Page 16 of The Oscar Escape
The kid batted her best puppy-dog eyes. “Please, Ozzy Bear, I want to be with you on your birthday.”
How could he say no to that face? “Okay, we’ll figure something out. I promise. The thing is, I’m on an important project at the moment.”
“Is it a project about Aria?”
His heart nearly stopped. His mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. “Why would you ask that?”
“I watch clips of her concerts with Tula. Did you know she starts her shows by coming to the stage from the sky like she’s a glittery superhero?”
It was a good thing Ivy couldn’t see him. He couldn’t stop himself from scowling. “Is that so?” he answered, knowing all about the circus that surrounded the woman on stage.
“But Aria stopped smiling her real smile. I know this because I’m a smile expert now,” his sister finished.
He didn’t know what the kid meant about becoming a smile expert, but she was right about Aria.
He glanced at his laptop and his heart ached. “I want her to smile her real smile, too.”
“When you were back in Denver, you didn’t have your real smile either, Ozzy Bear.”
He stared into Ivy’s wise-beyond-her-years eyes. Again, he wasn’t sure how to respond. Before he could figure out how to change the subject, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A sharp knock on the side of his truck about scared the living shit out of him.
“What’s that?” Ivy whispered.
He stared at a man dressed in a dark puffer coat and ball cap. “It’s some guy. I better see what he needs. I’ll call you soon, Ives.”
“So we can make plans to see each other, and I can give you your birthday present?” Ivy chimed.
He stared at the dude—who wasn’t moving. “Yeah, sure. I love you, Ives. And remember what I said about Dylan. No dating until you’re thirty.”
Ivy groaned and ended the call.
He slipped his cell into his pocket and eyed the man outside his truck. “Who the hell are you?” he barked.
The guy took a step back. “Are you Oscar Elliott?”
“Why? Who wants to know?”
“Some lady asked me to give this to an Oscar Elliott,” the guy replied and held up a package not much bigger than a shoebox and tied with a bow.
Oscar’s gaze ping-ponged between the man and the item in his hands. “What did this lady look like?”
The guy huffed and checked his watch. “I don’t know, man. Gray hair. She was with two other ladies. They were walking down the street a little while ago. This lady handed me a hundred-dollar bill and asked me to wait an hour, then give this box to the dude named Oscar in a black truck at this intersection. You can take it, or I’ll trash it. I already got paid.”
Oscar sized up the man. The dude looked harmless enough and didn’t appear to have an agenda. “Hand it over. I’ll take it.” He opened the car door, triggering the interior light, then accepted the package—a package that was tied with a scarlet bow.
The guy peered into the truck’s cab. “Are you living in there, man?”
Oscar reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled twenty. “For your trouble and for a little fucking privacy.”
The man accepted the bill and was on his way.
“What do we have here?” Oscar mumbled and assessed the package. It didn’t weigh much. He brought it to his ear. It wasn’t ticking like a time bomb.
Who the hell would orchestrate this?
Like a kid on Christmas morning, he gave the box a good shake. Something jostled inside. Raising it to his nose, he recalled Inez’s threat and sniffed. It didn’t smell like dog crap.
“Here goes nothing . . . or everything,” he murmured. He untied the red ribbon, tossed it into the cab with the takeout box trash heap, then lifted the lid. A stark white envelope markedREAD MEin bold ruby-red letters sat next to a stack of what looked like circular bandages.
