Chapter Three
Cole sat in the house of a stranger, bruised and unable to see, the words of one of the men who’d jumped him on repeat in his brain: We’ll be sure to let your sister know just how much she means to you when we find her.
They were looking for her, and he’d led them right to her last known whereabouts. They were going to hurt her and he was sitting here, blind and beat to hell, unable to help her because he didn’t even know where she was.
The only reason he stayed was because these people knew where Marsi—or apparently Cassie, as she was now known—was.
That, and because the woman who’d brought him here wielded a knife like Jessica Jones, and when a woman like that spoke, you listened.
“So let me see if I’ve got this right,” he said, gently shoving an enormous dog back from his crotch for at least the thirtieth time. “Marsi’s your friend. She lived here with you for two years. But you’re not going to give me her number because you don’t believe I am who I say I am.” He stared at the blurry female figure in front of him, trying to make sense of what she and her brother were trying to say, but every time she came near he kept catching a waft of cinnamon, and remembering how soft she’d felt pressed against him in the diner. Without sight, his other senses were in overdrive.
“No, you’re Cole Talent, all right,” said Garrett. “That’s what your license says, anyway.”
Cole’s head craned in the direction of the tall bastard who was currently stretched out over a chair across the table. The bag of frozen peas Cole had been holding against his jaw dropped to his thigh.
“You stole my wallet?”
“It was in your car,” Garrett said, tossing it across the table along with his phone and keys. “Face looks better in the picture than it does now.”
“Jesus, Garrett.” Kenzie came close again, with that spicy scent that was driving Cole crazy. “We made Cassie a promise, that’s all we’re saying. We wouldn’t tell anyone how to find her.”
“I’m her brother,” he said.
“And those guys after you tonight, that was just shit luck, or do you have the wrong people on your tail, too?” Garrett’s question appeared to be rhetorical, so Cole didn’t answer.
“Remy!” Kenzie snapped her fingers as a long wet tongue slobbered up and down Cole’s arm. “Garrett, get your dog under control.”
Garrett did not get his dog under control.
“We left your sister a message,” said Kenzie. “That’s all we can do. She’ll check in when she gets it.”
“She never answers the phone?”
Kenzie shook her head, a blur of dark hair and bronze skin. “It’s safer that way.”
Safer. He didn’t like the sound of that.
“What if it’s an emergency?” Like two men who just wanted to talk.
“Garrett said it was urgent on the message,” she said. “I know it’s frustrating, but it’s all we can do. Not knowing where she is keeps her protected.”
From who? Her own brother?
“Where are my glasses?” Cole asked, frustration growing by the second.
“Hold your horses.” Kenzie’s voice had a smooth, hypnotic quality that made him stop and listen every time she talked. “I’m almost . . . there.” She handed him the glasses, and even from the feel he could tell they were busted beyond repair. She’d taped up the nose bridge and the arm. One of the lenses shifted as he put them on.
He looked up at her, just long enough for an image of her face to sear into his mind, and then quickly looked away.
She was gorgeous.
Of course she was gorgeous.
“Are they crooked?” she asked, stepping closer. “Here, I can—”
“They’re fine,” he said quickly, turning more fully to face Garrett, who, now that Cole could see, looked like the love child of Salma Hayek and a Slim Jim.
“You’re welcome,” Kenzie muttered. He shot a quick glance her way, noting how she’d folded her arms over her chest.
Her very full chest.
Across the table, Garrett offered a very pointed look, and slowly shook his head.
Cole coughed into his hand. Sat straighter. The room was clearer at least, all the vague blobs more defined. The slobbering, crotch-loving dog, Remy, was a German shepherd. Cole returned the bag of peas to the side of his face—the side Kenzie stood on. As if to taunt him, she went into the kitchen and returned with a wet rag, pulling up a chair on his other side.
“I’m fine,” he said as she raised the cloth to his face.
She hesitated, her hand an inch from his mouth.
“Don’t be a baby,” she said, then gently pressed the rag to his lip.
He couldn’t help looking at her then, at her bronze skin and heart-shaped face. At the smooth black hair hanging over her shoulders, and the bright purple streak behind her right ear. The white T-shirt she wore laid over her curves, the V-neck dipping low to show her cleavage.
He flinched when she dabbed at the corner of his mouth, and she sucked in a small breath, drawing his attention to her full, rosy lips.
“Hold still,” she said.
He didn’t move. Not even when she traded the water for antiseptic and it burned enough to make his eyes water.
“The guys who jumped you,” Garrett said, jerking Cole out of his haze. “They say anything?” He’d already asked Kenzie to relay her interactions with them, but she couldn’t even pinpoint which exact day they’d come in on, much less what they’d said. Garrett was planning on calling another employee—April something—to see if she’d seen anything suspicious in the morning.
Cole recalled the threats, the search for his sister, and the danger she was in. We want our cash flow back on track. But that wasn’t really all they wanted. They were after revenge; they wanted blood. They’d been keeping track of him—they knew about the restaurant and his father’s arrest. They’d been casing out this little diner for a week now, maybe longer, waiting for Marsi to return. Instead they’d gotten Cole, who’d driven halfway across the country in search of her.
If he hadn’t come—if Marsi had instead—she might be dead now.
Again, he felt a hot, prickling fear swell within his ribs. He didn’t understand the kind of trouble she was in, but he knew it was serious. She wouldn’t have left out of the blue like she had two years ago if it wasn’t. Not for the first time, he wondered what exactly it was that had driven her away; if she’d been scared of their father, or scared of getting caught by the police, like their father.
As far as he knew, she’d never done anything wrong. She’d never even gotten a speeding ticket. Marsi was their father’s angel. Practically a mother to he and Elaina. She’d always been there for him, so why, the night of the police raid on Rare, did she run?
It didn’t matter, he told himself, as he had a hundred times over the last two years. If she’d done something bad, he’d help her figure a way out of it. He’d take care of it; he owed her that much. But he couldn’t do that if he couldn’t find her, and he couldn’t find her if she was surrounded by a wall of secrets.
He faced Garrett, trying to read the other man’s intentions in his hard stare. Telling them what the men who jumped him had said didn’t feel right. If Marsi had done something wrong, the less people who knew about it, the better.
“They didn’t say much,” said Cole.
Garrett considered this a moment, then stood. “It’s late. There’s a motel in town.”
“He’ll stay here,” Kenzie said.
Her brother glared at her. If she felt it, she didn’t appear bothered. She didn’t even look up at him.
“There’s a couch with your name on it,” she told Cole, but though the offer sounded genuine, a small frown tugged at her lips.
“Kenz,” Garrett warned, and there was more than irritation in his tone. There was concern.
Garrett clearly thought he was putting them in danger by being here, and Cole couldn’t exactly ease their minds. The men at the diner had threatened him, and now that they’d seen Kenzie and Cole together, who knew what they’d do? If he and Garrett’s positions were switched, he would’ve done the same thing.
“It’s really okay,” Cole said. “Thanks for the offer.”
“You’re Cassie’s brother,” Kenzie said, the frown disappearing as she faced Garrett. “We’re not turning him out. What if he’s got a concussion? Last thing we need is his brain bleeding out his ears in some crappy Red Roof Inn.”
Cole grimaced, which made a cut on his eyebrow open. He touched it, and pulled away a finger red with blood.
“I might not be the safest person to have around right now,” he acknowledged.
“You might not be the safest on your own right now,” she tacked on.
It wasn’t his most chest-beating, masculine moment, but knowing Jessica Jones was looking out for him felt kind of . . . good.
Taking his hand, she wiped it clean with the rag. Her grip was warm. Soft. He pulled away quickly, but she just moved on to his brow, dabbing carefully, with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.
He cleared his throat.
“How long does it usually take my sister to respond?” Cole asked, changing the subject.
Kenzie gave a dry laugh. “Depends on how preoccupied she is.”
His mind was filled with visions of her running from men like those they’d encountered tonight. Reaching for Kenzie’s wrist, he held her still. “What does that mean?”
He could feel her pulse beat beneath his fingers, and the smooth skin of a scar that encircled her wrist. His eyes went to that place, and he wondered what had happened. It was not an old wound; the healing had been recent.
This time it was her who pulled away.
“Nothing,” she said, pulling her sleeves over the mark. “She’ll call soon. Morning at the latest. She’s probably sleeping now.”
Sleeping, and completely unaware of the danger she was in.
Or maybe she was aware, which was why there wasn’t a direct way to get in touch with her. Whatever the case, he didn’t like it.
Garrett glared at him a second longer, then turned.
“I’m going to take a look around, just in case your pals followed us back.” He gave a short whistle and Remy immediately trotted to his side. “Keep your hands off my sister, Cole.”
Cole was not the biggest fan of Garrett.
When the front door closed behind them, Kenzie smirked, but her eyes remained wary.
“He’s all right once you get to know him.”
He almost laughed, but figured that might not have been the best response.
“He worries about you. I get it.”
Her gaze narrowed on him, as if trying to assess if this was the truth, then she rose, and made her way back into the kitchen.
It was a small space, long, with a microwave on the beige counter and an old-fashioned green refrigerator at the end, and as she rinsed the rag in the sink, he got a profile shot of her curves.
She was all curves.
“You hungry?” she asked. “I happen to be an excellent cook.”
He shook his head. He didn’t want to be an inconvenience. It was enough that she’d vouched for him to stay here at all.
“I’m fine,” he said, feeling a different tension take over with Garrett out of the room. She seemed not to feel it, carrying on as if nothing had changed. But it settled in his chest, making him conscious of every movement of her hands, every sway of her hips.
He must have gotten hit harder than he thought.
“Is that what you do at the diner?” he asked, realizing he didn’t know anything about her. “Are you the chef?”
She grinned. “I don’t think many diners have chefs, Cole.”
Right.
“I do a little bit of everything,” she said.
That’s what he did at Rare, too. Whatever was needed, which mostly involved putting out fires. He glanced at his phone on the table, dreading what might be going on in his absence. In the two years he’d worked there, he hadn’t taken a single night off. At least, not until two days ago, when he’d started driving to Ohio.
“Happy birthday,” she said, changing the subject. “It’s coming up this week, right?”
He lowered the peas again, one side of his face tingling and numb.
“February sixteenth.” He wondered how she knew this. Had she seen his ID, too?
“Cassie told me,” Kenzie said, giving him a small smile.
Damn. That smile.
“She what?”
“On the phone. I tried to get her to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ with me, but she wouldn’t.”
He’d forgotten about his birthday. It probably would have been spent like last year anyway, working, and then alone in his apartment, watching reruns on network TV and settling his father’s legal bills. Marsi was the only one who ever liked celebrating it, and with her gone, there wasn’t much point.
His head was throbbing. Why was she talking to other people about him, when she could have been talking to him?
“Thanks for what you did at the restaurant,” she said quietly.
“Yeah, what’s that?” Now he was certain he was being punished for something in another life.
She set a glass of water and a bottle of Advil on the table, then took a seat in the chair beside him, scooting it a little farther away than before. She played a good game with her brother, but now that they were alone Cole could tell he made her nervous.
“Being a hero, of course,” she said. Despite everything, he couldn’t help but feel a little lighter just being close to her. “Blocking the door. Keeping the bad guys out. That was a pretty bold move considering . . . everything.”
Like the fact that he was basically blind.
“Well. I can’t see worth shit, but my hearing’s spectacular,” he muttered, quoting Matt Murdock.
Great. When in doubt, pull material from comics. Women loved that.
“Does that mean those guys work for Fisk?”
He stared blankly at her. It was as if he’d found another English-speaking person in the middle of Africa, only they were in the middle of Ohio, and she was speaking Daredevil.
“I hope not,” he said, but he couldn’t help wondering if this was close to the mark. Wilson Fisk was to Hell’s Kitchen as Al Capone was to Chicago. August had made big news, but if these men were right, if his father had worked for someone bigger, they were all in a world of trouble.
“Thanks for letting me in,” he said quickly. “And for inviting me over. And for . . . everything. The water.”
She grinned. He reached for the glass, willing himself to get his shit together.
“So you live here with your brother?” he asked.
Her hands clasped in her lap. Her nails were bright purple, like the streak in her hair.
“For now.” Her smile had fallen, and he kicked himself for being the one to make it go. “Sorry about him, by the way. He’s kind of got a thing for your sister. A little touchy when it comes to her.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Don’t tell him I told you.”
“He’s into Marsi?”
Her head tilted. “Why do you look so surprised?”
He scowled. “Are they . . .”
“No.” She laughed. “Very much no.”
Yet another thing he didn’t know about his own sister.
“You look like you could use some sleep,” she said. “I’ll make up the couch.”
He reached for her hand automatically, but when she flinched, he paused and pulled back.
He scared her, or maybe she was still spooked from the earlier fight. Either way, a woman had never looked at him like he might be dangerous before, and he felt the sudden urge to reassure her he was safe. He wouldn’t hurt her. He didn’t like the idea of hurting anyone.
But words meant nothing when you couldn’t prove them. He’d learned that from his father.
“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t forget when people are kind to me.”
“That’s something we have in common, then,” she said.
He watched her leave the room, listening to her quiet steps on the carpet. Exhaustion was wearing him down, along with the aches and pains spread across his whole body, but he wished she’d come back and talk a little more. He wanted to hear more about his sister. If he was being honest, he wanted to hear more about her, too.
Reluctantly, he reached for his phone and found nine texts from the evening manager at Rare. He was one of the few people who knew about the new restaurant in Vegas, and thought Cole was heading there to get it up and running. It was a convenient excuse, one that would have been truth if he hadn’t gotten that call from Marsi and gone to find her.
He scrolled through the messages. Two chefs had called in sick. There’d been a complaint about an undercooked steak. One of the interested buyers was inquiring if Cole had considered his generous offer on Rare. Five calls from local press asking for a comment about his father.
He wished he could push them all off. Instead he answered each query with an ease that had taken a full year to acquire. Call Enzo for standby tomorrow, just in case. Move the sous chef up the line to cover. Re: complaint—assume you comp’d meal and got contact information. I will email customers in the morning.
He considered the interested buyer, unsure as of yet how to respond. Rare was Marsi’s project. She’d loved the place. It would have been nice to pay off his school loans, but he didn’t feel right selling it without talking to her first.
Hold off buyer. I’ll get back to him soon.
He rubbed a hand over his chin.
Decline comment from anyone asking about August Talent.
Automatically he scrolled through his social media pages. Every one was plastered with Marsi’s face and a plea to report any information about her whereabouts. As he did every night and every morning, he read through the posts for anything new, deleting the comments with words like criminal, and thief, and drugs.
He wished he could say with certainty that Marsi wasn’t any of those things, but he couldn’t. Regardless, it struck him that soon he might be able to take these pages down, that his sister might no longer be missing.
It felt like too much to hope for.
When Kenzie returned with an armful of blankets and a pillow, he tucked his phone into his pocket and followed her into the living room. There, he noticed a shotgun leaning against the wall in the entryway, and pondered if they’d had problems with safety, or if Kenzie and her brother were just gun people. The front door looked new—the brass hinges were shiny, and the frame was a brighter color of paint than the floorboards and crown molding. His eyes moved throughout the rest of the room. The furniture was blue velvet, old, but well taken care of. The curtains were all pulled shut.
He wondered how many times Marsi had been in this house. If she’d laughed with Kenzie and Garrett. If she was happy here.
“Are you all right?” Kenzie asked. Cole’s chin lifted.
There was genuine worry in her voice, and when he recognized it, he shoved his hands in his pockets. He hadn’t meant to upset her.
“I’ll be out of here tomorrow, I promise.”
The corner of her mouth tilted up. “Your sister told me that the first night she stayed here, too. Now she can’t shake me, no matter how hard she tries.”
With that, she departed down the dark hall, dark hair swaying between her shoulder blades.
Maybe Marsi wasn’t so bad off after all.