42. Clara
Chapter 42
Clara
W e wash up at our hotel, a different swank one than before. This one is straddling the line between downtown Chicago and Lincoln Park, a refurbished brownstone. I pull on some jeans and a cream oversized sweater after my post-breakdown shower, piling my hair on top of my head. Clean and back to my normal self, I head into the living room of the four-bedroom suite.
Trips slept on the pullout couch in the living room the past two nights. It felt like he was chaperoning—preventing bed-hopping—and it worked. Sadly.
Walker says something I can’t hear as I come into the room, but Trips’ growls permeate the suite. “She can’t be serious.”
Walker is sitting in front of RJ’s setup, typing. “She’s not budging. It’s this or nothing.”
“Goddamn it. I don’t want Clara there alone.” Trips paces behind the computer, running his hands through his hair .
Today must be a day for risk taking, because for some dumb reason, I snag Trips’ hand, stopping his pacing and stepping closer to Walker, dragging Trips behind me. Walker turns in the chair, tugging my other hand, pulling me down to kiss my cheek. “Hello, princess. Nice shower?”
Trips is vibrating, and I can’t tell if it’s anger or surprise, but he doesn’t take back his hand. Twice he’s touched me today, and he’s avoided being a major jackass for both those moments. Improvement. “A needed shower. What are we mad about now?”
Walker laughs, squeezing my hand before letting go. Trips yanks me back half a step, slipping from my grasp. Well, it was worth a try.
His warm hand slides to my hip, pressing the side of my body against his, each touchpoint electric with meaning. Is this really happening? Is Trips touching me? In front of someone else? And not because I’m about to lose my shit? He’s not even running away. I like this. “It’s Jasmine. She’s being unreasonable,” he growls.
I pretend like us being pressed together is normal. I don’t want to spook my big asshole. “What is she asking for? We already got the document.”
Walker spins all the way around on the chair, moving so his knees straddle mine, his kneecap a breath away from touching Trips. Risks all around, today. “She wants you to do the drop.”
“Me?” The pitch of that squeak is high enough that all the stray dogs in the area are probably rushing my way.
Trips’ hand slides up to my waist, catching the edge of the fabric of my sweater so his thumb slides under it, stroking the skin of my back, all of me vibrant. Only, I need to keep my chill, to not say anything. One does not second-guess a miracle. “I don’t like it,” he says, his thumb making small circles on my skin.
Walker shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. She chose a bar. It’s super public and as safe as we could hope for.”
RJ throws open the front door, he and Jansen carrying in bags of Chinese food.
Trips immediately steps away, moving to help them organize the cartons. Walker takes the distraction to pull me into his lap, kissing me softly. “You were great out there, Clara.”
“Thanks.”
He kisses me again, reverent. “I knew you had it. But just so you know, Trips was terrified. I think there’s more there than he wants any of us to know.”
I look at the man in question, pulling plates out of the cabinets of the kitchenette, and I nod. “I’m starting to think that, too.”
“Be gentle with him, Clara. Even when he is an ass.”
Walker’s dark eyes are so full of trust, I wish I could dive into them. “I’ll try.”
“You need to talk to RJ, too.”
I grin. “Are you my relationship guru now?”
His smile matches mine, his hand rising to caress my cheek. “I want you happy. And if you want this multiple boyfriend thing to work? You’re going to need help.”
Leaning in for another kiss, I catch his scent of maple syrup and pine, relaxing into his touch. “Thank you, Walker.” More of the tightness in my chest unwinds. He’s really trying. He’s here, for me. My cheerleader. No masks required .
We pile plates full of salty-sweet goodness, spread around the reclaimed wood kitchen table. My food is gone before I remember taking more than a bite. Apparently rescuing one of your boyfriends from gun-toting, mob-employed security guards makes you hungry.
Once we’ve all slowed down, Trips clears his throat. “We got the drop location and time. It’s 3 p.m. at Sin’sister, a high-end bar.”
Jansen tugs my chair closer to him so he can rest his hand on my thigh. “Great. We’ll do the drop, then drive home. It even leaves us time for a good celebration tonight.” His hand inches up my leg, his fingers pressing on the apex of the seam of my jeans, letting me know exactly what kind of celebration he’s planning on. Squirming, I think about moving his hand back to safe territory, but it feels too good. I want exactly the kind of celebration he’s suggesting.
Trips raises an eyebrow at the two of us, even though there’s no way he can see what’s happening from the other side of the table. “There’s more. Jasmine wants Clara to do the drop. Alone.”
Jansen stops his firm caress, turning to me. I’m both grateful he didn’t make me come at the table in front of everyone and frustrated that he stopped. Damn hormones. “Do you think you can do the drop solo?” he asks.
I glare at my plate. “Do I want to? No. Can I? Probably?”
He twines his fingers with my own. “Okay.”
RJ smiles his place across from me. “I think this is good. You two have already built some rapport.”
Walker reaches over Jansen to take my other hand. “You’ve got this. ”
Trips rams his hand through his hair again, any semblance to coiffed disappearing. “Fine. I guess everyone else is okay with leaving you alone with a mob princess immediately after we stole from her grandfather. No fucking big deal.”
I glance at Walker. “What were the exact requirements?”
“Show up alone with the document. Once Jasmine has it in hand, we’ll get the final details for the New Year’s heist.”
Nodding, I turn to Trips. “Dress warm, grumps. You’ll be chilling by the door.”
He blinks a few times, then drops his shoulders. “Not what I want, but it will have to do.”
It’s barely warm enough for my capelet, but I love the thing too much not to wear it. With my chunky white sleeves poking out, I feel a little like a panda bear, but when I asked Jansen, he said I was too hot to be a panda. That’s not a glowing review of my outfit, but it will have to do.
Jansen pulls into an alleyway around the corner from the bar. Snagging my hand before I follow Trips out of the car, he tugs me over the console to wrap an arm around me. “Bad bitch energy, beautiful. You’ve got this.”
I laugh, leaning forward for a kiss before sliding the rest of the way out. Trips takes my mittened hand and tucks it in the crook of his arm, the sheer size of him surprising me yet again. My hand looks tiny there against the black wool of his coat. “Are you okay?” I ask, confused once again by the closeness. I’m loving it, but it’s weird, and I’m worried about what it means. Once is nice, twice is wonderful, thrice is suspicious.
He tugs me out of the alley and onto the sidewalk, scattered folks passing us. His brows furrow, my question taking him off guard. “I’m worried. This gig, I don’t know. Something feels off. I don’t like that Jasmine’s grandpa and my father use the same cleaner.”
I laugh. “What kind of house cleaners travel between major metropolitan areas?”
Trips’ lips twist. “The kind who know how to make the bodies disappear.”
I stop, pausing Trips, too. “Bodies?” I whisper.
His lips twist, disgust written across his face. “The O’Malleys. The best in the Midwest.”
“What a fucking horrific thing to be known for.”
He scoffs, tugging me toward the restaurant, the clock in his head working to keep us on time.
The Sin’sister is in the middle of the block of little two-story brick row houses, all renovated into boutiques, coffee shops, and in this case, a bar. Trips walks me to the door, stopping right in front and turning me to him. “Keep your head on straight. If anything goes down, yell. I’m right here. I’ll hear you.”
I nod, but he doesn’t let go. Looking up, he’s scowling at me, his focus drifting from my eyes to my lips and back, his mouth screwed to one side. “If you’re going to kiss me, you might as well just get it over with. Because right now, thinking about it looks torturous.”
Trips glares, a hint of a grin hiding in the tilt of his lips. “Get in there, Crash. ”
I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t the one holding me back, jackass.”
Yanking open the door, Trips’ laughter trailing me in, I step into the coziest bar I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve been to a lot of bars, but even I know this one is special. There are deep leather couches, red, pink, and black cozy chairs, coffee tables and side tables, and zoned lighting. The whole thing looks like the living room of the sexiest fem-friend. Sin’sister: I get it.
At three on a Sunday, Jasmine and the bartender are the only people on the main floor, although feminine laughter tinkles down from upstairs.
“Hey,” I say, striding toward the redheaded beauty with more confidence than I ever actually have. I’m getting better at this fake-it-until-you-make-it stuff.
Jasmine offers me a small smile from where she’s perched in a black velvet porter chair, dressed in shades of red and black, just like the bar. “I love your cape,” she says.
I guess I don’t look as much like a panda as I thought. “Thanks. I love your pants. So swishy.”
She grins, the first childlike expression I’ve seen from her, and suddenly, she’s younger, looking the handful of years older than me that she actually is. “Thanks. I like the way they move with me. It makes me feel like a heroine in a historical novel who just jerry-rigged her skirts into pants so she can rush off and solve a mystery.”
I snicker at the imagery, the tension of the meeting broken. Despite Trips’ worries, if this is the real Jasmine Cadieux, then we have nothing to worry about from her. Her family? Unknown. But right now I’m safe .
She waves at the bartender, who brings over a bottle of white wine. “Is this okay?” she asks.
“I’ll try anything twice.”
I get another grin as the glasses fill to the brim. Jasmine settles back on the chair, crossing one leg over the other. I curl up cross-legged on the couch next to her, stripping off my capelet and mittens, setting them beside me.
We both take a sip of the slightly tart wine, and as it slips down, I wish I’d seen what this yummy bottle is. I’d happily pop this out on a warm fall day.
She gestures to the front window. “I see you have a watchdog. I take it that’s the Westerhouse boy?”
Trips leans against the window, looking nothing like a boy. He’s pretending he’s waiting for someone, but I can tell his attention is trained on me. “That’s him.”
The light fades from Jasmine’s eyes, and I wonder how I messed this up already.
After too long of a pause, she clears her throat, turning her attention to me. “I’m glad to see you all made it out of my grandfather’s house in one piece.”
I take another sip of wine. “So are we.” I swallow down my anxiety. Bad bitch energy, Clara. Badass bitch. “This whole setup was a disaster,” I say, hoping that pushing our fence won’t ruin our chances at getting the gig.
“It was. The client insisted on a battle royale format. They didn’t care what the teams competed over, so I used the trial for my advantage. I never intended it to get quite so…messy.”
Push, Clara . “Your grandfather threatened to call the O’Malleys. ”
Jasmine’s face blanches. “It never should have gotten that far. I’ve never worked with that other team before. I expect a certain level of circumspection with my acquisitions teams, and suffice to say, they did not pass the test. Unfortunately for our working relationship, my client is not pleased your team won.”
My eyebrows fly up. “Our team? Specifically?”
Her head tilts just enough for me to glean that that was exactly what she wasn’t saying.
“Exactly how much does your client know about our team?” I ask.
“More than either of us would like. And before you toss blame, you should know that he didn’t find out from me. Privacy is a key component of my business practices. But regardless of how he found out about your team, it doesn’t change that he is livid. The smash-and-grab group was his preferred horse in the race.”
“So what does that mean for us going forward?”
Jasmine stares out the front of the bar, her eyes resting on Trips as he rubs his hands together, warming them in the bitter November wind. “It means that I might have to choose between my client and your team.”
My mind whirs. “I can’t imagine you’d want to build a poor reputation with your clients.”
“No. But I don’t want to build up a shitty reputation with my teams, either. You know how much thieves like to gossip.”
I honestly can’t tell if that’s a joke or not, so I make a noncommittal sound and swallow some more wine.
She pulls a blood-red envelope from her purse, sliding it across the table. I pick it up, but don’t open it .
She takes another sip of the wine, one finger tapping the side of the goblet. “I worked out a compromise with my client, but it’s not ideal. In fact, I’m certain my client is actively trying to make it difficult for your team to take the job.”
Staring at the envelope in my hands, I wonder how something so small can be filled with so much meaning. I wish at least one of my guys was here with me. I shouldn’t be making this decision without them. “Before I look at this, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“If this were your team, would you take the job?”
Jasmine zones out the front window again. “I guess that depends. How much do you trust your team?”
My anger spikes at the question. But it is a reasonable one.
Obviously, I trust Jansen with my joy, my heart. Walker anchors my soul, while RJ soothes my mind. And Trips? I trust him to keep me in one piece. He hates every risky situation I put myself into. So…I guess if I’m going all esoteric and shit, I trust him with my body. Which is weird on all kinds of levels, but also kind of true.
Looking up, I see Jasmine watching me think. “You trust them completely, don’t you?”
I shrug. “They’re mine.”
Those were not the words I meant to say, but now that they’re out there? Yeah. They’re true. Even the grumpy asshole is at least a little mine.
She uncrosses her legs, waving for more wine. “All four are yours?”
I shrug again, not knowing how to answer that. Not yet .
She hums, accepting a long pour. “In that case, I’d say take the job and show my client what you can do. I saw a little of the footage from today, and oh boy, did I wish we had audio, too. The story you spun must have been gold-plated smoke and mirrors to get you two out of there.”
I chuckle. “It was something . I’m not sure I would have called it gold, though. More of a haze of fictional pot brownies.”
She bursts out laughing, and I join her, the absurdity of this morning so surreal that I feel like I’m telling the plot of a TV show rather than expounding on my adventure. Clara McElroy doesn’t take risks. That girl this morning? She was on fire, but she was for sure not me. Or at least, not the me I’ve known for twenty years.
My mind caught on a spiral, I pull my boring white envelope out of my purse, sliding it to Jasmine, hoping to get out of here before my spiral turns into a dive.
Jasmine looks at my envelope the same way I looked at hers—like it’s either a snake or salvation.
I guess neither of us wants to open them. Based on what she’s told me, whatever is in my envelope is a bomb, one with an arrow pointed specifically at us. I shouldn’t take or decline this job without the guys. “I need to chat with my team about the changes to the specs.”
Jasmine shoves her envelope into her purse without opening it. “That’s fine. I’ll need an answer before six.”
Whew. I slide the red envelope into my purse, finishing the last of my wine. We both stand, shaking hands.
“I look forward to a long, lucrative partnership going forward, Clara,” she says .
“The feeling is mutual.”
As I pull on my capelet, all I know for sure is that we’re missing a key piece of information. And that missing piece isn’t in this envelope. It’s somewhere out there watching us, waiting for the opportunity to smother us all.