“Guess so.”
I stick out my hand. “It was very interesting to meet you, Kage.”
He gazes at my hand for a moment, his lips curving into a smile. Then he takes my hand, chuckling to himself. “You keep saying that word.”
“It fits.”
“Fair enough. It was interesting to meet you, too, Nat. You take care of yourself.”
“I will, thanks.”
He pauses for a beat, then says, “Hold on.”
He pulls a pen from an inside pocket of his leather jacket, a business card from another pocket. Flipping over the card, he writes something on the back, then hands it to me.
“My number. Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“In case of anything. In case your roof leaks. In case your car breaks down. In case Deputy Dipshit tries to kiss you again and needs his ass beat.”
Trying not to smile, I say, “You can handle a leaky roof, huh?”
“I can handle anything.”
He’s very serious when he says that, serious and a little melancholy, as if his strength is a burden he bears.
I get the strange feeling that his life hasn’t been an easy one. And also that he’s resigned himself to the fact that it never will be.
Or maybe that’s just my hormones, on the fritz from his proximity.
He turns and starts to walk away, but stops when I blurt, “Wait!”
He doesn’t turn around. He simply turns his head to the side, listening.
“I…I…”
Oh, fuck it. I run up to him, grab the front of his jacket, stand on my toes, and kiss him on his cheek. My words come out in a breathless rush.
“Thank you.”
After a beat, he says gruffly, “For what?”
“For making me feel something. It’s been a long time since someone did. I wasn’t sure I could anymore.”
He stares down at me, dark eyes burning. He cups my face in his big hand and gently sweeps his thumb over my cheekbone. He inhales slowly, his chest rising. His brows pull together until he’s wearing an expression like he’s in physical pain.
Then he exhales, drops his hand from my face, and walks away toward his house without another word. He slams the front door behind him.
Five seconds later, I hear the steady whump whump whump of his fists hitting the punching bag coming from inside.
9
Kage
Communicating with an inmate in federal prison is a complicated process.
No incoming calls are accepted. Phone calls can be made from inside out only and are made collect. Cell phones can’t accept collect calls, so they have to be routed to a land line.
Which means someone has to be there to receive the call. Which means setting up an agreed-upon time in advance.
The length of the call is limited to no more than fifteen minutes. When that’s up, the call will simply cut off with no warning. The inmate can’t call back again.
Keeping the communication private is even more complicated.
Guards listen in on all phone calls. They sit only a few feet away in the visitation area, watching like hawks. They monitor all incoming and outgoing letters and email, the latter of which is restricted and only allowed under special circumstances. Then examined, word for word.
So all in all, communicating with a federal prison inmate is a pain in the ass.
Unless that inmate has paid off everyone within the prison system to get special privileges.
And paid them well.
“You take care of it?”
The voice on the other end of the line is male, raspy, and heavily accented. Max has been a two-pack-a-day smoker for as long as I’ve known him, and it shows in both his voice and his face. His teeth aren’t so pretty, either.
“Yes.”
With that one word, I’ve told the most dangerous lie of my life. Max has had men killed for far less.
I should know. I’ve been the one who pulled the trigger.
He grunts. “Good. I don’t like loose ends. She know anything?”
“No. She knew nothing. She would’ve told me if she did.”
His chuckle is low and mirthless. “That’s why I sent you for the job. Everybody talks when you’re the one asking questions.”
It’s true. I’m the best in the business.
Usually, that kind of compliment would give me a certain sense of satisfaction, if not outright pride. Today, however, it makes me depressed.
I don’t have to wonder why. I know the reason.
That reason has raven-black hair and full red lips and eyes the color of a stormy sea, blue-gray and moody. That reason is sweet and funny and sharp and sexy. And honest. And brave.
And a hell of a lot tougher than she thinks.
From the first time I saw her, that reason kicked me right in the guts. Or made me feel like it, anyway.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making me feel something. It’s been a long time since someone did. I wasn’t sure I could anymore.”
Those ten seconds of conversation have affected me more than anything else in years. Decades. It’s burned into my brain. My ears. My heart.
I didn’t think I still had a heart, but I must. That hollow space in my chest I’ve had for so long is filled with wild beating.
Because of her.
“I’ll follow up on the other leads. Get back to you as soon as I have anything.”
“You do that. And Kage?”
“Yes, boss?”
“Ya rasschityvayu na vas.” I’m counting on you.
“Ya znayu.” I know.
Picturing Natalie’s face, I close my eyes.
If anyone ever finds out I didn’t do the job I was sent to do, we’re both dead.
10
Nat
I can’t sleep that night. I toss and turn restlessly, stalked by dark thoughts of what could be in David’s safety deposit box, why he wouldn’t have told me he had one, and why he’d go to the odd lengths of mailing me the key instead of just giving it to me.
Strangest of all, why there would be no note of explanation.
Like, what, I’m just supposed to figure it out? If Chris hadn’t clued me in, I don’t know how I would’ve identified it.
It’s all disturbingly mysterious. I’ve had quite enough mysteries to last me an entire lifetime, thank you very much.
Also scratching around the inside of my skull like hungry little rats are thoughts of Kage.
A debt collector? What exactly does that mean?
I’m not sure I want to know. Part of me does, but another part of me—the wiser part—is telling me to back away slowly.
He’s gone now, so it doesn’t matter anyway.
I heard his big SUV roar off into the night, watched its red taillights from the kitchen window until he turned a corner and the car went out of sight. It was then that I realized I don’t know where he came from or where he’s going, or why I should care in the first place.
I mean, I don’t care.
I think.
Getting through class Monday is sheer hell. I watch the clock like a bird of prey, counting down every second until I can leave and go to the bank.
There’s only one branch of Wells Fargo in town, so it’s not like I’ll have to drive all over the state looking for the right one. That’s not a problem.