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I LEANED AGAINST THE counter, trying to focus on the tomatoes I was supposed to be slicing. I was still shaken from the Mark McCarthy situation earlier in the day and knew I shouldn't be handling a sharp knife. I probably shouldn't even be standing up. My legs didn't seem to be working right, and I was still surprised I'd managed to get home without pulling over and throwing up.
Maybe it was because I'd been so desperate to get back to safe ground and knew that pulling over would just give Mark a chance to catch up to me.
Warren had been acting strange since he had gotten back from picking up groceries—at least, that’s what it felt like to me, but I wasn’t actually certain about it. Maybe I was just paranoid after the encounter earlier in the day. I hadn't told Warren what had happened, and I certainly hadn't told my mother. She'd immediately remember what it had been like when I was with Tony—and what it had been like when I left—and I didn't want her to worry. She was doing well with her rehab at this point, her legs getting stronger, and I didn't want to interrupt that with some silly story about seeing Mark in the bakery.
I was thinking, though, that I might cross the bakery off my list of places to go from here on out. So far I'd been there twice and met Tony and then Mark. I didn't really like that record. It might be a bakery that my family owned, and it definitely had the best cookies around, but no shortbread was worth putting my life in danger.
I'd called Amy the moment I was out on the road to make sure she was okay, of course, and she'd said that Mark had left as soon as I did—without buying anything. That just made me certain that he'd gone in there for no reason but to harass me.
Which made me even less likely to ever go back there.
I'd just have to ask Amy to start delivering cookies to the house.
The thought made me smile a bit, and I came back into reality just as I was about to slice my own thumb from not paying attention. I stopped the knife at the last second and jerked my thumb out of harm's way, the smile dying on my lips.
Warren glanced at me from the stove, where he was stirring the spaghetti, and gave me a worried look. “You okay over there? You didn't cut yourself, did you?”
“Managed to get my thumb out of the way just in time,” I said, holding up my undamaged thumb as proof. “I'm good.”
He narrowed his eyes, though, and I knew what he was thinking: that I hadn't been the same when I got home from the store. That I'd come rushing into the house without bothering to get the groceries out of the van, and that Silver had been riled up and barking at any sound all afternoon. Warren wasn't stupid, and he'd basically spent every moment since we met somehow looking after me. He knew that something had happened to upset me.
He also knew, I thought, that there was something I wasn't telling him.
I didn't want him to worry over something that could have just been my imagination running away with me, and I certainly didn't want him making any more trouble for himself. He'd already escaped one fight with the cops, and I didn't know how he'd managed it. The cops in this town were bought and paid for by Mark McCarthy, and I wouldn't have put it past them to arrest anyone who looked at them wrong. If Mark put it out there that Warren was with me and was to be shot on sight, he wouldn't have a prayer.
So I wasn't going to tell him anything that he might react badly to. I wasn't going to tell him anything that might lead to him getting himself in trouble.
Because now that I'd found him, I wasn't willing to risk losing him.
Once dinner was ready, we took the dishes to the small kitchen table where we'd been eating most of our meals and put everything down, scooting over plates, cups, and the centerpiece to make room.
“You know we could have just left it on the counter and fixed our plates there,” my mother observed.
“If we did that, it would feel more like a buffet. Less like dinner,” Warren observed. “And I didn't slave over a hot stove to have the effect ruined.”
My mother looked at me and rolled her eyes at that, and I stifled a smile. Since he'd moved in, Warren had declared himself the chef of the house and started cooking as many meals as he could. And that would have been great, except that his culinary expertise was somewhat lacking. My mother and I had stepped in to 'help' where we could, though he still insisted on picking out the menu.
We were eating a lot of meals made of pasta and ground beef.
I wasn't complaining. Really. But I did find it funny that he wanted to brag about things like spaghetti with basic sauce.
“Mom,” I said, changing the topic as I loaded my plate, “how was your appointment?”
She'd been down to see her physical therapist today, and I knew her surgeon had arranged to meet with them to go over some of the results from the scans he'd taken. My mom had been out of surgery for several weeks now, and they were starting to see some healing in her legs but were worried about some of the ligaments in her knees. That was, as far as I knew, the point of the surgeon making an appearance.
My mother's face turned serious at my question, and my heart got heavy. I knew that look. It had never meant good news.
“Actually, I need to talk to you two about that,” she said, putting her fork down. “The surgeon did his scans, and whatever he saw made him unhappy. He says the ligaments in my knee aren't rebuilding the way they should and that I...” Her voice broke, but she carried on. “He says I need reconstruction. It'll be another surgery and at least six weeks of recovery with more physical therapy. But after that, he thinks I might be able to walk on my own again.”
Oh. My... Shit.
“Another surgery?” I gasped. “How serious is this? Will you not be able to walk again without it? What are the complications?”
She put a hand on mine and squeezed. “The complications are that if I don't get the surgery, I might be in this wheelchair for the rest of my life. And that would make life hard for all of us. It's not a complicated surgery, and the recovery should be relatively easy. This is good news, Lily. This is why I haven't been making as much progress at physical therapy as I should.”
I paused at that. She was right; although the physical therapy had been going well, it certainly hadn't been as productive as it should have been. We'd thought she'd only have it for a few weeks, but the physical therapist had been extending it again and again, which was confusing. But if her tendons and ligaments weren't healing right, then that could be why.
And if this surgery would fix that...
“Can they do it locally?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, no. That's the biggest problem. The surgeon is a specialist who's in residency at a hospital all the way down in Chicago. I'm going to have to leave town for this one. But I'll only be gone four days, and then I can come home. So I'll be back in time for your birthday next week.”
I jerked, surprised. With all the chaos, I'd forgotten I had a birthday coming up. But beyond that... I felt an overwhelming sense of relief at the thought that my mother was going to be gone for a couple days. So many bad things were happening here—or at least I was worried that they would happen—and I was concerned that if something happened, she wouldn't be able to get out of the house or away from the bad guys while wheelchair-bound. If she'd been in the house that caught fire, how would she have gotten out in time? And if someone attacked her, would she be able to get herself away from them before they did real damage?
I didn't want her to leave, and I didn't particularly like the idea of another surgery. But if it meant she'd heal more quickly and be able to move faster if she needed to, then I was all for it.
And if it got her out of this town, where Mark McCarthy and his son held sway, even better.
“Well that's both good and complicated news,” Warren said suddenly, reaching out to take my mom's other hand. “Do you need a ride down to Chicago? Can we take you?”
“Actually, my sister already volunteered, and I took her up on it. I like the idea of getting to spend some time in the car with her. It'll force her to sit still while I tell her all the reasons she should move closer to us.”
My eyes met Warren's at that, and I knew he was thinking exactly the same thing I was: that her moving here would be the opposite of good, because this town was nothing but dangerous to anyone related to us.
“I think you two should leave town as well, actually,” my mom said, like she was reading my mind. “I don't think it's safe for either of you to stay here. Tony and Mark aren't people to mess with. They've proven how far they'll go already, and if push comes to shove, I'm afraid of what might happen to you two without me here to look out for you.”
That made me laugh, finally, and I turned to her. “How much good do you think you're doing, Mom?”
My mom made a face. “More good than you realize, young lady. You obviously don't realize how dangerous I can be with this thing.”
“I'm not sure anyone else does, either,” I said, chuckling. “But I'm not going. I ran from them once. I'm not doing it again. This is my home now, and nothing's going to make me leave it. Not even Tony McCarthy and his goons.”
***
LATER, WHILE I WAS washing my face and getting ready for bed, Warren walked up behind me and slipped his arms around my waist.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course,” I said. “Aside from the fact that I'm about to get soap in my eyes because you interrupted me. Why wouldn't I be okay?”
He smiled and stepped back, gesturing for me to wash my face off. “You seemed worried during dinner.”
I froze in the act of rinsing my face but then forced myself to continue. He didn't know why I'd been off. He'd just noticed that I was unbalanced. And there were plenty of good reasons for that.
“I'm just worried about my mom. I don't really want her going through another surgery.”
He spun me around and stared into my eyes. “Liar.”
I tried to look as innocent as I could. “What?”
“You were off before your mom said anything about the surgery. You've been off since you got home from getting groceries, and so has Silver. What happened in town? And don't tell me nothing happened. I can read you too well for that.”
I bit my lip, trying to maintain my mask of innocence. I didn't want to tell him. I didn't want him doing anything about it and making trouble for himself. He was already on Mark McCarthy's radar, and I thought my mom was right: Warren himself might be in real trouble at this point.
But I also didn't want to lie to him.
He held me close and kissed the top of my head. “What happened?” he whispered. “Just tell me. I'm not going to be mad.”
I laughed at that. “Of all the things I'm worried about, you being mad is pretty much last on the list.”
But it got me talking, and once I started, I couldn't stop. I told him about going grocery shopping and then deciding to go to the bakery for shortbread. I told him about Amy and her concerns... and then I told him about the cop who had run into me and refused to apologize. I said Mark had pretended to come to my rescue but that he'd been slimy and scary and had threatened me.
And then that he watched me drive away while Silver tried to get out the window to go after him.
His face dropped, and I could tell there was something on his mind. I squeezed his hand.
“What’s wrong?”
“I wish I could have been there,” he muttered. “When I was out earlier, I...there was an off-duty cop hanging out by my car.”
“There was?” I asked, eyes widening. I wanted to believe it was a coincidence, but I really shouldn’t have been that stupid. Nothing was a coincidence when it came to Tony.
“Yeah, and he talked to me like he was planning something,” he continued. “Like...they were planning something.”
“They?”
“The McCarthys, I guess,” he sighed. “I thought they would ease up a little after the fire, but I guess they’re closing in.”
“I was hoping they didn’t have the local cops on their side, too,” I added, shaking my head. “Looks like we didn’t get so lucky.”
“Looks like it,” he muttered. I could feel the anger crackling off his body. It was a miracle he hadn’t taken a swing at the cop who had tried to get close to him, after everything that had happened.
“I thought there might be someone left in this town who wasn’t under the McCarthy thumb,” he growled. “But they really have everyone right where they want them, don’t they?”
“That’s how it works here,” I replied. “It’s not fair, it’s not right, but it’s how it goes. That’s why we’re going to need to have such a strong case against him to bring him down.”
“Or I could just do it myself.”
“Warren, what are you talking about?”
“I could just take him down,” he continued, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I could take him down and finish this for good.”
“You can’t do that,” I protested. “It’s too dangerous. Besides, what if you end up locked up in prison? I won’t have anyone here to help me.”
“I know,” he replied, but there was a darkness to his gaze that told me he wished he could just let loose on this man. I lowered my gaze to the floor. I hated that I had dragged him into this. But the way he was talking, he was going to find a way to get us out, without leaving any room for Tony to snake his way back in again.
I looked up to see cold, hard fury burning behind his eyes. Not fury at me. Fury at Mark and what he'd done to me. It burned brighter than even the flames that had consumed his house, and for a moment, I felt a shiver run down my spine.
And I realized that my worries about Warren and what he might do were exactly right. I had to remember what he was capable of. Just because he had a limp now didn’t mean that he wasn’t still the skilled soldier he had been for so many years. He was ready to turn all of that on the man who had hurt me, and Tony might have had a lot on his side—but it wouldn’t be enough to protect him against the fury that was burning in Warren’s eyes right now. This man, who was usually so soft and so gentle with me, looked like he was on fire with an anger I had never seen in him before.
I shouldn't have told him, no matter how much I didn't want to keep it to myself. Because now that I had, I'd given him exactly what he was looking for.
And he was going to end up getting himself in trouble.
