Page 27 of The Secret
No, seriously,how did I get here?
“Whatever. Hot tip,” Con whispered, still looking furious. “Fairness, respect, and loyalty go a long way in a business relationship.”
I rubbed at the back of my neck and said nothing. Because, really, there was nothing to say. The provoking menace was absolutely fucking right.
He brushed past me, heading for the back of the shop where the receiving bays were. I turned and watched him stalk away… and it wasn’t lost on me that Pat did, too.
“So.” I cleared my throat to get Pat’s attention as I returned to where he stood. “Just to confirm, those celestial pink roses for the Corcoran wedding next winter? You've got a supplier and a backup supplier?”
“Told you I did.”
“Okay, but this is make or break for me, so you can expect me to ask you about a dozen more times between now and then. For now I’m going to need some more of those Juliet roses you sourced for me last winter, same peach color as before, but I only need a limited quantity, and I remember there was a minimum… Uh,Pat?”
Pat turned to me belatedly, his cheeks flushed. “What? Sorry, Micah. That one threw me for a loop. The Ross kid is working foryou? How the hell did that happen? Hell froze over and no one told me? Is he giving you trouble already?” Pat nodded over my shoulder, toward the spot where Con and I had been talking.
It was on the tip of my tongue to retort that it was none of his business, but instead I cleared my throat and said, “Running late this morning, Pat. The roses?”
Pat, who seemed incapable of taking a hint, ran a hand over his mouth and darted a glance back at the place where Con had disappeared. “The kid’s bad news, you know.”
I’d thought so myself. Hell, Istillthought so… kind of. And yet, I thought about the taste of cherries, and Constantine laughing in the van, and the way he’d stood up for that little boy at the farmer’s market, and what came out of my mouth was, “Constantine? He’s not so bad.”
“Nah,” Pat said, shaking his head seriously. “That’s where you’re wrong. I mean, he mightlookhot as fuck, but he knows it. Bats his eyelashes, and time and time again, he gets away withmurder. Literally.” He shot a resentful glare toward the back of the warehouse.
“Literally,” I repeated. “Time and time again. Because he’s a serial killer.”
Pat looked at me and flushed even deeper. “Well, okay, notliterally-literally.”
“Is there more than one way to beliterallysomething?” I mused, folding my arms over my chest.
“Point is,” Pat sputtered, “he’s come as close to murder as you can without actually killing someone. And it’s only luck that hehasn’tkilled someone, when you consider the shit he’s pulled. Wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”
Again, not a new idea. Not something I hadn’t thought myselfmanytimes. But Pat saying these things made my chest tight.
“I’ll take that under advisement,” I said, making it clear I absolutely wouldn’t. “So, theroses?”
“Right,” Pat said, moving toward his office. “Right. Come with me. Let me make a note.”
When we got to his cramped little office, Pat dropped into the rolling chair behind the desk and swept aside haphazard stacks of paper to find some kind of order form, where he wrote down the specifics of the roses I needed. “I’ll get that information to you next week,” he promised. He licked his lips. “But look, about the Ross kid. A little friendly advice—”
I opened my mouth to tell him where he could stick his advice when a high-pitched screech came from the far side of the warehouse.
Pat and I looked at each other, then ran.
I got to the back of the warehouse first, partly because I was faster than Pat and partly because I was more motivated. I don’t know what I expected to find—Constantine bleeding, Constantine injured, Constantine in pain—but when I ran around the corner by the loading dock, Constantine’s eyes came to mine immediately, and I saw that he wasn’t hurt, he waspissed.
“Micah? Can you get this fool to shut the fuck up and stop trying to scalp me? Because I’m losing my patience.”
Con had Donnie, Pat’s short, redheaded brother, in a headlock with one arm, while his other arm pinned Donnie’s arm down. But that left Donnie with one hand free—a hand he was currently using to yank Constantine’s hair from his head, yelling and sputtering all the while.
“Let go of him,” I told Constantine. Then more firmly, “Now, Con.”
“But…” Con’s angry eyes turned pleading.
“If he hits you again,” I said, speaking to him but looking at Donnie, “I willhelp youkick his ass, so Donnie’s gonna calm the fuck down. Let him go.”
Constantine sighed, but released the man with a not-so-gentle shove.
“What the hell is going on?” Pat demanded, still panting from his run across the building.
