“No.”
Such a simple answer, such an unbelievable ability. Time would tell if she came through or if he ended up with a rep tarnished by his gullibility. Yeah, she’d stepped up with the Spanish and Korean, but every other language? It just couldn’t be true.
Could it?
Eran forced his thoughts in another direction. “So you’re living somewhere.” When Brynna nodded, he took out his notebook and pushed it and a pen across the table. “Address,” he instructed. “And phone number.”
She leaned over the notebook and carefully wrote out a number and street name. Her writing was slow and laborious, the final product almost archaic-looking. He purposely didn’t look from it to the signatures on the ID cards. “I don’t have a phone,” she said. When he scowled, she added quickly, “I’ll get one, though. After I’ve worked a bit.”
“It should be a cell phone,” he said, although he wondered how he was going to pull this off without one right now. “So you can have it with you all the time. What’s your zip code?” Her expression said she had no idea. “Find out. The companies you work for will want to know.”
She nodded, then glanced at his now-cold french fries. “Are you going to eat those?”
“No.”
Her hand hovered over his plate. “Do you mind?”
“Go ahead.”
Christ, he thought as he watched her scarf down the food. This is all screwed-up. She had no clothes, no business cards, no telephone number, and, from the looks of it, not even any money for food. The address she’d written down was in such a crappy neighborhood that she’d be better off using a post office box. How the hell was she going to pass as a professional? This was never going to fly unless she had some help.
I can’t believe I’m going to do this.
He knew better. He really did.
Eran slid out of the booth as Brynna swallowed the last of the fries. “Come with me,” he said. “We’ve got some stuff to do.”
“ALL RIGHT,” ERAN SAID. “I’ll start asking around first thing Monday. With your skills, I’m pretty sure I’ll have something for you by Tuesday morning.”
He and Brynna were standing in front of a Sprint store downtown, and Brynna was examining the cell phone he’d just bought her. It was small, red—for whatever reason, Eran felt that suited her better than silver—and had put him on the hook for a two-year contract. Hanging from Brynna’s arm were three shopping bags from their visit to the Marshalls store over on Michigan Avenue. The pile of clothes inside—everything from business attire to a purse, stockings, and undergarments—had set him back almost five hundred bucks. It was as though she’d been living in a vacuum—he’d had to help her pick out every single thing, even the bras. He’d print some kind of business card for her on his computer when he got home, meet up, and give her a handful before she went to her first job.
“This is a phone that takes pictures?” Brynna asked. “It’s so small.”
“Please tell me I didn’t just waste a bunch of money and time on you,” Eran said. He felt like a tuning fork that had been hit too hard, shaking inside from stress and uncertainty. “I will be really pissed if I go through all this and you don’t show up.”
She gave him a look of genuine surprise, as if the thought had never occurred to her. It was sincere, or at least that’s what Eran told himself. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Eran shrugged, hoping he didn’t look too helpless. Did he really think she’d book? No, but he also had a hard time explaining to himself why he’d gone so far out on a limb for this woman. And he didn’t want to think about what his partner or the other cops at the station would say if they found out he’d just financed a new life setup for a nearly homeless crime witness. There wasn’t a single thing that served as justification for it, and dozens of others that screamed he shouldn’t have. “Let’s grab a bite to eat, then I’ll drive you home,” was all he finally said.
When Brynna’s face brightened momentarily before sliding back into her normal, neutral expression, Eran realized with a start that it was nearing six o’clock, and while he’d had a good breakfast, the french fries she’d eaten earlier had probably been her only meal today. It was still fairly early, so Eran managed to get a table at Bella Bacino’s Italian Bistro & Pizzeria. Half an hour later, Brynna was diving into a plate of pasta with artichokes and broccoli and he had a plate of frutti del mare in front of him. She seemed to enjoy her food, but when she kept eyeing his, Eran finally offered her some.
“It’s not meat,” he reminded her when she pulled back from the fork he wanted to hand her. He hadn’t forgotten her adamant statement to the waitress when they’d ordered. “It’s seafood. Fish.”
“Oh, I’ll eat that,” she said. She tried a bit of linguini and a shrimp, then nodded. “Very good sauce. And I haven’t had shrimp since …” Her voice faded out.
“When?” Eran prompted.
Brynna looked away. “Really too long ago to remember.” She glanced at the tables around them, then at the window at the front of the restaurant. The sun had set and the soft lights inside made the darkness beyond the glass even more severe. There were patio tables filled with people in front of Bella Bacino’s, but the glare of lights off the glass kept them from seeing the patrons.
They finished their meal in silence. Like many of the smaller upscale downtown restaurants, the atmosphere was busy and the noise level almost too loud for conversation. Not quite comfortable but not quite awkward—more an opportunity to learn to tolerate each other’s company. Brynna seemed at ease with him but not with her surroundings, almost as if she were waiting for something, or someone, to happen. She checked the entrance and the window regularly and looked at the door to the kitchen every time one of the waitstaff came or went through it.
Eran studied her, trying not to be obvious about it, but she always seemed to catch him doing it; his scrutiny didn’t appear to bother her at all, as if she were used to being looked at, measured, perhaps even judged.
Brynna’s face was too angular to be called beautiful, and the shadows under her eyes and in the hollows of her cheekbones hinted at a harshness that was off-putting rather than mysterious. Eran found it strange that while her makeup-free skin was nearly bone white, her cheeks always held a tinge of deep pink, like she’d just come in from a long, hot run. Her hairstyle reminded him of the jagged, slept-in look popular with teenagers nowadays. While businesses had become more accepting of trendy styles, he still made a mental note to stop by a drugstore and buy her a brush and a few toiletries before he took her home. Christ, it was as though he’d adopted a seductive homeless person.
Eran gave himself a mental punch. Seductive—where had that come from? He was normally such a grounded guy, but if he was going to be honest with himself, he was drawn to her, even though he was fighting it. No big surprise there—he was a man, and a cop, and both were, in his opinion, always horny. As long as he kept it under control, things would be fine. And never mind that “under control” was going to be a really contentious subject if his partner found out how deep in his pockets he’d gone for this woman.
They declined dessert and Eran paid the check. Outside it was another hot and humid night. There was a breeze but it only picked up moisture from the river across Wacker Drive and made Eran more uncomfortable on the walk to where he’d parked the car. Although he had sweat building beneath his shirt, the sticky air didn’t appear to bother Brynna at all. Oddly enough, he could tell that being in the open air did. She glanced this way and that, constantly checking behind them as they walked, even scanning the sky as if she thought something was going to drop on their heads.
“What’s wrong?” Eran finally asked. Being with her for the last two blocks had made him feel like he was walking down the street with a skittish animal. “You’re acting like a bird with a cat outside its cage.”
“I don’t like being out in the open,” she said. “Especially at night. It’s too vulnerable.”
He looked at her i
n surprise and caught a flash of dismay on her face, as if she’d blurted out a secret without meaning to. Interesting—he’d definitely have to file this in his mental follow-up folder. “Here’s the car,” he said instead of commenting. When he unlocked the door to his black Galant, she slid onto the front seat with visible relief. Eran had no doubt that the tinted windows helped. Thinking back, he realized he’d never been around her at night. What was in her past that brought out this kind of fear? Whatever it was, he felt sure she wouldn’t talk about it.
They made a fifteen-minute stop at a Walmart where Eran spent another fifty bucks on stuff like toothpaste, shampoo and soap, a hairbrush, all chosen by him because Brynna just stood next to him in the aisles with that I-have-no-idea expression Eran was learning to recognize. He threw in a couple of cans of soup and some chips as an afterthought, realizing she probably didn’t have any food in her apartment. He didn’t like to admit it, but she seemed so naive about everything that he sometimes wondered if she hadn’t spent most of her life in an institution. He’d missed his one valid chance, but one of these days he’d find an excuse to get her fingerprints and run them through the computer system.
“In case you haven’t been reading the paper, there were two more shootings this week,” Eran told Brynna as he drove her home. “Same gun. Two women who didn’t even know each other. One was a twenty-two-year-old cashier at a Brown’s Chicken, the other worked at a neighborhood video store.” He glanced sideways at her but she didn’t say anything. “She was only thirty-five. None of the victims knew each other. It just seems random.” He pressed his lips together when she stayed silent. “By the way, Cook County Hospital—your area, in case you don’t know—got a really bizarre case earlier this week. A couple of beat cops brought a guy in with some kind of metal object melted into his hand. Picked him up not far from here, as a matter of fact.” He paused, then looked over at her. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Me?”
Had he imagined it, or had a sardonic smile ghosted across her mouth? Yeah, he was pretty sure it had. Still, he couldn’t imagine how she could be involved in something like that. The station had been ringing with the story all week, how nothing could be done for the guy but amputation. Eran knew more than a few people at the hospital—all the detectives did—and a phone call had verified the whole freakish thing. While the ER doctors had speculated that the object was a gun, the patient himself wasn’t talking. Eran’s friend had told him the guy had second-degree burns on his mouth and that his lips had to be lasered apart and propped open so they wouldn’t fuse together again as they healed.
Eran let the topic drop, and as he pulled up in front of Brynna’s place, he cringed inwardly—even in the dark, the building was more of a rat hole than he expected. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to see it during the daytime. “Let me help you take this stuff in,” he said, opening his door as she got out of the car.
“No, thanks.” She opened the back door and leaned in. “You’ve done more than enough already,” she said as she gathered up the bags. By the time she closed the door and stood, Eran was standing outside the driver’s side. “Thanks,” she added. “Really.”
“Sure. You have your phone?”
“Right here.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I get something.”
Brynna nodded but didn’t say anything else as she turned and hurried up the walkway. Even here, maybe more so, she sent the night sky a couple of apprehensive looks. As Eran watched the dark, dirty building swallow Brynna’s figure, he wondered again what could frighten this strange and incredible woman so much.
Ten
Boring, Brynna thought. If this is how the legal segment of humans spends their days, I think I’d rather work at Cocinero’s restaurant.
Riding the elevator down to the ground floor of the Willis Tower was, perhaps, the most fun she’d had all day. The suit she was wearing fit well enough, but the pantyhose and shoes had to have been invented as subversive methods of female physical torture. She supposed she’d get used to them, but it gave Brynna a new level of empathy for all the women she’d seen walking around downtown. Did they really spend every day stuffed into these horrible outfits?
Maybe she wouldn’t feel so cantankerous if she’d been able to give this human body more sleep, but that was an issue that wasn’t likely to be resolved anytime soon. The woman whose husband Brynna had dispatched last Tuesday had not been silent about her rescuer, and now everyone in the building was calling Brynna guardia, a nickname that was damned ironic given some of the chores with which she’d previously been charged in Hell.
The first couple of nights had been … interesting, to say the least, as though the local gangbangers had felt the need to test her. At least there’d been no more guns, which was fine by her. Nothing and no one in the building was really worthy of firepower anyway, although a couple of knives had flashed in Brynna’s direction and a couple of faces had bled in response. Things had settled to fairly quiet, but if there was a one-to-ten scale of satisfying slumber, Brynna stayed at three … if she was lucky. Some wannabe evil human barely registered when compared to what Brynna was really worried about. Better to forgo the nightly shut-eye than to wake to the sight of a Hunter leering down at her.
Somehow she wasn’t surprised to see Redmond’s car parked in a red zone in front of the main Wacker Drive entrance, the same one she’d used this morning. He was driving a standard-issue black police sedan, and if he was offering, there was no question she’d accept a ride; her cell phone had rung at six-thirty a.m. and he’d rattled off an address, saying she needed to be there by nine to translate for something called a deposition.
It was a good thing she didn’t require much in the way of primping, because finding a bus that would take her all the way downtown had been a challenge—she’d had help from Abrienda with directions and bus fare but had still barely made it. Now, after almost six hours of playing go-between for lawyers and a reluctant Russian-speaking guy pegged as a material witness in a corporate personal injury case, Brynna felt pretty used up. The language part was easy; it was the bland, never-ending questions that circled around and came back that had worn her down. No wonder Hell was home to so many condemned lawyers.
“Thanks for picking me up,” she said as she slid onto the passenger seat and pulled the door closed.
“Beats the hell out of the bus,” Redmond said. He pulled away from the curb and eased into the heavy afternoon traffic. Brynna said nothing as he navigated his way out of the downtown area; she didn’t know where they were going, but right now she was simply too tired to care. Anywhere that was away from the world of business suits, power ties and cunning attorneys was fine with her, at least for the evening. “Dinner?”
“I’m not very hungry,” she said truthfully. She’d made herself a good-sized sandwich of bread and a couple kinds of cheeses from a deli tray in the conference room during the lunch break. The deposition had been held at the offices of the defendants’ lawyers, who were doing a not-very-subtle job of trying to intimidate the witness. That the guy was overwhelmed by the hugely expensive surroundings and ice-blooded lawyers was not Brynna’s problem; she was just there to translate and get paid. The free lunch didn’t hurt, either.
Redmond nodded, but she could sense his disappointment. “Then I’ll just run you home.” He glanced at her quickly. “Unless you need something. To run errands or whatever.”
“No. I’m fine.” She gazed out the window, then added, “I have to be back at nine tomorrow. They didn’t finish asking the man questions.”
“That’s good, right? I mean, it’s work.” When she nodded, he pressed a little. “So, what language did you translate? They didn’t give me details and they seemed …” He grinned a little. “Well, let’s just say they were as startled as I was when I told them you could translate anything.”
“Russian,” she answered.
“Really? Damn.”
Still the doubt�
�Brynna could hear it in his voice. And most likely not without reason; as a policeman, he’d probably been lied to countless times. “Zdravstvuite, Detekív Redmond. Nadeyus, shto da u vas bil dobri den. Bolshoe spaciba, shto vi menya sevodnya zabral.”
He squinted at her, and Brynna had to laugh. “I said, ‘Hello, Detective Redmond. I hope you had a good day. Thank you for picking me up this afternoon.’”
Redmond hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure she wasn’t just messing with him, then he finally gave in and grinned. “I know how to say good afternoon in Spanish,” he offered.
A corner of her mouth lifted. “So do I.”
“Touché.”
Traffic thinned as they headed southwest out of the Loop, and Brynna realized he was going to take her all the way home. She thought about telling him not to, but then couldn’t think of a good reason why she would. Instead she said, “I appreciate the ride. I hate that bus thing.”
“You could get a car.”
“I don’t—” She cut herself off before she could finish, remembering just in time that she’d shown him a supposedly valid driver’s license. “Like driving in the city,” she finished.
“Ah.”
“It makes me nervous,” she added, but even to her own ears, it sounded like an excuse.
“Nothing like doing it to get you comfortable,” Redmond said.
She nodded but didn’t say anything. He was right, of course. The easiest thing to do would be to learn to drive—it was that or public transportation. And since she was already supposed to know how, she was going to have to bluff her way through the basics. Still, she had time. Redmond had told her what to charge per hour, and although it was a lot of money, it would still be quite awhile before she could afford to pay cash for a car. She certainly couldn’t get mixed up in the world of human financing and loans. In the interim, she would build her knowledge by watching Redmond.
Studying his driving actions as he maneuvered through the city’s afternoon rush-hour traffic made the time pass quickly, although in reality it took nearly an hour to get to her building. Redmond slid into a parking space and got out without being asked, intent on walking her inside. Brynna thought about arguing, then her attention was caught by something else—a movement in the shadows beyond the front door. She frowned and strode forward, and when she pushed the door open, she came face-to-face with Mireva, Cocinero’s niece. The girl jerked in surprise, but Brynna was far more interested in the boy talking to the teenager.
Highborn Page 12
