Scarred (7 page)

“Nope,” I returned, “and do you know why? Because
I'm
not trying to die tonight too. I know how fast you used to take corners in the old one. I want to live; besides, Sean would be pissed if you killed me tonight. He needs me for some covert op of sorts.” I flashed him a toothy grin in the dimly lit car. The scoff I received in return let me know what he thought of my reasoning.

“Covert op, eh? You'd be about the worst secret agent the world has ever seen, Ruby. You walk louder than an elephant with foot-drop, and your powers of observation are nearly nonexistent,” he cited. “Sounds like Sean might be trying to off you himself.”

“Jealousy doesn't suit you, Coop,” I quipped. “You’re not used to being the last kid picked, I take it.”

“If Sean is the one doing the picking, that's just fine with me,” he said, folding his arms delicately over his chest.

“Whatever,” I sighed, feeling more exhausted by the minute. “He just wants me to work Beauchamp for info regarding the Rev. They're doing damage control right now and don't have people in all the right places to do it. Alan knows things...Sean wants to know what.”

“Exactly how hard are you going to '
work
' Alan?” he asked, his tone implying everything he was thinking.

“Jesus, Cooper, Sean's not my pimp! I'm not whoring around to get some pillow talk goodies to bring back to him,” I shouted, staring over at him. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

“Sorry, Rubes,” he said, reaching over to touch my leg. “I'm tired and hungry. Healing is a
bitch
.”

“Alright,” I replied, “but don't say things like that. You make me feel like shit when you do that, Coop.”

“I know, I know. I'm an asshole. Let me get some food in me and I'll make it up to you,” he said with a playful grin. “How long are you going to be over there?”

“Who knows? Not long, I hope. I'm exhausted too,” I said, pulling up in front of my building. “I'll text you when I'm leaving. There should be something in the freezer to eat, I think. Do you need money for takeout? I owe you for working today anyway.”

“I'm straight,” he replied, slowly getting out of the car. Once he was out, he turned back to me, leaning in through the passenger side door. “Text me. And
don't
forget.”

“I won't,” I replied, smiling up at him. “Cooper?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” I whispered. “Don't ever scare me like that again.”

“Love you too, Rubes,” he said before closing the car door.

I watched his long frame slowly walk away, into the three-story brick building we called home. I thought about never seeing him do that again. My hair bristled in response.

Out of sheer laziness, I drove the couple of blocks over to Sean’s. When I pulled up outside his warehouse, I saw that the lights in his top floor flat were already on, his silhouette framed by the massive windows that looked out to the street. Parking wasn't too difficult, being that there wasn't any other residential building on the street, just old red-brick mill buildings that hadn't been used for that purpose in decades. Some were being turned into office space and professional buildings, but none had been finished yet, leaving the area somewhat deserted when night fell. What a difference a couple of blocks made.

I hustled my way inside, running up the staircase with a sense of uneasiness. It was too quiet for my liking, and the pronounced echoing of my footsteps smacked of the terrible horror flick Cooper had made me watch with him one night. I didn't sleep for two days, and that was with him in bed with me. Some killing machine I was.

Before I regressed into a flat-out run, I heard Sean's door open a floor above me.

“In a hurry?” he called, his voice floating down towards me, mocking me.

“Didn't want to be late for our little get together,” I said, sounding mildly winded.

“No run-ins with dubious rogue wolves, I take it?” he said as I reached the landing.

“No,” I replied, “I'm all set with those for today.”

“Only
today
?” he asked, with a curl of his mouth.

“No—in general,” I said, about to walk past him into his place. His arm, however, remained outstretched, his hand holding onto the door casing. I stopped and looked at him, our bodies dangerously close together. He looked mischievous—almost sinister—with a wild edge to his stare. “Soooo...can I come in?” I asked, squirming under his gaze.

“I thought you'd never ask.” He moved just enough for me to squeak past him without making contact, but it took some effort on my part. “Did you eat anything yet?” he asked, closing the door with a shove. “I could make you some pancakes…I know you love those.”

“I'm
starving
,” I replied, realizing I hadn't eaten anything for hours, and that was one dance class and a dramatic foot chase ago. “Could you?”

“I don't throw out offers that I'm not willing to follow up on.”

His back was to me while he fished something out of one of the kitchen cabinets. I didn't need to see his face to know what expression it wore. I'd seen it countless times before and only moments earlier. Something had gotten into him that night; he was charged up and
clearly
needed an outlet. An outlet for
what
, I wasn't sure.

“Well,” I started cautiously, “then fire up the griddle and make me some grub!”

I watched intently as he effortlessly mixed ingredients without measuring, not a recipe in sight. It was like old times.
Really
old times—and it made me smile. He worked efficiently and had a plateful of food in front of me before I thought it was possible. He must have had really high quality cookware.

“As much as I wish this were just a late night/early morning social call,” he said, flipping a pancake high into the air, “we've got to get some things squared away.”

“I know,” I said, my mouth full of food.

“What happens after that...” With his words hanging in the air and the wry smile on his face, he left me to finish his sentence however I wanted. I tried to ignore that he said anything at all.

“So what are we dealing with?” I asked, trying to refocus his painfully distracted mind.

“When did you talk to the cop last?” he inquired, leaning back against the counter, spatula in hand.

“I'm going to need you to put that down, Sean. I can't take you seriously while you're holding that thing. You might as well have a 'kiss the cook' apron on with some frog-faced oven mitts,” I said, staring at the innocuous kitchen utensil.

Without making any obvious remarks about where the cook should be kissed, he put the spatula down on the counter and turned back to face me.

“Thank you,” I said, taking another bite. “I don’t remember, but you know everything that I know.”

“And what a remarkable change of pace that is,” he mocked.

“I'm going to need more food if this is how quickly we're going to get to the plan part of this meeting.”

“Whatever you need,” he said with a grin, turning abruptly to flip yet another pancake. “I saw the video footage they have. It's grainy and only a partial view of his face. My IT boy, Trey, says it will never give them a positive ID, even if the Rev were in the system.”

“Well, that's a bonus,” I said, with some sense of relief.

“Yes, well, we still have a fingerprint to contend with,” he pointed out, “and I don't have a good feeling about that.”

“Why?”

“All I've been able to find out so far is that it's only a partial, so they're going to have a bank of potential matches to weed through. It buys us time, but nothing else. Keith will be in the system. He’s ex-military and a government employee. Covert or not, somebody is going to be able to track him down.”

“Oh...” I whispered, not liking the direction he was going.

“I can't easily get into the CIA database to see what comes up on his profile.”

“Meaning?” I asked, taking a large swig of water and swallowing it nervously.

“Meaning that it requires
clearance
. Clearance I don't have. None of us do,” he said matter-of-factly. “We're trying to handle this...
quietly
. I need to find out what's going on with his file. All I know is that it flashes a prompt requesting access codes when we try to get into it.”

“But as far as they know, he's dead, right? He wouldn't be a suspect.”

“That's what
should
come up. The fact that it doesn't is what's got my interest piqued. There's something not right about it.”

“Well, that's great and all Sean, but I'm not really sure how I'm supposed to be helpful with this, or Alan for that matter. He's Portsmouth PD...not exactly a top clearance job.”

“But he was military too, wasn't he? Special ops of some sort?” he asked, eying me tightly.

“I think so,” I replied, uncertain of the implication.

“Many of them go CIA when they get out,” he continued, staring me down.

“Yeah...and?”

“And my guess is that he's got a buddy down there somewhere that might be able to help do this the
easy
way.”

His words made my skin prickle. “The easy way” was a euphemism, and one that I didn't like the sound of.

“And if he doesn't? What's the hard way?” I asked, lowering my fork slowly.

“Not your concern. That's what it is.”

“Hey,” I said, laying the sarcasm on thick, “I was
just
thinking that your tone was a little too pleasant this evening, and then...
poof
...your inner asshole came shining through to set me straight. I'm
so
glad that just happened.”

“Ruby,” he said, looking every bit as condescending as he sounded. “You're taking this personally. This is business, and it's paramount to your safety and the survival of the wolves that you stay in the urban legend and folklore category...not a worldwide news break.”

“I don't like it when you're evasive,” I said in my defense. “You try to pretty the facts up for me so I don't have to hear how awful the things that you do really are. Do you honestly believe I can't handle ugly by now? Really? How bad do things have to get for you to stop treating me like a child?”

He was in my face before I could flinch, making me look delayed when my nervous system finally caught up.

“I'm trying not to make your world any more ugly than it already is,” he said, breath hot on my face. “I am, and have always been, as transparent with you as I could possibly be. Some things are best left unknown, Ruby. There are things I've done...things I
have
to do, to maintain balance and order, and...” He cut himself off with a pained look on his face, eyes closed, hands gripping the counter until his knuckles blanched. He was torn—so, so torn. His pain rolled off of him in waves, and the heaviness he felt washed over me. When the silence drew on, I placed my hand gently on his, hoping the calming effect I had on Cooper would influence him as well.

“And what, Sean?” I prompted. “
Please
...tell me.”

He looked away from me, gently taking his hand out from under mine. “And I can't stand the thought of you truly knowing what I'm capable of...the man my father has made me into.”

“Sean,” I said calmly, like I was speaking to a cornered animal. “I
know
what you're capable of.”

He turned on me with eyes so cold, a blast of frost shot down my spine, making me shiver.

“No,” he said flatly. “You don't.”

Scarlet bristled within me, feeling challenged by his gaze. I closed my eyes to shut off her response, willing her to stay put. Those eyes weren't meant for me. They were meant for the man Sean blamed for who he was, what he thought he'd become: black and cold like Ares' heart.

“Do you want me to go?” I whispered, tentatively opening my eyes. He hadn’t meant to scare me, but I was plagued by an overwhelming sensation that he was somehow sabotaging the situation—distancing himself from me—and in that moment, it was working. Silence had overtaken us. He stoically observed me while I stared at him, assessing my body language as though he expected me to do something in particular. “Yeah...okay,” I said, getting up from my seat with dirty dishes in hand. “I'll just wash these up and head out then.”

I grabbed a sponge-like thing off the counter and squeezed entirely too much soap onto it before scrubbing down my plate and utensils. I cleaned when I was upset, anxious, or generally pissed off. It was a wonder my apartment wasn't surgically sterile and blissfully organized.

His approach was noted long before he reached me, our energies reacting as they always seemed to. The intensity was directly proportional to our proximity. He hovered just behind me, but not too close, giving me room to breathe—to make a move. I set the wet dishes on the counter, but stayed where I was, standing directly in front of the sink. Something needed to be said—anything—to break the awkward silence that seemed destined to permeate our interactions, causing them to fade slowly then die. Things had been steadily improving for us, and I wasn't going to let the sting of his words drive me out.