Chapter 13
Elenie
Weak and queasy, Elenie lowered herself gingerly onto a rickety chair in the staff area. Everything hurt. Resting her head against the wall, she tried to relax her jaw. Her breaktime and the chance to sit down for ten minutes had been all that kept her going through the morning.
She studied the package in her hands and turned it over a couple of times. Otto had given it to her when she’d refilled his coffee. Finally pushing a finger under the flap, she tugged it open. A piece of paper and a box containing a cell phone slid onto her lap. Elenie unfolded the note.
I want you to be able to reach me if you need to. I’ve put my number into the contacts on this phone under Thea’s name.
I’ve added Summer’s number as well. She can pass a message to Dougie if you can’t get hold of me.
If anything happens to this phone, I will replace it.
Roman
Elenie read the words multiple times, mainly because she kept getting distracted by the angular sweep of Roman’s writing and the knowledge that he’d held the paper, touched the package. It was so unexpectedly generous. Why would he do this?
She was used to people backing away. No one wanted to get involved with anything to do with the Daxes. Although it sucked, she didn’t really blame them when they judged, belittled, and attacked, depending on their previous exposure to Frank or the boys. It had been tempting to think things were looking up with the hint of a couple of new friends and one afternoon in the company of a man so far out of her league it wasn’t funny. But none of them would stick. No one ever did. Martinez just wanted his intel. That was the bottom line. The last few days had hammered home the folly of fanciful hopes.
But Elenie would remember last night as if it were a rip in the space-time continuum.
Though her face had throbbed and wrenching cramps sawed at her ribs, she’d never felt so safe. The layers of sleep, so deep she couldn’t quite fight her way to the top, adding to the feeling of an alternate reality. She’d drifted in the relief of half-consciousness, with no idea where she was or how she’d got there, knowing Roman was close by because his scent surrounded her. The cotton sheets the smoothest, cleanest bedding she’d ever slept in. Everything still and peaceful.
Halfway through the night, she’d woken, her body too sore, limbs too heavy, to move. The room lay in shadows, a pale wash of moonlight cast over the floor. Roman was asleep in an armchair by the window, long legs stretched out in front of him, his strong, dark features just visible in the half-light. He looked uncomfortable, yet utterly relaxed. A sexy sentinel. A rumpled god of the night. She’d watched him without moving for as long as she could stay awake.
Elenie gave a tiny groan and held the note against her face, the paper cool on her cheek. What a mess. She had nothing to offer the police chief. She was a liability to the calm and order of other people’s lives and any contact with him was a huge risk for her own. Elenie would be wise to steer well clear of Roman Martinez. And he would be even wiser to stay away from her.
She filed the shameful memory of rubbing her cheek against his arm when he’d pulled the soft covers up to her shoulders. And tried her hardest not to dwell on the fact that it had stilled next to her skin for just a moment.
The door was thrown open.
“Ten minutes, Elenie, not twenty!”
Delia yelled.
It had been nine.
“I’m coming.”
She dragged herself to her feet.
“This is not a good look for the diner.”
Delia grumbled as Elenie passed her in the corridor.
“There’s a reason I didn’t give the uniform to Terence Crawford, you know.”
Elenie lifted her chin.
“Short-sighted of you. He’d look good in burgundy.”
Delia stormed back to the kitchen, muttering something about Elenie being no better than he.
“goddamn useless, waste-of-space brother’—an insult far worse than most others. Delia had hated Tyson with a passion ever since he’d thrown a manhole cover through one of the largest diner windows when he was high as a kite. He’d laughed in her face at the suggestion he pay for the damage and it looked likely she’d take the grudge to her grave.
“A holló vájja ki a szemed.2”
Weary to her bones, there was no bite in Elenie’s insult and no one to hear it anyway. But her pride insisted on a comeback, if only for her own satisfaction.
Otto had his nose in a book and looked like he was making himself comfortable for a long stay. He ordered lunch and an iced tea. His smile, as warm as vanilla sauce over apple pie, soothed her tattered senses.
“I’ve got nowhere else to be today so I plan to relax here with my friend, Stephen King.”
“Is it good?”
She gestured to the book.
“Terrifying.”
“Terrifyingly good?”
“That too.”
Otto’s chuckle was throaty.
“I finished the E.V. Huxley I was reading. I think you’d like it. Great twist at the end.”
Elenie’s foot slid, a piece of paper beneath her sneaker stealing the traction. The pain in her ribs flared and dots swam in front of her vision. One of the flyers for the business guild’s gala dinner lay the floor. She held her side as she picked it up, wincing at the discomfort as well as the font and color combination while she scanned the familiar details.
“Will you be going to the Local Event of the Year?”
Elenie asked Otto, placing suitable emphasis on the grand description.
“Unlikely, I’d imagine. I like to be in bed by ten thirty. You?”
“Still waiting for my invitation from Prince Charming.”
She attempted a flippant grin, which tugged at the healing scab on her lip. Gala dinners weren’t a big feature in her life. Nor were fun evenings out, nice clothes, or dates with dashing men.
Moving stiffly along to a new table of customers, pad at the ready, Elenie tried to ignore the hopelessness that weighed on her shoulders.
Come see me, Fairy Godmother. I’m here and I’m ready for you to makeover my life.
Elenie’s legs were shaking when she opened the front door after work. Her heart thumped, throat tight. Coming home was never fun, but this utter dread was new. Everything had gone to shit so fast she still felt dizzy. A line crossed that could never be uncrossed.
Her mother and Dean were in the kitchen. There was no sign of Frank. Both turned when Elenie walked in and both slid their eyes away almost immediately.
“Hey.”
“Hey,”
Athena echoed.
Dean poured a mound of Cheerios into a bowl, holding out the box to Elenie.
“Want some?”
It was easily the nicest thing he’d said to her in months. The ever-present beanie plastered his straggly hair to his forehead; blue eyes peered through the strands.
“I’m good, thanks.”
She had no appetite at all. Maybe later her stomach would settle.
Athena added sugar to her coffee and stirred, discarding the teaspoon next to her mug. She spun it with one finger, leaving a dirty circle of liquid on the wooden kitchen table.
“I had a word with Frank.”
She waved a hand at Elenie’s face, unease setting her mouth into harsh lines.
“He went too far. It won’t happen again.”
Dean sloped out of the room. Elenie nodded, lost for a reply.
That’s OK, Mom.
No problem.
Thanks for asking your husband not to backhand your daughter.
She rubbed her eyes, tired beyond belief. Her mother was kidding herself if she thought she had Frank on any kind of leash.
“I’ll get something to eat later.”
Elenie couldn’t stand to be in the house so she grabbed a book and slowly climbed the small hill behind the garage to sit in the calm stillness of the dusky evening. As she drew her knees up under her chin, she soaked in the quiet and tried to empty her head. A half hour went by with only the chip, chip, chip of a song sparrow disturbing the peace but her mind refused to rest. She couldn’t even read.
She thought of Millie Westlake again, as she’d done every day since the overdose, and wondered how her recovery was going. Had the pills come from Frank? There’d always been drugs in their house. Elenie knew they passed through Frank’s hands. Now and then, he’d even gotten on her case about pushing some at school. It had been pretty bad for a while when she was younger, but she’d always refused to get involved and had never caved. Ty and Dean were willing enough anyway. Frank hadn’t needed her in the end.
She thought of Ray Parker and his truck—just another victim of Frank’s heavy-handed intimidation tactics. Elenie didn’t even know the background to that one. She considered all the times Frank had stolen property stored in the garage or disappeared for days on undiscussed delivery runs. It wasn’t guesswork. Tyson often moaned about unloading the huge quantities of boxes that came and then went again.
She thought about her mother and her lack of reaction to Frank’s attack. When had Elenie stopped expecting more? Maybe it was finally time to accept things as they were, rather than bartering her soul for a fantasy that would never solidify into real life.
She rubbed a finger over the screen of the new phone in her pocket. It was the first gift she could remember receiving. The invisible link to Roman Martinez felt like a lifeline.
Despite all that had come afterward, Elenie couldn’t regret the time she’d spent with him at the town fair. Walking and chatting, sharing food—the most wonderful kind of ordinary. Roman’s company was undemanding. Irrespective of his lofty job title, his ego seemed non-existent. She thought he looked healthier than he had that first day in the diner. Less angular, some of the tightness gone from his face. He’d been dangerous then, with the hint of darkness behind his eyes. Now, he was lethal.
She wanted to message him but Elenie recoiled at the thought of getting it wrong. Yes, he was being kind. He might want her to be safe—his job was to keep people safe. It didn’t mean he’d welcome more involvement than that. She already knew he was a decent guy. Reading too much into his attention would be stupid and she’d already been stupid enough.
Shifting her position on the grass, Elenie pressed a fist to her side. Her bruises were blooming into a violent rainbow of colors, the pain turning slowly from a fiery stab to a strong and steady ache throbbing through her bones. It was exhausting. She was exhausted.
She did not want this life. She’d had enough. What she could do about it, though, was another matter.
2 A holló vájja ki a szemed (May the raven gouge out your eye / fuck you)—Hungarian