The Distraction (21 page)

A
fter locking the door and texting myself the numbers, I told Thomas to hurry up, and resumed my beer hunt in his bedroom. There, I found a bottle on the nightstand and another in the drawer where he kept his pants. I went to the closet, looking for clean clothes, and found a cardboard box.

The shower was still running, so I pulled back the top. Maybe I was crossing a line here, but the man was a boozehound, and it wouldn't have surprised me to find a case of liquor inside.

Instead I found a baseball. And a pair of baby shoes. And three onesies. I dug a little deeper, finding a stuffed Tigger that was missing an eye, and an MVP Little League trophy.
Alec Flynn
was marked in gold letters across the base.

My heart softened. It couldn't have been easy to raise a child alone, much less with a disease like macular degeneration. But it was obvious from these things that Thomas loved his son. It was a shame that his alcoholism had gotten between them.

I was closing the box when I saw the red women's cardigan, hanging in the very back on a padded hanger. It was an older style, but the same size I wore.

“You can't move things,” said a gruff voice from the doorway. Thomas was there, with a towel around his waist. Apart from a fist-sized bruise on his shoulder, he had quite a body, even for a man his age. I jolted up, feeling like I'd been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. I hadn't even heard the shower shut off.

“I know where everything is,” he said. “I can't find anything if you move it.”

“Like the bottle of vodka in your bottom drawer? Spoiler alert: It's gone now. Along with your stash in the kitchen.”

I didn't tell him it didn't matter, because we were leaving anyway. The arrival of the mysterious blond woman had sealed the deal. Thomas was coming back to my apartment where Marcos could keep an eye out for us.

He hesitated. “That's a lot of money.”

“So is cirrhosis.”

“Nobody asked you to come.” He teetered into his bureau, where he felt down the front of the drawers for the one holding his undershirts.

“Ah,” I said. “This is the part where you get cranky.”

“This is the part where I get a damn headache,” he said.

“Which is your own damn fault,” I shot back.

He made his way to the bed and felt across the covers, then sat down.

“Get out,” he said. There was a cruelty in his tone I'd never heard before, and it thinned my patience.

“What, you going to throw something at me?”

“I might.” He lifted his chin, defiant. He bore a strong resemblance to his son just then.

“Try it,” I said. “I'd like to see you hit a moving target.”

“Go away. I need to rest.”

I didn't move.

“Get out!”
he shouted, then leaned forward and clutched his head.

I waited. Waited. Then slowly sat far enough away that he couldn't take a swing at me.

“It should be him here, not you.”

I figured he was referring to Alec.

“Your son's a little busy at the moment. You're stuck with me.”

The sound he made in response didn't exactly boost my ego.

“You know, it's possible he needs you now more than you need him,” I said.

Thomas was quiet for a while.

“He'll never need me. He's strong.”

I scooted a little closer, feeling the regret pouring off of him. I thought of the baby clothes in that box, the trophy from Little League.

“He can't stay strong forever. He'll break.”

“Not my son,” he said.

Then he leaned forward, head in his hands, and began to weep.

I placed my hand on his shoulders, feeling them tremble. He still smelled like alcohol, but at least the stench of vomit and sweat was gone.

“You're a nice girl,” he said. “Don't let him ruin you.”

A chill crept over me at his words. “What do you mean?”

“It's what we do. We ruin the good things because deep down we know we don't deserve them. We all have to pay for our sins.”

I pulled my hand back into my lap, thinking of Alec's last good-bye, and how he hadn't even attempted to contact me in over a week, and how Agent Jamison had said any discussion of me was off the table.

“And what sin are you paying for?” I asked, trying to focus back on Thomas.

“The oldest sin in the book,” he said. “Loving a woman I could never have.”

Alec had told me this once, in this very apartment. His mother had been Thomas's nurse, shortly after he'd developed blindness. She'd been married, and had chosen her family over Thomas, leaving him behind to raise the baby alone.

I glanced at the red sweater in the closet, wondering if that was hers.

“And Alec is your punishment, is that it?”

He shook his head.

“No.” His voice was growing weak. “Alec is my redemption. And I've failed him.”

For a long while we sat there, each lost in our own thoughts. And when he started to rub his head again, I tapped him on the knee.

“Get dressed,” I said. “We're going to get something to eat.”

*   *   *

Thomas was hurting by the time I pulled into the parking lot at my apartment. The good news was he didn't put up much of a fight when I told him where we were going, but unfortunately I'd had to pull over twice so that he could puke. While he did, Askem whined from the backseat, where he'd been shedding over every inch of my car.

Alec owed me big-time.

I was leading Thomas toward the stairs when I caught sight of Marcos striding down the sidewalk. He'd finally ditched his uniform, and was wearing jeans and a gray golf shirt, tucked in. He reminded me of my dad with that look. Maybe dressing like a sixty-year-old man was a prerequisite for joining the force.

“Your shift was until eight,” he articulated clearly. “We reviewed it this morning.”

“Something came up,” I said. The second I released Thomas's hand, he grabbed the stairway bannister and sank to the first step, resting his cheek against the cool metal. His trusty Seeing Eye dog curled around his feet.

Marcos eyed them dubiously.

“You could have let me know.”

Probably. But you would have gotten in the way.

“I didn't want to wake you up,” I lied.

He narrowed one eye. “I wasn't sleeping.”

I looked at him, catching, for the first time, a scent of cologne. “Don't you usually crash while I'm at work?”

He fidgeted. Transferred his weight from one foot to the other.

“Marcos.” I couldn't help but grin. “Did you have a date?”

His ears turned red. It was positively adorable.

I poked him in the chest. “Is that why you sexed it up with the polo shirt?”

“It wasn't a date,” he said roughly, ending the roast. I wondered if he'd just been dumped or something.

“All right, all right,” I said. “But you smell
real
nice.”

He huffed, fixed his stare over my shoulder. “Who is he?”

“No one,” I said.

“That hurts,” said a soft voice from behind us. “I've got impeccable hearing, you know.”

“He's a friend,” I said. “His name's Thomas.”

“Father of the great Alec Flynn,” came a wry announcement from the stairs.

My head fell.

“You're kidding,” Marcos said flatly.

Behind me came a rustling, and when I turned, I found Thomas standing surprisingly straight. Askem edged closer against his leg, and he gripped the dog's collar, likely so he didn't topple over.

“Is there a problem, Anna?”

“Yes,” answered Marcos. “There is definitely a problem.”

Thomas took a step forward. I blinked at him, blind and hungover, and yet still ready to defend me, and swallowed down the knot in my throat.

“There's no problem.” I placed a hand on Thomas's chest, and he put his own hand over mine. It was hard to believe this was the same man who'd been shouting for me to get out of his apartment an hour earlier.

Marcos edged closer. “Your protective detail's off tomorrow, and you pull this now?” His voice hardly wavered, but it was still the most emotion I'd heard him express.

My insides turned ice-cold.

“I didn't know that,” I said. Of course it wouldn't go on forever. Terry had been doing this as a favor to my family. The police weren't as invested in protecting me as the FBI was in protecting Alec.

“Benitez pulled all his strings to keep me here, but tomorrow I go back on patrol and you're on your own.”

“She's not on her own,” said Thomas.

“Right,” said Marcos. “I can see that.” He turned to leave.

“Marcos,” I said.

He paused.

“Can you run a plate for me? Black MINI Coupe. I only have the first four numbers—ICC-1. It might be nothing, but I'd feel better if I knew who it was.” I hated asking him now, when it was obvious I wasn't his favorite person.

“Why not?”

“And Marcos?” I waited for him to finish sighing. “Thanks. For everything.”

He waved briefly over his shoulder, then walked back to his car. He wouldn't come in. Wouldn't take the couch even if Thomas hadn't been here. This was his job, and he was, as Terry had told me, a good cop.

Watching him walk away, I realized I still hadn't told my dad about the whole situation. Later I would. Maybe.

Right now I had Alec's father to worry about.

I
called in the next day. Between nursing Thomas through his withdrawal and keeping him away from anything remotely resembling alcohol, including a bottle of mouthwash, I was exhausted. He'd finally slept through the early morning hours curled up on the floor outside my bathroom. I'd taken the couch, intent to catch him should he try to make an early morning beer run. Even Askem needed a break, and found a spot on my bed, right on top of my pillows.

Lucky for them both, I was too tired to care.

I woke to the sound of scuffling feet, and a thud against the wall.

“Son of a . . .”

I jumped up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and hurried the long, five-step walk to my bedroom. Thomas was standing in front of my dresser, feeling his way to the door. He was wearing my pink plush bathrobe over his T-shirt and jeans. Once the chills had started, I'd reached for the first thing that was handy.

“You're in my apartment.” I guided him back to the bed, where he sat down. Even after the shower he reeked like alcohol. He must have been sweating it out.

“I know where I am,” he barked.

I was too tired to muster up a snappy response. A glance back at my alarm clock told me that we'd slept through most of the afternoon. It was almost four o'clock.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

“Will you throw up?”

He thought about this a moment. “No.”

“My bathrobe looks good on you,” I said as he prodded the neck with a confused frown. I helped him toward the couch in the living room. He'd have to eat on my coffee table, I didn't have a dining room here.

“Why the cop detail?” he asked as I took the bread out of the fridge and plugged in the toaster. He was staring straight ahead at the blank wall, which made me think of all the blank walls in his apartment, and how Alec had never seen his drawings or good report cards up on the fridge.

My mom and dad had made certain to do that once I came to live with them. They kept it up well into my teens, and I never stopped them, even when Amy made fun of it. It was nice having someone who cared that much.

“I wasn't sure you'd remember that.” My gaze focused across the street, to the empty spot on the curb where Marcos was no longer parked. He'd been there around four a.m. the last time I checked. I wouldn't let it worry me—I would be fine on my own as long as I was careful—but I was sorry to see him gone.

The couch creaked as Thomas leaned back. “It's cloudy, but I remember. I remember you gave him a license plate, too.”

I put the bread in the toaster, picturing the blond woman who I'd now run into twice in search of Alec.

“You're in trouble, aren't you?”

“You're trouble enough for both of us,” I said.

He pouted, petting the fuzzy lapel of my robe over his chest.

“I may not look like much these days,” he said. “But no one's going to hurt you while I'm around. You got my word on that.”

Again, I felt a tightness in my chest. Being with Thomas was jarring. One minute he was cursing you out, the next he was in your corner. How Alec had managed it his whole life made me admire him even more.

“Thanks,” I said quietly. I buttered the toast and sat beside him on the couch. “Alec's helping the FBI put together a case against his old boss. Not everyone's a big fan. A detective friend put a tail on me just in case anything happened.”

“And now the clock's run out.”

“Yeah,” I said. “The clock's run out.”

He didn't pry, and I was grateful. I changed the subject.

“Do you know if Alec ever dated a blond woman? Looks like a professional of some kind?” Maybe she really did work for Reznik, but I couldn't completely dismiss the idea that she knew Alec somehow, that they had history together.

“I'm blind,” said Thomas, nibbling on the corner of the toast. “They all have blond hair as far as I'm concerned.”

“Mine's black.”

His brows furrowed. “That's very concerning.”

I elbowed him.

“He never told me about any of the girls he was seeing,” Thomas said. “Sometimes he'd say he had to leave to go meet someone, or he'd be late to pick me up for something, but he never got into it and I didn't ask. Figured he'd tell me if she was important.”

“So he never brought anyone else to your place?”

Thomas shook his head.

Though touched, this made me feel worse in a different way. If Alec didn't know her personally, had never brought her home to meet his father, how did she know where Thomas lived? She must have gotten his address elsewhere. Possibly from Reznik, or even Stein himself.

Absently, I reached for Thomas's phone and placed it in his hand.

“Call your sponsor,” I said.

He grumbled something about a headache, but as I walked away to make coffee I heard him activate the voice recognition feature. Soon he was grunting a response that sounded something like, “I'll be there.”

I'd started coffee, but when he hung up and called my name I returned to the living room.

“I have a meeting in an hour,” he said. “You should come with me.”

I snorted. “If you need a ride, just ask.”

He flashed a grin, and his head must have been still hurting, because a wince wiped the expression right off his face.

“You got anything better to do?”

I turned off the coffeemaker. “Not at the moment.”

*   *   *

The Circle Club was packed wall-to-wall. It was an open meeting, Thomas informed me, which meant that I could attend even if I wasn't an alcoholic. Askem seemed as comfortable in this setting as he was in his own home, and led his master to the coffee cart, where they were greeted warmly by several people.

A man with a significant paunch and a U.S. Army Veteran ball cap weaved in and out of the crowd by the donut table. He bypassed Thomas without slowing, and wrapped me in a huge bear hug.

“Nice to see you, Anna.”

“Mac.” I held my breath while he squeezed. “Guess you survived the bottle.”

Mac blew out a breath and took off his cap, revealing a half-inch cut on his forehead held together by butterfly bandages. “I've met my fair share of mean drunks, but he takes the cake. Surprised you got out in one piece.”

I scowled. “He was all right. Mostly just sick.”

He took off his hat and ran his fingers around the brim. “It was good of you to bring him. I offered to give him a ride, but he said he'd rather keep you close. Must be his new good luck charm.”

Or he really had meant what he'd said about keeping me safe.

“Something like that,” I said, wondering if it was possible not to love these crazy Flynn men.

At the front of the room, a woman with a shock of white hair wearing a blue denim dress called the meeting to order.

“Sit anywhere you like,” Mac said. With that, he approached Thomas, pulled him into a friendly headlock, and then guided him toward the front of the room.

I sat in the second row to the back, picking at my nails while the woman introduced herself and her addiction, then read from the “Big Book,” the AA Bible. As she quoted the twelve steps, she was greeted with unwavering support. I could feel it all around her in the room, but somehow it seemed to deflect off of me.

I missed Alec. It was harder now than when he'd been in prison. At least then I knew where he was, and when he was coming back. But here was a place where people accepted one another unconditionally, smiled and hugged and patted one another on the back, and yet all I could feel was the cold cement floor beneath my sandals, and the loneliness weighing down on my chest.

I guess step one was admitting you had a problem.

“First time?” came a low voice from behind me.

I didn't turn around right away. The sound was too familiar, bringing goose bumps to my skin and a hard, painful ache to my heart.

My mind was playing tricks on me. Evil, sadistic tricks.

“Oh, I'm just here for a friend,” I said quietly.

“Real pain in the ass, isn't he?”

I turned my head, but his sharp hiss caused me to freeze.

“Keep looking forward,” he whispered.

“Alec.” I closed my eyes. I wanted to see him, look at his face, hold it in my hands as I kissed him.

I felt my hair move, and then the gentle pull of one small piece as he wound it around his fingers. It sent warm shivers down my neck and back.

“Hey, baby.”

“What are you doing here?” I whispered.

His fingers paused. “Hitting a meeting. Same as anyone else.”

I glanced slyly over my shoulder, just enough to see a man in slacks and a white button-up shirt, standing by the coffee cart ten feet away. He was watching Alec over the brim of his paper cup. I looked forward.

“You came with a friend?”

“Two,” he muttered. The metal foldup chair behind me creaked as he shifted his weight. A moment later I could feel his fingertips graze the skin between the back of my pants and the bottom of my shirt. His touch was warm, electric, and my back straightened in response. A moment later I was leaning back into the cool metal frame, anxious for more.

“FBI?”

“Unfortunately.”

His fingertip crossed my spine, inching toward my waist. I shuddered a breath. The agent at the coffee cart couldn't see his hand; someone was blocking his view.

“I've missed you, Anna.”

His fingertip climbed beneath the hem of my shirt, just an inch, but enough to trigger a rush of heat through my veins.

I'd longed to hear those words, but they didn't comfort me as I'd hoped.

“What happened to
no more ifs
?” I asked.

“I had to see you.”

I rubbed the line between my brows with my thumb.

“How did you know I'd be here?”

“Lucky guess.”

“You followed me, you mean.”

His hand withdrew, and I kicked myself for being so harsh. I didn't care what had happened at the hospital. I only cared that he was here, now.

“Your police detail ended this morning. The FBI agreed to a GPS on your car.”

So I'd been driving around all day being tracked by a bunch of strangers. Great. I didn't know how he'd heard that Marcos had been sent back to his regular patrol, but it didn't surprise me.

“They
agreed
to a GPS.”

“I wanted full surveillance, 24/7. We compromised.”

“I guess that compromise included a day pass from Safe House Summer Camp.”

His fingers returned to my hair, reminding me of the way he grabbed it by the fistful in the seconds before he came.

“They're not holding me prisoner.”

I turned, but stopped myself before I could look him in the face.

“Then why haven't you tried to see me before this?” I couldn't hide the hurt from my voice.

It felt like the whole room had gone suddenly still, and in that stillness, everything I'd been trying to hold together started to crack open.

“You left me,” I said. Maybe I'd been the one to walk out of the hospital, but he'd been the one to turn me away.

“I had to.”

“You left me,” I said, quieter this time.

When he spoke, his voice was no more than a rough whisper.

“Two days ago you wore those sexy black boots and a blue skirt that showed your thighs. Every man you passed on your way into the salon couldn't take his eyes off of you. I almost got out of the car and beat some guy half to death just so he would know you're mine.”

My body pulsed at his declaration, responding to his possessiveness.

“You've been watching me.”

The room wasn't so cold anymore. I could hardly remember what it felt like.

He leaned closer, and this time when he spoke I could feel his breath on my shoulder.

“As often as I can.”

Any concern I'd had that his good-bye in the hospital had been permanent was washed away. I leaned back as much as I could, trying to get closer. “Does Agent Jamison know? She said you refused to talk about me.”

The room welcomed a new member with a round of applause and a unison “hello.”

“When did you see her?”

“She came to the salon. That's how I found out your dad was . . . sick.”

Alec didn't say anything for several seconds.

“I refuse to talk about your participation in the investigation,” he said. “Your safety . . .” He gave a low groan. “That's a different story.”

I chewed on my lower lip, trying to picture him in some safe house trading insights about Maxim Stein for my continued protection.

“I'm turning around,” I said. “If the FBI knows I'm here, what do they care if we talk to each other?”

“I'm not taking any more chances,” he said. “No one sees us together. No one uses you to get to me.”

At the hardness in his voice, I felt myself soften. I reached behind me, placing my knuckles against my lower back. His hand found mine, tracing the lines across my palm. The calluses from his work at the docks were rough and made my smooth skin even more sensitive.

So the FBI knew Alec and I were here together, but Alec didn't want anyone else seeing us. I scanned the room, wondering if anyone on Maxim Stein's payroll had tracked me here looking for Alec.

“You don't have to worry about me,” I said.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I do.”

There was a rustle behind me, and then a man came to sit in the chair beside Alec. I only caught a glimpse of him from the corner of my eye, but could tell that he was wearing black sweatpants and a muscle shirt, and had the bulk to fill it out.

“Time's up,” he said.

I looked back, but the people in the room were greeting their neighbors, and the man directly in front of me twisted in his chair to face my direction. He held out his hand, which I shook quickly. When I turned back, Alec was already standing.