Their Dark Reflections Read online

  He couldn’t call it quits after one day.

  “Aw,” Gerry said, bumping Sam’s shoulder. “You do like him.”

  “That isn’t a good thing, Gerry. The Cramers are expecting us to finish this job.”

  “We could always do it anyway, even if Simons is a nice guy,” Mim said, picking at her nails with her knife.

  Sam and Gerry glared at her.

  “Can’t blame a gal for trying.” She shrugged.

  “If Simons is on the level, we’ll bow out, but the Cramers swore he was a worthwhile target, so keep packing,” Sam told Gerry, “and start working on how to crack that safe. Simons has to be hiding something.”

  ED WAS hiding behind the curtains beside the front doors, watching his neighbors walk up the drive to greet Sam as he arrived on his motorcycle. They’d been trying to “welcome Ed to the neighborhood” ever since he arrived.

  They were a young couple, the wife beautiful, with dark hair and skin to contrast her blond, blue-eyed husband. They must be professionals of some sort, always smartly dressed in a pencil skirt and three-piece suit respectively.

  Today, they had children with them, twins, he’d guess, about five years old. Ed didn’t immediately hear what the couple said to Sam, but as everyone was smiling and starting to chat, he grew curious and opened the window to listen in.

  “I have my own key,” Sam was saying. “He’s probably not in, though. Busy guy. Said he’d almost never be home, which was why he needs my help. I’m sure you’ll get the chance to meet him eventually, though.”

  He was covering for Ed, even though he knew Ed was home.

  “He’ll be relieved to know there’s law-enforcement so close by.”

  What?

  Ed peered harder around the curtain and saw a badge on the husband’s belt.

  “Detective Neu-Ryan, is it?”

  “Just Daniel is fine. And Marie works for Channel Five. There isn’t much that goes on in this city that we don’t know about.”

  Ed’s realtor hadn’t mentioned any of that, though he had been more adamant about not having neighbors too close, not what they did for a living.

  “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds,” Marie said. “I’m a producer more than in front of the camera. But you have to tell us. We’ve been so excited about someone finally moving into this house, and he’s been a complete ghost.” She stepped closer as if to share a scandalous secret. “What’s Simons like? Cranky old millionaire?”

  Sam laughed. “You know, that’s what I thought he’d be like when we first met, but he’s young, interesting, charming. Seems like a really nice guy, just private.”

  Ed wondered if Sam meant all that.

  “Dawn! Joey!” Marie chastised her children as they chased each other down the drive and onto Ed’s grass. “This is not our yard. What would Nana Ryan think if you stomped across her lawn like that?”

  “It’s okay,” Sam said. “I need to mow anyway. How about we agree to not tell Mr. Simons, and I’ll give you two a treat?” He retrieved a pack of gum from his pocket, eyeing the parents for permission.

  They nodded, and Sam crouched to the kids’ level as they approached him.

  “Ah, shoot, I only have one left, and I was saving it for myself. I know!” He pulled the lone stick from the pack, made to unwrap it, and then—it disappeared with a flick of his wrist and he began to chew. “You don’t mind getting it slightly used, do you?”

  Dawn and Joey shared a curious glance.

  “You do? Well don’t worry, I can fix it.” Sam brought his hands to his mouth as if to spit the gum back into the wrapper, then with another flourish of his fingers, the untouched stick reappeared in his grasp.

  Ed smiled at the simple sleight of hand that left the children looking enchanted.

  “Brand new. But you’ll have to share it.” Sam tore the stick in two and handed half to each twin, who eagerly accepted their treat.

  “Not bad,” Daniel said, while Marie helped the twins with their wrappers.

  “Comes in handy sometimes.” Sam grinned. “It was nice to meet you, but I better get to work. I’ll tell Mr. Simons you stopped by.”

  “It was nice to meet you too, Sam,” Marie said. “Kids, what do you say for the gum?”

  “Thanks, Mr. Sam!” they said in unison.

  “Any time.” He waved goodbye as the family headed down the drive, and then turned to approach the front doors.

  Where Ed was still hiding!

  Like a shot, he raced for the living room and turned on the radio. It was another standing model, but the inside had been replaced with a digital jukebox. Last Ed had used it, he’d been listening to ’70s music, and “Crocodile Rock” blared just as Sam announced himself.

  “Eddie? Clocking in for the day.”

  “Oh, Sam.” Ed feigned surprise when Sam appeared at the entry into the living room. “I didn’t hear you drive up.”

  “Wow, you’re a bad liar,” Sam said, setting his bag against the wall and moving to join Ed. “You’re welcome, by the way. I got the impression you weren’t the ‘play nice with the neighbors’ type.”

  So much for performing his own misdirection. “Like you said, I prefer my privacy.”

  “That wouldn’t have anything to do with them being a detective and a reporter, would it?” Sam draped an arm casually atop the radio.

  “Would you want that pairing as your neighbors?”

  “Not really,” Sam said with a laugh.

  “You’re very good with children.”

  “It’s easy to be good with them when you can give them back to their parents.”

  Now Ed laughed, completely disarmed around Sam, which was a rare experience.

  “You might not be a good liar, Eddie, but you do have good taste in music,” Sam said, tapping his fingers to the beat of Elton John giving way to the Beatles. “Since we won’t be taking a stroll with the Neu-Ryans any time soon, shall we talk taxes?”

  TAXES, NUMBERS, probability, and projections—that Sam found easy.

  People were complicated.

  Planning a heist with a detective and a reporter next door was insane.

  Funny how the Cramers never mentioned that. Maybe they didn’t know, or maybe they had known and threw Sam into the lion’s den anyway.

  He tried not to let it get to him, especially not in front of Ed, who he was desperately trying to read for signs that he was not what he seemed. Sam hadn’t actually noticed him listening in to his conversation outside, but he’d heard the way the music blasted suddenly in the living room and took a guess.

  Ed was avoiding his neighbors. There had to be a reason besides sensitivity to the sun—if that was even true—or being antisocial. He was friendly enough with Sam.

  Diving into his second day of work, however, turned up nothing. Ed had an obscene amount of money, but it was all inherited or growing interest. He had no need to acquire his possessions illegally. Sam wanted to believe there might be mafia ties or drugs involved, but Ed’s only source of income was investments. Nothing shady, other than poor record keeping, which only hurt Ed, not the banks.

  The only other possibility, if the Cramers’ intel was to be believed, was some sort of John Wick scenario, but Ed was so not the type. His inability to take care of his affairs properly kept coming across as endearing. The only bad things about him were his disorganization and terrible sense of fashion.

  Today it was a suit vest over a button-down shirt, like he should have been wearing a blazer and working in an office, but instead, he was reading in the upstairs parlor with his feet up, which were currently encased in bunny slippers.

  “Please tell me those were gifts,” Sam said, emerging from the library.

  “No. Why? They’re comfortable!”

  “I’m sure they are.”

  Ed grew flustered and dropped his feet to the floor. “What are you holding?”

  “I was cleaning the library and found this with the nonfiction.” Sam held out Dante’s Inferno, whic
h had definitely been entertaining to find in nonfiction.

  “I was going to properly reshelve it later.”

  “Eddie,” Sam scolded, reminding himself of his strictest teachers—before he dropped out—“we went over this. Keep doing that and you’ll be back to square one the moment my contract is over. Now, come with me.” He grabbed Ed’s hand, pulling him out of the chair to wobble after him.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Teach a man to fish,” Sam said and dragged Ed to the library. “Now, put it where it belongs.”

  “I’m not a child,” Ed huffed, wrenching his arm from Sam’s grasp.

  “And yet.”

  A moment of tense electricity passed between them, but Sam had been warring against Mim and Gerry’s stubbornness for years. Just because this was a con didn’t mean he didn’t take his job seriously.

  Finally, with another huff, Ed snatched the book from Sam’s hands and shelved it in the fiction section under D, since they’d agreed that titles made more sense than authors.

  After a pause, Sam plucked the book off the shelf to reshelve it over a spot. Maybe because he was still grinning, Ed started grinning too, and the next thing Sam knew, they were laughing.

  “What about this one?” Ed accused, picking up a book Sam had set aside. “It’s out of place too.”

  “That’s because I was going to ask you if I could borrow it.”

  “You like Greek mythology?”

  “There’s something about the fantastical that grabs my attention.” It was one of the few subjects in school Sam had enjoyed besides math, and math he’d improved upon after dropping out, though his credentials alluded to a college education rather than his GED.

  “What’s your favorite myth?”

  “Hades and Persephone, no contest.”

  “Kidnapping and forced marriage?” Ed scoffed.

  “I prefer the modern retelling, where it’s a love story about two very different people striving against all odds to be together.”

  Ed blinked, like he wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Can you… tell it to me?”

  “Aren’t you afraid of my darkness, dear?” Sam quoted, watching Ed’s eyes widen. “And Persephone said, ‘No. You haven’t seen mine yet.’”

  The library was a whole guest bedroom in size, but it felt like a closet suddenly, as if all the shelves were closing in to push them together.

  Sam stepped back. He had to be more careful. Flirtations were one thing, but he couldn’t allow more. “A full retelling would take time. I should get back to work.”

  “O-of course. Maybe as a celebration someday, after your two weeks are up. I was always partial to Psyche and Eros myself.”

  Oh, he did not make this easy.

  “In the meantime, take it.” He handed Sam the book.

  “Thanks. I’ll bring it right back. I just want to page through it off the clock.”

  “No. Take it. Keep it. I prefer celestial bodies over godly ones. Call it a gift.”

  He made this impossible.

  “There really isn’t anything indecent about you, is there?”

  “I-I-I… w-well….” Ed startled, and no wonder, because Sam hadn’t meant to say that.

  “Thanks for the book, Eddie.”

  “Yes. My pleasure.”

  Sam couldn’t do this. He had to see Brock and Celia Cramer.

  Tonight.

  THAT NIGHT there was a clear sky, truly breathtaking, prompting Ed to bring his telescope onto the patio as soon as the sun set—and after Sam had left for the evening.

  Ed was used to being alone, but as he found his favorite constellations in the sky, he kept turning his attention toward Gemini, wondering if the stars would be lovelier with company.

  Sam had only been on his payroll for two days, and already Ed was getting used to having him around. Loneliness was like that, like hunger: easy to ignore when he had nothing, but getting a taste made his appetite snap its jaws like a ravenous wolf. And Ed gave in to his wolf enough already.

  Still, the solace of the backyard seemed less satisfying.

  “It’s mine!”

  “Now it’s gonna be mine. Hand it over!”

  “No!”

  “I said, hand it over!”

  There was silence, then a whimper, a sniffle, and finally, the sound of rushing feet. The owner of the first voice was running away, leaving the other behind.

  Slowly, not wanting to make any noise himself, Ed put thoughts of Sam aside as he stepped away from his telescope to approach the right gate. The left side opened onto his driveway, the right toward the wood.

  He opened it, his eyes piercing the darkness. The running feet were moving north, back toward the city, but beyond the tree line was a shadow, moving slowly east, away from Ed’s neighbors and their young children.

  Ed gave chase, brisk but quiet, keeping track of the shadow. Even as he moved farther from the lights of his house and backyard, he zeroed in on the figure that took clearer shape in front of him.

  A man, haggard and bent, dressed in rags, carrying a knapsack that had recently belonged to someone else. He also carried a knife. He was a vagabond and a thief, willing to kill to take what little someone else had for his own. And now he was completely alone.

  Perfect.

  SAM HIT the ground hard, the left side of his face exploding in pain after the brutal punch he’d just received.

  Perfect. That was going to leave a mark.

  Alverez, the Cramers’ top enforcer, reached down to grab him by the scruff of his jacket and hoisted him to his feet. Their other muscle, Fitz and Shaw, looked on ominously, while the Cramers stood farther back wearing cold, satisfied smiles.

  “Wait!” Sam cried when Alverez readied for another punch. “Rough me up too badly and Simons is going to get suspicious.”

  “He has a point,” Celia said, beautiful in a vicious way, like the prettiest of vipers, next to Brock, her equally vicious husband. Sam hadn’t seen it before. He hadn’t wanted to. He’d been too focused on the potential payoff. “Now that you’re talking sense again, Sammy, I trust you won’t say anything else as foolish as wanting to get out of our deal?”

  Sam staggered as Alverez released him with a shove.

  “She asked you a question, Goldman,” Brock pressed. “Do we have a problem?”

  Sam had gone to see them at one of the clubs they frequented. He’d expected they’d bring one of their bodyguards along, but he should have rethought his words as soon as all three followed them into the back.

  “You said Simons was bad news,” Sam challenged anyway. “When I agreed to this and told you my crew and I only steal from people who deserve it, you said Simons was the perfect target, but I haven’t seen anything to prove that’s true.”

  “So?” Celia sneered. “This is the type of score underlings like you can only dream about, and you’re moping about morals?”

  “Our intel says he’s dirty,” Brock said in a bored tone. “That’s all you need to know.”

  “In what ways? How do you know? Who—”

  “You’re asking too many questions,” Fitz snarled, the least threatening physically, but also the most unpredictable, with his eyes always bloodshot.

  “Simons—”

  “Won’t notice the bruises on your friends if we take your insolence out on them,” Shaw warned with a menacing tilt of her head.

  Sam shut up.

  They’d been so stupid to get into bed with these people without realizing that the real bad news was them. Maybe Sam was blind to Ed’s true nature too. He couldn’t be sure, but he also couldn’t risk his friends.

  “Are we going to have any more problems?” Brock pressed.

  “No.”

  “Good.” Brock nodded at Alverez, who moved too fast for Sam to backpedal, and a fresh punch struck him in the stomach, nearly dropping him to his knees.

  “Bet Simons won’t notice that either,” he jeered, and gave Sam’s cheek a pat.

  Sam recoi
led, slinking away slowly at first, then hurrying out of the room when they made no move to stop him. He beelined through the club for the street, fighting the bile that threatened to escape after that last punch.

  He couldn’t deal with Mim and Gerry’s reactions, not tonight. He hadn’t told them he was going to see the Cramers. He’d have to stay out, go for a walk, tell them to not wait up, and sneak inside after the lights were out. If he was lucky, he’d wake before them too.

  Sam had to finish the job, sooner than two weeks if he could.

  Even if Ed was hiding something, Sam didn’t want to con him any longer than he had to.

  ED DIDN’T want to con Sam any longer than he had to.

  Sam was a good man. Thoughtful. Personable.

  Attractive….

  Which was why Ed noticed immediately when Sam strolled into the kitchen the next morning wearing a pair of sunglasses, as if trying to hide his face.

  “Brought in your paper. Shall we see what the stars have in store for Pisces today?” Sam grinned as if nothing was amiss. “Here we are. ‘The moon meets Pluto and opposes Mercury, stirring up intense emotions you want to get off your chest.’ Well—” He glanced playfully over the top of the paper. “—I’m all ears.”

  “Your eyes.”

  “I said ears.” Sam grimaced.

  “Sam….”

  “What?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why are you wearing those indoors?”

  “It’s nothing. You don’t have to worry—”

  Ed snatched the sunglasses from Sam’s face, adamant because he knew Sam was lying. He could practically smell that something was wrong, like a tinge of copper close to the surface. Then he saw why as the light caught the fine contours of Sam’s face.

  Dark bruises were forming around his left eye and cheekbone.

  “What happened? It looks like you got into a fistfight.”

  “You wouldn’t believe I’m the type to do that, would you?”