Cadillac Payback: Rising Tide by AJ Elmore (grave mercy .TXT) 📗

him to stay. He’s already here because of me. He’s dealt with all of this because of me.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” I ask.

All that comes is a whisper. I don’t want it to be true, but I honestly can’t blame him. He was right that morning at the plantation, and he’s right now.

He shoves his glasses back in place, and pegs me with a deathly serious expression. He’s never looked at me like that, and it sends chills down my spine.

“Yes.”

There’s still something he’s not saying, but I don’t think I can handle anymore just now.

“When?” I ask.

There’s a huge chance he won’t tell me, but I have to try. The scary look has faded, and now he just looks tired. His gaze drifts back to the floor. He also looks…sad. I’ve never seen despair on him so heavily.

“I don’t know yet.”

I move without thinking and lay my hand on his forearm. The contact brings his attention back to me.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

His brow furrows even more, and now he looks like I’ve hit him.

I say, “All of this is my fault.”

He shakes his head, and says, “It’s not your fault she’s a remorseless bitch.”

“It’s my fault that you’re here,” I say.

The tears threaten to rise, so I bite down on my lower lip.

“I made the decision not to leave the first time. You couldn’t have stopped me if I had taken the other choice. Don’t do this,” he says.

A protest forms, but I let it die. What’s left to be said? Nothing that won’t make this harder. I let my hand slide away from his arm.

He says, “The next free evening I have, I want the Caddy in the shop. It’s past due for a tune-up.”

Right in the emotional gut. One last time. I nod, because the lump in my throat won’t let me speak.

“Now, will you please go home? Josh has a long way to go, and you sitting in this room won’t speed that up.”

I nod again, telling myself to keep it together until I’m alone.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to the car and follow you home,” he says, pushing out of the chair like he can’t wait to get out of this place.

Chapter 29 The Enemy of My Enemy

Frederick

I pull my bike up to the curb, and habitually scan the street. There’s not much going on. Plenty of parked cars, but no people.

The last time I was here, I was risking everything. This time, they’re expecting me. Now I’m carrying a copy of the newly revised offer from Jorge.

Of course I read over it. It’s considerably more generous than the first one. Izzy must have hit an exposed nerve with the border comment, and now we see that Abuela is willing to pay a little more to secure this deal.

I dismount and check my nerves. Anxiety has not been kind to me the past few days. Sleep has been fleeting, and when I think about food, my stomach turns. I can’t afford to let that show, so I take a long breath.

When I walk into the lobby of this swanky shit show, the desk clerk gives me a sour-faced once over. I return a flat stare, and dismiss her before her eyes make it back to my face. My black t-shirt is sticking to me, and my backpack traps my body heat. I am not in the mood for this condescending bitch.

Izzy is in the lobby, waiting for me in an overstuffed green armchair. Nearby sits his ex, all straight and proper, her long, tan legs crossed. She’s staring at her phone. When Izzy stands, her eyes dart up and find me immediately.

I saw the revulsion when she met Jorge, and this look isn’t the same at all. I’d say it’s closer to fascination. Fuck a whole ton of that. I dismiss her, too.

One look at Izzy and I know he’s sizing me up. Of anyone, he has the best chance of seeing the cracks in my armor. It’s a strange feeling, but I’m not worried about what he’ll find. I can relate to him now more than ever. We don’t shake hands, or exchange formalities.

“Pool patio, or the screened one out back?” he says.

A pool patio sounds like it’s probably open to the sun, so I say, “Screen.”

Mona has stood and when we start walking, she follows. I halt and turn an inclement glare at her that stops her in her tracks. She may be the proprietor of this deal that Abuela so sorely wants, but there’s no rule that says I have to deal with her.

She looks startled. She doesn’t try to follow again. I catch an open smirk on Izzy’s lips. So does she, because her eyes narrow.

It’s an interesting thing seeing Izzy with an attitude. To see him do anything but stay out of conflict, it just goes to show that we didn’t really know him no matter how long we worked with him.

The screened patio where we talked the first time is deserted. As we take the same seats, I wonder if they’re the only ones staying here. I set my backpack at my feet.

“How’s Josh?” he asks.

Izzy's dressed down today, a plain gray t-shirt and khaki shorts. There’s stubble on his jaw. He looks more like the Izzy I remember.

“Stable,” I answer.

I find it hard to believe he cares about Josh. Those two never got along. In fact, Josh is the only person I ever saw crack Izzy’s calm. Josh and, of course, Maria.

I reach in the backpack. First I pull out the revised offer, and slide it to him in all of its carefully coded glory. Then, just as last time, I retrieve my pipe and proceed to pack it.

His gaze skates over the weed, and his relief is visible in the way his shoulders relax some. The gesture is as much for me. It’s the only thing that keeps my nerves from