In Plain Sight by Hope Anika

Chapter Three

“He’s coming here?”

Fiona shoved a mini taco into her mouth and blinked innocently at her best friend.

“Mmmm,” she replied.

“Fiona.” Athena the All Knowing—also known as Thea, Fi’s best bud since they were ten—carefully put down her fork.

Probably so she won’t stab me.

“I know,” Fi told her, swallowing. “I know! But I couldn’t say no. The kid needs help, Thea.”

Her friend’s winter blue gaze, such a stark contrast to her dark, ruby red hair, narrowed. “So you said yes.”

And she would no doubt come to regret it. “For better or worse.”

“I didn’t see this coming.” Thea frowned darkly. “Why didn’t I see this coming?”

“Technical difficulties?”

“You aren’t funny.”

Yes, she was. Thea was just hypersensitive to all things Max, even more so than Fi, which was saying something. A lot. Even after all that had happened, and all of the years that separated them.

Apparently, true love did last forever.

And how much does that suck?

“He called me,” Fiona clarified. “I didn’t call him.”

“But you said yes.”

“Alas.” Fi sighed. “I’m sorry. I know he’s the last thing you need.”

Because Max had crushed Thea beneath that booted heel of his, too, and never looked back—another thing her All-Knowing self hadn’t seen coming. He’d walked away from everyone who loved him without a second thought, and for that, there were consequences.

For them all.

“Saying yes doesn’t mean I trust him,” Fi told her. “He might have apologized and said ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ but—”

“He said the words ‘I’m sorry’?”

“Doesn’t mean I believed him.” Fiona shrugged and shoved another taco into her mouth.

Because estrangement—for all of its painful aloneness—did have its advantages. There was no risk in separation. No trust; no expectation. No frigging hope. But now…now she had to deal with all of those stupid things.

And she might have caved in the face of Max’s unexpected plea for help, but in the hours since, she’d more than sobered up.

Because he was not to be trusted. Not ever; not for any reason.

She would be a moron to forget that.

So she would help the kid…but she would not forgive and forget.

“I don’t want to see him,” Thea said, her face stark in a way that made Fi’s heart squeeze hard in her chest.

Wholly selfish.

No doubt about it.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Because she knew it hurt. The thought of facing Max burned like wildfire, and the volatile mass of everything she’d ever felt for him churned in her belly. The insane need to throw her arms around him was at complete odds with the desire to punch him in the face.

She wasn’t sure which would win.

“I know,” Thea said quietly. “Max is your family. That’s important.”

But it wasn’t. Not to him.

It never had been.

“He won’t stick around,” Fi said, certain.

“Why now?”

“Desperation.” Of that, she had no doubt. She’d heard that desperation; she’d almost been able to reach out and touch it.

And Max was many things…but desperate had never been one of them.

Who was this witness? And why wasn’t she safe?

And how did I end up agreeing to shelter her on behalf of someone I hate to love and love to hate?

“This witness,” Thea muttered, staring down at her untouched fajitas. “How old is she?”

No doubt, Max wouldn’t want anyone—least of all Thea—knowing anything about this entire escapade, but Fi didn’t care. Thea was her co-worker and her best friend; she was also Athena the All Knowing—even if Fi tried to keep it from her, Thea would see it, sooner or later. She always did. Besides, Thea had survived Hurricane Max, too.

She deserved to know he’d blown back into town.

“Fourteen,” Fiona replied. “Should I tell you how dumb it is for you to care about that?”

“Yes, please.” Thea picked up her fork and impaled a green pepper. “Repeatedly.”

Fi sighed. Thea was beautiful and intelligent and powerful; more than one man on the show watched her with unhidden longing. But she’d never looked at anyone else after Max. Not even once.

“I’m sorry,” Fiona said again.

“It was a lifetime ago.” Thea shook her head. “Why can’t I let it go?”

“Because you’re human.”

“A human dumbass.”

She looked and sounded so disgusted, Fiona had to laugh. “You should make him regret it.”

A dark look from those pale eyes. “Don’t encourage me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Stop.”

“It’s not like I would pay to see it or anything.”

“Knock it off.”

“A million dollars, even.”

A smile touched Thea’s mouth. “Just shut up.”

Fiona grinned and ate another taco. And then she thought about the fact that she hadn’t been able to let it go, either, and her smile faded. You’re a human dumbass, too. Because Max’s call had dredged the hope she’d thought long dead from the cold, dark pit in which it existed, and now it pulsed inside her, all optimistic and sparkly and delusional.

A mistake.

“I’m right there with you.” Fi put down the rest of her taco, her appetite gone. “Nothing’s changed. He only reached out because he needs the show—which means he needs me. I’m a means to an end. Nothing more.”

Thea only watched her, her pale eyes seeing too much. “This is dangerous. And not just because it’s Max.”

The unease that gripped Fi earlier whispered through her, and she pushed her plate away.

Around them, people indulged in homemade guacamole, fresh tortilla chips, and colorful margaritas in giant, bowl-shaped glasses. It was still raining, a steady, endless fall of cold, soaking rain accompanied by gusts of wind that rattled the restaurant’s large windows. She and Thea visited Abuelito’s every year when they were in Cedar Hills, but this year, neither of them was enjoying it much.

“You’re right,” she said. “It is dangerous. I can work the balloon joint if you don’t want Ares involved.”

A snort. “He’d never forgive me.” Thea stabbed another pepper. “And he’d never accept a lie.” She hesitated. “Fourteen is young. What happened to her?”

…two nights ago, she watched her entire family get capped. It’s my job to keep her safe. I’m all she has.

This was heroically stupid. “She witnessed the murder of her family. That’s all I know.”

Thea stared at her.

“Just say it,” Fiona told her.

“You might be helping her, but you’re doing it for him.”

A sad, unarguable fact.

Because the child that lived within Fi was desperate to give Max another chance.

Even if grown-up Fi knew better.

They weren’t kids anymore, left alone together for weeks while their inebriated parents roamed aimlessly about the countryside, adrift in a drug and alcohol-induced haze. Any connection woven between them by the necessity of survival had long since unraveled, and any foolish belief that she and Max were family had been brutally put to rest the day Julian and Kisa Prescott were buried.

And nothing had changed since that day.

They were still who they’d been then: Fi, mouthy and brash and passionate, Max somber and distant and coldly mocking. Oil and water. Same as they’d always been. And if they’d occasionally been companions instead of combatants, it hardly mattered. Max’s vicious rebuttal of their relationship had severed any and every link.

We aren’t family. We never were.

His hatred toward his father—and the life Julian Prescott had forced on him—was a festering and malevolent thing that had permanently pitted Max against her. Because it’d been Fiona’s mother who’d lured widower Julian to the carnival, who’d seduced him into a life of excess and abandonment that would one day kill them both.

Who’d shot black-tar heroin into Julian’s veins for the first time, something Max never let Fiona forget.

She’d always known that one day she would wake up, and he would be gone, just like Julian and Kisa, and then she would be alone. She’d tried to prepare. To be self-sufficient and separate and strong.

But in the end, it hadn’t mattered; Max’s defection had devastated her. She’d been despondent and bitter and angry. So angry.

And still was.

It had been years since Julian and Kisa had died in a spectacular, drunken collision between their ancient VW and a bridge girder, since Max had walked away without looking back, and Fi could still feel an echo of the terror and despair and rage he’d left in his wake.

And yet…even after all these years, and all of his silence, she hadn’t turned him away. Because he was all she had.

Even now; even though she didn’t have him at all.

“I’m a human dumbass, too,” she murmured.

Thea picked up her margarita and slung its contents down her throat. Then she shuddered. “He doesn’t deserve us.”

“Nope.” And he was damn lucky she’d agreed to help him.

Did he even realize that?

Of course not. He’s going to take what he wants and leave the rest. Just like always.

But if she didn’t take this chance—if she didn’t give him enough rope to hang himself—she would regret it.

And there was nothing worse than regret.

So…benefit of the doubt.

For now.

That didn’t mean he was absolved; nothing and no one could accomplish that. But she wouldopen the door. If he chose to walk through it, well…

She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

“I don’t want to see him,” Thea said again.

And she looked…vulnerable. Anxious. Afraid.

Which was a bunch of hooey, Fi thought. Thea was the strongest person she knew. That Max still had this kind of power over her was totally unacceptable.

Because she deserved far more than he’d ever given her.

“I think you need a little hair of the dog,” Fi said.

Thea stared at her. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“I’m just saying.”

“Saying what?”

“That I think it’s time to end the Max hangover. It’s been long enough. Another shot, and you’ll be all better. Seriously. How hard can it be?”

Thea’s gaze could have frozen a flaming ball of hellfire. But Fi only blinked at her.

Because this had gone on long enough. Yes, Max’s defection had crushed Thea. No matter that they’d been little more than kids, or that a future between them had been impossible once he’d enlisted. He’d shattered Thea’s heart and then ground it to dust for good measure.

And Thea had never recovered.

But it was time to move on.For them both.

Thea was tough; like Fi, she was a survivor. Burdened by visions of prophecy since her earliest memory, Thea was feared, judged, and ridiculed on a daily basis. She existed in a dual world, one of which was endless darkness, but every day she made a very deliberate choice to exist within the light and to use her gift to help others. Not once in all of the years Fi had known her had she seen Thea give in to despair or self-pity.

Not until Max.

And that was just about enough of that.

Thea needed to deal with the devil. To face her fear.

And vanquish him.

Like me, Fi thought.

“I can’t be trusted to take another shot,” Thea said with a scowl. “I’m likely to strangle him.”

“I’ll stop you,” Fi reassured her.

“You’d save him?”

“I’d save you.”

Thea lifted her empty margarita glass and waved it at the waiter. “Dos mas, por favor.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Fi told her, even though she thought it might be a lie.

Thea only arched a brow.

Kinda hard to fudge it with a psychic. But it was always worth a try.

“Even you don’t believe that,’ Thea muttered darkly.

“Hey, I want to believe.”

A snort. “Ten bucks says you take a shot at him with one of your .22s.”

It could happen.

The waiter arrived to deliver two fresh margaritas.

Fiona lifted hers. “To feeding him crow.”

Thea stared at her for a long, silent moment. Then she crashed her glass into Fi’s. “May he choke on it.”