Free Speak Easy by Melanie Harlow Page A

was shivering. I shook my head, but he held the jacket out until I took it and draped it across my shoulders. It was warm with his body heat.
    At the Canadian docks we met Blaise, a jowly, pot-bellied French-Canadian who took the cash I offered and never looked up from it. He shuffled through the bills and tucked the wad out of sight, and as the money disappeared into his pocket, I fought the urge to throw myself at him and demand it back. How long had it taken me to save four hundred twenty dollars? How many cases had I smuggled, hauled, and delivered, knowing at any moment I could be questioned or arrested? And what were the chances I could earn it back by the end of the summer? Would I have to put off school for another semester? Or year? My insides knotted with anger as Joey and I loaded the whisky into the boat.
    “Don’t turn sharply or go too fast,” I ordered as he started the motor.
    He gave me a look that said shut your trap .
    “Listen, the last thing I need is booze I’ve just paid for to go right to the bottom of the lake.”
    “Sit down, Tiny. I know how to drive the damn boat.”
    I opened my mouth to argue, but then I remembered my mother’s advice about honey. Since I wanted to ask him about getting me a gun, I bit my tongue and sat. As we moved slowly away from the docks, I tried to think of the best way to approach him about it. I hated to keep asking him for help, but I had no one else to ask.
    “Joey…I want a gun. Can you help me get one?”
    He looked at me without speaking, and I couldn’t read his expression in the dark.
    “Please?”
    “Why do you want a gun? Do you even know how to use one?”
    “You could show me. I’d feel safer with one.”
    “There’s nothing safe about a girl carrying a gun. Plus, you’d never shoot it. I know you.”
    “What? You do not! I would too!” The wind picked up, whipping my hair around my face, and I tried to hold it away from my eyes so I could glare at him.
    “I’ll think about it. Now hold on, looks like the lake got choppy.”
    He was right—the rough, black water tossed the boat relentlessly, and I held my breath practically the whole the way across the lake. Once, I looked back at Joey and found him staring at me, which sent an unfamiliar shiver up my spine. After that I forced myself to keep my eyes straight ahead. Finally we arrived at the boathouse, and as he worked to secure us to the dock, I watched his hands in the moonlight. He had nice hands, actually. Strong but not meaty, with solid wrists and dexterous fingers. Something fluttered in my belly again. Quit it. It’s goddamn Joey. I jumped up onto the dock before he could offer to help me.
    “I’ll hand up the sacks to you, and then we’ll take them into the boathouse,” he said.
    I nodded. When he held out the first case, our fingers touched, and I took it quickly to avoid prolonging contact. Then I lashed out, because that was more comfortable than acknowledging an attraction to him. “Did you fix the lock on the garage yet? It’s been three days.”
    “Don’t nag. I bought a new door this afternoon, and I’ll put it in tomorrow.” He handed me another burlap sack, and I grabbed it from the bottom.
    “Well, you’re the one who busted it up.”
    He paused before holding out the next case.
    I pressed my lips together. “Sorry. I’m just—wound up. Thanks for fixing the door. I don’t want those hearses stolen.”
    Joey was quiet a minute. “You have the keys for those hearses?”
    “Yeah. Why?” I took the last case from him and he hopped onto the dock next to me.
    “We might need them.” He grabbed two sacks and headed for the boathouse.
    “Oh, no,” I said, close on his heels. “I’m not driving one of those death wagons around.”
    “You’re awfully particular for someone so desperate.”
    “Well, it’s my desperation, not yours. I’ll do things the way I always have.” We reached the door and I set down the whisky to dig the key from my skirt