Page 46 of Healing Hearts
Brett saunters into the reception area, and he pretends to be organizing things along the wall when Dan comes in.
“Trent Castillo,” he crows as though we’re old friends rather than borderline enemies. He sold me out to the cops when we were kids to make sure he got away without jail time. “How’s business?”
“It’s been fine,” I say. “I think Hutchinson across town can probably help you with whatever you need.”
“He can’t, actually,” Dan says, strolling around the reception, looking at the artsy car paintings on the walls. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
“If whatever you want to talk about can’t be said in front of Brett, it’s probably not worth saying,” I say.
Brett gives up any pretense of organizing the front reception area and comes to stand at my shoulder.
“I heard business was slow,” Dan says. “So I came to offer you a partnership, of a sort. I get people at the gas station asking for mechanic recs all the time. I could do that for you, and you could do something for me.”
“We’re good here,” I say. “I’m not looking to create any partnerships with anyone.”
“Doesn’t seem very small-town neighborly,” Dan says. “We all get better together, isn’t that what you used to say?”
The fact he’s brought that up—a phrase from another life—makes me certain that whatever partnership he wants to enter into isn’t legal. No matter how slow business gets, I’d rather give up the shop than do something to land me in prison again.
Despite his lack of jail time, his level of success has never rang completely true to me. When Grady told me Dan managed to buy out the gas station, and now seeing him driving a flashy car, I have to wonder whether his brush with the law and his ability to get off only made him bolder.
“I don’t know why you’d come here,” I say.
“Tiger doesn’t change his stripes,” Dan says. “Just gets better at camouflage.”
“That might be true for you,” I say, “but our business with each other ended in a courtroom when I was nineteen.”
“I think you’ll find that a lot of the same rules still apply,” Dan says. “If you don’t play the game, you risk getting hit by a stray ball.”
This fucking guy. His code isn’t even particularly well done.
“That sounded like a verbal threat to me,” Brett says beside me, picking up the receiver for the phone. “Want me to call that in?”
Dan puts up his hands and backs toward the door. “Didn’t mean nothing by that. Just reminding Trent how this all works, in case he really has been out of the game all this time.”
“You stay the fuck away from me and my shop,” I say. “There isn’t a game you could be running that I’d want a piece of.”
Dan smirks and gives me a long look. Back when we were kids, I sort of understood why he played nice with the cops. It’s possible if I’d been given the chance, I’d have done the same thing. But him showing up here, insinuating that we should have any kind of relationship, is a fucking joke.
As soon as he’s out the door, Brett sets the receiver back down. “The past never stays buried, huh?”
“I keep shoveling more dirt on top of it,” I say. “Surprises me, sometimes, the people trying to dig it up.” It’s another one of the reasons I hesitated to take Mia’s offer. That much attention would be bound to bring some heat to my past, and I hate talking about it, addressing it.
“Think he’ll be back?” Brett asks.
“If the shop isn’t doing well, yes,” I say.
Two things I can say for certain about Dan—he’s excellent at smelling blood in the water, knowing when people are desperate to survive, and he’s persistent. Back when we were dealing drugs, that combination made us both a lot of money, but now that I’m on the other side of it, it doesn’t feel so good.
On Saturday morning, I get waylaid before I can get out the door by Amir, who’s desperate for some breakfast. Rather than tellinghim to wake up Em, I text Brett that I’ll be a few minutes late, and I make him a couple of pancakes with some extras for Emily when she wakes up. I put the leftovers in the oven, and I give Amir instructions to show Emily when she comes downstairs.
I’m in my truck on the way to the shop when Brett calls. “We’ve had a break-in,” he says. “Judy and I are standing outside waiting for the police.”
“Do you know what they took?”
“Place looks ransacked,” Brett says. “I didn’t want to touch anything. As soon as I saw the smashed front door, I called the police.”
“I’ll be there in a minute. You can go home, if you want. I’ll handle whatever work we’ve got booked this morning. Tell Judy that I’ll still pay you both for the morning.”
