Red Alert

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

WHAT COULD I do with my life?

The question preyed on my mind for the whole drive home, and by the time Mack served up dinner, I was still none the wiser.

“Where’s Luke?” I asked her.

“Still at the office. Black hat hackers aren’t considerate enough to stick to business hours.” She adopted that face. Pity disguised as polite interest. “How was your day?”

Mack had two sides to her—tough and businesslike at work, sweet Southern charm the rest of the time. I adored her, don’t get me wrong, even if I’d once hoped Emmy would marry Luke instead, but right now, I kind of wished she wasn’t so flipping nice.

Nice hurt more than indifference.

“My day was okay.”

“You went to visit Ryan again?”

Sure, like I’d popped out for coffee with him. “Yes, I went to the cemetery again.”

“Oh, honey. Things’ll ease in time, even though it might not feel that way at the moment.”

I knew they would. I’d already dealt with grief once, when my father died. But I’d been younger then and bounced back faster, or maybe I just hadn’t been as close to the man who’d donated half my DNA as I had to the man I’d chosen to spend my life with, harsh though that may sound.

Yes, time healed. But the seconds ticked by much slower than before.

“How’s Emmy?” I asked.

“I haven’t seen her much this week. She’s been spending time with Ana.”

I sucked in a breath then held it as Mack looked up. Ana. If it hadn’t been for Ana’s drama, Ryan would still be alive, and to cap it all, she’d walked right into Riverley and become Emmy’s new best friend. I tried to like her, really I did, but it was…difficult. And despite what Emmy said, Ana’s cold demeanour suggested she wasn’t too keen on me either.

But I forced a smile. “That’s great. Emmy works so hard, and she needs a break.”

“You’ve got that right. And Ana’s daughter is just so cute! Two years old, and you can see so many similarities to her mom.”

Fantastic. Next thing we knew, Tabitha would be toddling around with an automatic weapon in her hands.

“I’m glad Tabitha’s back.” My voice sounded flat to my own ears, and I hated that. Hated that I couldn’t sound happier for them.

“It was so great Emmy and Ana found each other, right? Talk about lucky. I mean, if Emmy hadn’t gone to Russia at the right moment, then none…” Mack stopped mid-sentence as she realised what she’d said. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. Of course, the part about Ryan wasn’t lucky. It’s just… Well…”

“It’s fine, really. You know what? I think I’ll go to bed.”

“But you’ve hardly eaten anything.”

“I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Tia…”

The sound of Für Elise echoed through the apartment, and I leapt up. Saved by the bell. As long as it wasn’t Emmy. Please don’t let it be Emmy. Of course, Emmy rarely bothered to knock. She simply picked the lock and let herself in anywhere she pleased.

I squinted through the peephole. Bradley. Thank goodness.

“I thought you had a key?”

“Yes, I do, but the last time I used it… Mack and your brother…” He covered his eyes with his hands. “I can’t un-see.”

“Euewwww!”

“Precisely. Did I interrupt dinner?”

“I lost my appetite.”

“You need to eat.”

“I do, most of the time.” Okay, so I was living on chocolate, but it still had calories.

Bradley’s pursed lips said he didn’t believe me, but after a few seconds, he shrugged. “Anyhow, I thought I’d stop by and check you were okay after earlier.”

Mack was staring in our direction, and I hadn’t mentioned my small error in judgement with the petrol, so I nudged Bradley backwards out of sight.

“I’m fine.”

“You forget I’m gay, doll. I know exactly what ‘fine’ means. Now, tell me what’s wrong apart from the obvious.”

“I want to get a job.”

Mack’s voice drifted through from the dining area. “Is everything okay?”

“Uh…”

“All good,” Bradley called. “Just talking shoes.” Then to me he continued, “A job? Where did that come from?”

Everything spilled out. Ryan’s letter, my lack of direction, Robbie’s words about life being what I made of it.

“So it’s obvious, isn’t it? Everyone else works, and all I do is sit around all day. I should do something constructive. You know…a fresh start…a career.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“No, but I need to do it anyway.”

“I’ll have a chat with Emmy.”

“No! I mean, I’m grateful for everything she’s done for me, but I don’t want her to just give me a job out of pity.”

Bradley tilted his head to one side. “I thought you two made up after…you know.”

“We did, sort of. I guess things are just awkward, what with Ana being around too.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “She scares me.”

“You and me both, doll. You and me both. So, what job do you have in mind?”

I’d never really thought about it before.

The career advisor I saw in year thirteen had been useless. Not that their advice was truly necessary for the kids who attended the Marsden Academy. Mother had sent me to the most exclusive private school in the area, and earning a basic wage upon graduation simply hadn’t been an issue for most of my fellow pupils.

I still recalled the day we’d been forced to take one of those automated job questionnaires that suggested a career based on our likes and dislikes. An hour of my life, wasted.

“What did yours say?” Arabella asked. She’d been my best friend all through school, but I didn’t see her nearly often enough now.

“Landscape gardener or fish farmer. How about yours?”

“A seamstress!” She’d hooted with laughter. “Can you believe that? Mother would die!”

Another of our classmates wandered over. “It’s a pointless exercise. I’m joining father’s company as soon as I’ve done my master’s degree.”

“A lady doesn’t need to work,” one of the other girls put in. “She just needs to marry well.”

“Yes, I wouldn’t want my wife to work,” the boy standing next to her said. “That would look terrible.” He practised swinging an invisible golf club. “I’m going to be a golf pro. After all, I’ve been playing since I was eight.”

What were they doing now? Sitting around, spending daddy’s millions most likely. Or preparing for a life in politics. Arabella was at Cambridge University, studying biology, but I’d lost touch with everyone else.

My A-level passes had been in art, textiles, English literature, and classics. Unless I fancied writing historical fiction and illustrating my own book jackets, I couldn’t see how those would help in the real world.

No, I was stumped.

“I don’t have any job in mind,” I told Bradley.

“Tell you what, let’s go out for dinner, just you and me. We can talk it over then.”

“I’m not sure I—”

“What else are you planning to do? Sit in your room on your own?”

Yes, that was exactly what I’d been planning to do. “No, but—”

“Mack, I’m taking Tia out for dinner. Don’t wait up.”

“Bradley, I—”

“Sparkly top, good shoes, don’t forget your ID. Go.”

I went. When Bradley was in one of these moods, arguing with him was pointless. If I flat out refused to go, he’d just bring the party to me, and that would be even worse. Think I was kidding? When Carmen said she was too tired to go out for her birthday last year, Bradley turned up at her house with caterers, a mariachi band, and sixty guests.

I dug out a black sequinned top and teamed it up with black trousers and black heels. He said sparkly, but he didn’t say anything about colourful. Where was my ID? I last used it before Christmas when I got arrested for the fifth time.

That ID had been an eighteenth birthday gift from Emmy, along with my car. A driver’s licence and passport, both proclaiming me to be three years older than I actually was.

She’d held them out of reach for a second before handing them over.

“I figure that as you’re legally old enough to drink in England now, it’s only fair that you can buy alcohol in the US too. I’m trusting you. If you f**k up, I’ll take these back, and you can be eighteen again. Got it?”

“Got it.”

And in the last two months, I’d screwed up badly, but she still hadn’t stepped in. She’d given me leeway because of Ryan—something else to feel guilty over.

When I first met Emmy, she’d been grieving herself, but she’d hidden it well and soldiered on, with my brother of all people. Looking back, I could see she hadn’t been happy, exactly, but she’d coped a hell of a lot better than me. I needed to take a leaf out of her book and move on, difficult though that seemed right now.

And I started by taking Bradley’s arm and following him out to a waiting town car.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Rhodium. We can have a quiet dinner, a few cocktails, and plan your future.”

At least if I was being forced to dine out, I’d be doing it at the best restaurant in town. One that served my favourite baked brie as an appetiser and perfectly gooey chocolate fondant. Oh, and did I mention the margaritas?

Bradley had the waiter well trained, and the drinks kept coming, one after the other. Suddenly, a night out didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all, and when Bradley began asking me questions after the main course, my tongue had loosened enough to answer them.

“So, this fresh start... Emmy can find you a job if you want one.”

“No!” I half shouted, and people several tables over turned to stare. “I already said no,” I repeated more quietly.

“I suppose I can understand that. She’s a nightmare to work for.”

She couldn’t be that bad. Bradley had been working for her for over ten years now.

“Mack already made that suggestion, but I want a job that’s mine, you know?”

“How about something arty? You like to draw.”

I hoped to sell my work some day, but I wasn’t good enough yet. Emmy had a friend who’d been a professional artist and I just wasn’t in the same league. His paintings drew you in, spoke to your soul, then dropped you back into reality as a changed person. He’d given me painting lessons, and I could see the improvement in myself, but the one time I’d picked up a brush since Ryan died, the colours came out flat. One-dimensional. I’d lost the fire inside me that I needed to create a work of art.

“Not right now. My heart wouldn’t be in it.”

“Something musical?”

Not when I’d been booted out of the school choir aged twelve. “I’m tone deaf.”

“Finance?”

“I got an E grade in GCSE maths.”

“What about food? You could go to chef school?”

I liked eating food, yes, but cooking it? I shuddered as I remembered helping Emmy in her first and only attempt at making Christmas dinner. It hadn’t gone well.

“I’d probably burn the place down.”

The waiter brought a fresh cocktail, and I downed half of it as Bradley’s lips twitched. They always did that when he was deep in thought.

“Landscape gardening? I hear it can be relaxing.”

I burst out laughing, much to his bemusement. “No way. Not gardening.”

“There must be something. How about fashion?”

Fashion? I did like clothes, although I was more of an end user. Did customising a few T-shirts qualify me for even an entry-level position?

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? Well, that’s better than an outright no. Leave it with me.”

I didn’t like that gleam in his eye. “Bradley, what are you planning?”

“Don’t you fret about that, doll. Drink your margarita.”

“But—”

“And here comes dessert. Eat up before it gets cold.”

“But—”

“Trust me. I’m a genius when it comes to these things.”