Time's Up (19 page)

I shook my head.

“Can't or won't?” he asked, clearly tired of this.

“There are three lawyers in my family,” I said. “I'm sure you can understand I don't feel comfortable signing
anything
without one of them taking a look-see.”

He raised a brow and nodded grudgingly. “Okay. Tomorrow morning. Here. Seven a.m. Signed or ready to negotiate.”

Sterling picked up the contract from the corner of the desk and held it up. The brunette took it. The blonde held her stylus and tablet at the ready, while he put the cap back on the pen and replaced it in his suit coat pocket. “Remove A through F on 4 and add S through V on 5. Addendums 1.A through G and D include the fee-split with all the minis.”

She tip-tapped his contract alterations on the iPad and nodded at the brunette, who left.

Sterling may as well have been speaking Japanese, but I got one thing out of it. Ready to take advantage, he'd been even quicker to back down. Sterling Black wanted me for something more than the new face of the PEA, and that might just be my way out.

Talk about an unpleasant development.

I drove home with the contract screaming at me from inside my purse on the passenger's seat and fourteen hours to figure a way out of Sterling Black's media tar pit.
Or else it'd be me on TV, accompanied by the hideous and final death rattle of my dream of becoming a cop.

What campaign did Sterling envision?
My Goodness, My Meter Maid? Got Tickets?

And as if that wasn't enough, our driveway was full of cars.

I had to park on the street. I came in through the back garage door trying to rev myself up. A party, Ernesto, and the slim but real possibility that no one had seen the YouTube video yet.

At the moment, I still had my job and three top-notch lawyers who sure as hell should be able to get me out of Sterling's stranglehold.

I went through the mudroom, dropped my keys in the dish, and heard Allegra's nasal voice-over from the family room.

They were all watching it. On the Sharp one-hundred-eight-inch screen LCD TV with Wi-Fi. Da, Flynn, Rory, Declan, Daicen, Cash. Howling with laughter.

Declan, the devil, as was his specialty, imitated me to perfection as the Guerrilla News video rolled. The room was plugged to the gills with pure testosterone. Ernesto was there. So were Koji and several other cops I'd known for years. All laughing so hard tears rolled down their cheeks.

“Hi, M-m-m-meter Maid, M-m-Maisie!” Declan said in a stutter-blurp fake throw-up voice, making everyone laugh even harder.

Except me.

I dropped my bag and jerked my shirt up. “See this? It's called a bruised pancreas. I had it
before
the mayor shoved me.”

The laughing choked to silence at the sight of my gruesome torso-covering bruise, which had turned a spectacular mottled black and violet.

“Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph,” Da whispered. “Who did that to you?”

My five brothers stared at me in white-lipped fury.

“I did,” Hank said.

The whip-crack of necks almost audible as everyone jerked to look at him.

He stood in the doorway from the living room, a beer in one hand, my mom on his arm. His black Gucci shirt was open at the neck, rolled up at the sleeves, and tucked into black pants with a black canvas military belt. All daunting sinewy hardness and cruel good looks.

“
Hank?” I squeaked.
For the love of Mike . . .

“I stepped into a kick during training,” I said hastily, yanking my shirt back down. “I wasn't paying attention. One hundred percent my fault!”

Too late.
The nine cops in the room giving Hank the eye had already decided it was a domestic and were wondering when the blanket party was.

Thierry clapped his hands from the kitchen. “Are we making the pizzas or are we not?”

Cash quit texting and sent his Italian music mix through the stereo—everything from
The Godfather
sound track to Ennio Morricone's spaghetti westerns. Rory shot Hank a last suspicious once-over before heading to the kitchen, throwing his arms around two other guys, getting the traffic flowing.

Flynn changed the input on the television to a ball game. I caught his eye and glanced at Da.

He shook his head, then tapped his watch.

Ernesto came over and got right in my face. “Where the hell you been,
chica?
I've been calling and texting you the last two hours.”

“Dhu West. I turned my phone off.”

His face crumpled in commiseration. “How'd it go?”

“Not good,” I said. “I'm getting a promotion.”

Across the room, Daicen joined Mom and Hank.

Ernesto held up his empty glass. “You need a beer, my friend. And so do I.”

“Damn straight.” We walked over to the wet bar. I put a glass under the tap. Thierry had changed the keg to Moretti in honor of pizza night. I took a sip. Icy-cold goodness. “How long has Hank been here?”

“A while,” Ernesto replied. “We got here before the cops got off shift and showed up.”

“We?”

“I didn't think you'd mind Hank tagging along. Not to mention, he's not the kind of guy you say no to.”

Hank. Here. In my own home. Talking to my mother. WTF?
“I better go say hi.”

“Hey,” Ernesto said, “gimme your phone, will ya?”

I picked up my bag, tossed him my cell, took out the contract, and walked over to Mom, Daicen, and Hank.

“Where've you been?” Mom said.

“Dhu West.” I handed my brother the contract. “Sterling Black wants me to be the new face of Parking Enforcement.” I let that sink in and turned to Hank. “Could you give us a minute? I need a little legal advice.”

“I don't know, dear. Mr. Bannon may be able to provide some interesting insight into your situation,” Mom said. “Shall we adjourn to my office?”

Once we were seated at the conference table, Mom asked, “What did Sterling Black say exactly, Maisie?”

“The video is too tough to spin. Dhu West wants to publicly separate from Talbott Cottle Coles.”

Daicen passed the first few pages to Mom. “Coles's options are limited to a public apology and anger management classes.” He turned another page of the contract. “I've seen the video. The only thing in Coles's favor is the fact that his member remained in his trousers.”

“I don't know.” Mom rolled a pen between her teeth. “Dhu West has been in bed with Coles since before his first campaign, and the Saudis want to dump him now? On the edge of reelection?”

“If it is a setup, I don't see it. Maisie's as clean as they come. And this”—Daicen tapped the contract—“comes with handcuffs.”

“I'm not going on TV.”

“Why are you balking?” Mom said. “This could be a springboard to a new career.” A wily gleam sparked in her eyes. “What do you think about running for office?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” I said.

Mom scanned another paragraph. “Dhu West seems to consider your refusal to participate as insubordination and thereby a firing offense. Your options are to appear or resign.”

“I'm not quitting. C'mon, guys,” I rasped. “You gotta get me out of this. Please?”

“Want a paper bag, killer?” Hank said.

He ran a hand along the length of his jaw. “Requesting a veteran team member accompany her on set seems reasonable.”

“Cogent, even.” Daicen's eyes crinkled at the corners. He crossed his arms over his chest, dark eyes narrowed in thought. “Any ideas?”

Mom smirked. “I vote for Leticia Jackson.”

 

Hank and I left Mom and Daicen going over the contract line by line and stepped out of the sound-baffled office into the hallway. The party was in full raucous swing.

I led him down the hall into the study. I hit the remote and the art lights flanking the stone fireplace came on, as did the flat screen, set as usual to the Rat Pack music station.

Hank leaned against the door frame, filling it. Uniquely able to make me feel tense and awkward.

“You've been playing at this meter maid thing for a while now,” he said.

“I've got my eye on the prize.”

“Yeah?” Hank moved in close. “You sure it's not a case of ‘I have my own matches and sulphur and I'll make my own hell'?”

“Going on a PR tour—with whatever scheme your murder of lawyers comes up with . . .” His voice turned husky. “No good will come of this.”

“Clairvoyant, are we?” I said.

“This is Chicago, Sweet Stuff. What goes over the devil's back will be paid for under his belly, and Coles and Dhu West are riding in a continual loop.” He touched his forehead to mine, and, in spite of myself, warm happy spread throughout my chest. “Quit.”

Why?
A weird little buzz started in the back of my mind. Like a honeybee trapped in a jelly jar. I tipped my head back to look at him. “Are you
asking
me to quit?” I said, careful to keep the hopefulness out of my voice.

“What if I am?” he said.

Hank let go of me. I turned to see my father stride into the office, all Irish smile and hot eyes.

There wasn't enough Botox in the U.S. to keep my face from contorting into a twisted-up cringe.

“Hank Bannon.” Hank held out his hand.

My father shook it. “Conn McGrane,” he said in a friendly brogue. “You wouldn't mind giving me a minute with me gel, eh, boyo? Seeing as you already kicked the living shite out of her and all.”

Hank smiled thinly. “Of course.” He left, closing the door behind him.

“Thanks, Da. That was cool.”
Can't anyone in my family act normal for once?

Da flipped his fingers upward. “Show me.”

I raised my shirt.

“Nasty.” He whistled at the expanse of dark bruise. “What were you thinking, going to work like that?”

I jerked my shirt down. “I'm on contract.”

“Jaysus, Maisie.” Da dropped down onto the couch and covered his eyes with his hand. “You'll be the death of me.”

“You haven't heard the good news yet,” I said, all sunshine and rainbows. “I'm Dhu West's new face of Parking Enforcement. Neat, huh?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I don't have much choice.” I sat down in the chair opposite. “Aside from the fact that my absence as good as declares open season on my coworkers, if I don't go I'm fired.”

“Hanging yourself over a half-assed job.”

“A means to an end, Da.”

“And what end would that be?”

Really? You honestly have no idea?
“Reinstatement. At the Academy.”

“For chrissakes.” He rubbed his temples. “Wake up. You failed the demmed psych exam. It's over.”

A pale red haze coated my vision. “Maybe I can make a deal with Coles,” I snarked. “Tell him I'll drop the aggravated felony battery if he gets me reinstated.”

My father's expression turned to pure granite. “Stay the feck away from Coles.”

“You have no idea what Chicago's corruption machine is capable of,” he said, using his perp voice, making my pulse hammer like a sapsucker on a Scotch Pine.

“I can guess—”

Da was off the couch, looming over me before I could finish. “No, you can't. Keep away from Coles.”

“It's my life, Da,” I said, jerkily.

He nodded and glanced around the room. The words “is it?” unnecessary to speak. He stood up. “Why don't you go find that roughneck you call a fella and ask him what you should do?”

Hank lounged against a stacked-stone column in the foyer.

The doorbell chimed. I ignored it.
Ask me again if I want to go home with you.

The doorbell rang again.

“Gonna answer that?” he said.

“Uh, sure.” I pulled open the front door.

“How's my favorite multimedia star?” Lee Sharpe asked, looking cut and powerful in an olive-drab tee and jeans. A dozen long-stemmed pink roses in his hand.

“Uh . . . Hi, Lee,” I said, stiff with shock as he thrust the flowers into my hands. “You shouldn't have.”

Lee stepped inside, dipped his head, and kissed my cheek. “I didn't.” He smiled and clicked his tongue. “They're for your mom.”

Seriously? Just for tonight, could one guy around here
not
be the epitome of cool?

“Hiya,” Lee said throwing a two-fingered mock salute to Hank over my head.

Hank tipped his head back in a half nod.

Lee glanced back at me, eyes narrowed. “Ooookay,” he said, chucked me under the chin, and walked right on into the family room. “Hey, Cash!”

I guess he's been here before.
I shrugged at Hank.

“Bullitt?”

“I don't know why he's here.” I put my hand on the door and started to close it.

“I do.” Hank caught the door above me. He leaned down and kissed me, slow and easy and the world stood still.

He lifted his head and I swayed.
Imperceptibly, thank God.

“Quit.” And then he was gone.

Ernesto hustled out of the family room into the foyer. “
Madre de Dios
, Maisie.” He looked at the roses and rolled his eyes before jerking open the door. “What the hell is happening with you?” He shoved my phone into the flowers and, not bothering to wait for an answer, went after Hank, slamming the door behind him.

I slumped against it, the iPhone warm in my hand.
And what exactly have you been up to, Ernesto?

I tapped the call log on my phone. He'd made a fifty-six-minute-and-fifteen-second call.

To Leticia Jackson.
Madre de Dios
was right
.

 

I took one of the two empty seats left at the far end of the kitchen counter. Thierry slid a plate of pizza and glass of beer in front of me.

“Here she is, lads,” Declan the sinner called from the pool table. “Put it up, Cash. Let's see how many hits she's up to.”

He did it without so much as a blink of conscience.

“Whoo-hooo!” shouted a friend of Flynn's as Allegra's video trumped the game on the big screen. “134,238 hits. Bigger than Miley, baby!”

Amidst the catcalls and wolf whistles, Allegra's three-and-a-half-minute story played again for what felt like thirty years. “Yo, Maisie! What's Allegra's number?” Koji called out as it finally ended, deflecting some of the ribbing. “I'll take her on a ride-along.”

I felt a hand on my back and turned on my stool.

“How you doing?” Lee sat down next to me and gave me a considering once-over.

“Great.” I raised my beer. “Embracing my infamy as the upchucking meter maid.”

“Not to be PC or anything, but I think Puking Parking Enforcement Agent has a nicer cadence.”

I socked him in the arm with a decent amount of pepper.

“Aw, Maisie.” Lee drummed his fingers on the bar. “Was that insensitive? There's no such thing as bad publicity, baby,” he said, sounding eerily like Sterling Black. “Have you even considered where it could take you?”

“Thrill me.”

“Maisie brand airsick bags.” He grinned. “You could pitch Dramamine—no wait—ipecac.”

I laughed. “Aren't you as sweet as an angel's sigh?”

His face turned serious. “Maisie, I—”

Daicen's head popped in between us as he draped an arm over each of our shoulders. “All hail Maisie's legal representation.” He playfully ground his chin into the top of my head. “Sorry to cut this short, Snap, but it's time to turn in. We've got some heavy-level negotiating tomorrow.” He straightened and faced the sprawling family room filled with guys playing pool and video games, eating and drinking, Italian music blaring with ESPN muted on the multiple television screens.

I showed Lee the splayed fingers of resignation and slid off the stool.

Lee caught my wrist. “Sleep tight,” he said, voice smoky. “Don't let the bedbugs bite.”

“Funny,” I said. “I was sort of hoping they'd eat me alive.”

 

The party, as expected, was still going strong at 5:45 a.m. I could hear the faint clatter of Foosball and echo of deep voices from the basement rec room. Guys who work the third shift never know when to go home.

I got into Daicen's silver sedan, jittery as a junkie, nerves vibrating off the windows “Dai, about this meeting . . .”

He put his sunglasses on and backed out of the garage. “You want the video buried so you can serve out your meter maid sentence, which you hope will overturn the psych diagnosis, eventually leading to your reinstatement at the Police Academy?”

“How did you—”

“I am the clever one.” Daicen flexed his fingers. “Although I highly doubt the rest of the clan's in the dark.” He started the car and waited until I was latched before driving out of the gate.

“I will extricate you from this circumstance with a minimum amount of fuss.” Daicen tuned his iPod to static. “White noise,” he said. “Remarkably effective for focus.”

Works for me.
I didn't feel like talking anyway.

Daicen hummed sporadically along, thriving in the not quite quiet, which I hoped was working like a shot of Adderall to his Einstein.

We pulled into the parking garage. He took off his sunglasses, face grave. “Wherever I lead, you follow. Clear?”

“Crystal.”

 

We rode up in the Dhu West elevator. Me wishing I felt as fierce as I looked in my black on black Nanette Lepore suit, and Daicen, sleek and keen in navy Calvin Klein with a crisp white shirt, navy and silver rep tie, and black Jack Georges briefcase.

I shifted my weight from side to side on my stilettos.

The tiniest creases appeared at the corners of my brother's ebony eyes and his mouth twitched. He was an eye-smiler, never with his mouth. Like our grandpa. “A piece of cake, Snap.”

The elevator dinged when we hit the thirty-second floor. The doors opened. Sterling's brunette led us into a stylish meeting room where we shook hands, traded shark smiles, and after accepting unwanted cappuccinos, sat down.

“So.” Sterling's gaze drifted over Daicen, sizing him up. “What firm do you work for again?”

“Corrigan, Douglas and Pruitt.”

“Haven't heard of them.” Sterling shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance. He craned his head toward the blonde. “Why don't you ask Bliss to sit in?” He turned back to Daicen. “What do they specialize in?”

“A little civil, a little criminal. Nothing fancy,” Daicen said.

“Don't be modest,” the redhead said, slinking into the room. “Corrigan, Douglas and Pruitt are one hundred percent badass.”

My brother got to his feet. “Daicen McGrane.”

“Bliss Adair.”

She eased down into the chair across from my brother and slowly crossed a pair of great legs.

“A close family,” Sterling said. “I like it.”

“That's not entirely all.” Daicen let his eyes slide over Bliss. Almost insolently. Which was weird. Because he was definitely
not
that guy. “I've always had an interest in celebrity representation.”

“Where better to start than family?” Bliss teased. “It's not like they can fire you.”

Sterling flipped open a black leather portfolio. “Let's get down to it, shall we? I take it there are some contractual agreements you'd like to discuss.”

“With less than two months' experience,” Daicen said, “Maisie's not qualified to represent the Traffic Enforcement Bureau on a national stage.”

“I disagree. Your sister is one of Dhu West's rising stars,” Bliss purred at Daicen. “And more importantly, we are talking about a physical altercation with a prominent city official. If she doesn't go on and present her side of the story, the backlash against the other parking enforcement agents will be devastating.”

“An astute observation.” His eyes never left hers as he continued in a soft, offhanded voice. “Of course, filing formal charges against Talbott Cottle Coles will have the same effect.”

“Unfortunately, it won't,” Sterling said. “And Dhu West would prefer you didn't.”

“Oh?”

“We're severing ties with Coles. We'd prefer a clean break.” Sterling gave my brother an appraising look. “This is a tremendous opportunity.”

“Alone? On a national stage? I consider that a tremendous risk.”

Bliss took the bait. “What if someone accompanied her?”

Daicen turned to me. “How does that strike you?”

I bit my lip and raised a shoulder. He put an arm around me and pulled a patronizing face at Sterling and Bliss. “Is there an office we could step into for a moment?”

“Don't be silly.” Sterling stood. “I need to check a couple calls. Take as much time as you need.”

Daicen half-rose out of his chair in politeness and they left, closing the door behind them. He glanced pointedly at the ceiling. Camera'd and mike'd, no doubt.

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Who would you like to accompany you?”

“Jennifer Lince.” She'd appropriate my interview faster than a scalded dog.

“A non-starter,” he said. “Dhu West will want to present a more
diverse
ethnicity.”

“My only other supervisor is Leticia Jackson and they won't want her.”

“Why not?”

“Leticia's about as colorful as a steamroller in a gay pride parade and twice as loud.” I folded my arms across my chest. “I won't go on alone.”

“I'll do my best.” He nodded, face solemn, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Why don't you run along, tell Mr. Black and that heavenly Bliss I'm ready, and wait for me in the lobby.”

An hour and a half later, Daicen walked out—all handshakes and smiles and let's-play-squash.

Bliss slipped out as Sterling went back in the office, sidled up to Daicen, and placed her business card in the breast pocket of his jacket.

Daicen covered his pocket with his palm.

“'Bye, now.” Bliss threw him a pose that would've earned the Snap-on Tools calendar stamp of approval and sashayed back into the conference room.

Daicen covered his mouth, half-laughing until we hit the lobby. He waited until we were back in the car in the dim underground parking ramp before saying anything. He took Bliss's card out of his pocket, flicked it back and forth across his finger. “Exactly as expected.”

“Oh yeah?”

He held up the card. “Shall I pass this on to Declan? Let him rattle her cage a bit while we fly to New York tomorrow?” He tossed it onto the dash.

“What?” I banged my head against the headrest. “I thought you were going to get me out of this.” Cold sweat filmed on my back.

“I said I'd extricate you from the situation with the least amount of fuss. What did you think?” He sighed and put his sunglasses on. “That I have the Time Bandits locked in my trunk on retainer? That we'd nip back in time and unhook the boot?”

“Me going on a national morning show is nothing
but
fuss,” I ground out.

“You still have your job and a shot at reinstatement.” He fished a pack of Wint-O-Green Life Savers out of the cup holder, put one between his teeth, and offered them to me.