- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO -
SCOTCH
There was nothing more surreal than sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast with my family, while Costello Badd sat across from me. He was drinking coffee; he’d politely declined my mother’s offer of doughnuts. No matter what she suggested, he turned it down.
Under the table, I sent him a quick text.
Me: Eat a doughnut, dummy.
He sat up, feeling the vibration. After glancing at the screen, Costello cast me a sly smile. Reaching over, he took a plain doughnut from the basket and gave it a nibble. Good. The guy needed fuel if he was going to put up with my uncle today.
Gina pushed a third bear claw into her mouth. “You’re still an ace baker, Margie,” she said.
My mother grabbed her big hips, laughing with pride. “Come by the bakery sometime, they’re even fresher! These are a day old, you know?”
“They don’t taste stale,” Gina said. Stretching backward over the chair and cracking her back, she groaned in delight. “I’m so full. Mind if I hop in your shower, Margie?”
“Not at all,” she answered.
“Great. Where do you keep the clean towels again?”
Rolling her eyes kindly, my mom waved for my friend to walk ahead of her. “You’d think by now you’d know this home as well as your own. Come on.”
Gina flicked a bit of sugar at me as she walked by. I snapped my napkin at her, but she dodged, laughing all the way up the stairs. It made me nostalgic for when we were kids and she’d sleep over on the weekends.
It was almost easy to forget why we were back home.
Except that when I looked at Costello and my father and uncle all glowering silently around the table, it wasn’t easy at all. These men were filling the air with testosterone, with bad memories and old hang-ups.
It had to end.
“Okay,” I said, pounding the table with my fist and shaking the silverware. They all snapped their eyes to me. “Let’s get down to business.”
Costello visibly relaxed as he watched me. I hoped he found me comforting; the thought thrilled me. “You’re right. There’s no time to wait.”
“How much time is there?” my dad asked. He was wearing thick moss-green sweatpants that I knew were easy to get over his stiff joints. They matched the color of his eyes—a color I’d lamented not winning in the genetic lottery. “Your father and his lot, or the Valentines, they’re working together to find you both. What are the chances they’ll bang our door down?”
“Slim, currently,” Costello said.
“They can’t track Heather back here?” Uncle Jimmy asked.
Shaking my head, I wore a tiny smile. “I’d never have come here if it put you guys in danger. No one knows who I am. When I waitressed—”
“Okay,” my uncle grunted. He’d spoken up so suddenly it threw me off. “We get it. So there’s no pressure to fix this quick.”
Across from me, Costello’s whole body crunched together. Either his poker face wasn’t as good as it used to be, or I’d gotten better at reading him. I had a feeling it was the latter. “There is pressure,” I said, chewing my lip. He shot me a wary look, but I went on. “The Valentines are threatening to hurt Costello’s family if he doesn’t hand me over to them.”
Costello remained steady, looking at my uncle with mounting curiosity. He said, “You’re wondering if I’ll betray you.”
“Being blunt doesn’t win you any points,” Dad grumbled.
“Stop,” I said, leaning over the tabletop. “We’re not going to start accusing Costello of plotting against us. He’s saved me too many times to count.” But the mention of his family had my brain going haywire. I was terrified by that text Maverick had sent.
His loved ones will get hurt if I don’t fix this.
Tightening my teeth together, I spoke as firmly as I could. “We need a plan. Darien started all of this. He’s got everyone thinking I tried to murder him, and we all know it’s nuts. Honestly,” I laughed, “I don’t know why anyone is taking him at his word.”
A chair squeaked, sliding an inch backward. My dad had linked his fingers over his mouth, but his voice came through clear. “There’s a reason, if you think about it.”
All of us focused on him, silent in our anticipation; we didn’t dare slow his train of thought.
Shutting his eyes under a furrowed brow, he said, “Jimmy, you remember the old guy who used to run that little grocery store with his brother?”
My uncle cocked his head. “Stanford and Montana. We were always getting called down there for the pettiest crap, and when Montana took over . . .” All of a sudden his eyes stretched wide. “Shit. I get what you’re saying.”
Dropping his hands to his lap, my father looked at Costello. “Montana wanted to run the shop, but his older brother had seniority. They fought about it for years, and the employees never knew which side to take. Until one day. I rolled up there, had a call about someone planning to burn the place down.”
I’d listened to my father tell me so many stories about working on the street. I’d always listened with rapt attention, and now was no different.
He said, “Montana was there, claiming Stanford had been attempting insurance fraud. Guess the plan was to burn the building, make it look like an accident, but Montana caught him in the act. Of course Stanford denied it, but most of the employees were siding with his brother. Even as they refused to look me in the eye, they claimed they’d seen Stanford pour gasoline in the store the night before, then stash the container in the dumpster. It was there when I looked. I had no choice but to arrest him.”
“I don’t get how that’s the same as what happened to me,” I said reluctantly.
Chuckling dryly, my uncle said, “Those employees knew Montana was lying. He lied just to gain control of the store, and they held the lie together. Montana rewarded them for their part in it—one of the cashiers was driving around in a Corvette she could not afford just a week later.”
Costello’s fingers dug into the edge of the table. “Of course. Darien is lying to save face, but his family is taking the lie and using it. As long as there’s no way to deny his claim, they’ll back him up . . . and they’ll go to war . . . because they already wanted to. People will rally behind them. And why not? We put a hit out on their son.”
Tiny Pop Rocks explosions worked through my bloodstream. This whole mess was bigger than me. Bigger than Costello. “This is insane. But it changes nothing.”
“You’re right,” my uncle agreed. “This needs to be handled carefully. I can find a way to get you into witness protection, Heather. You and Gina.”
“I’m not doing that! Uncle, I’m done hiding. And what would happen to Costello and the others?”
With the utmost severity, my uncle said, “I don’t care if those two families destroy each other.”
Costello’s lips made a sad smile. “I’d expect no less from a man with a badge.”
My dad put up a hand. “Watch yourself, kid.”
Fire danced through Costello’s vision; he was half standing. “Don’t call me kid. Ever.”
“Guys,” I laughed nervously. “Take a breath. I have an idea, if you’ll listen.” They were all standing now, just glaring at one another. “If this comes down to Darien and his ego, maybe the solution is simple. Can’t I just reason with the man?”
I wilted under their disbelieving stares. “Of course not!” Costello growled. “Scotch, you’re not going anywhere near him! He’s dangerous!”
“Hear me out—” I began.
“No more dangerous than you,” Uncle Jimmy muttered.
Costello’s rage morphed into a poisonous grin. He was fighting his disgust for my uncle, for my father, and I knew that . . . but it made it no easier to witness. “You’re right. I am dangerous. It’s why Scotch is still alive. You could have never done as much as I have.”
“Her name is Heather,” my father growled.
Kicking his chair aside, my uncle walked two steps forward to square off with the other man. His hand was on his hip, where his gun was. Costello’s fingers were steady at his sides; I was sure he could grab his pistol faster than anyone in the room. “I don’t care about the past. I care about the future, and I’m going to make sure Heather has one. And as long as you’re here, you’re in the way of that.”
Pain wrenched through Costello’s face.
“Guys!” I shouted, moving to stand in between them. “Calm down! We can make this work!”
Costello took a long, deep breath. He was on one side of me, and my dad and uncle were on the other. If you stepped back from the scene, it would have looked like he was preparing to fight all three of us . . . and he’d realized he couldn’t.
“No,” Costello said, dodging around me. “Your uncle is right. I’m just in the way.” He snatched his jacket up and slid it on as he hurried down the skinny hallway.
Next to me my father whispered, “Good riddance.”
I ran to the open front door just in time to see Costello peel out of the driveway in the white Charger. Behind me my uncle grunted. “Let him go. We can make our plans without him.”
Clutching the doorframe, I tensed up. “Why can’t you understand that he isn’t like the rest of his family?”
“Heather—”
“Scotch,” I growled. “I go by Scotch.”
He was taken aback. “Listen. I’m only trying to keep you safe.”
The snow was burning my nose as it drifted inside. “So was he.”
Footsteps scuffled behind me, my uncle leaving the room. I was all alone, and I truly felt it. Any plan I wanted to make . . . It didn’t matter if these three people couldn’t work together. My fingers tightened on the wood. Why can’t they see how useful Costello is? How good and wonderful? All they see is who his family is.
Thinking back to the night he’d cornered me in the Dirty Dolls’ dressing room, I half smiled. If that was the version of him my uncle and dad saw, then I could understand their hesitation. That night Costello had been wicked . . . he’d been frightening and exciting as he felt me up against the cold lockers.
An idea crept through my head. It sent my blood into overdrive. The longer I stared out at where Costello’s car had been, the more I knew it was my only choice. I spun and headed into the kitchen.
My father and Uncle Jimmy were gone. I pictured my uncle outside smoking, and Dad was probably pacing around upstairs; if I listened, I could hear the floorboards squeaking.
My mother was the only one in the room; she looked up when she saw me, startled. “Sorry,” she said, like apologizing was an impulse. “I . . . overheard it all. Costello will be back, I’m sure of it.”
It was a Wednesday, the one day my mother didn’t run the bakery. “I’m sure, too,” I said. And I was.
She beamed, spinning around and putting the breakfast plates in the sink. My mother hummed to herself as she started washing the dishes. It sent me back to when I was a kid. I’d loved listening to her sing. That was when I’d learned I had no rhythm, but she never cared.
My mother would dance with me even if I kept stepping on her toes.
“Mom,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “I need something.”
“Of course, honey bun. Just ask.”
“I need to borrow your van.”
During the holidays, my father would take me to see the mansions in Newport. Every season, people would decorate their massive homes and open the gates so we, the less fortunate, could marvel at their wealth.
I’d loved it.
It was amazing to see these huge buildings strung with lights. Sometimes the owners would hand out treats on their doorsteps. I always ate too much and regretted it later. It was the best.
But not once in all those years had the Badds ever allowed the public through their doors. I’d only seen the place from outside the intimidating iron gates.
Today that would change.
The bakery van rumbled loudly, I could hear it before I rolled the window down. The speaker next to the gate blinked; I pushed the button, clearing my throat. “Hello?” I said, wondering how to make this happen.
“Delivery?” a voice crackled back.
Staring around the inside of the van, I bit back a laugh. “Uh, sure. Delivery.”
I clung to the air inside my lungs until the gates split apart. Breathing out, I drove the van into the lot, then parked it on the smooth cement circle. Clutching the keys and wishing they were a gun, I gathered myself . . . reminded myself why I was here . . . and climbed from the vehicle.
The crisp air tasted vaguely like roses. I didn’t know how, considering it was winter. Wouldn’t all the flowers be dead? Don’t think about that word. Ugh. It was hard to convince myself I was really standing in front of the Badd family mansion.
My teeth chattered as the time of year caught up to me. I hopped up the steps and stood between the pearly pillars that propped up the dark roof. A big wreath crafted from holly and poinsettias hung over the front door’s window, like this was any home ready for the holidays.
Gently I knocked on the smooth white wood. When no one answered, I noticed the brass knocker and tried that, wincing at the sharp sounds. On the verge of feeling lost, I was relieved when the door swung inward.
A woman in a long mouse-gray dress and white apron peered at me. “Hello?” she asked.
Is she a servant? She sort of looked like one, but outside of TV shows, I’d never seen one. Squinting, I saw she had a little tag sewn onto her shirt that read BADD MAIDS. I had to bite my tongue so I wouldn’t laugh. “Hi, I’m here to see Maverick.” The stranger narrowed her eyes, so I added, “He invited me.”
Leaning around me, she stared at the bakery van. “I thought you were bringing a delivery.”
“Not exactly. Look, please just take me to Maverick. He’ll understand.”
Reluctantly she stepped back and waved for me to enter. Unsure what I’d find, I stepped into Costello’s home. The warm apple-pie scent did not fit the dangerous and dark vibe I’d expected from the Badds’ territory.
She took me down a hallway, and I pulled up short when she stopped outside a wide doorway. “Sir,” the maid said, “you have a visitor.”
Maverick was settled in a plush chair. Tiny glasses sat on his nose; he’d been reading a book, but when he looked up, he dropped it onto the floor. “You.” I wanted to bottle that shocked expression so I could keep it for myself, to enjoy in private. Because right now, as confident as I was acting, I was too terrified to thrill at surprising this man.
The den was warm, a fireplace crackling to one side. Red-and-gold rugs covered the floors, crawling over each inch. As a kid I would have loved this room with its variety of chairs and coffee tables; it was a perfect place to play don’t touch the floor.
It might as well have been real lava. I walked into it and prepared to burn.
Maverick didn’t rise, that was my first hint that he didn’t fear me. He didn’t think I’d slipped into his home to hurt him. Was I that transparent? He nodded at the woman beside me. “Leave us.”
The second we were alone, I lifted my chin. “We need to talk.”
He looked me up and down. “I can’t believe I let you walk right past me that night at the hotel. When Rush called to tell me what had happened at Costello’s place, and I realized you were the waitress Darien was after . . .” Maverick slid his glasses off. After rubbing the lenses, he set them aside and considered me with fresh eyes. It was just like our first meeting at Kain’s wedding, only this time I was more than some stranger his son was dating.
I was something else entirely, and both of us knew it.
He whispered, “I’ve rarely felt so foolish, dear girl. I didn’t enjoy it.”
Stepping closer, I eyeballed the room. “It’s quiet. Is no one home but your servants?”
“I don’t think that matters.” His black eyes glinted like a tiger’s. “Where’s Costello?”
“Like you said, I don’t think that matters.”
“Looks like he’s decided to take the coward’s route and abandon us both.”
Acid washed up the back of my throat. “He’s not a coward. Do you even know him?”
“Better than you do, girl. I raised that boy to be powerful, brave, and to dedicate himself to this family. I should have realized when he fractured us the first time that he wasn’t worthy of so much effort.”
It was pure disdain that made me move until I was standing over Maverick. Even sitting down, the man reminded me of an avalanche. But I was too stunned to be scared. “Costello didn’t fracture this family. You did.”
His laugh came from his belly. “Excuse me?”
“It’s the truth!” My voice was carrying, echoing in the den. I needed this man to hear me, to understand where my anger came from. “I know what happened years ago. How you blamed Costello for the attack on your daughter. But it wasn’t his fault! He risked his life to save her, and he did it all because he thought it was how you wanted him to act.”
Costello’s words boomed around in my skull. Kings have to make the hard choices, and every choice they make, especially when it comes to family, falls on them.
Flaring his nostrils, Maverick dug his hands into the arms of his chair. “You’ve got a mouth on you. Are you trying to blame me for his decisions? Costello was a fool to go to the police.”
“But he didn’t. It wasn’t him.” Telling Costello’s secret hadn’t been my intention. But facing off with his father, hearing him call his son a fool, it was too much.
He was grim in his silence. Then he said, “He really told you everything.”
I lowered my arms to my sides. “Why aren’t you shocked?” This news was huge; it should have made it clear that Maverick had treated his son terribly without cause. Any normal person would hang their head in shame. At least they’d look sick . . . or surprised. The big man watched me closely. He didn’t move or blink.
And then I understood.
“You knew,” I whispered. “You knew all along that Lulabelle was the one who went to the cops.”
He studied me and tasted my words. “And if I did, what does that change? A man must make hard decisions to ensure his family remains safe and whole. I’ve always done that. Always.”
“But . . . then why allow Costello to think you believed him?”
His jaw swayed from side to side; he suddenly looked very tired. “It doesn’t matter why I did anything. What matters is what you’re going to do. You came here for a reason, and I assume it was about more than chastising me.”
There was a wildfire in my guts. Clenching my fists, I said, “Costello loves you and this whole family. Even after being treated like scum for something he took the blame for, he kept on loving you. I can’t bear the idea of him being hurt anymore. Especially not because of me.”
Maverick had started to lean forward. It was a minor movement, but I noticed.
“The handoff,” I said slowly. “I know about it. And I’m here to tell you I’ll do it. Just give me the location, the time, and this will be over with.”
A log popped in the fire, red embers dancing in Maverick’s stare. His tone was low and full of poison. “Why would I tell you, when I can drag you there myself? I’ve got no reason to trust you’ll go on your own.”
“Yes, you do. Think about it.” My arms folded tight over my chest. “Why would I come here and tell you directly? You asked me where Costello was. Remember?”
His eyebrows shifted an inch higher. “He has no idea you’re here, does he? You don’t want him to know.”
Barbs of guilt burrowed deeper in my core. I ignored them, I had to. “He’d never let me do this.” He wouldn’t entertain the idea of me meeting with Darien at all. “But I know it’s the only way. The deal is, you can’t tell Costello. He’ll try to stop me.”
He’ll get himself killed.
For me.
Maverick stood up, and when he did, I locked my knees to keep myself from sprinting away. He extended his palm with its thick fingers that could crush my bones. “You’re interesting,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle of this. I truly am.”
Considering his hand, I grabbed it and squeezed. “Love can be a real bitch.”
He laughed heartily as he shook my fingers; I really did think he would snap my joints, but he let go before it went too far. “Scotch is known to burn. Your parents named you well.”
“Yeah.” I didn’t correct him. I’d never tell this man a thing about my family.
His lips spread into a flat line. “The handoff is tonight, ten o’clock at the Havenport Warehouse in Boston.”
It figured it would be on Darien’s home turf, but so soon? “Tonight?” I asked. “Why so little heads-up?”
“After word got out about the condo attack, the Valentines think we’re all hiding you. They no longer believe I’m trying to work with them to prevent more bloodshed. At this very moment, everyone at my disposal is out desperately searching for you and my son.”
So that’s why this place is so quiet. “Can I ask what your plan was if you couldn’t make the handoff happen?”
He angled his head higher. “War.”
The word came easily, but it filled the room with a heavy weight. War. He didn’t sound afraid. Maverick spoke as if he’d always known a day like this would come. Briefly I stared at him and saw him for what he truly was: a king.
This man and his intensity . . . he was why Costello was so hard.
Insect legs crept around my heart. If love was easier, I could have reached inside and torn those itchy bits away from my soul. I could have called Costello, told him my plan, and fought for another way out of this dead end.
I could have done so many other things than shake Maverick’s hand . . . turn . . . and leave the room.
Love isn’t easy. No matter how much my parents make it look like it is.
As I rounded the corner into the hallway, I felt eyes on me. Peering back, I swear I saw long hair and heels scuttling into the den. Was it the maid, or someone else who had been spying on us?
I didn’t have time to investigate. There was a ton of work to do in only a few hours.