The Lovely Reckless (27 page)

I force myself to meet his gaze. Marco's brows pull together, worry branded on his beautiful features.

Please don't ask. Just kiss me.

I repeat the words over and over in my head, hoping I'll develop telepathic abilities in the next ten seconds.

He takes a breath, and I know the question is coming. “Are you a virgin?”

I bite my lip and cover my face with my hands. I nod—the tiniest movement imaginable. I want to evaporate into the air.

“Shit.” He eases off me and pulls me up against his chest, and his cheek brushes mine as he brings his lips to my ear. “Don't hide from me. You don't have to be embarrassed. I'm the jerk.” He rests his forehead on my shoulder. “We can take things as slow as you want. I'll never ask you to do anything you aren't ready for. Just don't go anywhere, okay?”

I uncover my face and slide my arms around Marco's neck.

He notices the time illuminated on my alarm clock. “Lex will be here in a few minutes to pick you up.”

“It's not enough time.” I press my face against his chest.

He strokes my hair. “I know. Having you in my arms like this is all I want.”

“Will you text me tonight and tell me that ten more times? Or twenty?”

Marco grins. “I'll tell you a hundred times.” He bites his lip. “But I want you to be sure. All this sneaking around … if it's too hard—”

“It doesn't matter how hard it is.” I take his face in my hands. “Because I'm in love with you.”

I fell for him the first night I kissed him, but falling in love didn't happen because of one mind-blowing event. It happened during dozens of everyday moments—watching him carry his sister's backpack, listening to him talk about his mom, hearing the sound of my name on his lips. Now it feels like I've loved him forever.

Marco stares at me with a dazed look, like I just told him I was a mermaid. “Don't feel like you have to say it just because I did.”

“I love you, Marco Leone. And it's the always kind.”

 

CHAPTER 32

HANDCUFFS AND HEARTBREAK

The streetlight in front of the apartment building blinks, on the verge of burning out. Lex parks in the spot in front of the balcony, and Cujo stands on his hind legs, paws up against the window ledge, as if he senses I'm out here.

Colored lights flicker behind his pointy ears. Dad leaves the TV on for Cujo if he'll be gone for a long time—a crime show channel, because he thinks our dog likes reruns of
Law & Order
and
Cold Case
.

Our dog.

I stare at the two-story garden apartment building with the shitty outdoor staircase that sucks even more if it's raining, the identical balconies with the parking-lot views, and the sliding glass doors that offer zero privacy.

This place is home, and that's okay.

The fact that I can't stand to look at Dad doesn't matter. I feel like myself here—or at least like I'm getting closer to figuring out who I am now.

“Do you believe everything happens for a reason?” Lex looks straight ahead, her expression impossible to read. We used to sit outside behind my house for hours, lying on our backs and staring at the stars in silence. A person really understands you if you don't have to say a word to hear each other. “Frankie?”

“I'm not sure. That would mean Noah's death happened for a reason, and I can't think of one that makes sense. Maybe some things do and others don't.”

Lex props her elbow against the window. “It feels so arbitrary.”

“I know.” I get out, but I don't close the car door. “I'm worried about him, Lex.”

She knows I'm talking about Marco. “Worrying won't change anything. It's just a way to fool yourself into believing things will turn out differently.”

I'm not sure what she means. As she drives away, a heaviness settles in my stomach. Marco isn't the only person I'm worried about.

*   *   *

The note on the kitchen table is barely legible.

Working late. There's pizza in the freezer.
Don't forget to lock the door. Dad

At least he won't be here all night spying on me. I crumple the message and toss it in the trash.

After an hour of bad TV, my cell phone rings.

“Frankie? It's Cruz,” she says before I say hello. “Are you there? Frankie?”

“Did she pick up?” Ava asks in the background.

“What's wrong?” I hear it in her voice. Something bad happened.

“Marco was arrested.”

The world stops, and there's nothing but panic and a loud echoing sound, like a big seashell is pressed against my ear. But instead of ocean waves, wind rips through my head. It's like I'm in a flashback with no images. Picturing Marco in jail … I can't do it. Or I won't let myself.

“Frankie?”

“I'm here.” The words sound far away. “Did he get caught racing?”

She's silent for a second at the other end of the line. “Marco told me that you know about his …
situation
. He wasn't racing. The cops busted him in a stolen car.”

He stole another car.

What did I expect? Marco never told me he'd stop.

But I hoped he would.

Why? Because he loves me? Or because I told him I loved him tonight? Love doesn't pay the bills.

Cruz starts talking again. “Marco couldn't say much. But it sounded like someone set him up. The cops were waiting. State troopers. They busted him right after he got in the car.”

“Who could've set him up?” I ask.

“Maybe someone overheard a conversation. I'm on my way to the police station now.”

The cops won't let her see Marco. Only a lawyer or a legal guardian will get past Dad and Tyson—and I know they're involved. They call the shots in RATTF, which means my father arrested the guy I love, or he knew about it.

“Come get me.” I grab my backpack and head for the front door.

“Text me your address. But you shouldn't go down there, Frankie. There's nothing you can do.”

If only that were true.

*   *   *

Ava parks next to a fleet of Crown Vics and SUVs at the state police barracks. Cruz bites her nails as she eyes the uniformed state troopers walking in and out. I'm not ready to tell Cruz that my dad is one of them, especially not with her sister sitting next to her. If she comes inside, it won't take her long to figure it out.

“Maybe I should go in alone.” It takes every ounce of strength to keep my tone casual. The thought of Marco in handcuffs or inside a cell tears me up.

Cruz gives me a strange look. “Why?”

Here goes. Either she'll buy it or she won't. “Marco is a minor. The only people who can see him are his lawyers or legal guardians. It's in every cop movie.”

She rubs her eyes. “You're right.”

“Then why would you go in?” Ava asks. Smart girl.

“We're closer to the Heights than the Downs. Maybe they'll give a nice rich girl from the Heights some information.”

Cruz shrugs. “It's worth a try.” It kills me how easily she accepts the idea that they might treat me differently. I get out of the car and walk toward the barracks—that's what the state police call their precincts.

Dad can walk into any one of them and use the facilities, but the undercover task forces don't have regular offices in police buildings. They rent commercial office space above law firms and interior-design studios.

This is one of the older barracks, tan brick with a brown shingled roof. It looks like it belongs in a documentary from the nineties. The Maryland state flag flying out front is the only thing that isn't outdated.

Dad won't be happy if I walk in there, but I'm doing it for Marco.

I push through the door and walk straight to the counter. An officer wearing a brown-and-tan uniform eyes me suspiciously. “Can I help you, young lady?”

“Yes, sir. I think my dad is here. Jimmy Devereux? He's with the Regional Auto Theft Task Force.” I say each word with confidence, as if I drop by to visit my dad all the time.

The trooper peers over the counter. “You're Jimmy's daughter? Frances, right?”

“Frankie.”

“I was close. Jimmy talks about you whenever he comes in.” He smiles. I'm a cop's daughter, which makes me one of their own. He points at the door to my left. “Come on back, and I'll see if I can track him down.”

He reaches for the phone receiver in front of him.

“I wanted to surprise him,” I say quickly.

“All right.”

He buzzes the door open for me. On the other side, desks are arranged in rows.

The officer who buzzed me in talks to a few cops in street clothes wearing shoulder holsters over their T-shirts.

“Your dad is sitting in on an interrogation,” he says when he comes back. “When he takes a break, we'll call him out.”

“Thanks.”

“You can wait over there.” He points at a bank of white plastic chairs that look like the red ones in the lobby where I sat on the night of my DUI.

The room smells like old sneakers and hamburgers.

A cop barrels his way through, followed by another officer and a pissed-off guy in handcuffs. The guy jerks against the cop's hold, and I shrink back.

“Get your hands off me, or I'll sue your asses for police brutality.” The guy's nose bleeds onto his lips, and he spits on the floor. “I know my rights. You can't bust into somebody's house.”

Watching the guy walk away in cuffs makes me think of Marco. Is he handcuffed right now? I spot my father across the room. He rushes toward me, his expression shifting from concerned to suspicious.

“How did you know I was here?” He already knows the answer, and his expression darkens. “You came because of
him
.” I'm betraying my dad—that's the message.

I push myself out of the sticky plastic seat, knees shaking. “Dad—”

“Not here.” He clenches his jaw and takes my elbow, leading me toward the offices in the back. I smile at the cops who say hi as we pass. I'm not trying to humiliate my father. I'm trying to save the boy I love.

Dad opens one of the doors and pushes me inside. Tyson stands by an open window holding a cigarette and a portable travel fan. “Hey, Frankie.”

“I told you to stop smoking in here.” Dad points at the cigarette.

Tyson holds up his blue fan. “I've got the fan on, Jimmy. Relax.”

“We need some privacy. Father-daughter talk.” Dad's tone is icy.

Tyson stubs out the cigarette on the bottom of his work boot and shuts the door as he leaves.

I've never seen Dad so angry. He turns on me the second Tyson closes the door. “I told you not to see Marco Leone again, didn't I? Or did you think that was a request?”

“I'm sorry, Dad. But you can't charge him. Please.” My voice shakes.

“Do you think I brought him here for a tour? We busted him sitting behind the wheel of a
stolen
car.” Dad stands and presses his palms against the table in front of him. “Let me repeat that part in case you missed it the first time. He was sitting in a
stolen
car with the key in the ignition.”

“You don't know the whole story. Marco's dad stole cars for someone else before he was arrested. After his father went to jail, the guy he worked for came after Marco. The guy told Marco that he had to pay off his father's debt.” I'm talking too fast, but if I slow down, Dad might cut me off before I finish. “He knew Marco and his sister were living alone, and he threatened to report them to Child Services if Marco didn't pay him.”

“Marco should've gone to the police.”

I'm not getting through to my dad. “He couldn't, not without losing his sister. Marco didn't want to steal cars. His dad's boss forced—”

“Forced him to do it?” Dad shouts over me. “Is that what you want me to believe? When Tyson and I followed him, Marco drove straight from the Heights to that car. No one was forcing him. I could've waited until he drove it to the dockyard and arrested him for felony theft.”

My head spins, caught on something Dad said.

When Tyson and I followed him, he drove straight from the Heights …

I jump out of the chair. It tips over and falls backward, crashing against the floor.

“You
used
me!” I shout.

Dad leans toward me, his hands still planted on the desk. “No. You
lied
to me, and I found out.”

“I'm in love with him, and there's nothing you can do about it.” My voice cracks, and I can't hold back the tears. “I'll be eighteen in four months.”

“He'll be in jail by then.”

“They have visiting hours.” I swipe at my face, brushing away the tears. “So do whatever you want, Dad. You can't stop me from loving him. It's the one thing you can't control.”

His expression is unreadable. “Are you really in love with this boy, Frankie? Do you even know what that means?”

“Of course I do.”

“What are you willing to do to protect him?” Dad asks.

“Anything.” I look my father in the eye.

He nods slowly and paces the length of the room. “I'll make you a deal. Give me your word that you'll end things with Marco, and I'll let him walk.”

“What?” I must have misunderstood. Dad would never bend the rules—let alone the law. Not even for me.

“You heard me.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “You'd never let someone break the law and walk.”

“I would if it helps me catch his boss. If you're right and Marco is stealing these cars for someone else, that person is the one we want.”

“Marco probably won't tell you.” Not after the way he reacted when I suggested it.

“Maybe he won't have to. Let me worry about how to do my job.” Dad crosses his arms. “No games this time. If you start seeing Marco Leone again, we'll charge him for his felony stunt tonight and let a court decide if he's guilty and I will make it my personal mission to dig up every bit of dirt under that boy's fingernails. And if he steals another car or commits a crime of any kind, the deal is off.”