I didn’t have friends, I had co-workers, but Anna seemed determined to ignore my silence. Her gaze darted to mine, then back out over the water. “You don’t usually say a lot when I’m around,” she said, “and I’m pretty sure it’s because I fill up all the space. Just tell me to shut up when you have something to say.”
Shane shivered violently. “Okay, seriously, I’m turning into an icicle. How are you not freezing cold?”
Anna pulled something out of the inside pocket of her coat and held it up for us to see. “Pocket warmers,” she said happily. “They’re my secret weapon whenever we take the boat out. Darius and his brother think I’m made of steel. But you’re right, it’s getting colder. We can hook up the heater and have a glass of wine below deck when we get back to the slip.”
“Sounds perfect.” Shane’s teeth chattered, and she rubbed her gloved hands together as she looked at me. “Any secret pocket warmers for you?”
I shrugged. “I’ve used them, but only when I need accurate aim. It’s not cold enough here, and I don’t need to shoot anything today.”
“Today.” Anna snorted.
I shrugged again. “It’s still early.”
7
Dallas
“Monsters don’t like kitchens. They’re allergic to all the love in them.”
Oliver’s apron
* * *
The boat rocked in the slip as someone boarded it.
“Hi, honey, you’re home!” Anna called out.
I slipped off the bench seat in the small galley kitchen and reached for my knife. “That’s not Darius,” I whispered.
The hatch opened, and a tall man stood in the entry. I tensed, ready to launch at the first sign of concern from either Anna or Shane.
“Reza!” Anna welcomed the man gleefully. “Come in. Join us.” She turned her gaze to us. “Reza lives three boats over. He’s Darius’s brother.”
The man stepped down the short staircase with easy grace. “I’m clearly interrupting something important,” he said as Anna scooted over to let him onto the bench beside her.
“Dallas was just about to explain how she knew you weren’t your brother,” Shane said, eyeing the knife I was tucking into its sheath at my back.
“He’s heavier by about twenty pounds. And Darius used to run, so his step is different.” I turned my gaze briefly to Reza. “You played hockey,” I said, perusing his upper body musculature and the way he stood, “and now you row.”
I ignored his startled expression as I turned my attention back to Anna. I’d only accepted a short pour of wine, which I finished with a final sip. “I need to get going. Thank you for inviting me today. I had fun.”
“Did you?” Anna said, tilting her head to the side as she studied me. “Because I’m kind of intimidated by you most of the time, and I’m never really sure.”
I huffed a surprised laugh. “I’m pretty much the opposite of intimidating. If anything, I’m intimidated by both of you.” I included Shane in my gaze. “You,” I said to Reza with a slight smirk, “not so much. Not when you board boats without calling out a greeting first.”
“Guilty,” he said with a grin.
I slung my backpack over my shoulder and started up the steps.
“The second floor of Oliver Curran’s house is the most vulnerable,” Anna said, in the non sequitur of the century. “And ten bucks says the bathroom window’s unlocked.”
I turned to stare at her. “And you felt the need to tell me this now because …?”
She shrugged. “Because if someone doesn’t break in there, he’ll never change the whole system, and whatever it is he’s working on is clearly interesting to at least one Russian.” She waved airily. “I’ll be by to break in tomorrow if you can’t do it tonight.”
“Good to know,” I said, shaking my head as I left.
I practiced walking silently down the dock. A few of the boats I passed had lights on inside, but most were dark and closed up for the winter.
It was dark, but not late, and I debated stopping by Oliver’s market for another baguette on my way home, but Anna’s words were still running through my head when I stepped off the train at Division. My steps took me away from the commercial district, and a few minutes later, I stood in front of Oliver Curran’s door, wondering what the hell I was doing there.
I reached toward the doorbell, then pulled my hand back and looked up at the camera that hung above it. I gave it a count of ten, and just as I was about to turn and leave, the door opened.
“What do you want?” Oliver said gruffly.
“Anna Masoud told me to break in.”
He raised an eyebrow, which made his too-handsome hipsterman face look snarky and interesting. “This is you breaking in?”
The corner of my mouth quirked up in the approximation of a smile. “This is me telling you that if you don’t change your security, someone else will break in.”
He stared at me for a longer minute than would be comfortable to most people. I stared back because discomfort didn’t bother me, but a part of my brain still wondered why I was there. Then he opened the door wider. “You better come in, then.”
“Why?” I asked, startled into an inane question.
He sighed. “Because I’m about to eat and my food’s getting cold. There’s enough for you if you want some.”
I was suddenly aware of the food scents wafting through the open door, and my stomach growled embarrassingly.
Oliver turned and walked away, leaving the door open behind him.
And because conscious and rational choice seemed to have fled the playing field, I followed him inside.
If McCallum had installed the deadbolt on the door, it would have to be changed, I catalogued mentally as I turned it behind me. The main floor of the house was up a short staircase from the front door. It encompassed a large office, some sort of TV lounge, and a kitchen that was nearly as big as the office. Oliver was in the kitchen dishing a bowl of something that smelled like ramen but looked like an Instagram photo.
“There’s pork in it.”
“I’m a carnivore,” I said, staring at the shimmery broth filled with braised pork, greens, a soft-boiled egg, pickled ginger, soba noodles, and topped with sesame seeds and a piece of nori.
Oliver set the bowl on the island, tossed a cloth napkin next to it, handed me a spoon, and indicated the stool. “A table, s’il vous plaît,” he said as he sat at his own spot down the island.
“Merci,” I answered automatically. My private school education had been bi-lingual, as it usually was in Canada, but I wondered about Oliver’s perfectly accented French. The question must have shown on my face.
“French nanny,” he explained tersely, apparently waiting for me to take a spoonful of soup before he resumed eating.
“In Haiti?” I asked, remembering his strange recitation of his sins in the Cipher office.
He grunted agreement, and then I did taste the soup, and I nearly moaned with pleasure.