Masked Innocence

Thirty-Two

The man reached the dark stoop, trying the loose handle of the front door, then stepped quickly off the porch and moved around to the side of the house. Brad increased his pace, and entered the dark corridor of the side yard right when the man exited it, stepping into the light of the backyard. The man stopped short, his head tilted a brief moment, and then he turned, slowly, facing the darkness he had just left.

Brad cursed his own size. Cursed his inability to move anywhere without sounding like a herd of elephants trampling through a forest. He stopped, the element of dark on his side, and spoke, a brief staccato of words in Italian.

“Bullshit.” The man spat out the curse, his free hand sliding behind him, and pulled out a gun.

Brad stepped forward, close enough that his bulk was seen, his features partially revealed in the partial shadows.

“Wow. It really is you. Brad...De Luca, is it?” The last name was said mockingly, the man’s tone playful.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Brad’s anger was tightly controlled but seeped through in every word, and he stepped forward, advancing on the man.

“I suggest you stay where you are.” The man, his features, the sharp angles in his face, his coarse salt-and-pepper hair, all so familiar. He stiffened, raising the gun toward Brad, who stilled, scoffing and spreading his arms in incredulity.

“What. You’re going to kill me? That’s not going to work, Leo. You know who I am.”

“Look, Brad—I’m here under orders, and I’d like to do them and then get the fuck out of here. I don’t know how you stumbled upon this, but let me do my job.”

Brad’s eyes glinted and he flexed his hands, trying to stay under control. “Who’s your job?”

“Some delicious little bitch from your office.” He started to lower the gun, turning to the house, then paused. “Wait. Is that why you’re here? Sampling the fucking help?”

Brad stepped forward, ignoring the gun, and stopped a foot from the man. “I’d watch how you speak to me.” He locked eyes with the man, who stepped backward.

“Look, like I said, I’m just here under orders.”

“Why her?”

“She overheard some conversation of Broward’s. Been calling the cops, wanting them to investigate the family’s involvement.” He smirked, disdain all over his face. A face Brad wanted to pound into the fucking ground.

Brad turned his back to the man, his mind racing, and put his hand on his mouth, rubbing the rough skin. Something Julia overheard. Julia and the cops. Julia on the family’s radar. This was bad, very bad. He looked back. “Well, fuck the orders. They’ve changed. Call whichever piece of shit sent you over here and let him know.”

The man hesitated, and Brad lifted his chin, stepping forward a few more steps until they were eye-to-eye. “Understood?”

The man looked away, his mouth working, hatred in his eyes. “Yeah. But you understand if I come back.”

“Hey, business is business.” Brad put his hands in his pockets and stretched his neck, keeping his eyes on the man. The man hesitated, then turned, sliding his gun back into place and walking past Brad, back into the darkness, his duffel bag rocking gently at his side. “Oh, and, Leo?”

The man paused, his back stiffening. “Yeah?”

“Don’t ever fucking talk to me like that again.”

The man hesitated, then continued, his feet making no sound on the dead grass. And then he was gone. Brad waited in the light of the backyard, till the Audi drove past him and made the turn onto the main road. Then he walked back to the limo, pulling out his wallet and withdrawing a few bills. The backseat door was still open, and the limo idled quietly in the parking lot. He closed the door and went up to the driver’s side. The window rolled down and revealed the driver’s lined face.

Brad held out the bills. “If I’m not back out in fifteen minutes, then head home.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. De Luca. Understood.”

Brad turned, stepped away from the limo and pulled out his cell.

I HUDDLED IN the corner of my closet, an area that I was sure roaches and rodents frequented. My heavy coats hung above me and created a comforting, if not stifling shield around me. I had heard something outside, voices, muffled by the concrete wall of the home. Now all was still, and I tried to control my breathing, which sounded loud and ragged in the tiny, hot space.

My cell, which was clutched in my sweaty hand, vibrated. I answered it quickly, holding my hand over my mouth to quiet my words.

“Yes?”

“Everything is fine. Can you unlock the front door?”

“Are you sure? Are you being held at gunpoint?”

He sighed. “I’m positive. Open the fucking door. Please.” Then there was a beep, and he was gone. Damn man. I shoved wool garments aside and tried to crawl out, but my drunken mind tangled my feet and I fell in an uncoordinated heap on my floor. I groaned, pushing myself to my feet and hobbling—damn, I hurt my ankle—to the hall, moving through the darkness till I reached the front door and unlocked the dead bolt. Brad stood, a dark silhouette in the doorway, no one else nearby. I flung myself into his arms and he gripped me tightly, sliding me backward until he could shut the door and turn the lock himself.

“What happened?” I asked as soon as the latch was turned. “Were we being robbed?”

He reached over, turning on the lamp that sat by our front door, the warm light illuminating his face, which looked stressed. “Is that a common occurrence?”

“It’s happen twice, but both times during the day when no one was home. Is that what it was?”

“No. I need to think a moment. Where are your roommates?”

“I don’t know. Asleep.”

“I want to take you home. To my home. I’ll sleep here another night, or tomorrow night, or whenever you want me to—but I need to be home tonight, and I need you there with me. I’ll explain more later.”

I blinked, confused. Confused over whether there had been any threat of danger at all, confused over the change in his behavior, confused over why he kept running his damn hands through his hair and looking so...worried. I walked over to him, running my hands over his chest and kissing his cheek softly. “Okay. Let me pack a bag.”

He nodded, his face tight, his eyes lingering on me. “Thanks. Grab a couple of things, outfits, I mean. In case we go out tomorrow.”

I turned, headed to my room, then stopped, the fucked-up-ness of the situation suddenly hitting my drunk mind. Brad calls, tells me to hide, then knocks on the door and wants to take me to his house. I couldn’t figure out if this was his ridiculous method of getting his way, or if something serious had occurred, and he was intentionally keeping me in the dark. I turned back to him, my brain working through the events, trying to formulate an intelligent question, a demand for information. Then the room swayed, and black spots momentarily appeared in my vision. Whoa. I stumbled, then focused, my eyes meeting Brad’s concerned ones. Fuck it. My interrogation would have to wait till later, when I was relatively sober.

I turned away from those watchful eyes and entered my room, grabbing a duffel bag and stuffing a few outfits into it. I went ahead and changed into pajamas, twisting my hair into a bun and working my feet into flip-flops. I was ready in less than five minutes, and flashed him a smile as I entered the living room. He didn’t respond, the same tense look on his face, and my smile fell as I followed him out, locking the door behind me. I headed for the limo, but he grabbed my elbow, steering me toward my car. “Give me the keys. I’ll drive.”

“My car?” The idea was so preposterous I almost giggled.

“Yeah. You’ve been drinking.”

Oh, right. I tossed him my keys and looked at the limo. “But what about—”

“Get in.” He held open the passenger side, and I ducked in, shooting him an irritated glance and sliding a pile of random crap onto the floor.

My car moved noisily through the city, Brad cramped behind the wheel. He said nothing, so I leaned back in the seat and stared out the window, watching dark homes and empty streets zoom by.