Beneath This Mask Read online

  Con strode into the room, interrupting my musings. He held out a glass of water, and dropped three ibuprofen into my hand. I swallowed them obediently and drank the entire glass.

  “You good?”

  I nodded and followed him out of the bedroom.

  “I’ll walk you down then.” He paused as we reached the sofa, and I sat to pull on my Chucks. “Shit, you need a ride home. I can’t let you walk. Not like this.”

  “It’s broad daylight. It’s no big deal.”

  “And you got knifed last night.” He ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “I’m giving you a ride home.”

  “No.” My tone was firm. “Seriously, I’ll be fine. I’ve got some shit to figure out, and walking helps me think. And it’s not like it’s even that far.”

  Con scowled at me and looked down at his watch. “No.”

  I glared back. “I’m walking. Don’t push me.” I gestured to my side. “You know what I did to the guy who did this?”

  Con’s eyes narrowed as he shook his head.

  “I kneed his balls up into his esophagus. Twice.”

  He exhaled a long breath and rubbed a hand across his face. I could see just a glimpse of the weariness left over from his sleepless night. A sleepless night I was responsible for.

  I could see that I’d won when he relaxed the stiff set of his shoulders. “Fine. But call me when you get there. Or I’ll be beating down your goddamn door.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  I followed him down into the shop and waited for him to unlock the door. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, I had to shade my eyes against the glare of the midday sun. I looked up at Con. I didn’t deserve friends like him.

  “You saved my ass.” I pressed my hands against his chest and leaned up on my tiptoes to kiss his stubbled jaw. “So thank you. For last night. And everything before that, too.”

  He cupped the left side of my face, thumb brushing lightly across my tender cheekbone. “Any time, Lee. That’s what friends are for.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead, my bruised cheek, and finally a brush across the corner of my mouth. “Take care of yourself, girl. No more close calls. You’re too important. Give me a call me when you get home. Don’t fucking forget, you hear?”

  I nodded. He snagged my hand as I started to pull away, giving it a playful squeeze.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Con.”

  “Damn right. I’m not giving you another day off this week.”

  I tugged my hand from his grip and grinned at him before walking in the direction of home. I had a sliver of hope and a hell of a lot to figure out. It was a good thing I had the day off, because it was going to take more than walking nine blocks to do it.

  A nightmare woke me around four-thirty on Monday morning. I blinked against the blackness of my room, trying to get the image of Kingman’s body being incinerated mid-air out of my head. The dream was almost worse than before, because I’d gone so many nights without having it. It had come back full force, in Technicolor. My mistake and the lethal consequences.

  Rather than try to go back to sleep, I changed into work out clothes and wandered down to the kitchen to make coffee. My shoulders, arms, and hands were sore from beating the shit out of my heavy bag last night. Today, I’d try outrunning my anger, since I’d already discovered I couldn’t pound it away with my fists.

  Bottom line: I was pissed. Pissed at myself. And pissed at Charlie. I shouldn’t have pushed her and said what I said, but she shouldn’t have walked away. Not so easily. Not over something like that.

  Yeah, I was frustrated as shit that she still wouldn’t let me in, but I could be patient. Like I’d told her before, I was playing the long game. Somewhere along the line, I’d decided she was it for me. I wasn’t even sure it’d been a conscious decision. It just was. She was the one.

  As I found my stride on the cracked and uneven pavement, I worked out my game plan. I wasn’t giving up on her. I wasn’t giving up on us. Not without a fight.

  Nine hours after my unwelcome wake-up call, I was finally able to escape the City Council building and go after Charlie. I parked across the street from the Dirty Dog and hopped out of the car. Yve was behind the counter, ringing up a sale. I scanned the store. No Charlie. I waited for the customer to leave before I demanded, “Where is she?”

  Yve’s whiskey-colored eyes narrowed on me. She ignored my question. “Something doesn’t make sense here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Con called me this morning to tell me Charlie wouldn’t be coming in to work today because she was passed out cold at his place. Didn’t think she’d be getting up any time soon. And now you’re here, looking like a man on a mission. So what the fuck happened last night?”

  “Shit.” Visions of her walking away from me straight into Con’s arms flashed through my brain. No. She wouldn’t. She’d probably just gotten hammered last night. That’s it. That’s all. And that had to mean something, right? I pictured the heavy bag I’d demolished. We all had our own way of dealing with shit. I tried to calm myself down. “Where does Con live? You know if she’s still there?”

  “Don’t know, but he lives above Voodoo. Con owns the whole building.” She seemed to be expecting shock at her revelation, but I didn’t give a fuck about Con. I just wanted to find Charlie.

  “Thanks.” I turned toward the door, but a nagging question forced its way to the surface. It was none of my business, but suddenly it seemed imperative that I know. I looked back at Yve and asked, “Are you and Con still…?”

  She fingered her necklace and looked down at the counter. “Nah. He gets bored fairly quick with just about everyone. Charlie was the exception.”

  It wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear.

  I drove down Canal, looking for a spot in front of Voodoo, but they were all full. I parked two blocks away and strode toward the shop, maneuvering through the throngs of people. Marquee in sight, I paused at the intersection and waited for traffic to clear. Dodging a taxi, I crossed and then stopped dead as soon as I hit the sidewalk. A guy stumbled into me and cursed, but I couldn’t hear him over the rushing blood in my ears.

  What the fuck?

  The too-big man’s T-shirt Charlie was wearing hung off her slim shoulder. Her hair was wild, and screamed just been fucked.

  No.

  My brain turned to rationalization mode. She’d sat in my kitchen, in my shirt, with her crazy bedhead that morning, and nothing had happened between us. There was no reason to think…

  My justifications unraveled as she pressed against Con and leaned up to kiss his cheek. He cupped her face. I wasn’t close enough to see their expressions, but to me and everyone else on the street, it looked like a lover’s goodbye.

  It wasn’t. She wouldn’t.

  He leaned down to kiss her forehead. Then her cheek. And finally her lips.

  He held her hand as she smiled and turned to walk away. I could focus on nothing but where his fingers were laced with hers, their arms outstretched as if loathing letting each other go. His hand didn’t release hers until the last possible moment.

  The breath in my lungs heaved out like I’d taken a solid jab to the liver. I didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want to believe that she’d run back to him only hours after she’d walked away from me. But, fuck. I was seeing it. I stood for several moments staring at the now empty sidewalk in front of Voodoo. Pedestrians streamed around me. Finally, I straightened and pulled myself together. A familiar numbness settled over me. The same one I’d been forced to adopt every time we’d lost one of the men whose names were tattooed on my back. There wasn’t time to stop and grieve in the middle of a mission. And now, it was better to feel nothing than the searing burn of betrayal that bled into my veins as I tried to comprehend what I’d just seen.

  I needed to walk away. I wouldn’t chase her down and demand an explanation. I was afraid of what I might say. Afraid to give voice to my accusations. But more than that, I was afraid of how she would res
pond. What she would admit to. Because if what I saw was actually what it looked like, there was no going back for Charlie and me.

  I stalked through the reception area and straight back toward my office without stopping to talk to anyone.

  “Mr. Duchesne—”

  “Not now.” I ignored my assistant’s concerned look and passed my father’s corner office, which sat right next to my own. Out of habit, I scanned the interior and halted. My father was standing by the window, leaning heavily on his cane.

  What the hell?

  He should be in Maine, having surgery tomorrow, not standing in his office.

  Fuck. I didn’t have the patience to deal with him, but he glanced over before I could retreat from the doorway.

  “There you are. Annette said you’d be back a half-hour ago. I wanted to talk to you about—”

  “Why the hell aren’t you in Bar Harbor?”

  My father’s mouth compressed, no doubt due to the lack of deference in my tone and my abrupt question.

  “Critchley broke two fingers playing squash over the weekend. Had to cancel my surgery. One of his colleagues is going to fit me in sometime next month. So your mother and I decided to postpone the trip until after the Fourth. But I wanted to talk to you about—”

  Annette interrupted him from the doorway. “Mr. Duchesne, I apologize for intruding, but Mr. Jackson is on your line. He says he’s returning your phone call, but only has a moment to speak with you.”

  I didn’t wait to hear my father’s response. I strode into my office and shut the door. I’d bury myself in work until I could reassess whatever the hell I’d seen on the street today without wanting to hit someone. Preferably Constantine Leahy.

  I made good use of my free afternoon. First, I showered away the nastiness of last night. Which was difficult, considering every time I lifted my arms, my side stretched and tugged uncomfortably. Once I was finally clean, I spent some time with Huck while he wandered around the garden oasis. He was starting to put more weight on his healing leg, and I needed to call Dr. Richelieu to see if that was a good thing. Since he didn’t whimper or yelp, I hoped it meant he wasn’t pushing himself beyond his limits.

  Huck sat awkwardly before laying down on the grass. I sat beside him, and he lifted his head to rest on my outstretched legs. Absently stroking his thick coat, I debated what to do.

  I wanted to tell Simon everything.

  But I couldn’t.

  Not yet. Not until I had a handle on cleaning up the mess my father had made.

  But I would give him more … me. I’d drop my walls a few stories and let him at least part of the way in and hope it’d be enough for now.

  He’d said he loved me. That meant something. And I was damn sure I loved him. But I’d walked away, and he’d let me. I didn’t know what the hell that meant for us. I pushed off the grass and stood. I wasn’t going to waste any more time thinking about it. I was going to do something about it.

  I settled Huck back into his crate before heading upstairs to my tiny closet. I shoved aside my everyday casual stuff and pulled out a maxi dress. If Simon knew anything about me at all, just wearing this would send a message. I was trying. I slipped into the dress and plaited my hair into a side fishtail braid. It took me forever to get my makeup right and camouflage the bruise. I thought about Yve and wondered how many bruises she’d covered before she’d stood up for herself and left her asshole of an ex. I understood how Con had felt about the guy who’d attacked me. If Yve’s ex ever came after her again, I’d be first in line to help bury the body.

  I heard the taxi honk from the street. I added gold hoops, slid my feet into espadrille wedge sandals, and threw on a thin shrug to cover my bruised arms. One last glance in the mirror told me that, with the exception of my date with Simon, I looked more put together than I had in the last year.

  I’d looked up Southern Cross’s address in the ancient phonebook stuffed in my junk drawer and hoped the office hadn’t moved since the book hit doorsteps a decade ago. At times like this I longed for a smartphone. I slid into the cab and relayed my destination to the driver.

  We pulled up to the guard shack I recognized from Saturday night. The security guy waved us through without question, and we drove between the shipping containers and pulled up in front of a tall steel warehouse. A one-story section jutted out into the parking lot, and a sign that read “Office” hung on the brick façade. My heart rate kicked up a notch when I saw Simon’s X5 parked alongside the building. I paid the driver and slid out of the cab, hoping like hell I wouldn’t be walking home.

  Shouldering my bag, I pulled open the glass door that led into a sophisticated reception area. Twin black leather sofas lined two of the steely gray-blue walls. A modern art sculpture sat encased in glass on a pedestal in the corner between them. It was ugly as hell, and in my experience, that meant it was probably expensive. A woman sat behind a sleek black desk topped with dark granite. I glanced at the closed door just beyond her, knowing I would find Simon behind it somewhere. She lifted her head and smiled up at me. Her eyes widened as she took in the tattoos peeking out from beneath my shrug.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” Her smile was tight and guarded.

  I straightened my posture, infusing myself with the imperious I own this place quality my mother had always exuded. “Please tell Simon Duchesne that Charlotte is here to see him.” I had no idea why I used my real name. I supposed it fit better with the attitude.

  My authoritative tone had the desired effect. She replied with a meek, “Yes, ma’am,” and picked up the phone.

  “Mr. Duchesne, you have a visitor. She says her name is Charlotte…”

  Pause.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll tell her.”

  Tell me what? If he refused to see me, I was going to … I had no idea what I would do. I hadn’t planned for that contingency.

  She hung up the phone and stood. Fuck. Was she going to call security and have me thrown out?

  Instead, she gestured to one of the sofas. “Mr. Duchesne asked if you would wait. He’ll be out directly.”

  I didn’t sit. The nervous energy thrumming through me made it impossible. Rather, I walked toward the sculpture and read the plaque adorning the pedestal. I didn’t recognize the artist’s name, but that didn’t mean anything. I’d never enjoyed modern sculpture.

  “Charlotte.”

  The door must have opened on silent hinges, because when I spun, Simon was standing rigidly in the doorway. My name sounded cold on his lips. His expression was completely closed off.

  “Simon.” I stepped toward him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  A hushed gasp came from the direction of the receptionist. Apparently she’d never heard Simon use that cutting tone either.

  “I wanted to see you.”

  “You’ve seen me.”

  Oh fuck, no. He was not going to shut me out. If this was a taste of my own medicine, it was bitter as hell.

  “I’d like a few minutes. In private.”

  He turned and walked through the open doorway to the inner sanctum. I took that as my cue and followed. I didn’t know this Simon. He was cold, withdrawn, and kind of an asshole. I felt the hope I’d been holding on to leech out of me.

  He stood in the doorway of an office and gestured for me to enter. I stepped inside, and he shut the thick wooden door. The windows faced the Mississippi, and I could see cranes loading shipping containers onto barges—like the one we’d picnicked on the night before last. I wanted to go back to Saturday and redo everything so I could avoid this confrontation.

  Simon sprawled in his leather executive chair, but didn’t indicate that I should sit as well. I sat anyway. Given his behavior, I’d be waiting forever for an invitation.

  He didn’t speak. His hazel eyes drilled into me, chipping away my confident front. His lips pressed into a thin, flat line.

  “I’m sorry.” My apology was sincere but didn’t sound remotely humble. I had come here ready to a
pologize and explain to my Simon, but the man before me wasn’t him.

  He raised an eyebrow sardonically. “For what exactly?”

  My patience ran out. “Are you going to be a dick about this? Because if you are, I’ll just go.” My nails dug into the leather armrests, and I didn’t care if I left marks.

  Simon straightened in his fancy ass chair, no longer looking like an indolent jackass. “That’s your apology?”

  “I had a better one planned, but I didn’t realize you’d turn into an asshole over night.”

  One corner of his mouth tugged upward, but he beat back the beginnings of his smile.

  “I’ve never had someone tell me ‘I’m sorry’ and make it sound like they were also telling me to go fuck myself.”

  This time the corner of my mouth tugged upward, but I resisted the impulse as well. It was a standoff. A game of verbal and emotional chicken. For a beat, I had no idea who would swerve first. Then I decided it should be me.

  “I’m sorry about last night. I did something … kind of stupid. I would have been here sooner, but…” I hesitated, trying to come up with the right words to explain how I’d gone off by myself, gotten drunk, and gotten knifed.

  Before I could continue, his expression morphed into something hard and angry. His next words sucked the air out of my lungs.

  “Did you fuck Con last night? Or this morning? Because if that’s what you’re going to tell me, you should get the hell out of my office.”

  I shot out of my chair, too pissed to wince at the pain. Simon did the same, his chair toppling over from the force. His eyes blazed with accusation.

  “Did you?” he demanded. I had no idea how he knew I’d spent the night at Con’s, but that was beside the point. The reason for Simon’s personality transplant was now clear.

  “It sounds like you don’t need an answer from me. You’ve already decided for yourself exactly what happened.”

  “Goddammit, Charlie. Answer my fucking question.” I almost did tell him to go fuck himself this time, but his voice wavered on the last words, and I studied his posture. His hands were fisted so tightly it looked like his knuckles might pop out of their sockets. He held himself perfectly still, as if expecting to shatter with my answer.