Turn on a Dime - Blane's Turn (5 page)

“No,” he interrupted loudly, clutching the knapsack. “I’ve got it.”

Mona smiled like this was nothing out of the ordinary. “Okay.”

“So how’s Gerard coming with the garage door repairs?” Blane asked Mona. He didn’t want Kade to feel like they were staring at him. Mona seemed to catch on, picking up the conversational ball and telling him all kinds of minute details about the house Gerard’s current projects. Blane listened with half his attention, the other half firmly focused on Kade.

Once Blane had taken a cookie to munch on, Kade had reached out, too. That cookie had disappeared pretty quick, as had five more in rapid succession, one of which was stealthily slid into his knapsack.

Both Blane and Mona pretended not to notice this, keeping up the patter of conversation until Kade seemed to have his fill and leaned back in his chair after draining the last of his milk.

“Come on,” Blane said, getting up from the table. “I’ll show you your room.”

Kade followed him up the stairs and Blane took him to the first room on the left. Serving as a guest room, Mona had quickly redone the décor in something more personal to a ten-year-old boy than the bland elegance that had been there before.

A queen-size bed a navy and hunter green plaid print bedding took up one corner, the matching furniture in a warm honey oak. The heavy drapes that had dressed the window before were gone, replaced by filmy white ones that let the sunshine in.

“The bathroom is across the hall,” Blane said, watching as Kade looked around the room. “And I think Mona put some clothes in the closet for you.” She’d guessed at his size and Blane knew everything she bought was probably going to be too big, but maybe after a couple months of her cooking, the clothes would fit Kade properly.

“I thought you said you had video games?”

“Yeah, I do. They’re in the TV room.”

Kade follows him back downstairs, still keeping his knapsack with him, and Blane sets up the video games. They spent the next few hours playing Super Mario on the PlayStation. Blane had never seen someone beat the levels as fast as Kade did. After Blane’s Mario died yet again, Kade tossed down the controller.

“I’m hungry,” he said.

Blane glanced at his watch, then rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent so long playing video games. “Mona should have dinner done by now. Let’s go check.”

Sure enough, Mona was just setting the dishes on the table when they got to the kitchen. Blane chatted with Mona and Gerard during dinner, watching as Kade put away a good amount of food as well as sneaking a chicken leg and biscuit into his knapsack to go with the cookie from earlier.

Blane glanced at Kade, who seemed to be having a hard time keeping his eyes open. “Well, I’m tired,” he said. “I think I’m heading upstairs. Kade? What about you?”

Kade nodded and slid out of his chair. He looked at Mona. “Thanks. That was really good.”

She smiled at his blunt honesty. “You’re very welcome, Kade. Good night.”

After a little encouraging, Kade took a shower. Blane got him some pajamas from the bureau drawers while he waited, but Kade came out dressed in the clothes he’d had on before.

“Here,” Blane said, handing Kade the pajamas. “I thought you might want something clean to wear.”

Kade eyed the clothes before reluctantly taking them. “What’ll happen to my clothes?”

“I’m sure Mona can wash them for you,” Blane said. Or burn them.

“Turn around,” Kade ordered.

Blane obediently turned his back so Kade could get undressed. He faced the mirror now, though he didn’t think Kade noticed. Blane was about to glance away to give Kade his privacy, when he took off his shirt.

It was like someone had slammed their fist into his gut.

Kade’s skinny torso was marked with a vivid, jagged scar that ran nearly the entire length of his chest. It was still red and puckered, recent then. He turned around and Blane had another shock at the pink pockmarks that dotted his back, the kind that came from cigarettes. Then everything disappeared as Kade pulled the pajama shirt over his head.

“Okay, you can turn around,” Kade said.

But Blane couldn’t. His feet were rooted to the spot as the horror of what his brother had endured washed over him.

“Dude, I said you can turn around now,” Kade repeated.

It took a massive amount of will to compose his features into something resembling normalcy. Blane turned around and forced a smile. Kade had already climbed into the bed. Blane bent and pulled the covers up over him, noticing the knapsack rested beside Kade in the bed.

“Got everything you need?” Blane asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay then.”

Blane headed for the door and flipped off the light. In the doorway, he hesitated.

“Kade, I’m really glad you’re here.”

He couldn’t see Kade, not in the dark, but knew Kade could see him in the light from the hallway. There was no reply and Blane didn’t expect one. He softly closed the door and went back downstairs.

He could really use a drink.

CHAPTER TWO

The restaurant was quiet, the lighting dim, and Blane immediately relaxed. He led Kathleen to his usual table and watched as she paused for a moment before climbing onto the tall barstool. Her feet didn’t touch the floor and Blane hid a smile as he pushed her stool in to the table. She mumbled a “Thanks” even as her cheeks flushed rosy pink.

Greg came by to take their order and Blane ordered his usual drink, Dewars and water. Kathleen took him by surprise, ordering a manhattan. A drink like that would probably knock her flat on her ass in about twenty minutes, especially considering Blane had doubts as to the last time she’d eaten today.

He studied her as he sipped his drink while she carefully avoided looking at him. Her poise and complete lack of interest in him only made her that much more fascinating to Blane. She took in the room, her eyes drifting over the other tables and bar before she finally seemed to sense his gaze on her.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” she snapped, her eyes narrowing.

Blane thought fast, giving her his best disarming smile. “My apologies,” he said easily. “I suppose I was just waiting for you to go into hysterics.” Which was total bullshit. If Kathleen hadn’t lost her shit when a man’s knife was at her throat, she wasn’t going to lose it because of Jimmy.

“Why would I go into hysterics?”

Blane shrugged. “It’s been my experience that hysterics would be the typical female reaction.”

“Well, I’m not your typical female,” she said, arching a delicately curved eyebrow.

Blane couldn’t help a smile now. “I can see that.” If she had been, he’d have taken her directly to her home.

“Why would Jimmy feel it necessary to threaten me?” she asked.

That protective instinct again. Damn. What was it about this girl that had made that part of Blane go into hyper-mode? “It wasn’t anything personal. It was just Jimmy being Jimmy. He’s not happy unless everyone in the room is terrified of him.”

She frowned at this. “Who were those men anyway?”

“Frank and Richie Santini. They’re brothers and they run that local union we’re defending against election fraud.”

Thankfully, Greg came back just then. Kathleen glanced over the menu before ordering a bowl of soup, and that was all. Was she not hungry? Maybe doing that ridiculous girl thing of pretending she didn’t eat? Blane was aware of a pang of disappointment. She’d been so against-type until now. He ordered himself a steak, medium-rare.

“You sure all you want is soup?” Blane asked her, just to be sure. She nodded and Greg went on his way.

“You’ve had a busy day,” Blane continued, deciding to out himself and the firm. “In one day you’ve had someone using you as a hostage, and someone else threatening you.” He couldn’t help himself from reaching across the table to tug open the collar of her shirt to expose the bandage covering the wound at the base of her neck.

Blane was taken aback at the strong, sudden urge to brush his fingers against her throat. His skin was dark against the pale ivory of hers, which only made his thoughts go tripping down a path that imagined what the rest of her looked like.

“Excuse me,” she snapped, jerking backward out of his reach. Her blue eyes flashed.

Blane took another sip of his drink, trying to cool the surge of heat in his blood. She had a bit of a temper, which he liked, but now he needed to mollify her, much like soothing a hissing cat.

“Where did you learn to get away like that?” he asked, pretending he hadn’t noticed the flash of anger.

“My father,” she said, calmer though her gaze was still suspicious.

Blane waited for her to continue but she looked away, fidgeting a little before taking another nervous sip of her manhattan. Perhaps Blane did have an effect on her after all, though why that produced a surge of satisfaction, Blane couldn’t say. He hardly knew the girl.

“What else did he teach you?” Getting information out of her was about like interrogating a suspect.

She thought for a moment, then said, “The fine art of making a proper whiskey drink, as any good Irishman knows. How to shoot, and more importantly, how to hit what I’m shooting. Not to trust what people say, but only what they do.”

Okay, that was hot, though Blane thought it was unintentional. She was just being bluntly honest. Another unusual trait for a woman. He took another drink.

“How did you find out about today?” she asked.

“I was there,” Blane said. “He was my client. On trial for embezzlement. Couldn’t handle the pressure. I had no idea he’d do something like that, though, I swear.”

His confession had an odd effect on her. Something like disappointment flitted across her face and was gone, then she drank the rest of her manhattan down in one practiced swallow.

Greg arrived before Blane could question her further, setting the food down in front of them. By the longing gaze she gave his plate, Blane realized she was hungry, but just hadn’t ordered food. Didn’t want to eat in front of him then? He heaved an inward sigh at the quirks of women.

Blane then had to revise that opinion as she scarfed down her soup as though it might run away any moment. She sat back in her stool and drank the second manhattan Greg had brought, eyeing his steak in such a way that Blane briefly considered offering her a bite.

She seemed content to let dinner pass in silence, but Blane had a thousand questions running through his mind. He’d been tired earlier but now he was wide awake, his mind analyzing everything she’d told him and what she hadn’t, creating a picture inside his head of who she was. He was anxious to know how close or far it was from reality.

“Why did you come to Indianapolis?” Blane asked.

“Just needed a change,” she said.

Her answer was as vague as he’d expected, though that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

“So how’s the embezzlement guy?” she asked, unsurprisingly turning the conversation away from herself.

“He’s going to be all right,” Blane answered, leaving out how close the guy had come to being very far from ‘all right’ if it had gone how he and Kade had silently planned. “We’ll press for a psychiatric evaluation once he’s recovered.”

“The insanity defense,” she said. “A bit cliché, really.”

“Not something I would have encouraged him to do,” Blane said, wondering if she’d realized yet that she could sue the firm. She didn’t appear to be dumb. He was sure she’d figure it out, and he wasn’t disappointed.

“I’m not going to sue the firm,” she said, her tone one of let’s-cut-the-bullshit.

“I didn’t think you were,” he lied. The look she gave him said he wasn’t fooling her one bit.

“C’mon,” she said with a disbelieving snort. “Like I don’t know what this is about.”

Blane leaned forward, wondering if she could feel the electricity between them like he could. He watched her throat as she swallowed more bourbon, her eyes locked on his. Her lips shone wetly with a sheen of liquor and Blane had the insane urge to lick them clean.

“I’m glad you’re not going to sue the firm,” he said, “and we’re grateful for your loyalty. We’d like to offer you compensation for what you had to endure today.”

She blinked, as though she had to process what he’d said. “Are you trying to pay me off?”

“Of course not,” Blane lied again. “It’s just what I said. Compensation for hardship endured under our employment.”

Her eyes flashed again. “How much?”

Blane’s stomach sank and he leaned back. They were all the same, especially when money was involved.

“Five thousand,” he offered, though in a lawsuit, she’d probably win four times that.

“Five thousand?” she squeaked.

“Or ten,” Blane said, with a shrug, “if you feel that would be more appropriate.”

Her eyes were wide as saucers and Blane knew what would happen next. She might hem and haw about how she really shouldn’t, right before asking how soon she’d get the check.

“Forget it,” she said. “I don’t want your money.”

“What do you mean, you don’t want the money?” Was this her version of hemming and hawing?

“I don’t want it,” she said, even more forcefully, and Blane didn’t think she was playing a game. Interesting.

Greg came by with the check and Blane tossed some money down on the table, though the focus of his attention was on Kathleen. A flash of relief crossed her face as she noted him paying the bill and realization struck Blane. Ah. That’s why she hadn’t ordered much to eat.

Now Blane felt slightly chagrined at having taken a woman to dinner without making it clear he was
taking
her to dinner. His mother would have been sorely disappointed in his manners.

The urge to make it up to Kathleen made him reach a hand toward her to help her down off the too-tall stool. She seemed reluctant to take it, but finally did. The bones of her hand felt fragile inside his grip. She was breakable, too much so.