Darker Than Any Shadow

Chapter Twenty-three

Short on time, I decided to abandon my dress shopping plan. Instead, I went by the dry cleaners and retrieved my Friday night dress. I was heading back to the condo to change when Trey called, as promised, at five-fifteen on the dot.

By five-sixteen, however, I was fuming.

“What do you mean, you can’t make it? I know you got that report finished on time.”

“I did. But a new client came in this afternoon, and Marisa needs an intake report.”

“That’s bullshit, Trey. You could do that in the morning.”

“She wants it tonight.”

I felt like snatching my gun out of the holster and shooting something, preferably something overbearing and fake blond. “This is a power play, Trey, nothing more.”

“Tai—”

“She’s pissed that you have a life outside of that office that might inconvenience her empire, and she’s gonna step on you every time you try to—”

“Tai.”

I took a breath. “What?”

“I know this.”

“You do?”

“Yes. But there’s nothing I can do about it. Do you understand?”

I understood. He needed that job as much as she needed him to do it. It provided a framework to hang his life on, and without it…

I sighed. “I understand. I’m not happy, though.”

“I can still meet you at the gym after class.”

The gym. I’d forgotten. Every Monday night Trey taught basic self defense there. I usually joined him afterward for a private session, since he had the room reserved for the entire evening. I was tired, so tired, but the thought of beating up a weight bag was enticing.

I let out a breath. “Okay. I’ll see you at the gym.”

“Are you staying over?”

This was also a mostly regular thing for Mondays—kicking things and then a night at his place, where the showers were continuously hot, the AC predictably cool, and the big bed soft and clean and filled with Trey.

“That sounds good too.”

“I’ll see you at eight. Bring your wraps. Tonight is sparring.”

He hung up abruptly. So much for putting Maurice Cunningham AKA Vigil through Trey’s cranial lie detector. I was on my own, again, facing some suspicious no-good-nik, again.

And then my phone rang. It was Rico. I pressed it to my ear.

“You called.”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

“So what happened, did they—”

“Can we talk about it when you come and get me?”

“When I what?”

“I’m stuck at the lawyer’s office. Adam was supposed to pick me up, but he never showed, and he’s not answering his phone.”

I got a twinge of worry. That wasn’t like Adam. He was usually Mr. Good Deed. I immediately hooked a left back downtown.

“In return, you get to do me a favor.”

“This doesn’t involve anything Confederate, does it? You know I hate—”

“Nothing Confederate, only a wardrobe change.” I hit the parking lot of GA 400 and slammed to a halt. “So why’d you get hauled in last night?”

“They found the money at my place.”

“The missing two thousand?”

“Yep. Shoved under my mattress. I’m guessing Lex wasn’t kidding when he said he could prove I took it.”

“But how did he get it under there?”

“We had practice there Friday afternoon. It would have been easy.”

I added up the evidence. Blood on his shoes, stolen money in his apartment, an intense and well-documented dislike of the deceased.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Rico, but…why aren’t you behind bars?”

“Beats me all to hell, baby girl.”

***

Rico didn’t speak on the way to his apartment. I let him have his space until he started up the stairwell, when I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“What’s going on with you and Adam?”

“Tai—”

“I’m sorry, but I have to know. First, he calls me and tells me the bloody shoe story, then he doesn’t come with you to the memorial. Then he gets all hot about the police search, and now he abandons you at the lawyer’s.”

Rico sighed. “Tai—”

“I’m for real, he needs to step up.”

Rico’s hallway smelled of curry and menthol cigarettes. It was always quiet, though, even though his apartment was one of four upstairs units. This afternoon was no different. And yet…something was off. And then I saw it. I grabbed Rico’s shirt and pulled him back.

The door to his apartment was wide open.

I heard the noises then, thumping and shuffling inside. Rico froze. I fumbled my gun out of my carry purse. I’d practiced this so many times—in a clinch, in the dark, at the range—but never for real.

Rico’s eyes went wide. “Tai!”

I ignored him and took two steps toward the open door. Suddenly, Adam appeared at the threshold, pale and silent. When he saw the gun, he shook his head. “Goddamn it, Tai. You’re a menace.”

I put the gun back in my bag. “Goddamn it yourself. What are you doing banging around in there with the door wide open?”

“What do you care?”

There was a slur in his voice, and a mean streak. He stood in the middle of the living room, his plaid shirt untucked, his face pale. It was chaos. I could see black fingerprint powder on the walls and door jambs. Rico’s desk was dumped out, sofa cushions pushed aside, papers scattered about.

Rico stepped inside and took in the scene, especially the suitcase open on the bed. I was about to rip into his ingrate boyfriend with everything I had when Rico touched my hand and shook his head.

He turned to Adam. “What’s up?”

Adam kept packing. “I’m staying with a friend tonight.”

“What about tomorrow night?”

Adam said nothing and returned to his packing. It was a sloppy job, hasty and violent.

Rico moved right beside him. “Listen—”

“No! I’m done listening to you! First it’s the blood, then it’s the money.” He threw up his hands, eyes wide and wild. “Look at this place! They went through my things, mine! Like I was some filthy criminal!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Whatever. I can’t stay here anymore.”

“I didn’t kill Lex.”

“I’m supposed to believe that?” Adam pushed past me and went to the closet, snatching shirts off the rod.

“Yeah, you are. That’s how it works.”

“Easy for you to say. You’ve changed, Rico, ever since you made the team. It’s all about them now.”

“Adam—”

“I wish you’d never met those people!”

Adam threw the shirts in the suitcase where they tangled with the rest of his clothes. He was breathing hard, red-eyed and shaky. In other circumstances, I might have felt sorry for him.

Rico shrugged. “You wanna leave, fine. Leave. But that’s a one-way door.”

Adam stared at him, glared at me. I glared back. Then he zipped up the suitcase with a vicious yank and stomped out, slamming the door behind him. I was so angry I could have wrung his neck. Loyalty only counted in the crunch, and in this current crunch, Adam had failed.

Rico didn’t say anything. I patted his back. He let me, and that was as big a relief as anything.

“Go on and get changed. I’ll help you clean the place up later.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He took a deep breath, let it out. “What’s that old saying? You made your bed, now lie in it?” He jabbed his chin forward, where the mussed crumpled comforter lay at the foot of the unmade king-size mattress, which had been shoved askew to pull the incriminating bills from underneath it. Without the sheets, the bed looked desolate and empty.

“There’s my bed,” he said.

I hugged him. Solid as a rock, big as a bear. When he wrapped his massive arms around me, I had a flashback to prom, to him in a tux and me in an asymmetrical purple dress, standing under an arched garland like the winner’s circle at the Kentucky Derby. I remembered his arm cinching me closer, and my own sudden knowledge that he loved me.

I had been wrong about the particulars. But right about what mattered.

“Adam’s a weenie,” I mumbled against his chest.

“A number one weenie, for sure.” Then he pulled back, looked me in the face. “Come on. I came here to get spiffy.”

I smiled up at him. “Then let’s get you fly, big guy.”