Poughkeepsie (39 page)

“Sorry. The machine got it first. Hi.” He was gruff on the phone, as usual.

“This is Nurse Susan Weiss at Poughkeepsie General Hospital. May I speak with Officer McHugh?” She sounded stiff and professional.

“This is John McHugh.” He spoke slowly.

Livia tried to get back out the door before hearing this woman possibly ask her father on a date, but the next words stopped her cold.

“Your daughter, Kyle, was just brought into the ER. I’ll need you to come as soon as possible.”

“What happened?” John asked, his voice robotic.

“Sir, I just need you to drive safely and quickly to the hospital. Do you need directions?”

“Tell me what the hell has happened to my daughter! Is she okay?” John appeared in front of Livia, squeezing the phone tightly.

“Officer McHugh, is Kyle allergic to any medications?”

John looked at the phone like it had sprouted wings.

Livia took the phone from his hand. She led him by the arm and grabbed the cruiser’s keys off the hook. They rushed outside together.

“This is Livia. I’m Kyle’s sister. She’s not allergic to any medications. You need to tell me right now what we’ll be facing when we get there.” Livia landed in the passenger seat as John threw the cruiser into reverse.

The phone could almost reach the end of the block before it went out of range. Livia had walked out of the house thinking she was on her cell phone instead of the house phone on more than one occasion.

“Livia, Kyle is unconscious. One of the police officers at the scene recognized her. I can’t tell you why, just yet…B..fr…” Susan’s voice faded.

John looked at Livia’s pale face and flipped on his lights and sirens. He hit the accelerator and turned the cruiser toward the hospital.

30

Restless Cock Syndrome

B
ECKETT
P
ARKED
T
HE
H
UMMER
in front of the bank’s outdoor ATM. It had its own drive-thru spot, which looked like a teller window, and that pissed him the fuck off. Windows should have people in ’em, not machines.

He hopped out of the Hummer and grabbed his wallet. He ran his fingers through his hair and felt the scab from Eve’s knife on his scalp.

Eve
. That torpedo mind-fuck sex was outrageous and fantastically titillating.
Titi-
fuck
-illating.
But there was something else as well.
Emotional
, a small voice in Beckett’s head suggested.
Connected.
Well, shit. That seemed just about right. Definitely something new.

Beckett smiled to himself as he pulled open the bank’s thick glass door and held it for a middle-aged mom-type glued to her iPhone.

“Thanks,” she mumbled as he followed her into the building. A line of people snaked into the maze of red velvet ropes.
Son of a bitch.
A long line did lots of bad things to Beckett and his spotty attention span. He called this condition Restless Cock Syndrome. But he liked to do his wheeling and dealing at the window—when he actually used the bank—so Beckett stepped into the dreaded line. He flipped a toothpick out of his pocket and put it in his mouth. A good fifteen people were ahead of him, so he had to dig deep to stay sane.

He peeked over middle-aged iPhone lady’s shoulder. Her screen had nice, large print. He figured she needed eyeglasses to read, but was too vain to wear them. He almost turned his attention back to his toothpick when the word
pussy
caught his attention. Girl was reading some porn. Beckett put the toothpick away.
Hot damn
.

He decided to fuck with her head and read the male’s part of the conversation. “Let me slide my fingers into your pussy while we slap your ass with this whip,” he whispered nonchalantly into her ear.

The lady dropped her phone and stood stock still. Beckett stooped and picked up the phone, handing it back with both his dimples on full display.

“Hey, sweetheart. Don’t be ashamed. It’s hot.” He waggled his eyebrows.

A key chain decorated with pictures of kids’ faces dangled from her jeans pocket. She smiled at him and accepted her phone with a blush.

“Do you know why I like moms so much?” Beckett couldn’t stop himself now. His restless cock needed entertainment.

“Why?” she whispered, her eyes riveted to him.

“Because a lady with a little vintage can usually take all of me. And I like
all
of me taken care of.” He reveled in the heat that rushed to her cheeks and neck.

Beckett gave her one last wink and turned his attention to his own phone. He enjoyed the back and forth, but as cute as she was, middle-aged iPhone chick could never shake Eve out of his mind.

He stared at his phone and thought of having her surround him. Her smell when she wanted him. Even the soft curve of her lower back helped make Beckett sure what he was about to do was right.

Beckett clipped and unclipped the closest red velvet rope from its post and tried to avoid thinking about how close the guy in line behind him was. He pulled his phone out again and checked for missed calls. None. He played a little Tetris, then trashed the whole game with his lack of concentration. He returned the phone to his pocket.

Finally, the stealth porn reader sashayed up to the next teller. Beckett breathed more freely with the space in front of him clear. A contractor with ridiculously droopy pants finished up what must have been a fucking elaborate transaction that apparently involved an assortment of questions from the Spanish Inquisition. Beckett rolled his head on his neck and shook out his hands. As soon as the contractor and his pants were out of the way, Beckett appeared in front of the vacated teller. He hated to wait to be called like a dog when he was obviously goddamn next.

The teller finished writing the previous customer’s receipt with big, loopy handwriting. Her fancy script took so motherfucking long that Beckett knocked on her clear, bulletproof window. She jumped and dropped her pen. “Shannon Waltus,” according to her gold-etched nametag, gave Beckett the most polite dirty look he’d ever received.

He felt a little bad about scaring her. “I’m sorry, dollface. I know we’re not supposed to tap the glass. But are we allowed to tap fine, fine bank teller ass?” He let his two winning dimples come out to play again.

Shannon snickered and tried to look disapproving. His eyes twinkled, and he knew she forgave him.

“How can I help you, sir?” she asked.

Beckett pulled out his wallet and sifted through a few different licenses with his mug on them until he found the one that worked at this bank. He slid the New York ID under the little pass-way to the other side. Shannon entered the information with her quiet keyboard.

“I need to close a few accounts, Shannon.” Beckett put his mouth a little closer to the circle of air holes punched in the barrier between the money and the customers and settled his elbows on the counter in a friendly gesture. Without the glass, they’d be very close to each other.

Shannon glanced from the license to the computer monitor to his ridiculous biceps. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Taylor.”

Beckett could tell the moment the total of his first account appeared on her screen. She kept her mouth closed in a testament to her professionalism, but her eyes widened slightly. After a few more clicks, she handed his license back to him.

“Sir, let me call the manager. I’m sure she’d like to handle this herself.” Shannon looked like she would gnaw off her own leg to get an on-the-spot promotion.

Beckett sighed. Merkin or Mouse usually did his banking for him. He kept his elbows on the cold marble.
Fuck. This is going to take forever
.

In just a few moments Bank Manager Diana Grint motioned him to her office and closed the door behind her. Beckett endured her endless verbal gymnastics after he told her the purpose of his visit. He let his eyes go numb and daydreamed about his plans.

Beckett wanted his money out where he could hold it. Eve deserved everything he could give her. Watching her lay herself open in front of him had cracked his iron resolve to exist solely for his brothers’ protection. Beckett knew Kyle and Livia were sure things for Blake and Cole. It was a feeling in his gut, so that decision was made. He’d give bonuses to his employees and cut out of town with his whole fucking family and everyone who mattered to them.

Diana slid a piece of paper with his total liquid assets circled across the desk, and even Beckett was impressed. Plenty enough money to support some crazy commune of his favorite people. He knew his plan was a little spur of the moment, but for crap’s sake—it was all he really needed.

He tuned back in to Diana in time to hear her say, “Your associate, Jim Hern, has done a wonderful job with your investments over the years. Does he do that professionally?”

Mouse. I haven’t thought of his real freaking name in a million years.

“Did he now?” Beckett said.

Diana tapped a few more keys and turned the thin monitor to face him. “See here? And here? This was the starting sum. And this is where you’ve ended up.”

Hot damn.
“He’ll get a big-ass raise, I promise.” Beckett felt a rush of love for the squeaky-voiced henchman. Mouse wasn’t a brother, but damn, he was close. He was definitely a friend.

“So when do I get my paper bags filled with money? I’ve still got a lot to do this afternoon.”
I gotta do Eve in the shower. Eve in a bed, swirled in sheets like cotton candy. Eve in my arms so I can whisper in her ear.

Diana seemed done begging and pleading for him to reconsider his withdrawals, but she now gave him some solid advice. “Mr. Taylor, I highly suggest transferring these funds. If you want some cash to work with, I’ll be more than happy to bring you whatever amount you desire. But I suggest we set you up with an overseas account. Traveling around with this kind of money…” Diana shook her head. “I just can’t recommend it. I’m sure Mr. Hern can assist you on a more personal level with the overseas funds.”

Beckett knew how to listen to expertise, and he thanked her for offering it. He still got quite a large wad of cash in an envelope, but he also took along all the new account papers he needed to look over with Mouse and Eve.

Beckett was surprised by the twilight when he came out the front door of the bank. His transactions had taken some time. He shook his head, realizing no one had dared say anything to him about the bank needing to close. He looked at his watch—it was nearly six—and smiled to himself as he trotted around the building toward the Hummer.

Then he heard an explosion. The dread climbed up his legs, slapped at his balls, and clung to his neck. Another explosion sounded. Now he could see the smoke. It created a thick, black freight train across the sky, right above his mall.

Eve’s in the mall.
He ran for his Hummer as a third blast rocked Poughkeepsie.

Beckett wanted to call her, but he needed both hands to drive the Hummer as the crow would fly to his den of evil, especially in the gathering darkness. Beckett tore through front lawns, crushed pretty fences, and maneuvered around dogs. His headlights bounced wildly, and he could barely see the ground around the image in his mind of her sitting behind his desk watching him leave.
Don’t be in the mall. Fuck!

Beckett careened into his parking lot. The entire structure of the strip mall was a seething, angry monster of flames. Its heat would melt the sun.

“EVE!” Beckett screamed as he leaped out of the Hummer.
Where the fuck is everybody?
“EVE!” Beckett ran for the building, only to be thrown back by an onslaught of fire.

When he picked himself up off his ass, he couldn’t hear the roar of the flames anymore. Actually he couldn’t hear anything but a muffled silence. His ears had quit working. He looked at the building, trying to find a way in, but there wasn’t even a hint of the doorway, no trace of a window.

“EEEVE!!” He had to trust his mouth to do its job, even without proof it was working—or that anyone was around to hear him.

Beckett dropped to his knees in the parking lot. He knew he was too close to the fire. His clothes were so hot. His skin prickled with pain as he rose and geared up to join her. He had to find her, even if she was gone.

31

The Sunset has a Flavor

T
HE
S
UNSET
W
AS
G
LORIOUS
: orange and purple and red. But Blake’s mind reeled. Standing in the sunlight, battling his glass skin, he tried to find the positive. The rays felt so beautiful on his face; Blake thought he could taste the colors. The red was his fear, the orange was hope, and the purple—the purple tasted of tomorrow. He just wasn’t sure he knew what tomorrow would bring anymore.