Chapter Forty
Bobbi
Although I haven’t been to the bakery since the weekend, and devoted the time to rest and recovery, my body still feels like it’s been beaten from scalp to toes with a meat tenderizer. I got in touch with Victor on Sunday evening and told him to close the bakery.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked. I’ve never closed the bakery like this before. I gave him a story about getting into an accident to explain why I couldn’t pick him up. A good lie, since it also explained the bruises and cuts, which are going to linger for a while.
I smiled at his concern. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’ll be paid time off, so it’ll be good for you, too.” No need for him to worry about paying his bills. Although I ensure he makes enough to be okay, SoCal is expensive.
“Nah, I don’t need that. Listen, Bobbi… I don’t think you have to close for a week. You’ve been teaching me how to bake. I think I can man the fort while you get better.”
“You don’t have to. I don’t want you to take on too much.” Although I’ve been teaching him my recipes, he might get overwhelmed if he has to do everything on his own.
“You have no idea what your kindness meant when I had nowhere to go. I never told anybody, but I felt like I didn’t have anyone. Family was useless, and my friends mostly vanished once I became homeless. It felt like I was just…done.”
Sympathy for the lonely Victor wells up. Nobody should ever feel that way about themselves.
He continued, “You took a big risk when you decided to feed me, and a bigger one when you hired me. I’m going to show you that you made the right decision.”
“You don’t have to prove anything.” My voice was soft with affection and pride. “I already know I made the right decision.”
“Well. I’m going to do it anyway,” he said gruffly, then hung up.
Now it’s Wednesday afternoon, and Noah probably isn’t available yet. If he were, he would’ve noticed all my texts and calls and reached out.
When a bunch of people in paramedic uniforms arrived to take Noah and me to the hospital, I wanted to stay with him the entire time, even if he was asleep. But his mother said she needed to make sure I was okay in that scary inflectionless voice of hers, then dragged me off to see a bunch of doctors who pumped me full of painkillers and other drugs that I know weren’t just for easing the pain. Afterward some police officers—assuming they were real cops—questioned me for over an hour, ostensibly to understand what happened, then one of them drove me home.
When I recovered from the loopiness from the meds and went back to the hospital the next morning, Noah had been moved, and people were less than helpful.
“I’m sorry, but what’s your relationship to him? Family or…?” The receptionist at the information desk gave me a look that said unless I provided a satisfactory answer, I wasn’t getting anything out of her.
Here went my fifty-fifty shot. “Girlfriend.”
She shook her head, said, “Family members only,” and gave me a sorry-not-sorry smile.
Her smile was more annoying than the hospital’s privacy policy. Mainly because I resented her condescension even as I understood why the hospital was reluctant to give out patient information. One of my former clients had a stalker who pretended to be her fiancé in order to gain access at a gynecology clinic.
All my calls to his phone are going to voice mail. Doubt he’s reading my texts either. And I have no idea how to reach Nora, who may have confiscated his phone and undoubtedly knows where he is. She spoke with me a few times on Sunday, mainly asking what happened that evening…maybe she wanted to trip me up because she wasn’t satisfied with my answers to the “cops.” Then she asked how I felt about Noah, and I told her I wasn’t telling her when I haven’t told Noah yet. She gave me the flat, assessing look of a snake debating whether or not to strike, and it bugged me that she didn’t seem to care at all about Noah’s well-being. My dad—I mean, Otto—never cared about me that much, but now that I know he wasn’t my real father his attitude makes more sense. Noah is Nora’s son! What kind of mom remains so blasé about her own child getting shot by a freakin’ traitor?
I was so disgusted, I left without asking for her number. Unfortunately, manifesting won’t give me her number, so I finally gather my courage and text Noah’s brothers.
–Grant: I don’t think anybody knows.
–Griffin: Why don’t you ask Noah?
Because he got shot saving me and is lying unconscious in some unknown hospital.
–Me: I’m planning a surprise.
–Emmett: Joey might know. But then you’d have to talk to Joey.
Ugh, not Joey of a Thousand Filters. On the other hand, I’ll put up with him if it means seeing Noah and making sure he’s okay.
–Nicholas: Don’t bother. When my mom asked because she wanted to invite Nora to a trip to Berlin last year, he said he didn’t know.
–Grant: Then how does he send her invites to Dad’s parties?
–Nicholas: He emails Noah. Bobbi, do you have to involve Nora? She’s rarely available.
–Me: Probably not. Thanks.
I put my phone down and let out a frustrated breath. I should’ve asked for Nora’s number even though she annoyed me with her cold attitude! I kick the bare floor of the kitchen and curse. It doesn’t make me feel better.
The door bursts open, making me jump. My heart settles when I realize it’s TJ barging in, his shoulders bunched. From the wild look in his eyes, it’s shocking he’s not frothing at the mouth.
“I go out of town with Tony for a couple of days and come back to this? What the fuck happened?” he shouts, face twisting as he takes in my bruises. “Victor said you got hurt, but he didn’t tell me you had a fight with a semi!”
“Yeah, but you should see the semi.” I shoot him a cheeky grin. “How they hangin,’ cuz?”
He lifts a thick finger and wags it in my face. “Don’t.”
He’s about to blow. Time to defuse the situation. “TJ, I’m fine. It was just an accident.”
“And the car fucked up your face?” He is shouting again. “You can lie to your little assistant, but not to me.”
I sigh. “Looks worse than it is. And seriously, you should’ve seen the other guy. Before, you know, I shot him.” I look away briefly, hoping I sound convincing. It’s difficult to take credit for killing Trey Underhill, but to protect Noah’s secret...
I don’t know what strings his mom pulled, but the detective—the real cop, not the fake ones who did the detailed questioning after I was doped up in the hospital—in charge of investigating this case agreed that I was right to defend myself and called Trey’s death “justifiable.” The entire interview lasted all of five minutes, and the case was wrapped up so fast, I wondered if Nora’s people had pre-written police reports they hand out for occasions like this.
“Come on. Let’s sit.” I gesture at the sofa and take a seat.
TJ parks himself next to me, jaw flexing. Hopefully he doesn’t grind his teeth too hard. Dentists are expensive.
“I told you we should’ve put landmines around your house!” His voice shakes with fury and regret. “Then none of this would’ve happened.”
“I don’t know,” I say vaguely. “The other guy was really motivated.” Trey was also devious, claiming to be a veteran with a cat to get my guard down. He would’ve found a way around the landmines. But I keep my mouth shut about it; TJ would only come up with some even more outlandish way to keep me safe.
“Who was it? A stalker?”
“No. Someone who had a beef with Dad’s work. Apparently he blamed Dad for some treaty that didn’t get ratified or something. I wasn’t sure what he was talking about to be honest. Most of Dad’s work was classified, so…” I shrug.
“So what happened? My buddies at the precinct can’t find a report or anything.”
That explains why he didn’t buy my initial lie about an accident. Again, I wonder just how much influence Noah’s mom has. “We got into a physical fight, obviously. He pulled out a gun, but I was faster with the Glock.”
TJ stares at me but then nods slightly. His fury starts to cool. “So… You okay? Maybe you should see a shrink about the whole thing. Talk about the trauma.”
“I’m fine.” After all, I’m not the one who shot Trey. Is Noah unavailable because he’s seeing a therapist? I assume people like him don’t need to because they’re used to death in their profession. James Bond never lay on a therapist’s couch. But this isn’t a movie.
“You sure?” TJ puts a gentle hand on my shoulder, as though he’s afraid of breaking me. “Bobbi, I know you’re strong, but you can lean on others for help, too. Cassie, Josie and I are here for you.”
“I know. Thanks.” I smile wanly as Trey’s revelation floats on my mind. He said I wasn’t my father’s child. Not that I think he was being entirely truthful, but what if I’m not related to TJ? Would it matter to him? I could pretend like Trey never said anything, but I keep thinking about it. Besides, what he said explained my mother’s behavior so well. “Hey, TJ.”
“Yeah?”
“Would it change anything if you knew I’m not really your cousin?”
He gives me a look. “What are you talking about?”
“That guy…the one who came and did this”—I gesture at my face—“said I was a baby Dad found while stationed overseas.” I don’t mention the diplomat. In a way, my version isn’t entirely untrue. Revealing the information about the diplomat and his wife would be impossible without coming clean that Otto Bright was a traitor.
“Oh, that? Yeah, I knew you were adopted,” TJ says.
“What?” A vice suddenly clamps down on my chest.
“Uncle Otto and Aunt Sarah never brought it up, but I knew. When you got shot that time, you needed a blood transfusion. I offered, but we weren’t compatible. You’re Rh negative. Everyone in the family is Rh positive. Your father was too.”
I stare at him. “But you never said anything!”
He shrugs, all awkward now. “I thought you knew. Besides, why would that make a difference? You’re still my cousin. I don’t know what that motherfucker said, but if you think being adopted makes a difference to me, I’m gonna get insulted.”
The tightness around my chest eases. What was I thinking, letting Trey’s toxic words get to me? TJ is right. He and I are family no matter what. If the situation were reversed, I’d still love him. Feeling a little choked up, I sniff. “Thanks. Want a freshly baked apple pie?”
A ghost of smile touches his lips. “Taking a rain check. You need to rest and recover. Don’t even think about going to the bakery. You’ll scare all your customers away, and poor Victor will lose his job.”
“Is that so?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Yes. It’d be a tragedy since he finally started dating that little blonde chick. Be a shame if he couldn’t afford to take her out to a nice restaurant and movie. You know, before he bones that poor girl half to death.”