CHAPTER 16
When I hang up the phone Emma is lurking in the kitchen. She’s a bit of a busy body, always wanting to know what’s going on. I suppose that fits her personality. “Hey,” she says smiling at me. “You’re home early.”
I tug on my boots quickly and lace them up. When I come out of my room, I’ve already pulled on jeans and my leather jacket. “Yeah, well, it was short-lived. I have to go out to the Island. Something came up. I’ll probably just stay out there tonight.”
My parents live out there; I could crash at their house after I free Cole. I wonder what he did. I walk to the closet and pull out a black full face helmet and a second larger helmet. It’s white like a giant ping pong ball. Emma’s eyes drift to the white helmet.
“Riding out there with someone?” she asks. Emma is leaning her hip against the counter. Her arms are folded over her chest. She seems relaxed, but I know she’s not. I’m moving too quickly for her to think everything is all right.
I shake my head. “No.” I hold up the white helmet on my fist, “I prefer this one at night, if I ride back later.”
She arches her eyebrow, “Since when?”
“Since it’s summer and I’m taking Ocean Parkway. Geeze, what’s with the third degree?” I’m a little defensive. I strap my backpack on. This is insane. I’m going to be riding with ten grand in cash on my back.
She shrugs and uncrosses her arms, “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” She walks into the kitchen and grabs a loaf of bread. “You want some food to take with you? I can toss you a PowerBar or something.”
I shake my head and grab the keys to my bike. “Nah, I’ll eat once I get there. Talk to you later.” And I’m out the door.
I fly down the stairs and run across the street into the parking garage. My bike is right where I left it. Grays and blacks cover the frame. There isn’t a spec of chrome or plastic on it. A pink stripe goes down the gas tank and explodes into a splash of color. Swinging my leg over the side, I kick start the thing—mostly because the time constraint is making me nervous—and pull out.
I zip in and out of traffic like I don’t value my life. It’s too close to rush hour. If I don’t get to the Tunnel fast enough, I’ll be trapped. I’m lucky. I manage to get downtown quickly and park on the sidewalk in front of Le Femme.
I rush past Miss Todd, saying that Cole forgot something. She eyes me suspiciously, but doesn’t follow. I find his camera body and flip it over. No scratches. No safe combination. Damn it. Where’d he put it? I turn it over twice in my hands, looking for the markings, but don’t find any.
I’m wasting time. I reach for the other camera bodies, but those are all clean too. I go back to the first body—the one he always uses—and take off the lens. I look at the housing between the body and the lens, tilting it to try to see hidden markings, but nothing’s there. I reattach the lens and flip the camera over in my palms. Opening the battery door, I slide the battery out and still see nothing but black plastic.
My heart is pounding. This is taking too long. Pressing the lever for the memory cards, the little door on the side of the camera swings open. Three numbers are scratched into the curve of the casing on the inside of the door. I exhale a rush of air.
Taking the camera, I run to Cole’s office, and open the safe. There are several things that catch my eye, including a small Tiffany’s ring box. It’s pale blue with the famous logo printed in silver letter across the case. Normally I wouldn’t snoop, but the box looks like it’s been crushed, stomped under foot. The blue leather is gashed and scuffed. The lid no longer closes correctly. It pains me to look at it. Something happened involving this piece of jewelry. I reach for the tiny box and lift it out. The lid falls off in my hands to reveal a solitaire engagement ring. The stone is huge and perfect. I lift it from its padding for a moment, staring at it, wondering who it was meant for and what happened when he gave it to her. From the look of the box, it didn’t end well. My heart sinks as I hold the ring. Cole acts pulled together, but at the moment I’m not so sure. It’s like he puts his best foot forward and hides the rest. Things like lost loves and battered Tiffany’s boxes aren’t visible on his face. I breathe slowly and realize I’m holding a piece of Cole’s past, something he locked away from the world. I return the ring to the box and put it back. Ignoring it, I reach toward the back of the safe where cash is piled in neat little bundles. I grab enough stacks and shove them into my backpack. Miss Todd is going to think I’m a thief if she sees me. I move faster.
Before I slam the safe closed, a piece of paper falls. I reach out and catch it. It’s an old photograph. I can’t ignore it. It’s out an old picture of Cole wearing army clothes. STEVENS is across his chest, some medals line the other side. His eyes are cold and hard. He looks so young, younger than I’ve ever seen him. I flip the piece of paper over, looking for a date, wondering if it’s real. Was Cole a solider? Why would he enlist?
Before I have another moment to consider it, I hear Miss Todd’s heels clicking down the hallway toward me. Her slow steady sashay gives me time to put the photo back where it was, close the safe, and zip up my backpack.
When she walks through the door, I held up his camera like I’ve found it. She cocks her head at me, like she can’t believe it. “He forgot his camera?” she asks, her narrow arms folding over her chest.
I nod and stuff that into my bag too. “Yeah, well, these things are expected. I think Cole’s getting a little senile,” I smile as I say it, half joking and not offering any other explanation. I have to get out of here.
She doesn’t laugh at my joke. “But he went to a business meeting. At least, I thought—”
Nodding, I pass her and head toward the door. Speaking over my shoulder, as she follows me out, I say “He was. Then he said he wanted it. I don’t know. Cole said he usually has one on him, and asked me to grab it. He’ll be back later tonight. Tease him then. I sure will.” Smiling at her, I wave and run through the door, leaving Miss Todd standing there with a response on her lips.
The cash on my back is making me nervous. If I get pulled over for driving like a crazy person, they’ll instantly add my name to the terrorist watch list. That would suck. Checking the time, I see that I’m cutting it really close.
After pulling into traffic, I open the throttle and punch it. The bike takes off, humming like a bee. I bob and weave through cars and trucks trapped in rush hour traffic. As soon as I’m back on Long Island, the wave of panic recedes. An hour and a half later I’m in Riverhead and my butt is vibrating like I’m still on the bike.
I leave my helmet with the motorcycle and walk into the jail. After a few wrong turns, I’m sent to the right person.
An old lady with face-saddlebags looks up at me, “Who are you here for, hun?”
I’m out of breath, and sweat makes my hair stick to my face. I push it back and say, “Cole Stevens.”
She looks up at me from her metal desk. The eyebrow drawn on her face doesn’t move. “The bail bondsmen closed at five. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Next.”
The guy behind me tries to push me out of the way, buy I hold out my arm like I’m going to close-line him if he tries to push in front of me. “Wait. I don’t need a bond. I have cash.” I say to her, reaching around for my bag. Suddenly I feel like saying that out loud was a stupid idea.
The look on her face confirms my stupidity. She sniffs and raises her bloodshot eyes back up at me, “You have ten grand on you? In cash?”
I nod. The tension in the room jumps about ten slots. She waves a pudgy hand at the guard. He steps closer. “We need a secure desk for this one.” She jabs her thumb at me. “She walked in with ten grand in cash.” They both roll their eyes like I’m an enormous pain in the ass. It’s just after five, but by the time they get a secure desk, which was me and another civil service employee and a cop, it was nearly 6:00pm.
They are talking to each other after the amount is counted, and acting like I’m not even there. Finally, the woman hands me the bail slip and spews a bunch of stuff about how to get the bail money back.
“What do I do now?” I ask.
“Nothing,” the cop says from behind me. “They’ll show the judge the bail, and he approves it. If he gets the slip in the next ten minutes, your friend is out today. Otherwise, come back first thing tomorrow.”
I nod and go to the waiting area. It’s half empty. A pregnant woman sits across from me on a wooden bench from the fifties. No one looks at anyone else. I wonder what Cole did to get tossed in here. Part of me is nervous about that. I don’t want to ask. It will conflict with the new image of him that’s floating through my mind.
I think about the picture in the safe, that younger version of Cole in the uniform. I realize that I have no idea who he is. It’s strange because after the past few days, I felt like I did know him. Cole seemed more at ease. He didn’t hold back when he was teaching me. Passion filled his voice when he spoke about photography and art.
But this? This is insane. I hardly know him and yet I’m the one he trusted with his safe combination and bail money.
The metal security doors open and a cop walks through with Cole. He’s dressed in a black suit. The jacket is hanging over his arm, his shirtsleeves are rolled up. Cole looks like he fell asleep in his suit. The cop tells Cole to get his things from the cashier’s window, and then turns and walks back behind the doors.
The few people in the room look up when Cole walks out and quickly avert their eyes. Cole straightens his shoulders like he doesn’t belong here. His cool blue eyes scan the room. He sees me and nods. I walk over to him. Part of me hesitates, like he could be dangerous, but my feet keep moving. I stop next to him.
Cole turns toward the cashier’s window and takes a yellow envelope from the woman. He puts a ring back on his finger, his watch, and stuffs his wallet into his back pocket. He hands the envelope back to the woman and she throws it in the trash.
Cole turns and I follow him to the doors. When we step outside, there are no reporters. He smiles at me, “You did good, kid. Thanks.” He sounds relieved. His posture changes and his shoulders relax a little. He takes a deep breath and runs his fingers through his hair.
I want to roll my eyes when he calls me kid, but I tease him instead, “No prob old dude,” but I’m tense and I know he can hear it in my voice. Cole looks around, breathing the air like he was inside too long. I can’t keep quiet. I have to know. “So, what’d you do?” He eyes me, startled, almost. He seems surprised that I ask. Tilting my head, I fold my arms across my chest saying, “You can’t ask me to drive all the way out here and not tell me. What’d you do?”
He sighs and rubs his hands through his hair again. He does that when he’s upset. I’ve seen him do that at work when he can’t get a pose to work right. “It was nothing. Really—”
I can’t let it slide. It would be the height of stupidity to do this and not insist on knowing what happened. I lean my face a little closer to his. Catching his gaze I say, “Ten grand worth of nothing? By the way, that was insane. You have a mini bank in your office. Who needs that much cash? Is that why they picked you up?”
He shushes me, and puts his hand on my back, leading me toward the parking lot. “Oh my god, Anna. Stop talking. Really. They’re still criminals around. Do you want my office to be tossed before we even get back?”
Turning to look up at him, I ask one more time—one last time, “Listen, I think you’re...” I’m so upset that I want to cry. I like working with him. I like my internship and whatever he just did shot it all to hell. There is no way I can finish now, and the craziest part is that I want to. When did that happen? I push away the thought. I’ll deal with it later.
A knot forms in my throat. “Why’d you have to go do something horrible, Stevens? I actually liked going to work, and now you messed it up.” I rub my face with the heel of my hand.
“What?” Shock is in his voice.
We’re standing on a cement island between the police station and the parking lot. I’m so disappointed with him that I can’t hide it. “I can’t work for a felon, and I think it’d be better for both of us...”
His laughter cuts me off. His face lights up like I said the funniest thing ever, “What are you talking about, Lamore? You think I did something? What do you think I did!”
“I don’t know. Something bad, since you won’t tell me. I can’t work for someone who might knock me into the East River one night.” I’m only half joking. He worries me now. I thought about it on the way out here and unless he was tossed in the slammer because of unpaid parking tickets—which he should have been able to tell me—then I can’t work for him anymore.
“You watch too much TV, Anna. Seriously.” He scans the parking lot. “Where’s my car?”
I look at him like he’s crazy, “Not here. I took my ride. And I’m leaving.” I wait half a beat and when he says nothing, I say, “Have a nice life, Cole” and walk away.
Cole reaches out and grabs my arm. A shiver shoots through my body from his touch. I jerk my arm away. He holds his hands up, like he doesn’t want to fight, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to...” he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he says, “Anna, I didn’t do anything. I was headed out here for a meeting and got ID’ed. Apparently some tranny slugged a cop today. I—” he swears and shakes his head “I can’t believe you’re making me say this. I got picked up because I look like him. They took me in because I matched his description. Then, I called you. Nothing happened. I swear.”
I stare at him as he speaks. My lips part and my jaw drops. “You were arrested for looking like someone else?” He nods. “Someone who assaulted a cop?” He nods again. “A transvestite?” my voice squeaks the question as my lips quiver into a smile.
“Yes,” his hisses, obviously still mad. “Now you see why I didn’t want to tell you, and why I don’t want anyone else to know. It’s the kind of mistake that smears people and it doesn’t matter if it’s not true.” The strain flows out of his voice and I feel his hand on my shoulder. I’m shaking from trying not to laugh. “Miss Lamore?”
I don’t trust myself to answer; I nod, “Hmmm?”
Both his hands rest on my shoulders and I avoid his gaze. The giggles lick my stomach and toes, causing convulsions to rake through me as I try to hold myself still. Cole lifts my chin to meet his eyes. When a smile forms on his lips, I’m doomed. Before I know what’s happening, we’re both laughing. I double over, clutching my stomach, barely able to stand. Cole is leaning on me, laughing just as hard.
Wiping a tear from the corner of my eye, I straighten and look at him. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“There is no secret, Miss Lamore. I don’t wear women’s clothes. I don’t punch police officers.” He’s still smiling, his voice lighter. He shakes his head at me, like he can’t believe he’s laughing. He must have sat inside stewing for hours. “So where’s this car of yours?”
Looking him in the eye, I grin, “I never said it was a car. Come on, old dude. I’ll take you home.” He follows me through the parking lot. When we stop before the bike, he tenses. I shove the golf ball helmet into his hands and tell him to put it on.
“You’re kidding?” he asks, his voice too high. “You drove here on that?”
I nod, fastening my chin strap. Swinging my leg over the seat, I say, “Yup, I rode here on this. And this is your ride home. Get on.” I start the bike, but Cole just stands there. I glance back at him. “What?”
“They just accused me of being...” he sputters, blinking hard like he’s in a nightmare, “I can’t ride two-up on the back of a pink bike with a girl helmet.”
Grinning, I pat the seat, “Come on, Cole. Suck it up. Be my bitch for a few miles and we can call you a cab. There’s a diner a few miles away. We can stop there, I can eat—you can grab a cab from there, that way no one knows where you were.” His lips are in a soft smile, like he’s in shock, and I wonder if he is.
Finally he slams the helmet on, fastens it, and gets on the bike behind me. “You’ve done this before? Driven with two people on this thing?”
“Yeah, just keep your feet up and don’t grab my boobs if you freak out.” He laughs. I feel his hands slide around my waist. His weight shifts behind me when he puts his feet on the back pegs. “Hold on tight,” I say, and we’re off.