Chapter 8
EIGHT
Grant
The neighborhood we’re living in is exactly how I assumed it would be. It’s filled with nothing but manicured lawns, and oak trees line the streets. It’s charming at best.
Little would anyone know that these homes are occupied by the people responsible for most of the crime in the city and throughout North and South Carolina.
Being here is like being transported into a past life of mine. One that neither Dodger nor Cara really knows about yet.
As part of our jobs, at any given time, you have to play the part. It’s not all about showing up, catching the bad guy, and saving the day. Sometimes, it requires more finesse than that to find out the information you or your employer wants to know.
This is why I have no choice but to break the news to Cara that our next-door neighbor is a friend of mine in the Carolinas mafia, Brad the Bull.
Maybe I won’t have to tell her how Brad got the nickname. Although, knowing Cara, I will.
“What do you think, darling?” I ask.
Cara’s been walking in and out of each room of our temporary home together, inspecting every detail. She’s back in work mode after that plane ride. There is no sign of how she feels about being here or what she thinks of the house.
Dodger asked me to confirm where Brad lived, and that was the basis of picking this home.
“It’ll do,” she says as she approaches the kitchen island.
“Good.”
“Okay, so now that we have a feel for the neighborhood and discussed some of the plans, why don’t you finally tell me what you’ve been keeping from me?”
I swallow thickly.
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, Sinclair.”
Does she already know more than what I’ve shared?
Her eyes widen as her nails tap on the island.
“You told me you’d share who Ace is to these people. There’s nothing about that in these files. I need you to tell me all the details.”
“Right,” I say, relieved. “Living room?”
“Okay,” she says with a slight shrug.
I let Cara lead the way into the all-white living room. The chairs are white, the throw blankets are white, and even the throw pillows on top of the sectional sofa are white. It’s just frankly clean-looking and doesn’t feel homelike at all.
“I know this is pretend, but maybe we can redecorate here. It could even be a bonding activity for you and one of the wives.”
Cara looks around the room, perplexed as to what I’m referring to.
“It’s a blank canvas… literally. It’s so alarming.”
“Or it’s refreshing?” she offers.
“Keep the idea in your back pocket at least.”
“Right,” she says, confused.
I hold onto my knees as I sit across from her on the other end of the sofa.
“Let’s hear it,” she says.
“Our next-door neighbor is going to be our way into the Kingpin’s underground deals. His name is Brad Covington. I know him as Brad the Bull.”
Cara gets serious as she waits for me to continue.
“Maybe five or six years ago, I was hired by someone anonymously.”
“It’s common enough.”
“He hired me to get information on his client who had gone rogue. That’s when I found myself meeting Brad for the first time. It wasn’t here in Charlotte but in a smaller town, maybe fifty miles north of here.”
Cara nods to encourage me to continue.
“I had to get answers, so that’s what I did. It took me weeks, but eventually, Brad came around to me. He helped me without ever realizing it.”
“What does he think happened?”
“Someone else got blamed for the information leaking. I was an outsider but had covered my tracks.”
“Of course.”
“Brad will welcome me. He thinks I’m from Las Vegas. That I’m an expert at gambling and beating the odds.”
“Are you?”
“I know enough for the jobs I get offered.”
“Wait, does this mean that’s what you did for his boss? You got in and got the information you needed?”
“I won’t lie to you.”
“Then don’t.”
“I’m telling you information on an as-needed basis.”
Cara sighs and leans back into the fluffy sofa, frustrated.
“Come on, Sinclair. Where is all that hype saying how great of a contract killer I am?”
“Need to know, Collins.”
“Fine, but what would that make you? Some type of card shark?”
She says it almost sarcastically.
“The correct term is ‘card sharp,’ but card shark has been more widely accepted as of late.”
“I don’t need a history lesson. A card sharp then?”
“Yes. Card sharp. Card counter. Whatever it takes.”
Cara leans forward and mimics my pose of resting her elbows on her knees.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Good to know.”
Cara sits upright, and a hint of a smile appears.
“So the man called Ace happens to have all of these card talents?”
“Yes,” I groan.
“Hey, I’m not knocking it, but it is a funny coincidence.”
“No one has questioned it at least.”
“And what about Brad the Bull? His is a funny nickname.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
Cara gets more serious again.
“How did he get nicknamed the Bull?”
“Destroys everything without question.”
“Got it.”
Cara soaks in everything I’ve just shared. I’ll give her the space to do so.
“Does he know you’re back?”
“Yes. I reached out to him after we got assigned and let him know my new wife and I are settling down in Charlotte, and lo and behold, he’s my new neighbor.”
“How did he take it?”
“He was surprised. Asked us to stop by at some point, which will be a good setup.”
“Very good, actually.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m bringing him and his wife a pie tomorrow to say hello.”
I smirk as I stretch my neck from side to side.
“You bake pies?” I ask.
“We all have our secret talents.”
Cara gets up and leaves me sitting in the living room alone. I watch as she climbs up the stairs to the bedrooms.
I gave her the primary bedroom, and I’ll be taking the set-up guest room. It’s a way for us to try to keep it professional. At the hotel, it was a nice gesture for her to share the bed with me and nothing more than that.
There wasn’t any way I could tell her that I slept well that night for the first time in ages. That normally, my past haunts me in my dreams. That seemed a bit dark for five a.m. over coffee.
“Never thought I’d see the day,” I say.
Cara perks up from the oven where she’s pulling out a pie.
“It’s called homemade.”
“I thought you were an order or buy kind of woman.”
“I am.”
I lean against the nearby counter, cross my arms against my chest, and kick one leg over the other.
“That’s for a different phase. This is the ‘we’re new to the neighborhood and don’t know how to fit in’ phase.”
“Brad knows me.”
“And Ace wouldn’t have his wife make homemade pies?”
Cara sets down the freshly baked pie next to the others before planting her hands on her hips. A piece of her deep-brown hair falls around her face.
The way the bright-red tank top and short denim shorts she’s wearing make her look like any man’s housewife wet dream is a disturbing realization.
“Brad will think I’m one lucky bastard to get a wife like you.”
Cara smiles, and it’s in this moment that I realize I’d like to keep making this woman smile like this.
“Good. Well, I think this is the last one,” she says while turning her attention back to the pies.
“How many did you make?” I ask while scanning the pies.
“Just four. For Brad’s house, one of the neighbors across the street, the ones on the other side of us, and Ms. Miller down the road.”
I uncross my arms and grip the edge of the countertop.
“Why Ms. Miller?”
“Something about her profile just jarred me. I’d like an opportunity to talk to her in person.”
“Is that how you’ll start the conversation?”
Cara gives me an annoyed look as she shakes her head.
“I think I’ll talk to her about anything she wants to talk about. Maybe even the neighborhood painting class she teaches on Thursdays.”
“You can paint too?”
“I’m a woman of many talents.”
I bet you are.
“You’ll bring them over with me still, right?” she asks.
“Of course.”
She gives me a small nod as she starts to cover the pies.
“Okay, I’m going to freshen up, and then we can head out.”
“You look perfect like that.”
Cara grins as I realize what I let slip.
“I mean, perfect for the part.”
“Thank you, but I’d rather have my hair down and put on a sundress.”
I’d like to pull on that ponytail instead.
“Okay. I’ll be down here waiting. Should I bag the pies for you?”
“That’d be great. Thanks!”
Cara walks out of the kitchen, and I hear her going quickly up the stairs. As soon as the bedroom door shuts behind her, I realize I can breathe for the first time. I hadn’t intentionally been holding my breath.
I can’t let on that I’m coming to terms with the feelings she’s stirring up. I have to keep my distance and remain professional. For the sake of the job that just started, my friendship with her dad, and, well, my goddamn dignity.
Getting to work, I stack the covered pies and place them in a warming bag that Cara had laid out.
With the bag prepped, I carry it toward the front door and wait for Cara. As I take in our new foyer, I hear her coming down the stairs.
Cara emerges around the corner in a green sundress, a tan cardigan, and matching wedges. A far cry from her usual black attire and love of faux leather.
“What do you think?” she asks with a twirl.
“You certainly look the part.”
“That’s the idea,” she says with a smirk.
Cara notices the package of pies I’m holding.
“Want me to get those?”
“That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me, now would it?”
“I suppose not. Let’s start with Brad first?”
“Good idea.”
Cara opens the front door and gestures for me to go first. I slip out and wait for her on the picturesque front porch.
“Lead the way, Ace,” she teases.
“Let’s see how Brad is doing these days.”
We walk down the few steps to the ground and then take the sidewalk to the stone path leading right to their front door.
Cara leans in and rings the doorbell and then smooths out the bottom of her dress.
“You look beautiful,” I whisper into her ear.
She shivers slightly. I want to take it as a sign she likes when I’m close, but I don’t dare think that way.
“Thank you. It’s just chilly, so my dress was getting wrinkled.”