Chapter Two

            Let's recap, shall we?  In the past three hours we've robbed a jewellery store, told someone a name, acquired a hostage, cleaned our gun collection, washed the van, broken a finger, lost a lunch, had a call from Frank and found out that we kidnapped the biggest and most dangerous crime lord's nephew.

            Well, fuck me, isn't life grand?

            I'm still holding the phone and pressing it tightly to my ear like it might just disappear if I let it go the slightest bit.  There's silence on the other end and I know Frank is letting me digest what he's just told me.  His nephew?  I didn't know Frank had any family, let alone a nephew.  I suppose it would have been just a bit more screwed up if it had been Frank's son, but realizing that I have any member of Frank's family bound and gagged in a dark room in my hideaway is too fucking scary for words.

            Tucker's wringing his hands, staring at me with huge eyes and Beck is peeking around the corner of the hallway that leads to the bathroom.  He knows that whatever happens, it's his fault.  Riley wants to know what the hell is going on and she's trying to get my attention by waving her taped fingers back and forth but I can't focus on anything more than the words Frank just said to me.

            "He's my nephew."

            I can't think of a single thing to say.  Do I apologize?  Hey, Frank, sorry that I ran into your nephew while robbing a jewellery store and decided to kidnap him to protect my identity? 

            "I want to see you at my place now," Frank says into the dead silence and I nod dumbly before remembering that he can't see me.

            "Yeah," I manage to croak out.  "Yeah, of course."

            "Bring him and bring Riley," Frank says sharply.  "I want Drake returned to me in one piece and it better be an unbruised, uninjured piece."

            "Yeah," I say again.  "But . . ." I trail off.  Am I sure I want to ask this?

            "But what, Den?"

            "Why Riley?"

            She stiffens and stares at me, mouthing no and shaking her head the entire time.

            "I think it's time I met part of the group that works for me," Frank says.  "And, Den, as of now you are working for me."

            "Right, Frank," I say.  "I'll be there soon as I can."

            "I'm in the city today, Den.  Shouldn't take you more than thirty minutes."

            "I'll be there," I repeat, then slowly hang up the phone.

            "What'd he want?" Beck asks, his voice quivering slightly.         

            I look over at him and sigh.  "The hostage is Frank's nephew.  We fucking kidnapped Frank's nephew.  Jesus!"

            "What does he want with me?" Riley asks quietly and I can tell she's scared.

            "Just to meet you," I say.  "We have to bring Drake, er, his nephew to his city house and he decided that he wants to meet more of the group that's working for him now."

            "We don't work for him," Tucker says.

            "We do now," I reply, holding up a hand to silence any further complaints.  "It's either we agree with him or we die.  To me there's no contest.  I'll work for Frank to keep my life."

            Riley sighs and looks toward the back of the loft.  "Get the hostage and let's go."

            "You sure about this?" I ask.

            Her eyes meet mine.  "Don't reckon I've got much of a choice now, do I?"

            I shake my head slowly.  Tucker glances between the two of us, then goes to the back room and walks out a moment later with the hostage.  Drake is untied now and glaring at us with more hatred in his eyes than I think I've ever seen on a person.

            "My uncle called you, did 'e?" he asks.

            I nod.  "Yeah.  Sorry 'bout the mix up."

            "Fuck you," he snaps.  "You scared the shit outta me in the store with your guns and all, but now I'm in control."

            "We're to take you back to him," I say.

            "Who is?" Drake asks and his eyes go to Riley.  "You 'n 'er?"

            Fucking little prick.  He's at least three years younger than her, if not more and I really don't like the way his tiny little eyes are crawling up and down her body.  I'm also scared to death that Riley will punch him in the face if he continues to look at her like that and that just wouldn't help the situation we're currently in.

            "Yeah, me and her," I reply.  "I'll drive, Riley you sit beside me and Drake you're in the back."

            "Why doesn't she sit in the back with me?" he asks, still staring at her.

            "Because I don't fucking want to," Riley says, then makes a gesture at him that looks like she's holding back from some form of violence.

            "Don't think you wanna do that now, do ya?" he asks, leering at her.  "My uncle would 'ave your 'ead."

            "Well, I think I just might prefer that to having to listen to your tripe," Riley snaps, then walks toward the garage. 

            I still have the keys in my hand and I gesture for Drake to follow me.  He's gonna make this drive hell, that's for sure.  In the past five minutes he's already managed to annoy the hell outta me and piss Riley off, and I don't think things are gonna get much better once we're in an enclosed area.  It's not until we climb into the van that I look at him once more in the rear view mirror and see him grinning at Riley.  That's when I finally notice the two gold teeth in his mouth.

            Gold teeth.  There aren't many people out there who'll willingly get gold capped teeth because it's too distinctive.  There's only one person I know who had gold teeth and I'm bloody surprised he let us just take him from the jewellery store without a fight. 

            Tightlip Drake is what most of the people we've met call him . . . others prefer Doctor Drake.  He's called tightlip because he's the best in the business at keeping a secret even if it costs him his life.  The two teeth he lost were courtesy of another guy the four of us used to work with called Aidan.  Aidan was a fucking psycho and he needed to know something that only Drake knew and in the end it cost Drake two teeth and Aidan his life.  The price for beating up on a crime lord's nephew is fairly high, I would imagine.

            He's called Doctor Drake for a completely different reason.  As far as I know the story behind his nickname is pretty simple.  During high school his parents noticed his interest in biology classes, especially the dissection, and got to talking about how he'd make a wonderful doctor.  Apparently they were hoping to push him straight into medical school and bought him a few medical textbooks early to get him started.  Seems that their young, impressionable son took a particular liking to the pictures in which people were being cut up and learned all the pressure points and the places that you need only nick in order to bleed someone dry.  I can only imagine all the things he'll do to me with a scalpel once we're at Frank's and I'm completely vulnerable.

            "Ya worked for my uncle long?" he asks Riley.

            "Not long," I answer for her.  "A day."

            "I wasn't askin' you," he says, staring at me in the rear view mirror.  He flashes those horrid gold teeth and gestures at Riley.  "I was askin' 'er."

            "Well, the answer's the same from either of us," she says shortly.  "Not long.  Less than a day."

            "Since my uncle called, eh?"

            I interrupt whatever sarcastic comeback Riley has burning on her tongue with my own question.

            "How is it that I've heard of both you and your uncle, but never heard that you're family?"

            Drake grins.  "So, ya know who I am then, do ya?"

            "Who are you?" Riley asks, her eyes sliding over him.  "You look more or less unimportant to me."

            "Doctor Drake," he says, flashing her the gold teeth.  "I believe I killed a guy ya knew . . . Aidan, was it?"

            Riley tenses at the mention of Aidan's name and her eyes flicker to me.

            "He's the Doctor," I say, shrugging helplessly.  "So, how come I didn't know you two were related?"

            "I wanted to make my own way in the criminal world.  Didn't want good ol' Uncle Frank giving me leeway with everything, ya know?"

            "But you need him to get you out of a little spot of kidnapping, don't you?" Riley asks, grinning at him.

            "I didn't ask for 'is 'elp," Drake says, sneering.  "I didn't expect 'im to call you.  'E just did."

            She rolls her eyes and faces forward once more, crossing her arms over her chest. 

            "So you're the guys who were ripping off others, eh?" he asks.

            "What does it matter what we did?  We're working for your uncle now," Riley says.

            Drake grins.  "True, true.  But I'm just a smidge curious, ya know?  I've got people who would pay for your name sweet'eart."

            "Give it to them," Riley snaps.  "Let them come for me and see what the hell I do to them."

            Drake purses his lips, still grinning slightly.  "And what would ya do to 'em, sweet'eart?"

            "Don't call me that," Riley warns.

            "What do ya think you could do to me?" he asks.

            Riley narrows her eyes.  "See if your uncle would let me in a boxing ring with you.  I'll show you exactly what I can do to you."

            "Tough girl, eh?"

            "Fuck, yes," she says, then turns ahead once more and stares out the front window.

            I know that look of resolution on her face all too well.  Drake's probably gonna spend the rest of the ride trying to get another rise outta her and he'll fail miserably.  Right now she's wearing the Riley Karol resolve face and it's pretty damned solid, if I can say so.  I've learned from experience that you can't break her down once she's decided she's not gonna talk to you anymore.  The next time you will talk to her will be on her terms, not yours.

            "What'd'ya think your punishment will be?" he asks, still grinning.  "Ya think he'll feed pieces of you to his fish?"

            "I doubt it," I say dryly, staring at the street in front of us.

            "You don't think so?"

            "No."

            "Huh."  Drake falls silent, apparently thinking this over.  I like him much better when he's trying to mull something over.  He's quiet and so much less obnoxious and I'm also less frightened that he's gonna pull a scalpel on me at any moment.

            "Are you gonna lie to him?" Riley asks suddenly, turning in her chair to look at Drake in the back.  "Because if you fucking lie to him I'll kick your bullocks into your body."

            Drake looks a little surprised at this, but in the end he just grins at her one final time before sinking into his own thoughts.  I've never even thought about what Riley just say.  What is the little shit does lie about the way we treated him?  Frank's never gonna believe us over his precious nephew so if Drake wants to see us dead, he's gonna see us dead tonight.

            I fucking love my life, I really do.

*

            Riley twitches every so often, even as we pull into the long drive that leads up the Frank's expensive city house.  I hate that this meeting bothers her so much and hate Frank with every step we take toward the large oak doors.  She's shaking and I've never seen her like this in my entire life.  She's fucking terrified of the man we're going to meet and she's got good reason.  Frank is known for his vicious nature, which was why I was so surprised when he let me go without torturing me first or taking a finger for his collection of human finger bones lying in the bottom of his fish tank. 

            I don't want to say anything with Drake walking ahead of us, so instead I just reach over and catch her fingers in mine.  She looks surprised and makes a move to pull away, but in the end thinks better of it and squeezes my hand gently before dropping it.  I could feel her fingers trembling while she held my hand and I don't like it.  I've never seen her like this before.  It scares me more than I can say to see her so frightened.  This isn't the Riley I've known all my life.

            "Den," one of Frank's bodyguards addresses me and I smile.

            "Hey, Blaine," I reply, nodding to him as we walk through the front doors.

            "On a first name basis, are you?" Riley mutters. 

            I can't think of anything to say to that.  I know this is a lot for her to swallow, especially since she's found out about everything in only the past few hours.  Yesterday Frank was easily the furthest thing from her mind, just a passing thought once in a while when we robbed him blind.  She must have noticed that we hadn't been hitting Frank's men lately but if she did notice she never said anything about it. 

            "Frank's waiting for you," another man says, but he's looking at Drake when he speaks, not at me or Riley.  He's standing in front of huge doors that are stained a red oak colour, supposedly looking distinguished in the enormous mansion.  I don't know how many people notice the stain colour of the doors other than me.  I would suspect they'd either be pissing their pants in fear because of where they are or already know the man so well that they stopped paying attention to his expenditures a long time ago.                           

            Drake just pushes open the doors and leads us inside, and out of the corner of my eye I see Riley flinch slightly when the doors creak shut behind us.  She's feeling trapped and I won't be surprised if she begins pacing like a lion in a cage.  Rather than watching her, I turn my eyes to the front of the room and see Frank sitting behind a huge oak desk.  He's such a stereotypical crime lord that it takes all my will power not to break into nervous giggles. 

            He's darker than even Tucker, with thick wavy hair and eyes that are nearly black.  He's also tanned a deep brown that makes him look like he's spent the past month in Cuba.  I know he hasn't, but his personal gym does have a sun tan bed.  He's older than us by more than a few years, maybe in his mid forties, but I've never really thought it was my place to ask his age so I don't know for certain.  He's smoking a cigar, which just adds to my mounting hysteria and he's tapping the ashes into a big fish tank filled with piranhas.  I hate those fucking fish.

            The only thing I'm thankful for at the moment is the fact that Frank doesn't wear any thick gold chains around his neck or rubies on his fingers.  Combine that with his open neck silk shirt and dress pants, and I just might be sent over the edge into a fit of laughter that's spawned from my intense fear that he's gonna do something to Riley more than anything else.

            "Den," Frank says, extending an arm to me.  "I see Drake is in perfect health."

            I nod.  I don't know what else to do but nod.  Right now it seems safest to just keep my mouth shut and nod whenever possible rather than answering with words.

            Drake strides across the huge office and settles comfortably in one of the huge armchairs Frank has in front of his desk.  Riley and I remain standing, which seems appropriate considering we're both beyond anything one could call apprehensive.  I've stated it earlier and I'll say it again.  I'm nearing hysteria.

            "I'm not impressed," Frank begins, rolling his cigar between his thumb and forefinger.  "I'm really not.  I trusted you to trust me, Den.  I trusted you to take care of any little infractions that may have occurred in our deal.  It was a good deal, wasn't it, Den?"

            I nod again.

            "You ruined that deal.  You do know whose fault this entire mess is, don't you?"

            Beck, I want to say.  It's Beck's fault, the little prat.  God love him, he's as dumb as a brick sometimes. 

            "It's my fault," I say.

            Frank nods.  "It's your fault, Den.  Yours.  You owe me now."

            This is exactly what I didn't want to happen.  I never wanted to be in Frank's debt.  We were even before but now he owns me in a way I never wanted to be owned.

            "You're working for me," he continues.  "Your entire group is working for me.  I'll pay you, of course."  He smiles and reminds of a shark.  "I'll pay you well, but you do what I say.  You can keep your day jobs, a'course.  I really don't mind watching my competitions get fucked over time and again, but when I have a job for you you're gonna drop everything and do what I need, aren't you?"

            I nod for a third time.

            Frank falls silent, then flicks his gaze over to Riley.  She tenses almost immediately and I resist the urge to squeeze her hand again.  She's a big girl and she can take care of herself. 

            "So, you're Riley, are you?" Frank asks.

            "She's a snotty little bitch," Drake says loudly, reaching for one of the cigars on his uncle's desk.

            "Shut up, Drake," Frank snaps, pulling the cigar box toward him quickly.  "I wasn't talking to you, was I?"  His dark eyes bore into his nephew's for a few more minutes before he turns back to Riley.

            "Sorry about that, my dear," he says and I can actually envision him as a warm uncle figure when he says it.  That is, if warm uncle figures carry guns in a hostler at their waists and have killer fish.

            Riley shrugs slowly.  "It's fine."

            "How long have you been working with Den?" he asks.

            "Six years," she says.

            "That's a long time," Frank says.  "You trust him then?"

            "With my life."

            "Good, good.  You need trust in a group like yours."  Frank looked surprisingly pleased with Riley and he gestures for us both to take a seat. 

            Riley slides uneasily into one of the armchairs and I sit down beside her, watching Drake watch her out of the corner of my eye.  He reminds me of a slimy little weasel with beady eyes and oily hair.  How did I not notice earlier just how oily his hair is?  It's a dark blonde, but I swear it must be at least three shades lighter if only he'd wash it.  That's just wrong.

            "What's your specialty?" Frank asks.

            Riley shrugs deeply.  "I can deal with money faster than any of the others.  I took Law Enforcement training.  I can take down a guy twice my size in less than ten seconds and I'm usually the brains behind the plan."  She casts me a quick glance.  "But Den usually helps out with the planning," she adds quickly.  "I'm tougher than the others as well.  More ruthless, I guess."

            "Ruthless," Frank says, smiling.  "I like that."

            "She 'as a smart mouth on 'er," Drake says.  "She needs to learn when to listen."

            "Drake," Frank says warningly.  "Women like Riley don't need to learn when to listen.  They're the type that teach men how to listen properly."  He looks at her warmly.  "She already understands her place in his world perfectly.  She is a leader."

            This is disturbing.  Frank really likes her, you can just tell by the way he hasn't nailed her to his desk and started pulling out her teeth with pliers.  It's really quite disturbing, but at the same time it's reassuring.  If Frank likes her, Frank has to like me and the rest of our group.  If Riley can keep him on her good side that means we're in the clear.  We'll still have to work for him, but it also means I won't have to worry about returning to the loft to find my three best friends in pieces with their brains splattered across a wall.

            "I'll call you," Franks says, finally looking at me again.

            I nod and make a move to get up, but Riley grabs my arm.

            "Can I ask you something?" she asks.

            Frank smiles at her.  "Go right ahead."

            "If I wanted to find out some information on a person would you be the right kind of man to ask?"

            His grin grows wider.  "Give me an address, a picture and if you can manage it, a name and I'll tell you everything you need to know about anyone."

            She nods slowly, thinking this over then stands beside me.  "Thank you."

            As we walk to the door together I can feel her beside me and she's not nervous anymore.  She isn't exactly at ease, but she's not trembling like she was only moments ago.  She's either trying to reason why everyone thinks Frank is such a bad guy or why he didn't brutally murder us after torturing us for fourteen hours.  Personally I'm wondering the latter.  He doesn't like me enough to keep me around when I pull a major fuck up like I did today and yet my body is still in one piece and I'm not injured in the slightest.  This is extremely strange.

            "He didn't seem that bad," Riley says as we climb into the van.

            I roll my eyes as I pull out of the drive.  "He's an insane fucker with a love for blood and violence."

            "Well, he didn't kill us, did he?" she asks.

            "No, he didn't.  And now I'm left wondering why."

            "He needs us for something," Riley says.

            I glance over at her.  "What?"

            "He needs us to do something," she explains, speaking slowly as if I'm deaf.

            "I heard you, Riley," I say.  "I'm wondering what exactly he needs us for."

            She shrugs.  "A job.  I heard the same conversation you did."

            "I don't like how it sounds."

            "Well, it's not as though we have much of a choice now, is it?" Riley asks. 

            "I guess it really isn't.  Doesn't he bother you, though?"

            She shrugs again.  "I think he does a very good job at hiding whatever it is he does with people who piss him off."

            "Riley, he's a fucking maniac.  Do you want to know what he does to people who 'piss him off', as you so lightly put it?" I ask.

            She bites her lip and sighs.  "Not particularly, but the way you're talking I don't think I have much of a choice in the matter, do I?"

            "He gets his body guards, or lackeys, or whatever you want to call them to douse people in gasoline as they're tied to a chair.  Then he lights his cigars while talking to them and explains exactly what it is they've done wrong.  Eventually, of course, he 'accidently' drops his cigar and the entire person goes up in flames.  He's taken pages out of his nephew's books and bled people dry by suspending them upside down over a tub and slitting their throat.  Not enough to kill them, mind you, just enough to make sure they suffer for a good two or three hours.  He's sick, Riley."

            "Okay," she says, raising her hands defensively.  "Okay, I get it.  You don't like him.  You don't trust him.  You think he's a scary fucking bastard."

            "And he's a sneaky fucking bastard as well."

            "Do you think he's up to something?" Riley asks.

            I shrug deeply, pulling onto our street again.  "I don't know.  He's so hard to read.  Sometimes I'm terrified for my life and other times I'm amazed by how fucking nice he can be.  I just don't want anything to happen that I can't control."

            As I park the van I can feel Riley studying me and when I turn it off I finally turn to look at her straight on.

            "Den, this is already out of your control," she says, smiling softly like she's trying to break some kind of bad news to me.  "It's been out of your control since we took the charming Doctor Drake home from our robbery this morning."

            "And I suppose you think it's still in your control?"

            She arches an eyebrow.  "Hardly.  Everything I said back there was utter bullshit.  You're the one with brains in this operation.  You're the one everyone trusts."  She pauses for a long while before saying, "You're the only one I trust."

            That's like a life long confession of love coming from Riley.  It's certainly more than I ever expected to hear coming from her.  She's like a locked vault that's impossible to crack, even for the expert vault cracker; her.  She smiles at me for a moment longer before opening the door and getting out of the van.  It takes me a little longer before I can follow her into the house.  She's definitely the most confusing person I have ever met in my entire life.

            "Are you going to be here tomorrow?" I ask as she unlocks the door and leads me into the house.

            "I work," she reminds me.

            "Well, after work?" I ask.  "If Frank calls I would rather you were here."

            "I can't," she says.

            "Why?"

            Beck throws himself off the couch as we enter the room past the kitchen.  There isn't even a wall really, so I don't know how he didn't hear us earlier. 

            "How'd it go?" he asks, his hand tightening on my arm.

            "Fine," I say, brushing him off.  "Why can't you come by after work?"

            Tucker follows us down the hall toward the loft.  "What do you mean by 'fine', Den?"

            "Fine," I repeat.  "Riley, I need you tomorrow night."

            "I can't," she says, going up the stairs and turning to the closet near the back.

            "Why not?"

            "I promised my parents that I would have dinner with them," she says in exasperation and pulls an old jacket from the closet.

            Yes, Riley has parents, believe it or not.  I was convinced she was an immaculate conception left on the door of a brutal orphanage until I had gone home with her one day during elementary school and met Ena and George.  After only a few hours in that house it was easy to tell where Riley got her traits from.

            The dark curly hair, that's from her mother, except Ena's is a little more ... unruly?  It looks like a couple of birds took roost in her hair years ago and refused to leave.  She usually has it pinned back in a messy attempt at a bun, but it escapes and it's all she can do to prevent it from overwhelming us all.  It's like the fucking blob, only ... hair.

            Her eyes came from George.  Blue, of course, dark, deep, intense, intelligent ... except that George embodies none of those traits.  He's ... well, he's just George.  There are really no words for George.  He's fucking insane.  Yes, that is the perfect word for him.

            Insane.

            I suppose that's where his daughter got her blatant disregard for her safety. 

            She definitely got her brains from her mother.  Ena is an intelligent woman who worked hard to keep her family together and food on the table.  Riley also inherited Ena's passion for being right about every little thing.  It's aggravating, though not as much as it must have been to George living in the same house with them both for twenty years.  Despite the bad traits she got from her mother, Riley also got some pretty good ones from Ena as well.  She doesn't procrastinate and she certainly knows how to arrange a plan and explain it to us in the simplest terms possible.  That attention to detail came from Ena, no doubt about that.

            Her temper came from George.  Her inability to talk about her emotions came from George.  Her sarcasm and her tough exterior came from George.  A lot of her bad traits came from George, but so did her passion for life.  That's why she argues with such vehemence ... there's no time in life to be wrong, for God's sake.  There's just no time.

            "Did they invite me?" I ask, grinning slightly.

            She suppresses a smile, even though she knows I've already seen it.  "Of course."

            "And why didn't you tell me?"

            "Because every time you come over to my house for dinner my parents begin to discuss 'our future' together and you get horribly embarrassed and leave, vowing never to return."

            I pretend to look shocked.  "I do not!"

            "Yes, you do, Den," she says, still hiding her smile.  "My mum always tries to predict how many more months it'll be before we get married and you turn so red."

            She's right about this part.  Ena is convinced that Riley and I are simply meant to be and that it's only a matter of time before we realize it.  Riley and I beg to differ.  We're on the opposite ends of the personality spectrum and if I were actually in love with the woman, she'd fucking know it already.  Now, if she were in love with me, on the other hand ... that would be a completely different story.  If Riley had any sort of feelings for me I'd never know.

            "Maybe I should tell her we're engaged," I say, laughing.

            "Maybe you should," she replies.  "Then we'll see if my dad really loves you or not.  If he does, you might be battered and bruised, but you'll still be alive tomorrow."

            I laugh at this and it's clear to me now how bewildered Tucker and Beck must be at the moment.  We've just been to see Frank after kidnapping a member of his family and we're fucking laughing like nothing at all has happened.  They must think we've gone off our fucking rockers.

            "Den," Tucker says carefully.  "What the fuck happened at that maniac's house?"

            Riley turns to him and begins to tick things off on her fingers.  "He didn't kill us.  He likes me.  We work for him now.  We can keep doing what we're doing, but he'll call us when he has a job.  He'll pay us and he'll pay us well.  He reminds me of a shark.  I don't like him."

            Tucker nods slowly.  "Oh.  Okay.  Just wondering if we were going to DIE HORRIBLY!" he snaps, then turns on his heel and walks away.  "Forgive me if I intruded on your personal conversation, I didn't mean to disrupt your important discussion of your parents to find out if I was going to die in my sleep or not.  Next time I'll just wait until you're done and ..." he mutters like this down the stairs and into the kitchen, slamming the fridge door open. 

            I sigh and stare at Riley.  Tucker doesn't get angry often, but when he does it's not a very good thing.  He usually gets drunk.  Not just a little tipsy in order to forget why he's mad either.  He gets smashed, plastered, pissed out of his face.  I usually end up having to force him into one of the beds upstairs just to prevent him from driving home.  This isn't something that I find amusing or even fun in the slightest sense of the word.  Tucker is big.  I'm not small, but I'm a fucking midget compared to him.  It's not especially easy to keep him from driving home completely drunk.

            "Tucker's drinking," Beck says helpfully.

            I nod.  "Thanks, Beck.  I couldn't have figured that out on my own.  Really."

            Riley sighs.  "I really need to get home.  I'd love to stay and help with Tucker but ..."  She shrugs helplessly. 

            "You're such a great help," I mutter.

            Riley follows me down the stairs.  "Den, I have to work tomorrow and I have to see my parents."

            "Bring them here," I say.  "I'll cook.  I really need you here in case he calls."

            She looks as though she's honestly considering this, then sighs deeply.  "I really fucking hate you, you know."

            I grin.  I have her.  She can never say no to my cooking.

            "We'll be here at six.  Dinner better be on the table," she snaps, pulling the jacket on and going to the front door. 

            Our cars are all parked on the front street and Riley grabs her keys off the hook by the door.  As I watch her walk to her car I begin to think about building another garage around the back of the house.  Now that we're working for a high profile criminal, I'm not so sure it's a good idea to be keeping our cars out in the front for the entire world to see.

            Riley drives away and I watch her car disappear around the bend.  Dinner tomorrow at six with Riley, Ena, George, Tucker and Beck.

            This should be interesting.

End Chapter Two