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Ten
Word on the street is, Luciano is pissed. He’s looking for you.
Dean crammed his phone, along with the text from Ramos, into his jeans pocket and continued to wait at the counter of Harlow’s only grocery store. Five days had passed since the soiree, and he was done living at the local motel. He’d lined up a rental home, and now, the store’s jovial owners, Maureen and Frank Cooper, had agreed to receive some moving boxes on his behalf.
“Your delivery’s out back.” Maureen smiled from opposite the counter, her affable personality and sparkling blue eyes a nice change from the hard-edged characters he was used to. “I take it you got your new house sorted?”
“Thank you, and yes.” He pointed to a doorway behind the counter, assuming that was where his boxes waited. “If it’s all right by you, I’ll come round and lift those boxes out myself.”
Maureen turned and waved for him to follow. “Perfect. My back’s not all that good anymore, and I don’t mind the idea of watching those muscles of yours getting down to work.”
She looked over her shoulder and gave him a cheeky wink, even though she outranked him by about thirty years. Still, he laughed, age having apparently not dimmed her enthusiasm for harmless flirting.
“Frank told me you’re taking the Rudger’s place, is that true?” She pushed aside a clear plastic curtain leading to a cold and dark storeroom with a musty-cool smell.
He bobbed down and lifted the first of four giant cardboard boxes. “Yep. The place is only a few years old, and as you can see, I don’t have all that much stuff. So, I’ll have room to spare.”
Maureen led him down the rows of chest-height shelves that looked about twenty years old and out toward the street-facing exit. “Betcha didn’t have all that much space back where you’re from.”
He shook his head, being careful not to trip as he stepped across the threshold and onto the sidewalk where a spring midday sun beat down on his face. “Just a pokey old apartment.”
“I guess that’s one advantage to moving to the sticks, yah?” She trailed behind him, probably because she didn’t know which car on the main street was his. “The Rudger’s is one lovely double-story brick. Large rooms, big yard, and Compton Drive is close to town. You did well.”
That he had, and at a third of the price of his apartment, which only convinced him further he should have ditched LA long ago.
“What do you plan to do with yourself in Harlow?” Maureen’s question caught him just as he bent to place the box on the ground.
He straightened, digging through his pocket for his keys. “I have a bit of money to tide me over for a while and figured I’d do odd jobs until I line up something more permanent.”
In all his years working for Luciano, he’d never spent more than he needed. He didn’t expect that to change now that he’d moved, either.
“Betcha get lots of offers.” Maureen beamed a mischievous smile. “But I’ll put the word out and pin a flyer up on the store’s notice board about you looking for work, okay?”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” He popped the trunk of his black Cherokee.
The last time he’d come to the store, Maureen had rattled off a list of local single women she figured he should go out with. The woman wasn’t half subtle, but she was well meaning enough, and he’d take her help to find work over finding him a woman.
Or maybe I’ve just stupidly figured I’ve found the one I want…
Yes, stupid, because his last encounter with Sarah had gone so well, and she’d been undeniably happy to see him again…
He shoved his moving box into his car’s trunk. Too late now. He’d committed to Harlow and wasn’t about give in so easily. Not to Luciano. Not to Sarah. Three lines of scribbled and jagged penmanship peered up at him from on top of the box, yet another omen about not giving up.
Adrian Ramos. The one person who hadn’t given up on Dean. Not when everyone else ran in all directions away from him. The one person to believe in his innocence when everyone had branded him a deadbeat sergeant. Dean trusted Adrian with his life. Enough to have him collect these few belongings before news of the Stucco disaster reached the syndicate, and they started watching his apartment.
“Word is”—Maureen’s voice pulled him from the black memory—“you’ve already found your way to Maynard’s.”
“Word travels fast.” He slammed the trunk closed, perhaps to distract from the heaviness in his tone, set to get on with what was starting to feel like a fruitless task.
Maureen laughed and guided him back to the store. “Harlow is the worst place in America to keep a secret, don’t cha know? Ally Egan has taken a real liking to you, too. She’s another singleton you should consider.”
“Maureen…” He tried not to growl the warning.
“Oh. Okay. Okay.” She waved a hand at him, her eyes still bright. “I’ll stop.”
They walked in easy silence, his thoughts falling on Maureen’s comment about Harlow being a bad place to keep a secret. Well, he’d spent his entire adult life keeping and uncovering secrets, become an expert on that very thing, and he didn’t welcome anyone here figuring his out.
Even with Anthony Stucco’s death hitting national headlines, Dean had always been careful not to link himself with the syndicate’s dealings. He would have his clean break, or take the whole damn operation down with him.
