Long Lost - James Scott Bell Page 0,7

eye as he did. “We change locks,” he said. He was a hairy one. Steve thought he probably had a five o’clock shadow when he was born.

“No worries,” Sienna told the manager. “Just give us the key and the authorities won’t have to get involved.”

The manager handed Sienna the key. Then she helped Steve move the furniture back into his office. All under his admiring eye. She had some muscle on that small frame. Looked like she could pack a punch if she got behind it. There was a little dance in her hazel eyes, but a seriousness, too. Like she’d seen plenty of the hard side of life.

It took half an hour to get everything back inside. In the office, sitting with bottles of water—at least the Mad Serb had left Steve’s small refrigerator plugged in—he said to Sienna, “Why’d you do all this?”

“You looked like you needed some help,” she answered.

“I’ll pay you back for the deposit.”

“I know.”

“But . . .”

“Go ahead,” she said. “We know each other pretty well now.”

“I can’t pay you for legal work. I’m sorry. I’d like to be able to pay a clerk for some projects, but that’s just not possible right now. You’ve got pretty eyes.”

“Whoa. Random.”

“I meant it. I wasn’t hitting on you.” Then what was he doing? Slow down, he told himself. You’re reacting against Ashley. Don’t be a complete idiot. “So you’re at DeWitt?”

“Night program.”

“Good for you.”

“Nothing noble. I have to work.”

“Sorry it can’t be me.”

“Maybe it will be,” she said. “God works in mysterious ways.”

“God? I don’t think he works at all.”

She cocked her head.

Steve said with a smile, “If God existed, would he allow Deal or No Deal? I don’t think so.”

At which point his office phone rang. Steve made a move toward it, but Sienna picked up and said, “Mr. Conroy’s office.” He liked that, liked her attitude. A little aggressive but without giving offense. Steve watched her eyes as she processed whatever was on the other end. “And what is this regarding? Mr. Conroy is very busy . . . Oh? If you’ll hold please.”

She covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “I told you God works. You want a chance to make some serious money?”

4

An hour later, the woman was gone and Steve was still wondering what had happened.

He’d come back to an office he couldn’t get into, with prospects about as promising as a one-legged tap dancer, to find a mysterious but welcome young woman saving his sorry behind.

Not only that, but she’d fielded a call from a prisoner in Fenton named Johnny LaSalle, who had called him with an offer to pay ten thousand dollars.

More than enough to justify a Saturday drive out to Fenton in the morning.

As tantalizing as that possibility was, it was the woman who kept sneaking into his thoughts.

She was obviously sharp. She’d proven that on the fly.

And more than a little good looking.

Which made him wonder if any woman could love him again, after what he’d done to Ashley, what he’d put her through. He didn’t believe in God, but there was some kind of yin and yang thing going on. You mess up over here, you have to pay over there. Flip off a driver on the 101, you’re going to get the finger on the 405. It’s just a matter of time.

Could somebody trust him again, like Ashley had? More to the point, could he justify that trust?

Not bloody likely. His record was not a good one. And what was the point of hopes after all? You only get them smashed like ants under a boot. The cycle repeats itself. It had ever since he was five years old. He was damaged goods, and there wasn’t any God, no warranty from a creator that guaranteed good working order. He knew that even at five, when he’d prayed and got nothing back but a dead brother.

The cycle, the cycle.

He needed something to get his mind off it.

The monkey was screeching and he knew he’d better call Gincy.

But he wanted to handle it himself, which he knew was wrong. Bad move for recovery. The moment the screeches sound in the background, you call your sponsor.

You don’t go play pool. That’s a fool’s gambit.

So naturally it’s the one he took.

His favorite place for a rack was The Cue on Sherman Way, about a mile from his office. It was just past four thirty when he pulled to the curb in front of the place and fed the meter.

It felt good