Is he seriously going to lay things out in front of Trick and my father?
“Coffee’s ready,” my mother calls.
“Things are complicated,” I murmur, my mind racing. I have to end this.
“They definitely are. Laurel broke up with me, even though I was trying to help her with some things. Still am. But Laurel, you never answered my question about what happened to the ear buds I loaned you. I need those back.”
My father’s expression is confused, but I’m worried that Trick, who as far as I can tell never misses anything, understands instantly that ear buds are code for the FBI wire.
“Gone for good. I accidentally dropped them down a toilet. And now’s not a great time, Milt.”
“I’m trying to understand you right now, Laurel. What’s going on with you? You realize Trick Patrick can’t help your family with anything, right? Associating with him will only get you into trouble. Serious trouble.”
“Then I guess the person who sent me unknowingly to his party is a real jerk.”
Milt’s cheek twitches, but he shrugs.
I stare at him, trying to inject as much ice into my expression as I can. I no longer care if the truth comes out on my parents’ doorstep. I’m not going to get batted around mercilessly like a little mouse by a cat’s paw.
Milt’s own gaze turns frosty. “I’m sure no one expected you to get sucked in by Patrick and his friends. You’re old enough to know better now.”
“Yeah, well, Scott’s very charming. He always was. But I guess you know that, having investigated his life.” Taking a step back, I look away, my mind reeling. I think about the way Milt singled me out and pursued me. We met at a coffee shop on my side of town. Was that really by chance? The FBI field office in Boston is nowhere near that Starbucks and neither is Milt’s place. And what are the odds that Milt coincidentally met an ex-girlfriend of the man he’s investigating? I didn’t put it together before because Trick wasn’t supposed to be the target at the poker game. And my ties to him weren’t something Milt asked about when we met. But of course Trick is Milt’s target. And has been all along.
Milt dated me. And slept with me. He met my family. Was all of that some elaborate undercover operation? Is that how the FBI does things? If so, I prefer Scott Patrick. At least he’s always been honest with me about what he wants from me.
“I’m not sure what’s going on, but it’s time for you guys to leave,” my dad says, pointing at the door as his gaze moves from Milt to Trick and back.
Milt huffs out an impatient sigh. “Patrick should leave. But there are some things you need to know, John.”
My dad’s face twists. “Whatever I need to know, I’ll hear from my daughter.”
Milt tucks one of his cards into my dad’s shirt pocket. “For when you want to talk directly to me.”
So goddamned smug! What an asshole. To act like he has the right to talk to my dad without me there and like it’s a given that my dad will eventually seek him out? I really want to tell Milt to go screw himself.
Trick doesn’t have to be told twice to leave, and his expression’s still unreadable as he steps outside. I’m not sure why his silent exit makes me feel heavy and sad, considering I’ve been wishing him gone since we pulled up to the curb. As always, no matter how wrong it is to have him in my life, I never enjoy when he actually leaves it.
* * *
Trick
The scene inside the Reilly house carries information that’s both welcome and unwelcome. As we walk away from Laurel’s, Schager tries to engage me. I wonder whether his bloodshot eyes are from lack of sleep or from using substances that cause it. There’s a little white powder on his lapel. I brush against it to transfer it for a taste. Could be powdered sugar from a donut, but it’s not. It’s cocaine. I doubt a DEA raid is how Schager spent his morning, so it looks like he’s got his own secret. If he was crashing from being coked up on the night he sent Laurel to the poker game, it would explain how he let things go sideways. His failure to protect Laurel disgusts me, especially given that he’s her ex. I took better care of her when I was eighteen.
“I’m surprised at you, Patrick. Your one redeeming quality was that you stuck to your own kind. Junkies and prostitutes. No decent women were pulled into your orbit before now.”
My gaze cuts to Schager. Can I push him into drawing his weapon? If he gives me an opening, I’ll gladly send Thank You flowers to his funeral.
“Nothing to say? The endlessly wise-cracking Trick Patrick with nothing to say? Maybe it’s eating at you? To spend time with someone worthwhile and realize that’s as close as you’ll ever get. That now it’s back to freaks and whores.”
Pausing, I size him up. Does he really expect to get a rise out of me with his clumsy bullshit? I have eight hundred million dollars, washboard abs, and a dick that works. I’ve fucked debutantes and heiresses; some were even tied down and gagged to make it interesting for me. If I wanted any of them, I would have her. For as long as I want.
He’s right though that I’m not happy he’s had a part of Laurel that I haven’t had in a long time. The part that brings a guy home to meet the parents with an eye toward the future. And the thought of Schager in my spot does not sit well.
But if he wants to rattle me, he needs better ammunition.
“Yeah. Getting women, that’s my weak suit,” I say, walking away.
Schager keeps pace, and I’m curious about whether he’ll try again.
