by T Gephart
“Bedrooms are upstairs. The bathroom is too.”
I didn’t bother with a tour. She had eyes and a decent sense of direction, and part of me was a SOB who liked keeping her on edge.
“Am I going to die?” Her feet stayed rooted in their place as I went to walk away. The complete lack of panic in her voice made me freeze in place.
Usually when I heard those words it was emotional. The person on the other end begging for their life, but as I looked into those large hazel eyes I didn’t see the anxiety I was expecting. She wasn’t falling apart, or if she was, she was smart enough to keep it locked down.
“We’re all going to die,” I answered more honestly than I usually would. “And you will be no different.”
Her eyes flickered, blinking as she looked at me. “Are you trying to scare me?”
The space between us wasn’t more than a couple of inches, and if my proximity to her was making her uncomfortable, she wasn’t showing it. But she wasn’t as solid as she was pretending to be. While she had talked a good game up until now, I could see the crack in the mask. It was small but undeniably there, its reveal giving me more pleasure than it probably should.
“You’re already scared.” My lips curled into a grin as I watched her eyes widen.
“Fuck you,” she spat out, irritated her face had betrayed her, her legs moving quickly toward the staircase as the bag slung over her shoulder bounced off the wall beside her.
I watched her go, taking the stairs two at a time until she disappeared around the corner and I heard a door slam. And I didn’t need to be a fortuneteller to know she was probably going to cry. At least she’d been smart enough to do it in private, save us both the indignation.
A breath slowly pushed out from between my lips, my head rolling from side to side as my neck relaxed. There would be no sleeping tonight. At least not until I had my own intel on what I was dealing with. I didn’t trust Jimmy’s sources, and if someone was coming for her I wanted to be prepared. Hearsay didn’t mean shit unless you had some fact to back it up, and those fucktards who ran the city gossiped more than a bunch of old women.
A quick trip to the garage retrieved the overnight bag she’d left on my backseat. Obviously, clean panties weren’t as pressing as the need for the firepower she’d packed in the other. Either way, the last thing I needed was for her to go out exploring in a few hours if she got the urge to change her bra.
Before heading back inside, I pulled open the zip and did a quick search of the overnighter, my hand hitting the hard surface of what felt to be a cell phone just before I hit the bottom.
Great.
Let’s make it easier for the bastards to find us.
I shook my head as I pulled out the SIM card and snapped it between my fingers. The battery was also removed as I turned her cell into a glorified paperweight. I’d been sloppy in not searching the bag, the phone enough of a breadcrumb for whoever was out there to track her down.
Cursing under my breath, I went back inside. And with the bag in my hand, I climbed the stairs and dumped it in front of the only bedroom door that was closed.
Mine.
Not sure if it was defiance or purely to piss me off but, out of the three available beds, she’d picked that one. And as much as knowing she was in my personal space was giving me the scratch, I wasn’t giving her the satisfaction of a reaction. Besides, I’d already decided I wasn’t sleeping.
Ignoring the closed door—and the person behind it—I went back downstairs to my living room. The area I’d set up as my command center.
While my Brownstone looked like it was ready for demolition from the outside, I had gutted it and refurbished the entire place when I moved three years ago. Contracted out all the technical BS, but other than that had done a lot of the work myself. The less people who knew my address, the better.
Inside it was modest but modern, and although I had no need for lots of furniture, the computer system I had set up in my living room was a Steve Job’s wet dream. Amazing how quickly you can gather life skills when you need them, and computer programming in these times definitely classed as a life skill.
Sadly I wasn’t advanced enough to hack into main frames or snoop around in government websites, but I could bounce my IP around the globe a few hundred times so my activity was untraceable. I had also found a group of bored frat boys who could do all of the above and liked to balance their 4.2 GPA with a side of illegal online activity. No names, no questions—just a few payments to an offshore account and those kids could get me anything I needed. Who says customer service is dead?
There was no noise from upstairs as I made myself comfortable in my leather office chair, the two monitors in front of me lighting up as I hit the mouse. I needed to dig a little deeper.
Jimmy and his crew boasted they were anti-technology, with most of those bastards switching phones like they changed their underwear. But I doubted the tech-ban extended to email. And if there was any electronic chatter out there regarding my new houseguest, I wanted to know what was being said and by who.
A few keystrokes connected my ICQ window. The no-longer-popular chat system was the most reliable method of communication for people who liked to keep their identities under wraps, and I was all about keeping my name off the grid.
My fingers got busy, tapping out Sofia’s full name and social, all of which had been provided by her dear old dad. That was all that they needed, my back easing against the leather as I waited to see what pinged back.
It didn’t take long for the benign shit to flood my screen. LinkedIn page, graduation information, address and phone number. Most of which I could have gathered myself without too much effort.
I knew it would take a little longer to get to the juicy stuff, so I got out of the seat and walked to the kitchen to grab a beer before settling back in and getting comfortable.
Okay assholes, let’s see what we’re dealing with.
I knew it had been his room.
The bedrooms had almost looked identical, a box spring and mattress directly on the floor with almost no bedroom furniture. Except for one room that still carried his scent.
It gave me a twisted sense of satisfaction to be in his room, a space that, if not for a messed up comforter, looked barely lived in. This was where he slept, where even he was vulnerable. And I was in it.
Tears had stung my eyes as I slammed the door. But I managed to hold my breath and choked down the sobs, only allowing silent rivulets to trickle down my cheeks.
He didn’t get to see me cry.
I wouldn’t give him that.
I kicked off my sneakers, letting the bag on my shoulder fall beside the bed as I sat on top of the mattress. My head pounded, like my forehead had developed its own heartbeat as I lowered my body, allowing my head to rest on the pillow. It was the same one he favored I assumed, as a mix of body wash and cologne wafted through the fabric as my head moved against it. It smelled the way he looked.
Powerful.
Strong.
Fearless.
Hard.
He was stone—cold and unyielding—and I was stuck here with him.
I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the nightmare of my uncertainty knowing full well I wouldn’t be sleeping. How could I? Instead my mind flicked on like an old-school projector and replayed the night’s events in slow grainy flashbacks. The memory of his eyes locked on mine made me gasp as I sat up in bed. The weight of his stare wasn’t something I could easy shake off, and I’d faced cold-hearted killers. His eyes had something infinitely more unsettling—what that was exactly I didn’t know—and if my racing pulse was anything to go by, I didn’t want to find out.
Damn it. I was totally freaking myself out, conjuring up hypotheticals about who he was. He was just a man I told myself, the room just as empty as when I’d closed the door. My thumping heartbeat now matched the headache I had going on as I drew my knees up to my chest. I wondered if he had any Motrin hiding in his bathroom cabinet; surely ev
en criminals needed pain relief once in a while.
My feet dropped quietly to the floor, wincing as I tried to make as little noise as possible. I wanted the chance to explore without his attention, padding on my tiptoes to the bedroom door, hoping to make it to the bathroom without running into him.
The overnight bag I’d left on the backseat of his car had been dumped in front of the doorway, my feet almost tripping over it.
“Fuck,” I whispered, regaining my balance by grabbing onto the doorjamb. I managed to right myself onto my feet and pulled it into the room.
Shit. My cell phone.
I had completely forgotten I’d buried it under my clothes, not willing to give up a link to the outside world when I’d left my house. My hand plunged into the overnight bag, the idea of finding it and putting it somewhere safe weighing heavily on my mind. I didn’t have to look too far.
Sitting on top was my disabled Samsung Galaxy, the casing still split into two pieces.
He’d found it and killed my phone.
My fists balled tightly as I tossed the useless pieces back into the bag, my only method of communication stripped from me. I should have carried the bag up myself. Shit. It had been stupid to leave it behind.
Ignoring the slight setback, I moved back outside the doorway and silently walked past the stairs. The faint glow of light floated up from downstairs as I made my way to the small bathroom at the end of the hall.
Like the rest of the house, it had been redone. The light reflected off the shiny fixtures and clean walls as I hit the switch. My face looked back at me, courtesy of a mirrored medicine cabinet, and God did I look like hell.
My eyes were red and puffy and my hair was a mess, all of which was tossed aside as I pulled open the cabinet door and hoped like hell he at least had some Tylenol in there. Jackpot. Advil. It would do.
Turning on the faucet and using my hands to cup the water, I swallowed a couple of pills and prayed they’d kick in soon. My eyes closed for a minute as I shut off the water. Just the sound of it running down the sink made my headache worse and I needed a minute to be still. My lids slowly lifted, the movement at my side making me jump.
“Shit. You scared me.” The back of my legs hit the tub as I instinctively moved away.
His head tilted toward the partially opened cabinet door. “You need something?”
“No.” I brushed him off, not bothering to tell him I’d already found what I needed. “No, I’m fine.”
“You should get some sleep. We’ll probably be moving in the morning.” He folded his arms across his chest, stepping out of the doorway so I could leave.
“Going where?” my mouth asked without thinking.
His eyebrow rose in a sarcastic taunt, the you-really-think-I’m-going-to-tell-you not needing to be spoken.
“You broke my phone.”
“GPS chip makes you traceable, I took care of it.”
“You don’t think that when people can’t get ahold of me, they aren’t going to be worried? When I don’t show up for duty tomorrow, it’s going to raise some questions.” I wouldn’t be surprised if it was my own Captain who filed a missing person’s report. I’d never failed to show up for work, not even called in sick. People would be wondering where I was.
“So you suddenly developed a case of the flu.” He’d lost the jacket he’d been wearing earlier. His arms flexed on either side of him, the bulge of his weapon poking through the fabric of his shirt. Even inside he was armed. I wasn’t sure if it was me or there was someone else he didn’t trust, but I was guessing he was more comfortable with steel against his skin than without it.
“There’s a burner phone downstairs. Make the call; tell them you expect you’ll need a couple of days and hang up. Don’t try to be a hero or tip them off, and keep the call under five minutes.” His dark eyes warned that he’d be standing by to make sure his criteria would be met.
“And what happens after a few days?” My mouth continued to speak at will despite knowing it was irritating the hell out of him. Probably because I knew it was irritating the hell out of it.
“Jesus, do you ever stop asking questions? Like ever?” His head shook, his hand scrubbing the side of his face as he kept his eyes glued on me. “You have to know by now I’m not going to answer them.”
He didn’t like to show emotion—or converse—both of those things had been kept to a minimum since he showed up on my doorstep. But as he stood there looming over me, I thought I saw a crack in his usual passive brooding. I couldn’t tell if it was bewilderment, like perhaps he was more used to people laying down and accepting his way, or if it was amusement. Much like a cat toying with a mouse they have trapped. There was no need to guess as to which of us was the mouse.
“If the situation was reversed, would you just go quietly? Not ask questions?” I’m not sure why I was trying to appeal to his humanity, or why I continued to push. It hadn’t gotten me anywhere, but it was the only thread of sanity I had left.
“I would never be in your situation,” he answered coldly, the distaste either for me or my situation dripped in each word. “Go to sleep. And in case I didn’t make myself clear, that wasn’t a request.”
He didn’t wait for a reaction or a response, turning on his heel and vacating the space. The heavy footfalls of his boots echoing down the stairs as I stayed rooted in my place in the bathroom. He was so fucking arrogant, bossy as hell and I had already decided I hated him. But even with all of that, my gut instinct told me to stay. Lord knows why. Whatever trouble he thought I was in wasn’t the kind that could be solved in a few days. And I knew it was only a matter of time before I’d be deposited somewhere at my father’s bequest. Like an errant runaway being returned to their family. The thought made me want to be physically sick.
I wouldn’t go.
Even if it meant dying, I wouldn’t go to him. I refused to see the look of satisfaction on his face when he would see me, no doubt reminding me that there would never be a way out. That even though I tried to deny it, I was damned because of the family I’d been birthed into. But I was done with all of that, and no matter what my birth certificate said, I would never be his daughter again. Never.
My stomach churned uneasily, the possibility of vomiting becoming less of a hypothetical the more I thought about it. I pushed down the urge, refusing to allow the bile rising up to travel any further as I opened up the faucet and took another mouthful of water. I was stronger than this; I mentally chastised myself as I concentrated on the air I was sucking into my lungs.
Breathe, I repeated, my internal pep talk hopefully enough so I could get a handle on my nerves.
Breathe.
I would be okay.
Whatever this was, it wouldn’t be what claimed me.
I had no way of knowing that for sure. In reality everything pointed to the opposite, a bad outcome. But in my heart I believed I would survive this.
With my breathing slowed and the danger of me being sick minimized, my hand eased off the faucet. The room was as it had been when I walked into it. Empty and sterile—me, the only person in it.
Michael hadn’t returned, and that made me feel uneasy. I didn’t want to see him, hating the weight of those cold dark eyes on me. But not knowing what he was doing was almost worse. Wondering if he was in the wings watching me, reveling in all of this. It was the not knowing that made it hell.
The minor freak out in the bathroom had gone on long enough I’d decided, my hands shaking off any excess water before hitting the light switch and walking back into the hall. I didn’t bother closing the door, or trying to be silent as my bare feet padded against the floor. I didn’t care if he heard me or not, but as much as I hated to admit it, he was right about one thing. If I was going to get through an entire day of uncertainty tomorrow, I would need some sleep. My instincts would be sharper after a few hours rest, and as much as I would love to pretend I was a machine, the need to power down hinted I was very much human.
As I reentere
d his room, his lingering scent once again invaded my nose, and it didn’t matter I was alone, he was right inside that room with me.
It should have sickened me but it didn’t, the thrill tingling against my skin as I slid in between his sheets. My act of defiance meant I would sleep in his bed, even if it was the last place on earth I wanted to lay.
I pulled the covers over myself, cocooning within them as I closed my eyes. I would get through this. I would be okay.
Sofia Amaro had been a busy girl.
Leading the charge against organized crime, she had made it her personal mission to fight what most of us knew was a losing battle. There was no cure for a disease that continued to regenerate, and criminals had a knack of evolving faster than the tactics employed to stop them. And it hadn’t been just her father who had felt the pinch. If you believed the propaganda circulating from the Chicago PD, every thug in the city had a target on their back.
Which was bad for business.
Everyone’s business.
It meant every lowlife worth his salt would be coming out of the woodwork trying to end her. I completely understood why they’d be gunning for her ass too, and it wasn’t just to collect the bounty either. This was about their livelihood, their ability to do business in the future, and it was about their fucking pride.
Within hours I had at least twenty to thirty instances of internet chatter, her name pinging left and right, with all kinds of suggestions on what a better use of her mouth would be. Here’s a hint, most of them involved the use of a cock. Whether she’d be alive when they shoved it in there was still open to debate. Some argued they needed to take some restitution first and necrophilia not being their thing. Can’t say I ever understood the appeal of fucking a corpse, but I didn’t really give enough of a shit to be disgusted by the behavior either. And as long as it wasn’t my dick, who the fuck cared? What I did care about was collecting my paycheck, and for now that meant keeping her breathing. So my mind wandering over uses for her mouth while interesting weren’t helpful, especially when getting her out of her neighborhood wouldn’t be enough.
