Chapter 35
Wes
Three months later
“Why can’t they just do the training over Zoom?” Juliette sat down on the edge of the bed next to my half-packed suitcase.
I folded a pair of jeans and a Henley, set them inside, then tossed in socks and underwear before flipping the top shut. “They want me to demonstrate some things in person,” I explained, zipping the bag. “Most of the actors they hire have never held a gun or crashed through a door.”
A lot had changed over the last three months.
I was no longer doing private security. Instead, I was teaching actors how to look like real cops on TV and in movies.
The week after we’d gotten back from New York, I’d worked a security gig for a big-shot producer.
We started talking, and when I’d mentioned I was a former NYPD detective, he’d asked if I’d check out some footage for a new Law & Order-type series he was producing.
One of the actors was supposed to be in a high-speed vehicle pursuit, but he came off more like he was playing a video game.
I gave the guy a few pointers, and the next thing I knew, other producers and directors were calling me to consult on their shows.
That single afternoon had snowballed into a lucrative business pretty fast, and as of next week, I was already bringing on another former cop to help me keep up with the workload.
Juliette let out a sigh. “I just… I like when you’re here at night.”
There was nowhere I liked being more than next to her.
And that’s exactly where I’d been for the last three months.
We hadn’t spent a single night apart since I’d flown to New York with her to see her mom after her dad got arrested.
I didn’t want to leave her now. And lying about why I was going back to the East Coast made me feel a hell of a lot worse.
I swallowed. “It’s only one night. I’ll be back late tomorrow before you go to bed.”
“Where did you say you were doing the training?”
I hadn’t. “It’s an on-location shoot, somewhere downtown.”
“Oh.”
I avoided her eyes, focusing on getting the rest of my crap together. I just couldn’t look her in the face and lie—not again. Been there, done that, and I’d sworn I’d never go down that road with her again. But this particular white lie felt like a necessity.
I looked at my watch. I was going to get to the airport way earlier than necessary, but that was better than digging myself any deeper with Juliette. Leaning down, I brushed my lips over hers.
“Traffic is going to be a bitch, so I’m gonna get on the road.”
“All right. Call me later.”
“Love you.”
She smiled. “Love you too.”
Her words warmed my chest. I didn’t think I’d ever get tired of hearing them.
Outside, Tommy was sitting in the car. When he saw me coming with my suitcase, he got out and started up the walkway. We met halfway, and he set a hand on my shoulder.
“Take good care of my girl while I’m gone,” I said.
“Will do. And good luck, man.” He lowered his voice. “With the boss.”
***
The metal detector beeped and lit up bright red.
The corrections officer sighed and pointed to my feet. “Probably the boots. Steel toe aren’t allowed.”
Shit. They are steel toe. I bent to untie them, figuring they’d just run them through the conveyor belt like they did my wallet and jacket, but the officer shook his head again. “Step off the line. You’re going to have to find other shoes.”
“I can’t just take them off and run them through the machine?”
“This facility doesn’t allow steel toes.”
“Rikers allows ’em.”
His eyebrows lifted. “This ain’t Rikers now, is it?”
“So, what? I’m supposed to go in barefoot?”
“Nope. Shoes required.”
“What if I don’t have another pair?”
“Sounds like a you problem.” He jerked his chin to the person behind me. “Next!”
What a dick. This might’ve been the first time I’d wished I still had a badge to flash since leaving the force.
Though something told me not even that would’ve softened this guy.
Luckily, I’d packed a pair of sneakers in my bag, in case I wanted to go for a run.
My suitcase was in the rental car, though, a solid hike across the parking lot.
By the time I made it back and got through the metal detector, it was more than thirty minutes later, and the officer acted like he’d never seen me before.
Fine. Whatever. I was just glad to get in.
I’d been a nervous wreck all day waiting for this.
After clearing security, I joined yet another line to get into the actual visiting room.
When it was my turn, I gave the name of the prisoner I was here to see.
The officer scanned his clipboard and pointed to a wooden table backed by a thick glass panel.
A phone dangled from a hook on the wall beside it.
“Seat thirteen. The inmate will be brought out.”
The room smelled like industrial cleaner, and the plastic chair creaked every time I shifted—which was often since I was nervous as shit.
Ten minutes went by, and a few men wearing khaki-colored prison uniforms came and went on the other side of the glass.
Then eventually, the door buzzed at the far end and Vince Ginocassi stepped in.
The CO escorted him to the seat across from me and uncuffed his wrists.
He didn’t look too surprised to see me, probably because he wasn’t—I’d had to request to have him put me on his visitors list. Though he didn’t look happy about it, either.
His eyes locked on mine through the glass. No nod. No smile. Just the same cold stare he’d perfected long before landing in here. I picked up the phone and brought it to my ear. After a long beat, Vince did the same. His jaw was tight, and he didn’t say anything.
“Hey.” I smiled nervously. “How you doing?”
“What do you want?”
Okay, then. Straight to the point. I shifted in my seat and cleared my throat.
“I, uh, called in a favor with a guard who’s an ex-cop.
Met him before his shift started this morning.
You’ll have some fresh food waiting in your cell when you get back.
I went to Defonte’s and got you the Nicky Special—Italian bread with capocollo, salami, ham, fried eggplant, provolone, and marinated mushrooms.”
He licked his lips. “Sounds like you’re trying to butter me up.”
“I just figured it was a good peace offering.”
His eyes shifted back and forth between mine. “What are you really here for? I know you didn’t come all the way to make sure I had a good meal and shoot the shit.”
I shook my head. “No, you’re right. I didn’t.” I took a deep breath. “I came to tell you…I’ve been seeing Juliette.”
“If that’s all you’ve got to say, you wasted a trip. I already know that.”
My eyes widened. “You do?”
He rolled his eyes. “I know everything that goes on with my family, blood and otherwise, even while I’m on the inside.”
I wanted to ask how he knew. Was Tommy the leak? Did Frannie tell him? But none of that mattered right now. What mattered was that Vince knew…and I was still breathing.
Vince leaned back in his plastic chair, studying me. Eventually he shrugged. “So?”
I wasn’t sure what he was waiting for—more details, an apology... I hesitated before answering. “So…I’m in love with her.”
“And you want what from me?” He leaned in, his voice low. “Say what you came to say. You might not ever get an opportunity like this again. There’s nothing I can do about whatever it is you feel the need to discuss.”
My knee bounced under the table, and I forced it still. “I’d like to get rid of her security detail. I can handle protecting her.”
He arched a brow. “Oh, you can, huh? I thought you weren’t capable of that anymore. PTSD and shit. Isn’t that what you told me?”
“It is. But I’m a hundred percent now, and I won’t let anything happen to her.” I met his eyes. “I would lay down my life for her.”
Vince held my gaze for a long, silent moment. Then he nodded, almost imperceptibly. “I’ll make a call.”
Relief washed over me. “Thank you.”
“That it?”
That wasn’t it—not even close. Asking for a security change was only the tip of the iceberg. But things had gone better than I’d expected…so far. I swallowed again. “Someday, I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he looked up at the clock on the wall. “Looks like your time’s almost up.”
I glanced at my watch. “There’s still twenty—”
“It is for this conversation.” He pulled the phone from his ear, stood, and lifted his wrists for the guard—never breaking eye contact with me as the cuffs clicked closed.
I still had the receiver pressed to my ear as he took a step, then paused. He gestured to the guard for a second, lifted both bound hands to the phone and brought it back to his ear. “Next time, bring the Joey Bishop hero. The Nicky Special gives me heartburn.”
And just like that, he was gone.
I sat there a moment longer, his words rattling around in my head. After replaying our conversation a few times, a slow smile crept over my face.
At least there would be a next time. Baby steps.