Captive Beauty

“And the twenty-four dollars you had on you.”

She rolls her eyes, shakes her head, pushes the door open, walks inside. I follow her in.

“Everything is safe. You’ll get it all back in one month.”

“You mean when I’ve done my time?” she mutters as she walks through the living room, switching on lights as she goes.

I look around the place. It’s not big. In fact, her entire apartment can just about fit into the living room/kitchen of the penthouse. But it’s neat, not much out of place. The kitchen counter is spotless, appliances not brand new, but not old either, and clean. I open her fridge. Inside is a container of what I am guessing is expired milk, various jars of jam, and an open bottle of wine that’s not quite half-full. I walk around the counter that divides the kitchen from the living room where a sweater hangs over the back of the couch. Her laptop is on the small dining room table. Papers are stacked neatly beside it.

When she emerges a few moments later, she’s wearing a pair of sweats, an oversized hoodie and Chucks.

“Don’t approve?” she asks me, cocking her head to the side.

“That depends.” I make a sign for her to spin around.

She holds her middle finger up at me and I have to chuckle. “Careful, Cilla. My palm’s feeling twitchy.”

She gives me a glare, then moves toward her computer, packs the folders and the laptop into the tote bag beside the chair and looks up at me. “Okay, ready.”

“I gave you a computer.”

“And as much as I appreciate the upgrade, there’s nothing wrong with this one. I haven’t even turned the new one on. Maybe you can return it. Get your money back.”

“Fine. Let’s go.”

She seems surprised, which is what I want. I open the door and gesture for her to go ahead. She does and once we’re in the hallway, I lock the door and pocket the key. We take the stairs back down to my SUV.

“Where is Jones?” she asks once we get on the road.

“At a facility about forty-five minutes from here.”

“Facility?”

“Your brother has a drug problem, Cilla.” She doesn’t deny it, but she’s also not confronting the fact. “You can’t not know this.”

“He was clean.” She looks out the side window. “He tried to stay clean. I told him he shouldn’t be around it. Get a decent job somewhere. Pack groceries if he has to.” She turns to me again. “I told him he could move in with me. At least until he could be on his own without having to work for…” She steels herself. “For men like you.”

“Men like me?”

She just looks up at me, and I know she’s scared but she’s also being honest. And she’s right. But I’m also the guy footing the bill for the detox center.

“No, he probably shouldn’t work for men like me.”

“So you put him in a detox center?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I needed to keep an eye on him anyway, in case you bailed on our deal. This is cheaper than having men on him 24/7.”

“I can’t imagine it’s cheaper.”

It’s not, but I don’t react.

“Is he doing okay?” she asks a moment later.

“He’s detoxing.”

She nods.

“Kill?”

I glance at her, curious at how she’s looking at me. “Yes?”

“Don’t mention Callahan to him, okay?”

“Curiouser and curiouser.”

“Just don’t. Please.”

I nod, but don’t state the fact that I already have. She’ll find out soon enough. I pull into the parking lot of Dover Recovery Village and park the car. The facility is an old mansion that was converted into what it is today thirty years ago. It’s small and it’s expensive, but it’s the best.

Cilla looks from the building to me, eyebrows raised.

I get out of the car. “Let’s go.”

She meets me at the front of the car and we walk up the half-dozen steps to the front doors. I open one and she enters, then follows me to the nurse sitting behind the large desk.

The nurse does a double take, then stands. “Mr. Black.”

I nod. “We’re here to see Jones Hawking.”

“We didn’t know you’d be coming again so soon.”

“Again?” Cilla asks me.

I ignore her. “This is Priscilla Hawking. Jones’s sister.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Hawking.”

“How’s my brother.”

“He’s doing well, considering. I don’t think Doctor Moore is here, but let me double check and otherwise, I’ll walk you up.”

“Who’s Dr. Moore?” Cilla asks.

“He’s your brother’s primary physician,” the nurse says and walks away.

Cilla turns to me. “What did she mean when she said she didn’t know you’d be coming again so soon?”

“I paid Jones a visit yesterday.”

“What?”

“I’m responsible for his care. I want to be sure I’m getting my money’s worth, that’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”’

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care.”

The nurse clears her throat. “Ready?” she asks when we look at her.

“Yes,” Cilla says.

We follow the nurse to the stairs where a man is painting the banister. The carpet needs replacing—I guess there’s much more foot traffic these days than the house originally had. We head up to the second floor and walk quietly down the hall. Jones is in the last room. I watch Cilla as she takes in the various sounds and smells of the place. It’s obvious she’s never been somewhere like this.