And it was Zack who, barely a year later, had left him with a sick mother and an overbearing stepfather. Postcards and souvenirs hadn’t filled the hole.

Maybe Zack wanted to make up for it, Nick thought with a shrug, then swore when the ball slipped by the flipper. And maybe, deep down, Nick wanted to let him.

“Hey, LeBeck.” The slap on his shoulder nearly made Nick lose the next ball. “Where you been hiding?”

“I’ve been around.” Nick sliced a quick glance at Cash before concentrating on his game. He wondered if Cash would make any comment about him not wearing his Cobra jacket.

“Yeah? Thought you’d dropped down the sewer.” Cash leaned against the machine, as always, appreciating Nick’s skill. “Haven’t lost your touch.”

“I’ve got great hands. Ask the babes.”

Cash snorted and lighted a crushed cigarette. His last. Since Reece had copped less than ten cents on the dollar for the stolen merchandise, Cash’s share was long gone. “Man, the chicks see that ugly face and you never get a chance to use your hands.”

“You’ve got your butt mixed up with my face.” Nick eased back on his heels, satisfied with his score and the free game he’d finessed. “Want to take this one?”

“Sure.” After stepping behind the machine, Cash began to bull his way through the game. “You still hanging with your stepbrother?”

“Yeah, got a few more weeks before we go back to court.”

Cash lost the first ball and pumped up another. “You got a tough break, Nick. I mean that, man. I feel real bad about the way it went down.”

“Right.”

“No, man. Really.” In his sincerity, Cash lost track of the ball and let it slip away. “We screwed up, and you took the heat.”

Slightly mollified, Nick shrugged. “I can handle it.”

“Still sucks. But hey, it can’t be so bad working a bar. Plenty of juice, right?”

Nick smiled. He wasn’t about to admit he’d downed no more than two beers in the past three weeks. And if Zack got wind of that much, there’d be hell to pay. “You got it, bro.”

“I guess the place does okay, right? I mean, it’s popular and all.”

“Does okay.”

“Must be plenty of sexy ladies dropping in, looking for action.”

The neighborhood bar ran more to blue-collar workers and families, but Nick played along. “The place is lousy with them. It’s pick and choose.”

Cash laughed appreciatively even as he blew his last ball. “Want to go doubles?”

“Why not?” Nick dug in his pocket for more tokens. “So what’s going on with the gang?”

“The usual. T.J.’s old man kicked him out, so he’s bunking with me. Jerk snores like a jackhammer.”

“Man, don’t I know it. I put up with him a couple of nights last summer.”

“Couple of the Hombres crossed over to our turf. We handled them.”

Nick knew that meant fists, maybe chains and bottles. Occasionally blades. It was odd, he thought, but all that seemed so distant to him, distant and useless. “Yeah, well…” was all he could think of to say.

“Some people never learn, you know. Got a cigarette? I’m tapped.”

“Yeah, top pocket.” Nick racked up another ten thousand points while Cash lit up.

“Hey, I got a connection at this strip joint downtown. Could get you in.”

“Yeah?” Nick answered absently as he sent the ball bouncing.

“Sure. I’d like to make that other business up to you. Maybe I’ll drop by one night and we’ll hang out.”

“Forget it.”

“No, man, really. I’ll spring for the brew, too. Don’t tell me slippery LeBeck can’t slip out.”

“I can get out when I want. Just walk out the kitchen.”

“Around the back?”

“Yeah. Zack’s usually tied up at the bar until three. Two on Sundays. I can get around Rio when I want to, or take the fire escape.”

“You got a place upstairs?”

“Mmm… Your ball.”

When they switched positions, Cash continued to question him, making it casual. The cash went in a safe in the office. Business usually peaked by one on Wednesdays. There were three ways in. The front door, the back, and through the upstairs apartment.

By the time Nick had trounced him three games in a row, Cash had all he needed. He made his excuses and wandered out to meet with Reece.

He didn’t feel good about conning Nick. But he was a Cobra.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Zack stepped out of the shower, grateful the endless afternoon was over. He didn’t mind paperwork. Or at least he didn’t hate it. Well, the truth was, he hated it, but accepted that it was a necessary evil.

He’d made his orders, paid his invoices and tallied his end-of-the-month figures. Well, maybe he was a week or so behind the end of the month, but still, he figured he was doing pretty well.

And so was the business.

It looked as though he’d finally pulled it out of the hole his father’s illness and the resulting expenses had dug. Paying off the loan he’d taken to square things for Nick would pinch a little, but in another year he’d be able to do more than look at boats in catalogs.

He wondered how Rachel would feel about taking a month off and sailing down to the Caribbean. He liked to imagine her lying out on the polished deck, wearing some excuse for a bikini. He liked the idea of watching her hair blow around her face when it caught the wind.

Of course, he’d have to take some time to check the boat out, test the rigging. He thought he’d be able to talk Nick into a day sail, or maybe a weekend. He wanted the two of them to be able to get away—away from the bar, the city, and the memories that tied them to both.

With a towel slung around his hips, he walked to the bedroom to dress. He hoped, sincerely, that the Sunday dinner at the Stanislaskis’ would crack the kid’s defenses a little more. Whenever Rachel spoke about her family, it made him think of what they—of what Nick—had missed.

All the kid needed was a little time to see how things could be. They were nearly halfway through the trial run, and apart from a few skirmishes, it had gone smoothly enough.

He had Rachel to thank for that, Zack thought as he tugged on a pair of jeans. He had Rachel to thank for a lot of things. Not only had she given him a second chance with Nick, but she’d added something incredible to his life. Something he’d never expected to have. Something he’d—