Relinquish

Chapter Three

Lola

So much for my plan to thank the man, the boy and his grandmother were so happy with how Cade treated them, there were hugs and handshakes. But when I tried to show my appreciation, he’d cut me off.

I’ve got to try again. I inhale and straighten my back. “Thank you for stepping in. I appreciate it.”

“I didn’t do this for you. Or for them.” His shoulders are tight, and deep lines etch his forehead as we climb the steps side-by-side. Even though we’re together, it feels like there is a giant cavern between us. As with every other dictator in my life, he makes me feel three inches tall.

His jaw ticks, and I cough. “Whatever your reason. Thank you again. I was only trying to help, and things managed to get a little out of hand.” I navigate the steps barefooted, my shoes dangling in my hand.

“Like I said. I didn’t do this to keep you out of trouble or to help you out of whatever bullshit you’d managed to get yourself into. We don’t need that kind of publicity. The next thing you know, you would’ve been arrested for assault. How would that have looked on the news?”

When we stop on the platform in front of the entryway, I raise my hands, palms outward. “I get it. It wouldn’t have been good for business.”

“And if they’d connected you to your father, that would’ve made it an even bigger disaster.”

“Leave my father out of this.” I shudder. “I said I was sorry but I can’t change what I did.” I straighten my shoulders as if puppet strings are pulling me upward. “And I would do the same thing again. If someone’s in danger, it’s my civic duty to protect them. I’m glad it turned out she didn’t need help, but it looked like she did. I want to help people–that’s why I’m here.”

Moving out of my father’s home isn’t enough. It’s time to stand up for what I believe in and not let people control me. I frown. “Why do you work at a security company if you don’t like helping people?”

He swipes his card through the scanner and steps inside, grabbing my gym bag and purse off the floor while waiting for me to re-scan. Once inside the doorway, I reclaim my gear being careful not to touch him.

“You have this Pollyanna view of the world. People can’t run all over the place, rescuing stray kittens out of trees, helping old people cross the street, and making citizen arrests. If you want to do that, become a crossing guard.” Cade shows his ID card to the security officer.

As we stand in the airlock, the slim, balding man scrutinizes our photo IDs from behind bulletproof glass. Once he’s verified who we are, he winks. “Lola, sweet takedown out there this morning.”

I smile as heat fills my face. “Thanks, Pete. I thought the guy was trying to steal the woman’s purse.” I sigh, “How was I to know he was her grandson?”

“I saw it from the monitor. He did look a little scruffy. I’ll never understand why young men want to wear sagging pants that show their drawers. Back in my day, you wouldn’t get caught dead with your underpants showing without fear of getting your backside tanned.”

As Pete chats, we take turns scanning our handprints and entering our security clearance codes. The light flashes green. He hits the button, and the door pops open. “I don’t understand it either.” I tilt my head to the side and study Pete. “By the way, how were the grandkids’ soccer games this weekend?”

My father always underestimated the people doing what he considered ‘lowly’ jobs, but I’m not like him. Without them, the whole place would grind to a screeching halt, and Pete’s the biggest sweetheart.

Cade opens the door but waits for Pete to answer rather than slamming the door back in my face and leaving me in the airlock. Brownie points for that.

Pete grins. “Lizzie’s team came in second in the tournament, and Bobby’s team won. It was a great weekend. I also found out my daughter is pregnant again, which will make three grandchildren for me to spoil.” He holds up three fingers.

“Lola, are you coming?” Cade shifts his weight as he holds the door open. “I need to get upstairs.”

“I’m coming.” Shit. My spirits plummet. He’s chomping at the bit to blab my mishap to Mr. Truman.

I wave at Pete, but my arm sags back down to my side. “Congratulations on the upcoming addition to your family.”

“Thanks. Have a good day,” Pete calls out. Yeah, that’s not likely.

The door slams shut, and Cade frowns. “You sure know how to butter people up to get them on your side. You’ve only been here a week and know Pete’s life story. How is that possible? I didn’t even know he has kids, let alone grandchildren.”

“It’s nothing. I was waiting the first day for Mr. Truman, and Pete was nice enough to keep me from bolting. I was anxious about the interview. New city. No job. Only one friend in the area. I was about to jump out of my skin, and he helped calm me down. By the time Mr. Truman’s assistant came and got me, I was laughing so hard that I was crying. Pete’s grandson, Bobby, had flushed a Matchbox car down the toilet, leaving the entire bathroom flooded. They couldn’t get it out. In the end, they had to cut into the plumbing line in the basement.” I wrinkle my nose. “You can imagine what happened next. Anyway, I kind of give him credit for me getting the job.” I inhale, and the scent of lemon cleaner floods my nose.

Wow. Did you need to tell him your life story?

“I see.”

‘I see?’ Look at me. I’m Chatty Kathy, and all he can contribute to the conversation is, ‘I see.’ I narrow my eyes and cock my head. “You never answered my question. Why did you get into this line of work if you don’t like helping people?”

He shrugs. “Truman needed a computer expert and knew my credentials. He agreed to my stipulation of no field work, so it seemed like a perfect fit. Besides, it’s damn good money.” He shakes his head. “But that doesn’t mean I’m out to save the world.”

Mr. Truman explained when I was hired that most of his employees are ex-military and law enforcement. How does Cade fit in? My gaze drifts over his tight black T-shirt, BDUs, and combat boots. The guy makes no sense. He looks like he’s ex-military–nothing about him screams computer geek.

“There are people out there worth saving. Maybe you’ll realize that …” ‘Again’ almost slips out of my mouth, but I hold it back. It’s clear he doesn’t want me psychoanalyzing him, and I don’t know him from Adam. Maybe he’s never given a shit. “Never mind.” I shake my head. “Forget I said anything.”

“That’s your opinion.” He heads toward the stairs. “Try not to jump into any burning buildings. I’m not going to make a habit of rescuing you.”

“I can take care of myself,” I mumble too low for him to hear. As I march to the first-floor ladies’ room, my feet pat on the floor. I fight the urge to beg him not to tell Mr. Truman about the incident. But I don’t. It’s pointless. He doesn’t like me, and showing weakness wouldn’t put me in any better light.

I’ve got to plead my own case. This whole move is about me doing things independently and proving I don’t need anyone’s help. But before I go find Mr. Truman, I must do something about my hair.

After the bathroom door shut, I stand in front of the mirror with my mouth gaped open–no wonder he didn’t want to rescue me. My hair sticks out in all directions as one bobby pin dangles from its edge, hanging on to a lock of hair for dear life. My stockings are ripped. And there’s a black smudge across my cheek. I look like I was the one in the car accident.

I lean across the sink and study the marking. Is that tar? After swiping at it, I smell my index finger. Road tar. Great. That’s not going to come off.