Eric
“Walk me out?” my brother says when he’s ready to leave Alex’s place. “There’s a favor I need to ask.”
“Of me?” I gasp. “What could possibly go wrong.”
“Come on. It will take an hour, tops. And then I’ll drive you home.”
His expression is so serious that for once I don’t even argue. “Fine. Let me just say goodbye to Alex. Wait here.”
I find her rinsing her plate in the kitchen. “Another cup of coffee?” she asks me.
“No thanks. I’m going to head out with Max.”
“Oh.” Disappointment flashes across her face for a hot second. Then she straightens her spine. “Thank you for feeding me.”
“Well, I can’t solve many of your problems, but that one was easy. Are you going to be okay here?”
“Of course.” She sighs. “But it won’t be an easy week. I’ve put years of my life into that company. I learned it from the bottom up. Did you know I started out in the sales department selling advertising minutes?”
“That sounds like a job I don’t want.” I move closer to give her a hug. Not that it’s easy with that belly in the way.
She wraps her arms around me. “A hundred and seventy-five bucks got you a thirty second spot during daytime TV in the suburbs, on a low rent channel. I sold so many the price went up to two-twenty-five.”
“You shark.” I kiss her on the nose.
“My father wanted me to understand how the money was made. So it was three years until I had a management job. Every time I began to outperform the old timers, he’d just move me to a different department where I’d start learning all over again.
And when I took the helm three years ago, the business media still screamed nepotism. ”
“You probably saw that coming, though.” There’s a lot of trash talk in journalism. Ask any hockey player.
“Of course. They’re warmer to me now. Or at least until my company sells a device that exposes every Engels Cable Media customer to international identity theft.”
“You won’t let it come to that.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “But I hate the thought that one man can lob a grenade at my life’s work. God knows how much this will cost us. I hope your brother is wrong. How often is Max wrong, by the way?” She puts a hand on her swollen belly and rubs.
“Well…” That’s a tricky question. “He’s wrong about me all the time. About matters of security? Not so much.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
“Geniuses are frustrating people,” I point out. “That’s why you want to stick with a dumb jock, baby. It’s my body that’s talented.”
“I noticed that.” She reaches up and puts her hand on the back of my neck. “Thank you for sharing your talents with me last night.”
Last night has a certain finality to it. I’m pretty sure she’s giving me the brush off. “It was my pleasure,” I whisper. And then I duck my head and kiss her neck very softly, but very thoroughly, until I feel her shiver.
“Geez, Eric. Your mouth is probably illegal in several states.”
“Yours is pretty talented,” I point out, kissing my way into the collar of her shirt. When I walk out that door in a few minutes, I want her to remember I was here. “What time is it, anyway?”
She glanced up at a clock on the wall. “Eleven-thirty. That means I can call Rolf and give him the bad news that we’re working on a Sunday.”
“Poor Rolf.” I kiss her neck, wondering how soon I can visit again.
“He’s…” Her body melts against mine. “W-well compensated for the inconvenience of being my assistant.”
“Mmm hmm.” Kiss. “I’d better go.” Kiss. “And let you get to work, then.” Because I’m evil, I suck her earlobe into my mouth until she shivers.
Alex gives my chest a shove. “Go already. I can’t think when you do that. And right now, I really need to think.”
I give her one more kiss—a real one—and then I leave the kitchen behind.
In the hallway, Duff is seated in the guard’s chair. “She doing okay, man?”
“She’s doing great,” I say. “Your job is safe for another day.”
“You’re a miracle worker. What’s your secret?”
“Don’t answer that,” Max says under his breath.
“Bagels with all the fixings,” I say, giving Duff a wave as the elevator arrives.
Max presses the button for the parking garage beneath Alex’s building. We get into his new favorite ride—a Maserati GT. I can’t even keep track of all my brother’s toys.
His finger hovers over the ignition, but he doesn’t start the engine. “Before I take you downtown, I need to know. Are you ready to go to war for her?”
“War,” I repeat slowly. “Against whom?”
“Does it matter?” he asks, squinting at me from the driver’s seat. “Are you all in for Alex. You need to decide before we walk in there.”
And now I understand. “We’re going to Tatum’s place.”
“I am. And you can come with me if you are ready to do what needs to be done.”
I lean back in the leather seat and fasten my seatbelt. I know what Max is asking. He told Alex he’d “rule out” Tatum’s involvement. But he doesn’t mean to use email surveillance this time. “I’m in.”
“Even if it gets messy?”
Fifteen floors above us, I picture Alex curled up on her couch, a protective hand over her stomach. And I just know. I’d do anything for her.
“Even then,” I agree.
Max picks a parking spot around the corner from Tatum’s building. “Don’t get out yet,” he says, poking at his watch. “We need to give Scout a few minutes to let us into the building.”
“What’s her plan?” I ask, forever intrigued by my brother’s strange job.
“Pork bun delivery,” he says. “She has a label maker in the car. Takes her a few minutes to print out a fake patch for a cap or her jacket. They already know that the man eats a lot of pork buns, so they won’t question her if she gives them a pretty smile.”
“Nice.”
Scout is very good at her job because she knows when to let people’s expectations do the hard work for her. She’s five-foot-two, with a pixie haircut and an easy smile. If she says, “I’m here to deliver pork buns,” there are few on the planet who’d disbelieve her.
“Listen, I need to show you something.” My brother unfolds a paper from his pocket and hands it to me. “It’s an affidavit that Tatum is supposed to sign, admitting to hitting her. It ensures that he can’t turn around and easily petition for custody.”
I, Jared Tatum, confess to the following behavior… I read it. But when I turn over the paper, I am not prepared for what I see. It’s a photo of Alex looking straight into the camera.
With a hugely swollen eye, and a large bruise covering a quarter of her face.
“Holy fuck.” I suddenly understand what it means to see red. My body flashes with adrenaline, and I swear my vision goes wonky for a moment. Because all I can see right now is my own fist colliding with Jared Tatum’s face. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Eric,” Max says softly. “You’re not.”
And now I am full of rage. “Why the fuck did you show that to me, then? What man could do that? There is not one fucking thing she could ever say to me that would make me hit her. That eye. Jesus.”
My brother lays a steadying hand on my forearm. “A stupid man,” he says quietly. “But not a habitual abuser.”
“What?” I gasp, my hand twitching for the door handle. Just let me at him.
“Listen carefully,” Max says in his iciest tone.
“I didn’t show you that photo to get you riled up.
I showed it to you so that you’d understand.
A serial abuser doesn’t punch a woman in the eye.
It’s too obvious. Alex had to call in sick for three days until she could cover it up with makeup. This guy lost it when he hit her.”
“Who cares? You still can’t do that.”
“No,” Max agrees. “He can’t. But there are two things you need to understand before we go upstairs.
The first is that if you lose control, you’ll be just like him—another asshole with no moral standing.
He punched Alex in the face, and he lost her trust forever.
You punch him and you could fuck this up for Alex, and complicate your own life, too. ”
I take a deep breath and try to calm down. I know he’s right.
“The other thing is harder to accept. That man will always be that baby’s father. Legal documents can put the law on Alex’s side. But they can’t change biology. And if this man decides someday that seeing his child is his only priority, he may be successful.”
“He’ll have to go through me,” I sputter.
“And you can say that. You can scare him off—but only up to a point. You want to end this. You want to make him disappear. But you can’t. Not completely. Not without ruining your own life, too.”
I hate that he’s right. I hate it so much.
Max checks his watch. “Scout says—back door at 12:19. That’s my girl! Let’s go.”
We get out of the car and walk slowly down the block. “How do you want to play this?”
“You’ll be out of sight while I get him to open the door. And then—surprise. The jealous boyfriend with the violent day job is back to stare him down. He’ll remember you, right?”
“Hell yes. Although I’m slightly less menacing than I was in Hawaii. Good thing I’m not carrying my cane.”
“A cane can be very menacing. I have one that is actually a four-way camera. And I have another that’s a dart gun.”
“Of course you do.”
“Admit it,” Max says, stopping on the sidewalk. “You love this. The joyride last night was fun. And now you get to scare the bejesus out of Jared Tatum.”
“It’s not unappealing.”
“There’s always an open position waiting for you.” Max checks his watch. “Give her another minute.”
“Max, I don’t want a job. I’m only here for Alex. Menacing strangers for pay isn’t my style. Unless I’m wearing skates.”
“But I wouldn’t make you a goon,” my brother argues. He waves me forward. “The fun part isn’t even the fast cars, or tricking doormen. The fun part is having the drop on how people think. You’re smart, Eric. With great reflexes. You could be amazing.”
“I’m already amazing,” I remind him. And I really don’t appreciate the hard sell. But it comes to a natural end, because it’s now 12:19 and we’re strolling up to the rear door of an apartment high rise.
Casually, Max flashes his wallet for the benefit of the security cameras. He pulls out a card with a shiny mylar finish.