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chapter 16: Money’s not an Issue

Jude had sworn he wasn’t going to see Indigo again, that he couldn’t risk her getting involved. And while the decision might have been painful, with Elliot slowly recovering in the hospital, he didn’t question that choice… at least most of the time.

The last weeks had been impossibly busy. Jude spent his mornings and afternoons at the Tech Center, his evenings hacking personal accounts for King. But late at night, plagued by insomnia, he had to fight down the urge to call her. Their moments together played out endlessly in his mind. Marq mentioned that he’d seen Indigo in the hallway, a week earlier. Lissa told Jude she’d seen Indigo by the Tech Center twice. Each moment was a reminder of what he couldn’t have.

Jude hated it.

On Saturday, he’d gone down to The Vault with Marq and a few other friends, drinking to forget. Indigo was everywhere in his mind, the lithe young woman who served them drinks and flirted with Marq, a pale comparison to her beauty. Near dawn, Marq and Abhishek had dragged Jude home, leaving him on the floor of the bathroom.

When he’d awoken the next morning, his phone showed one missed message.

Where’ve you been, J? Keep this up and I’ll be back to saying maybe.

He’d almost called her then, only the memory of Elliot’s accusing eyes, ringed by black and purple bruises, tipping the balance. He’d do anything to keep Indigo safe. That determination had held until five minutes ago, when she’d texted him again. He could hear the anger in her words, the concern hidden under that. But more than that he was terrified by what she’d said.

She was walking downtown, by herself, at night.

It took Jude less than ten minutes to make it to the subway station. Marq was out drinking with Kimbra and a few other techies, so Jude took his car without asking. Worried, he drove faster than the conditions dictated, fear leaving him panicked and sick. Patel’s words kept ringing in his ears.

“You should choose your friends more carefully.”

Reaching the final turn, Jude pulled the wheel hard and the car shimmied. Up ahead he could see Indigo standing on the sidewalk, arms wrapped around herself. She was a shadow except for the red mittens and knit hat, a bright glint of color in the night. The car slid to a stop, bumping against the curb, and she glanced up. Jude slammed the vehicle into park, jumping out without turning it off. His body was humming, the weeks of separation heightening the moment.

Indigo smiled.

“How’ve you been?” she called.

“Better now,” he gasped, closing the distance in seconds.

Jude wasn’t sure he’d planned to do it, but seeing her again after so long was too much. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her without permission. She tensed for a moment, her hands stiff at her side, but the second his tongue slid along the crease of her lips, she opened with a moan, softening against him. The car, still idling behind them, was forgotten, the falling snow and the city street disappearing as the whole world fell away.

The connection Jude had felt ever since that long-ago night in O’Reilly’s snapped back as Indigo wrapped her arms around his neck. She tasted like cinnamon, her mittens damp with snow where they pressed against his neck. The kiss grew deeper and more desperate until neither could breathe. When Jude finally pulled back, he was panting. Indigo stared up at him, blue eyes dark.

“I missed you,” Jude said, voice breaking.

“Me too.”

“I’m sorry,” Jude said, struggling to say nothing and everything at once. “I… I should’ve called or something. I f*cked up.”

“Wasn’t just you. The stuff about my mom; it surprised me.”

“Indigo, I’m so sorry about—”

Her hands tightened around his neck, dragging him down and kissing him again, cutting off his words. This time the embrace lasted even longer. When they broke apart, Indigo’s hat was down in the snow at their feet, her lips kiss-swollen.

“I’m sorry,” Jude repeated, “I should have asked you before I—”

“I don’t know how to do normal, alright?” she interrupted. “I only know how to f*ck things up.” She let out a laugh or a sob. “It’s fine. I understand.”

“It’s not fine, but I…” He cringed. “I had my reasons for taking off.”

He knew he should warn her away: take her home again and cut her out of his life. But when he was holding her, Indigo was the only thing he could think about.

“I have my reasons too,” Indigo said, grinning. “And my reason for calling tonight was to get you to take me home to your place.” She leaned in, pressing herself against his body.

Jude felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. If every one of his night time fantasies had come together, it’d be something like this.

“Marq’s not home,” Jude said, fingers finding hers. “He’s out with Kimbra and Charlie and the other guys. They’re at O’Reilly’s now. There’s a party afterward.”

“Sounds like we have a little time to ourselves then.”

: : : : : : : : : :

Callum stood in the shady alcove of the subway station, his body shaking with grief and rage. When he’d seen Indigo walking downtown tonight, he’d been certain she was going to the train. He’d smiled at his fortune and followed.

Meeting her on her commute was a completely ordinary way he might run into her. It would be an accident; a twist of fate. He would glance over and say “Indigo?” and she’d turn back to him, and they’d talk. It’d be like the day he’d run into her in the Student Union building. She’d been calm with him that afternoon, and he’d been able to say the things he wanted to say without losing his temper.

Now he was furious.

He watched from the shadows as she kissed Jude Alden, the torture dragging out until it was unbearable. Cal’s hands were fists, a line of c’s dug into the palms of his hands. After a few minutes, they began to talk, their words too far away for him to hear. Indigo smiled, then she and Jude climbed into Jude’s red sportscar and left.

Cal reached into his pocket for his cell phone, dialling by memory. He’d called the number at least five times, but had chickened out each time. Not tonight.

“H’lo?” a voice answered.

“Hello,” Cal said. “Can I speak to Marq Lopez?”

“You’re talkin’ to him.”

“Mr. Lopez, I hear you do particular kinds of research into personal information,” Cal said. “The kind of research that might be somewhat… questionable.”

“I do lots of things,” he laughed, “but my price is probably out of your league.”

Cal stared at the end of the dark street where the car had disappeared, his thoughts on the long-ago night when he’d learned Indigo’s secrets, and lost her because of it. There was no price too high to get her back.

“Let’s just say that money isn’t an issue.”

: : : : : : : : : :

Indigo wasn’t sure how they made it from the parking garage all the way to the upper-floor condo but by the time they did, her body was on fire. Wrapped around one another, they’d stumbled into the elevator, Jude pinning her to the wall while they rose upward. On the tenth floor, the elevator had stopped, the bell ringing as the doors opened. They’d broken apart, breathing hard, while an elderly couple made their way inside.

The last few floors had pushed Indigo’s patience to the limit, as she stood next to Jude, unable to touch him.

Reaching Jude’s floor, they ran down the hallway, hand in hand, the thirty seconds too long a time to wait before they could be together. The moment they were inside the apartment, he was kissing her with abandon, his mouth sliding down her jaw, to her neck, then pausing while he fought with the buttons of her coat. Indigo pulled back, panting.

“Bed or couch?” she gasped. “I don’t want rug burn.”

Jude laughed, grabbing her hand and leading her down to his bedroom. It was ascetically empty: just a bed, a desk, a dresser, and computer. Unlike the piles of laundry which formed mounds in the corners of Indigo’s room, Jude’s bedroom made it look like he didn’t own anything at all. Indigo had no time to notice anything else. The second the door was closed, Jude pulled her against him, the two of them stumbling backward to the bed, tearing their clothing off as they went.

Usually, Indigo would have tried to drag out the moment, but after all their time apart, she was consumed by need. She put her hands against Jude’s shoulders, urging him to sit down on the edge of the bed, then slid to her knees in front of him. His pants were unbuttoned and tangled around his ankles, his boxers still up. She tugged them down and took Jude in hand, smirking at the sound of his groan.

Her nails grazed over his back and stomach while she kissed her way down the narrow line of hair to the flat plane of his stomach. She had a moment to appreciate his physique – the word ‘frat boy’ popped to mind – and then she had her mouth around him, rolling her tongue in time to his gasps. She worked him hard, the fingers of her left hand digging into the flesh of his hips to hold herself steady, the fingers of her right, touching herself, as she imagined Jude doing it.

“Indigo, please. Just hold on,” Jude said, his hands tightening around her upper arms. She released him, glancing up. “I want to touch you too,” he groaned.

The words weren’t romantic, but it meant something that he’d said it, and Indigo let him pull her up, until she stood before him. He reached out for the dresser drawer next to them, digging through socks and underwear until he found a condom. There was another thirty seconds of fumbling, and then Jude’s attention was back on her again.

He unhooked her bra, the last of her clothes, then ran his hands over her naked skin, admiring. Indigo shivered under his attention, impatient to begin. Jude’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her near enough that he could reach her breasts, tongue sliding over one nipple, and the other. Indigo eyes fluttered half-closed, allowing herself to feel rather than simply playing a part. The sensation grew, her breath rising in pants as his hands began to explore her body. Jude’s fingers slid between her legs, and she made a mewling noise. He was gentle, and less certain than she was used to, but he knew how to please a woman. Indigo’s fingers tangled in his hair, breath hitching.

“D’you have any toys?” she panted.

He released her nipple with a wet pop, looking up at her in confusion. He was breathing like he’d been running.

“Toys?”

Indigo smoothed her fingers through his hair.

“You know,” she said with an indulgent smile. “Toys. Vibrators and whips and things.”

Jude blushed bright red, the color going all the way to the roots of his hair. If she hadn’t been in the middle of the actual act, she might have found it funny. As it was, she found it endearing. He was such an innocent it made her heart ache.

“I um, no. I don’t. I mean I never thought to get any,” Jude stammered. “Or, well, thought you might like…” he stopped, breathing hard. “I’m sorry.”

He was staring up at her in concern. Indigo stroked the side of his face, smiling.

“Vanilla sex?” she purred. “Yeah, l guess I could go for that.” Jude opened his mouth to say something, but she moved in, kissing him again. She slid her tongue along his jaw, her teeth running along the edge of his ear, as she stopped to whisper. “Next time, I’ll bring some of mine.”

Jude gasped, his fingers digging into the flesh of her arms. His mouth dropped back to her neck, kissing his way toward her breasts again. He was still sitting on the edge of the bed, so Indigo slid one knee up next to his hip, lowering herself down until she was perched just above him. He lifted his face from her chest, his hands wrapping around her. Indigo felt herself waver. This was the point she had to make a choice: to let herself feel, the way she’d done with Cal, or just close herself off and go somewhere else. Let things carry on without her.

She’d done that too many times to count.

“Indigo,” Jude whispered.

This time, she decided, she’d stay.

“I missed you, Jude,” she whimpered, sliding her way down onto him.

“Me too,” he groaned, his face contorting in pain, then shifting to ecstasy.

Indigo smiled. Those two emotions went hand in hand for her too.

: : : : : : : : : :

Police Commissioner Francesca Williams sat in the private meeting room, her fingers drumming angrily on the oak desk.

“You’re certain that you’ll be able to build a case?” she asked archly. “Because I’ve no intention of tipping him off if you can’t.”

Agent Phil Sanger pushed the file toward her with a smile.

“We’re not ready to press charges yet, Ms. Williams,” he said, “but when the Trojan first appeared in the national banking database, we were able to isolate the file it was downloading. The second the banking scam extended to out-of-state banks, Tyrone Fischer and his crimes became a federal issue.” He paused. “My issue.”

Fran lifted the cover of the file. Inside was a glossy picture taken at a party four years earlier. King stood with a group of suited men against a backdrop of crystal chandeliers and mirrored walls. He had an ingénue with blonde hair on his arm, a glass of brandy held aloft. Next to him stood his brother-in-law, Rocco Cerritos, laughing at the camera. He was wrapped around a statuesque young woman who could have passed as a model. She stared at the camera with jaded eyes, her faint smile never making it past her lips.

Fran flicked the cover closed in disgust.

“Other people have tried to take Tyrone Fischer down before,” she said dryly. “They’ve all failed. Some of them have died.”

“True,” Sanger said with a cold laugh. “But those other people weren’t the FBI.”