Chapter Eight #2
to me). We had not gone on an official date, but we’d spent every night
together. We’d gone out to no dinners, but had shared all we could when I
wasn’t working. We’d gone to see no movies, but had watched several.
Snapper Kavanaugh and Rosalie Holloway were about a little
carriage house tucked far back from a city street, in our little Eden,
insulated and isolated from the outside.
Perfect for Snap.
And as with everything I had with Snap, perfect for me.
I was getting ready for my shift, still bartending,
but I’d be on the floor starting the next week.
I was looking forward to hitting the floor because I got
paid more for bartending in the paycheck department, but I could earn a mean
tip, and if I was ever going to give Snapper his reading nook and myself some
garden furniture, I had to be making a lot more than I was right then making.
So I was stroking on mascara, oblivious to the fact all the
discoloration and bruising was long gone. My nose was back to normal. There was
a split in my eyebrow, that break and the line that created it was still
pinkish, but it was lessening.
None of this factored for me.
I was just putting on mascara.
And that was when the phone rang.
The screen came up with a number not known to me and I
didn’t know what drove me to answer it. I never answered calls that I didn’t
know the caller because in most cases, they were marketing calls and no one
liked the aggravation of marketing calls.
But I answered the phone.
And it would take a great deal of time for me to make the
decision if I was glad I did, or wished I hadn’t.
“Hello?” I greeted.
“Rose, it’s me.”
My head dropped and I looked at the basin.
Beck.
I said nothing.
“I don’t got a lot of time. We don’t get a lot of phone
calls and there’s a line behind me and they aren’t real patient.”
“Beck—”
“I seriously fucked up and I know it.”
God.
He so did.
But it was also so over so it didn’t matter.
“Beck—”
“Turned my stomach, layin’ hands
on you. Almost got sick, watchin’ the boys go at you.
Thought it was Cage you were doin’ it for and that
was the only reason I got that fire in my belly, thinkin’
all we had was a lie and all the time we had together, your heart was with him.
Still, shoulda never took it there. Never put my
hands on a woman like that. Never thought I could be a man who would do that to
a woman. Especially not the woman who meant somethin’
to me. Lay in this joint every night, not sleepin’, can’t
get that shit outta my head, what I did to you. What I let them do to you. Even
during the day, if I don’t fight it back, it gets stuck in my throat so bad, I
can’t breathe.”
There was something there that he gave me, knowing this.
Knowing I had not made an entirely stupid-ass decision letting him into my life
and heart.
It still didn’t matter.
“Okay, but Beck—”
“I love you.”
Oh no.
“Beck,” I whispered.
“And I’m sorry.”
That had my head snapping up and I stared at the mirror
unseeing, all his words during this phone conversation spiking through me.
“Beck—” I began urgently.
“Find a good one next time, baby,” he whispered, and now his
words sent a chill through me.
“Beck!” I cried.
But he was gone.
I fumbled the phone, managing somehow to call Snapper.
It rang only twice when he answered, “Yo,
Scully.”
“Beck just called,” I rushed out.
“Say again?” he asked, not sounding happy.
“I think from jail,” I told him.
“Jesus Christ,” he bit.
“No, Snap, he’s done something or he’s going to be doing
something.”
“Honey, I told you that—” he began.
“No, no, no!” I cut him off frantically. “He said he loved
me and he was sorry and he told me to find a good one and then he hung up on
me.”
Snapper was silent.
Totally.
Just what I thought.
Damn it!
“Snapper!” I cried.
“Let me make some calls,” he said.
“He’s gonna rat,” I declared.
“Keep calm, Rosie, and let me make some calls.”
“It’s okay for me to do it, I mean, not okay as we learned
all too well, but it is not okay for a brother to rat, Snapper.”
“Rosie, honey, let me go so I can make some calls.”
“He’ll be dead in a week.”
“Baby, letting you go now.”
“Get word to him. Tell him not to do it. Tell him I
told him not to do it.”
“Okay.”
“This isn’t about him,” I said hurriedly. “It is, but it
isn’t. In the world we live in, he can’t right the wrong he did me unless he
lets justice serve. But not this way, Snap. Not this way.”
“I hear you, Rosie,” he said gently. “Now I gotta let you go, baby.”
“Okay, Snap.”
“Call when I know something,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Love you,” he finished.
“Love you too,” I replied.
He disconnected and I found it difficult to focus on
mascara.
“I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul,” I
whispered to my reflection, trying to get a hold on the panic. It just didn’t
work when I concluded, “The problem is, so is he.”
I pretty much barreled down the drive at
eleven-oh-seven that night, coming home after my shift, touching the garage
door opener and making the swing into the garage.
And Snapper did not stay laid out on the couch with his
book, only to look over the top of it when I hit the living room and give me
warm, happy-you’re-home, now-get-over-here-and-cuddle-with-me eyes.
I hadn’t even pulled into the garage (next to his truck, by
the way, he now had the second remote) when I saw him in the doorway to the
kitchen.
“No, no, no, no, no,” I chanted.
I couldn’t have my phone on me at work but I’d checked it
during a break and I had a message from Snap saying he was still looking into
things. But when I’d gone to get my purse after shift was over, I had another
message from Snap saying, “I got the details, baby. Don’t think about it. It
might not be as bad as you think. I’ll share when you get home.”
I did not drive home like the devil was on my heels because
first, Snapper was there and it was worth getting home healthy and all in one
piece, and second, I was not a big fan of drivers who drove like wherever they
were going was more important than anything else happening on the planet, so I
refused to be one of those kinds of people.
Nevertheless, I didn’t dawdle.
After I parked, I grabbed my purse and hurried out of my
car, not liking that Snapper was in the kitchen doorway waiting for me.
He’d said it might not be as bad as I think.
Him standing in the doorway made me think it was worse than
I thought.
“Hey,” I called, slamming my car door.
“Hey, darlin’,” he called back.
I rounded the hood of my car. “Why are you waiting in the
doorway?”
“Because I’m worried about your frame of mind,” he told me.
“My frame of mind was controlled until I saw you standing in
the doorway.”
His lips quirked and that finally set my mind at ease.
He got out of the way in order for me to be able to get
inside, but also for him to be able to walk to the fridge to grab me a beer. He
didn’t even offer tea.
He also didn’t give me a welcome home kiss.
This was bigger than tea, which was bad.
But Snap meeting me at the door and not giving me a kiss?
Okay, now my mind was no longer at ease.
He uncapped a Fat Tire for him, a
Blue Moon for me, handed me mine, and then he leaned a hip against the
countertop.
I didn’t take a pull of my brew.
I looked into his eyes.
“Talk to me,” I demanded.
“Took me a while to get it because it isn’t intel the cops
want out there, but I got it. Throttle turned.”
“He what?”
“Turned. Switched sides. He’s now a CI.”
Oh my God.
I watched TV. I knew what that meant.
“A confidential informant?” I asked to confirm.
“Yeah. Keepin’ him on the inside, they’re gonna find some loophole or technicality to let his ass go.
He returns to what’s left of Bounty. Bounty, from all reports, regardless that
shit has already got their ass in a sling and their charter is in danger of
getting yanked because of it, is returning to working whatever they’re working,
including Valenzuela. Since that’s apparently gonna
happen inevitably, while it happens, Throttle digs as deep as he can get and he
gives them everything he’s finding.”
“Holy crap,” I whispered.
Snapper nodded. “It’s dangerous as fuck. And baby, warning,
the degrees a snitch can be a snitch are many, none of them popular, and that’s
the highest degree you can get. If he’s about atoning, that motherfucker is all
in.”
That was when I took a pull from my brew.
A long one.
“He also promised to keep Bounty off you.”
I nearly choked on Blue Moon.
I swallowed with difficulty and Snap kept going.
“It’s covered, as I explained, but he’s added insurance.
And, babe, before you let this sink in too deep and it messes with your head,
there is no doubt from that phone call he’s doin’
this for you, but he’s also getting immunity and if the shit he gets on
Valenzuela is good enough, WITSEC.”
“Witness protection?” I breathed.
Snap nodded. “Valenzuela is not only a big fish, he’s linked
to bigger fish. This operation could go on months, maybe longer, and crack a
lot of shit wide open. Throttle offers up something juicy, he’ll have to
testify against them, and he’ll get protection.”
“How protective is witness protection?” I inquired and Snap
grinned.
“I read a lot, Rosie, but not sure I’ve read any stats on
how many bad guys turned snitch got hunted down for vengeance. Though, I know
they don’t offer that shit random and definitely not generously. If they give
it, they intend for it to do what it’s supposed to do. So he’ll slide right off
the grid in a way it’ll take some doing for anyone to find him.”
I drew in a big breath, then let it out.
“You need to know something.”
The way Snapper said that didn’t do anything to my finally
calming frame of mind.
“What?” I asked.
“This was our plan all along.”
I stared at him.
“Chaos wanted him to turn,” he explained.
Oh God.
“You knew that?” I queried.
Slowly, he nodded.
“You told me that it was about shutting down the shipments,”