Little Secrets(99)
J.R. grabs Kenzie by the arm, harder than necessary, and yanks her a few paces farther away from the kitchen.
“Julian’s phone is going straight to voice mail,” he says.
“Maybe it’s dead.”
“He has a charger in his car.” J.R. jabs at his phone again. “If he fucks me out of this money, I swear to God…”
“Why would he do that?” Kenzie rubs the spot on her arm where his fingers pinched her. “He has no reason to do that. You’re being paranoid.”
J.R. resumes his pacing. “Derek said he’d pay the money. Julian is supposed to text him when he gets back to Seattle with a meet-up point, and then let me know when it’s happening. He hasn’t texted.”
“Maybe he’s still driving.”
“He should have been in the city an hour ago at the latest. They should be meeting up right now.”
“Maybe they are, and he’ll text any minute.”
“Then why is his phone off?”
“Maybe they’re at a place with no cell signal.”
“He wouldn’t pick a place like that if he was meeting up with the guy who has the money, M.K. For fuck’s sake, think.”
“I am thinking. Maybe he just … forgot to check in.”
“Julian doesn’t forget.” J.R. looks at her. “He’s gonna fuck me over, I can feel it.”
“Well, if that’s true, it means he’s fucking me over, too.” Kenzie flops onto the sofa. “And you know what, I don’t even care at this point. I’m so sick of this. If you had let me handle it, I would have had a hundred grand in my pocket and been done with him.”
“Yeah, and I would have gotten nothing.”
“Why do you deserve anything?” She glares at him. “Derek was my rich married boyfriend, not yours. Mine. None of it was supposed to go down like this. These men were a source of income for me, do you understand? They treated me like a side piece, but hell, they were my side hustle, so fair’s fair. You were never supposed to be involved in any of this. You’re not my pimp.”
“I deserved this,” J.R. says. “I need this money, M.K. You think it’s easy running a bar and supporting my mother and supporting myself? We got nothing from the sale of the winery once the creditors were paid, and my mom’s still in debt. But if Julian’s done what I think he’s done, then he’s got all of it. All five hundred thousand. And now he’s fucking gone.”
Kenzie looks up. “Five hundred thousand? What are you talking about?”
He pauses his pacing, glances at her. “Never mind.”
Whatever he just let slip, he didn’t mean to, and she sure as shit isn’t letting it go. “J.R. What five hundred thousand?”
He cranes his neck, looking into the kitchen again for his mother, but Lorna is gone. J.R.’s plate of casserole is gone, too, as is the container of brownies. Strange. Her bedroom is down the hallway. She would have had to pass right by them to get to it. Did she go outside with the food?
The woman is a total nut job.
“J.R., I’m going to keep asking until you tell me what the hell you mean,” Kenzie says. “You just said five hundred thousand dollars, when all we’re expecting is the two fifty Derek said he’d pay, a hundred of which is mine. I’m no math wizard, but that doesn’t add up.”
J.R. rubs his face and lets out a sigh. “Marin paid Julian two hundred and fifty thousand to have you killed. When she found out about you, she wanted you gone, and I told her I knew a guy.”
“Excuse me?” Kenzie sits with this for a minute. Her instincts were right all along—Marin did know about her and Derek. Showing up in a drunken rage to embarrass her in front of the neighbors like Paul’s wife did is one thing; paying to have Kenzie murdered is on a whole different level of crazy, well beyond what anyone could consider a reasonable reaction to marital infidelity. Fucking insane, all of them. “And she actually gave him the money?”
“Relax,” J.R. says. “You were never in danger, obviously. But yeah, she hired him, or at least she thought she did. Julian and I were supposed to split it.”
“Were you ever going to tell me?” Kenzie asks in disbelief. “Or even offer me a cut of the … blood money?”
He doesn’t answer, which tells her everything she needs to know.
“So then you used me,” she says. “When I told you about Derek, all you could see was a payday and a way to get Marin back. You sonofabitch.” She laughs bitterly. “I can’t believe you conned a sad, grieving woman out of a quarter of a million dollars. She’s supposed to be your friend, J.R. You know what, I hope Julian takes off and doesn’t give you a fucking dime. Because I don’t know who the bigger sucker is, me or you.”
He moves toward her, fist raised, but this time she doesn’t flinch. Instead, she remains seated, looking up at him, as if seeing him—really seeing him—for the first time. Sal Palermo Jr. isn’t the exciting older man she thought he was—street tough, clever, independent. He’s just a manchild, damaged from years of his father’s abuse, stuck taking care of an equally damaged mother, and in love with a woman who’ll never love him back. He’s nothing more than a shitty, low-level criminal. Seven years she’s wasted on him. Seven.