Page 58 of Torched Spades
“No,” I lie.
“Would you swear to that under oath?”
“Would you make me?”
“I don’t want to see you get hurt again, Becca, but you’re letting your feelings override your judgment. Your father did that, and look what happened. Repeating his mistakes would be like jumping from a fire into an inferno.”
I wince at the analogy. “I can take care of myself. Been doing it all my life.”
He’s fighting a losing battle, and he knows it. Closing his eyes, he digs his thumb into his temple. “Just tell me he’s wrong. Tell me this patient you’re having feelings for isn’t Malone.”
I wish I could.
“I’ve told you I can’t discuss—”
“You can’t discuss it; I know,” he mutters. “People are rarely what they seem, Becs. You know that better than anyone. Just do me a favor, okay? Whoever this ‘patient’ is, pull up his arrest record and see what you’re dealing with.”
“Sure,” I snort. “While I’m at it, why don’t I just have Meredith run my medical license through the paper shredder?”
“Read the news. Fuck, just last week there was a story about an internist in Newport who was stabbed while leaving her office. She was killed by one of her own patients, Becca—a fucking sick son of a bitch who became obsessed with her. That person could easily be you.”
It could easily be any of us. I found that out the hard way.
“Tell my father the next time he wants to send me a message, don’t.”
Jack shakes his head and slides out of the booth. “Be careful, Becs.”
We’re both grinding our teeth on all the lies, but there’s nothing left to do at this point but swallow and hope for the best. “I know what I’m doing, Jack.”
But as I watch him toss a twenty-dollar bill on the table before walking away, I can’t help but wonder if I’m just kidding myself. Especially because the moment I hear that damn cowbell grind out his exit, I’m on my feet and charging across the diner like my ass is on fire.
It’s not him. It can’t be him… Because that would make Jack’s warning even more real. More alarming. My gut instinct is even more drunk and reckless.
My frantic pace slows….and then stops.
The booths that were in my line of sight are empty. There’s no dark-haired man. No arrogant smirk. No hint of tattoos. But instead of turning around, I take a step forward. Then another. My feet keep moving until I’m standing over the booth situated directly across from where Jack and I were sitting.
A booth containing an untouched glass of water, a sliced apple, and a playing card lying face down on the table.
My hand shakes as I reach down and slowly flip it over.
The ace of spades.
Chapter Eighteen
JOHNNY
“Damn it!”Letting out a string of blunt curses, I jerk the wheel to the right as the car skids into another “hope and pray” hairpin turn.
Then again, I believe in neither, so I let vengeance steer this one. A man should take charge of his own fate, not leave it in the hands of lady luck or some mythical man in the sky.
I let these Irish bastards walk away once. I won’t make the same mistake twice, even if that means driving us both into the Narragansett Bay.
Sixty.
Seventy.
Eighty.
