just on the hook
for all that money, but also for beating up a couple of their
enforcers."

"Since when," Lawton said with a grin, "do
you talk about enforcers?"

"Since I started hanging out with the likes
of you."

"So you're saying I'm a bad influence."

"Definitely." I edged up to lean my forehead
against his. "Am I right?"

"Ask me in three months," he said.

"Why? What happens in three months?"

"You'll see."

Until things settled down, Lawton insisted on
driving me back and forth to work. Just as well, given the sorry
state of my car, which now had its own place in Lawton's massive
garage.

He offered to buy me a new car, and I'd be
lying if I didn't admit that the offer was tempting. But I still
didn't want to be that girl, bought and paid for, no matter how
crazy in love I was, or him with me.

As for Chucky, he was
my
dog now, and
no one was going to tell me differently. Somehow, Lawton had
magically acquired papers to prove it, even if he wouldn't say
exactly how he'd made that possible.

Chucky loved hanging out at Lawton's place,
and Lawton seemed to love having him there. So that's where we were
staying, except of course, for when I was visiting Grandma and Josh
or waitressing.

Work was getting crazier every day. The flu
had passed, and we were once again fully staffed. For me, this
meant shorter shifts on the worst nights. Shaggy was there
practically every night, standing there with his stupid cell phone
as if waiting to catch me and Lawton getting naked in a corner
booth.

When I confronted him about that story he
told me – about producing that infamous sex tape – he said, "I
didn't lie. You just assumed."

"Yeah, I notice you didn't correct me," I
said.

He shrugged. "You can't blame a guy for
trying."

Oh yes I could. But still, he haunted my
shifts like some kind of paparazzi poltergeist. After a while, I
sort of got used to him, mostly because he irked the snot out of
Keith, who hated to be filmed while pretending to work.

Exactly ten days after Thanksgiving, I was
nearing the end of a six-hour shift when I saw Amber near the
waitress stand. Looking around, she was busily tapping her foot
like she'd been kept waiting a lot longer than necessary.

As usual, she looked like a million bucks.
Her long blonde hair was loose and sleek over her shoulders, and
she wore an expensive-looking silvery cocktail dress that fell in
stylish folds just above her matching silver pumps. All in all, she
looked way overdressed for dinner just about anywhere that didn't
offer valet parking.

I kept my head down and rushed past her,
eager to avoid whatever it was that brought her here.

"Chloe!" she called. "There you are!"

I stopped in my tracks. Slowly, I turned to
face her. "Amber," I said. "There you are too. What a
coincidence."

She smiled. "Yeah, I know, right?"

Well, at least she was being friendly. The
least I could do was try to be the same, if for no other reason
than to make this interaction as short as possible. "So," I said,
"you're here to see Brittney?"

"No way," Amber said. "I'm here to see
you."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because you're gonna need a bridesmaid,
right?" She held up her arms. "Ta-da! Here I am! I'm thinking of
this as my audition."

I stared at her. "What?"

"Yeah, I mean it's only a matter of time,
right? With you and Lawton getting so serious, I'm totally hearing
wedding bells, and I want to throw my name into the hat before all
the slots are filled."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Actually, it's
little premature, don't you think?"

"I am not," she said. "I'm totally mature.
And besides, I throw a seriously wicked party. You've got to pick
me. I mean, c'mon, you don't have any sisters, right?"

"No. but I do have a best friend."

"Fine. She can stand too. I don't care."

"Wow," I said in a deadpan voice, "that's
really nice of you."

She flashed me a grin. "Thanks. And just so
you know, when I marry Bishop, I'll let
you
be a bridesmaid
too."

My jaw dropped. "You're dating Bishop?"

"Well no. Not
yet
. But c'mon. After
you and Lawton get married, I figure it's only a matter of time,
right? Especially with us being such good friends."

"Who?"

"You and me."

I decided to let that one pass. "But
seriously," I said, "I'm not even engaged."

In spite of Lawton's innuendos in the
hospital, it hadn't come up, which I told myself was just fine with
me. Sure, he was my dream guy. And sure, I never wanted to let him
go. But that was another girl I didn't want to be – the one who
moved too fast when the guy wasn't quite ready.

"So what?" Amber said. "You totally will be."
She looked around and lowered her voice. "My parents are friends
with this jeweler, and I don’t want to let the cat out of the bag,
but somebody we know – meaning this totally hot guy, not that I'm
supposed to notice now that he's off the market – anyway, he just
paid gobs of money for the biggest rock this jeweler had ever
seen."

I stared, speechless. What was I supposed to
say to something like that?

Fortunately, I was spared the trouble of
saying anything, because suddenly I heard a shrill female voice
call out from the other side of the restaurant. "You!"

I turned around to see Brittney tottering
toward us on those obscenely high heels of hers. Co-workers or not,
we never spoke to each other, except when absolutely necessary. And
the times we did speak, most of our words weren't exactly fit for
public consumption, as Keith had warned me countless times.

Brittney elbowed her way between me and
Amber. She gave Amber a long, scathing look and said, "What are you
doing here?"

Amber tossed a long strand of blonde hair
over her bare shoulder. "I'm here to see Chloe, not that it's any
of
your
business."

Brittney's eyes narrowed to slits. She
whirled to face me. "This is all
your
fault."

"My fault?" I said.

"Yes, your fault. First you steal my
boyfriend, then you steal my best friend!"

I glanced at Amber. "Hey, I hardly know
her!"

"You do too!" Amber said. "By the way, I look
good in aquamarine in case you haven't picked your colors yet."

"See!" Brittney told me. "And I know you've
been stealing my customers too. That Bolger guy, he won't even let
me wait on him anymore."

"Yeah," I said. "Because you keep calling him
fat."

Amber reached out and tapped Brittney on the
shoulder.

Brittney whirled to face her. "What?"

"Do you know what the specials are?" Amber
said.

Brittney glared at her. "What specials?"

"Duh," Amber said. "We're in a restaurant.
You're the waitress. Seems like an easy question."

Brittney's jaw tightened and her nostrils
flared. "How's
this
for special?" she said, reaching out to
shove Amber with both hands.

Amber stumbled backward, and caught herself
against the waitress stand. Her eyes narrowed, and she barreled
into Brittney, knocking her back into the small crowd that had
gathered to see what the commotion was.

The crowd shifted, and Brittney lost her
balance, tumbling backward onto a table filled with dirty dishes.
Her long blonde hair flopped into the remnants of what looked like
blueberry pancakes topped with blueberry syrup.

With a string of profanity, Brittney toppled
off the table and hit the floor. A split-second later, she dove,
hard, for Amber's legs. Squealing, Amber toppled over, clutching at
the necktie of the man standing nearest to her.