REBECCA #2
Charly breaks the silence, locking eyes with me. "You trust this guy?"
I don't even have to think about it. "With my life."
The words leave my mouth before I realize I've said them. Charly closes his eyes for a second. Then lets out a long, suffering sigh. He rubs both hands over his face. "You're killing me."
A chuckle rumbles beside me. Alessio. "Get in line."
Charly points at him. "I'm serious."
"So am I."
Another beat passes. Charly studies Alessio again. "You know what bothers me?"
"I'm sure you're going to tell me."
"I spent three decades putting men like you in handcuffs." Alessio nods once. "And now..." Charly gestures toward me, "the person I love most in this world is sitting next to one."
The cabin falls quiet. Alessio doesn't get defensive. Doesn't argue. He simply nods again. "I understand."
"No." Charly shakes his head. "I don't think you do." He leans forward. "If you break her heart..."
Alessio meets his gaze without flinching. "I won't."
Charly gives a humorless laugh. "They all say that."
"I'm not they." After a moment, he adds, "I know exactly what kind of man you think I am."
Charly's expression hardens. "Do you?"
"And that's precisely why she'll be safe. If anyone comes for Beccs... they won't find mercy. They won't find justice. They'll find me."
Charly holds his gaze for several long seconds. Then... very slowly... he inclines his head in agreement.
"That's about the only answer you could've given that I'd believe." He finishes the last of his bourbon. "I'm still not happy about it."
Alessio smiles. "I'd be disappointed if you were."
That earns him the smallest grin. "Smart-ass."
"I've been called worse."
"I'll bet."
Just when I think the interrogation part is finally over, Alessio narrows his eyes at Charly. "Your turn."
Charly blinks. "My turn what?"
Alessio leans back in his seat, one arm sliding around my shoulders as if he's claiming territory. Maybe he is. "I'd like to know what's in this for you."
"Alessio—" I try to stop him.
He doesn't even look at me.
Charly lifts a hand, stopping me. "It's okay, kiddo." He turns back to Alessio and gives a small nod. "Fair enough."
The air in the jet changes, and it has nothing to do with altitude. It's subtle, but I feel it, that silent battle between the two men who, somehow, have become the most important people in my life.
On one side sits Charly. The man who has been my anchor these past four years. On the other sits Alessio. Dangerous. Possessive. The man who would set entire cities on fire if it meant keeping me safe. Neither of them looks away.
"You don't have to answer that, Charly," I protest.
"Yes, he does," Alessio contradicts.
For a split second, something flickers across Charly's face. It's not anger, not even annoyance. Something closer to grudging respect. Absurdly, I wonder if my dad would have looked at Alessio the same way. Two stubborn men, both convinced they know what's best for me.
Charly exhales and rubs his palms against his jeans. "I was the one who got the call."
The words settle over the cabin like a blanket.
"Beccs—" He glances at me. I nod. "Becca, back then."
"Everybody called me Becca." My throat tightens.
After Rachel disappeared, after everything happened, I'd stopped introducing myself that way. Becca belonged to another life. To sleepovers and whispered secrets. To matching bracelets and pancake dinners. To two sisters sharing a bedroom and arguing over whose turn it was to wash the dishes.
"After..." I swallow hard. "After Rachel disappeared, it felt like part of me died too.
Every time someone called me Becca, all I could think about was her.
So I started telling people my name was Beccs.
Not Rebecca. Not Becca. Beccs." I force out a laugh that sounds suspiciously like a sob.
"I didn't want to lose my name completely, but... I couldn't carry it anymore either."
Charly reaches over and squeezes my hand.
"Anyway," he says softly, his voice rough around the edges, "this fifteen-year-old girl called the station." The words punch the air from my lungs.
Suddenly, I'm back there.
The smell. God, the smell. Copper and gunpowder and something else my brain has spent four years trying to forget. My bare feet slipping on hardwood. My hands shaking so violently I can barely dial.
Nine-one-one. What's your emergency?
I think my family's dead.
The memory crashes into me so hard that I stop breathing. I remember kneeling beside Teddy, pressing trembling fingers against his neck because that's what people do in movies, right? They check for a pulse. Nothing.
Mom. Nothing.
Dad. Nothing.
There was so much blood on me, everywhere and I wasn't even hurt. Not even a scratch when everyone else… was dead. Gunner, nothing.
I checked Rachel last. I don't know why. Maybe because some tiny, stupid part of me couldn't bear for her to be gone too. But then… a pulse. Weak. Barely there. But there. That tiny flutter beneath my fingertips had given me just enough strength to crawl toward the phone.
With a sharp intake of air, I'm back on the jet.
Like I hadn't just disappeared in a time warp of my own making, Charly continues.
"She was covered in blood. Kept saying Rachel needed an ambulance.
She'd hit her head when her brother tackled her.
Concussion. Shock. Hell, I don't even know how she managed to function. "
Neither do I.
"I couldn't get her out of my head after that.
" Charly stares down at his hands. "A fifteen-year-old girl standing in a house full of bodies, trying to save her sister.
" His voice cracks. "I retired not long after.
Became a private investigator." He shrugs.
"Then, years later, I get a phone call. Missing sister.
Rachel Morgan." His eyes find mine. "And it hit me.
" He laughs softly, but there's no humor in it.
"Coincidence? Fate? Maybe." He shrugs again. "Or maybe life giving me a chance to redeem myself."
"You have nothing to redeem yourself for," I whisper for the hundredth time.
As always, Charly contradicts and turns back to Alessio. "You see, part of me wanted to take the girls in. Keep them out of foster care."
"I thought about it every damn night." His eyes shine, and suddenly he looks older than I've ever seen him. "But I was a cop. I wasn't married. I didn't know the first thing about raising two traumatized teenage girls." He shakes his head. "So I told myself they were better off in foster care."
His voice drops to almost nothing. "Even though deep down, I knew better."
Without thinking, I reach across the aisle and grab his hand. "This wasn't your fault, Charly." He looks away, and I emphasize. "It never was."
He shrugs, but the movement feels heavy. "Maybe not."
For a long moment, nobody speaks. The only sound is the soft hum of the jet engines.
"Anyway..." Charly clears his throat. "Over the years, I like to think I've become sort of an uncle to Beccs."
A watery laugh escapes me. "You're more than that, and you know it."
His eyes close for a second. When he opens them again, there's something raw in them that wasn't there before.
Next to me, Alessio finally relaxes. Not much.
Just enough. Enough to tell me he's satisfied with the answer.
The tension eases. It's not gone. It probably never will be.
But something changes. They're not exactly accepting each other.
Not yet anyway. But their respect for each other is mutual and palpable.
Two men who should've been enemies... but who have one very stubborn Grease Monkey in common.
After a few minutes, Charly looks between the two of us. "Do I have reason to be worried about The Collector?"
Alessio doesn't answer immediately. He's choosing his words. Finally... "Yes."
Charly raises an eyebrow. "I appreciate the honesty. But maybe if you could elaborate…"
Alessio leans back. "Over the past few months... my… ehm… colleagues… and I have crossed paths with the Collector. He's after us for reasons you don't want to know." He looks at Charly, who nods. "He's been targeting us and knows exactly where to apply pressure."
Charly listens without interrupting.
"He isn't interested in money for its own sake. Money is just a tool. What he wants is what my brothers and I own. Power. Territory. Men who'll follow him without question. An empire." He holds Charly's eyes. "The money simply pays for it."
Alessio continues. "He doesn't sell information. He gives it away. When it serves his purpose."
Charly studies him for a long moment before speaking. "You know..." He sighs heavily. "Part of me wants to blame you."
"For what?" I ask.
He looks at me. "For putting a target on your back."