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Chapter 6

Laurel

During the week I’m back in Boston, Trick texts once a day. The messages are usually funny or sarcastic observations about life and the world. They remind me of the way he was in high school. Sometimes he sends an innocuous story about himself, like how he was recruited to rescue his neighbor’s cat.

Trick:Stranded cat incident. Initially declined to go after it. Told neighbor cats are sociopaths, rescue’s contraindicated. She points out I’m the landlord, so a cat in a shaft—technically my job to deal with it. Then she got emotional. Annoying. She’s four, but that’s no excuse.

Laurel: [laughing emoji]And?

Trick:Rescued him. Bastard bit me. Can’t rule out he went in chute to lie in wait. We’ve traded hostile looks before. Cat owner’s parents own Seventh Street bakery. They gave me almond cookies to help me wash down my antibiotic pills.

Laurel:Pic or it didn’t happen.

A minute later there’s a picture of his beautiful left hand with two scabs between the knuckles of his index finger and thumb. His hand doesn’t look red or swollen, which is a relief. Cat bites can be nasty.

Laurel:So you’re a hero. There goes your reputation.

Trick:I know some ways I could salvage it. Need a lovely assistant.

My heart thumps, and I feel the clench of arousal low in my body. Letting him play his bad boy games with me would undoubtedly leave us both satisfied, but I’m pretty sure the FBI is watching; I shouldn’t be seen with him since the last place I want to end up is back in an interrogation room being grilled by a frustrated Milt.

Laurel:So you don’t like cats? Do you like any pets?

Trick:Some I like fine. If they’re well trained.

After a moment, an image appears of a beautiful girl who’s wearing lingerie, a lace eye mask, cat ears, and a cat’s tail. She’s kneeling on the floor, drinking from a saucer of milk.

I’m shocked and also not. Aroused and also annoyed with myself for being so. Narrowing my eyes at the picture, I wonder whether it’s a random download from the internet or if he took the picture himself. The quality’s high, so hopefully a download. I understand who he is, but I don’t like to dwell on thoughts of him with other women.

Laurel:Sick

Trick: [winking emoji]

* * *

Laurel

I’m in Coynston again to spend time with Monet who’s on edge and restless to go out. Because I don’t want her seeing her friends who use drugs, I’m having dinner with her at Mamma Mia’s, a local Italian eatery. We both love the thin-crust margherita pizza.

“Jeeze,” Monet says, taking a sip of her Diet Coke as she looks past me.

For some reason when I look over my shoulder, I’m expecting to see Trick. Unfortunately not. Instead, I spot a couple of dark-haired men in suits. Becoming still, I watch the older man who pours wine from a jug, then stares at us. I turn back around quickly. “Is he a Palermo?”

“Yes and no. That’s Pauly Mangia. He works for the Palermos. Kind of a high-up guy, I guess. He’s supposed to be the one Trick had a fight with before Trick left.”

Glancing back, I realize he’s still staring.

“He’s been watching us.”

“Let’s go.” I signal our waitress for the check. “You feel better now that you’ve been out, right?”

Monet nods. “I can’t stay inside Mom and Dad’s all the time! They never want me to go out alone, but they’re working during the day and some nights they want to stay in.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind coming here on weekends. I’m sure anyone would go stir crazy if they were cooped up all the time. Want to go home and watch a movie?”

“Dad and I are watching a spy series on Amazon Prime. You can watch with us. We’re on season two, but I can fill you in.”

“No, that’s okay. One of my friends is going to Slattery’s tonight. If you have Dad to keep you company, maybe I’ll go there for a bit.”