Chapter Nine
My finger clicks over the ATM keys. A few are tarnished, unreadable, but I know what the numbers are. Context is powerful. It's the reason I figured out that Jamison wasn't letting me go free, he was just looking for a way to tell me that even if he were gone... dead or arrested by my actions...
I'd still end up in the ground.
I wonder who he'd send to kill me, I muse, waiting for the machine to pull up my account. Would it be that guy in the backroom of the tattoo parlor? Or someone else? How many other hit men does he know?
The only thing that gives me some satisfaction is how I didn't take his bait. I'd never walk away from this plan.
What if I'd said yes?
He wasn't looking for a yes, I remind myself bitterly, it was just a cruel way to make me understand my situation. His best offer involved him becoming my stalker. Who admits to that?
Someone who tried to break into my phone.
I mull over last night while poking the ATM some more. I try not to think about how much money I'm taking out. Money that isn't mine. Not really. I jump at the angry beep from the machine. "What the hell?" I grumble, reading the error message. "Max limit reached?" The machine has spit out ten thousand dollars, and it's telling me that's my daily limit. My stomach drops into my feet as I collect the stack of hundreds from the tray. Shit.
Carefully putting the money in my purse, I hustle back to the car. Jamison left it in front of Egg Biscuit. He doesn't look at me when I climb inside, he just starts the engine. "Well?" he asks.
I gnaw at my bottom lip. "Minor problem."
He'd started to reverse; he hits the brakes, turning towards me. "I'm listening."
"The ATM wouldn't let me take out more than ten grand." I show him the money in my purse, thumbing the edge of the papers. "I can get the rest tomorrow."
His brow drives low over his black eyes. "How do I know this isn't all the money you have?"
"Because it isn't. Here, look." I pass him the account slip that shows the remaining funds. He squints at the faded printed numbers, then reverses the car out of the plaza. "So... we're good?" I ask.
"Tomorrow you'll get the rest."
Breathing out in relief, I sink into the passenger seat. "Then what's next? Searching for Caruso?"
"I'm not doing any work until you pay the fee."
"What?" I balk. "But... that's not fair!"
"It's just business," he sighs, turning the corner. "Anyway, I don't even know who this guy is or where to find him. There are a lot of steps in plotting out an assassination, Selena."
"I'll google his name." I take out my phone, starting to type. "Caruso Oakley, let's see what comes up." The car stops short—he reaches over, snatching my phone. "Hey!" I gasp. "What the fuck!"
"Don't look things up on your personal phone," he scowls. "That's making a trail. Do you want his murder tied back to you?"
"Then how do you expect me to figure out where this guy is?" I bite back.
"You let me handle it." He tosses my phone back into my lap, his attention on the road again. I glower quietly at him as he drives us further into the city. Neither of us speaks for a full two minutes.
I break first.
"How can you handle it," I say, chewing each word like it hurts, "if you aren't doing any work until I pay the rest of the fee?"
His smile is vague and definitely cynical. "You'll find out tomorrow, when the bank releases the rest of the money."
"I'm not waiting another whole day!" I shout.
"You don't have a choice."
"Yeah, I fucking do. Let me out." I jiggle the door handle.
Jamison swerves the car off the road, then back on, rattling me with the ferocity of the motion. "Are you crazy? I'm not letting you out of a moving car!"
"Then stop driving."
"Selena, you're not going anywhere."
"You're telling me I have to sit around all day doing nothing while you count down the hours until I pass you the rest of the money? No. No way. I'm searching for Valoria's killer."
"Just be patient," he growls.
"I'm done with patience." I pull the handle—he pops the lock back down. I yank it up, and he curses, guiding the car quickly off the road to park it behind a brown van at one of the many sidewalk meters.
The engine dies and he twists to glare at me. "You don't get that there is a process to my work."
"I guarantee you didn't make your other clients wait around like this."
"My other clients paid in full when they signed their contract."
"It's not that. I have a feeling you're treating me different."
That gets a rude laugh out of him. "You're right, with good reason. No one who's hired me before has been twisted enough to want to be involved in the actual slaughter."
"You want me to sit on my hands."
"Yes! That's how this goes! You sit and wait until the job is done."
"Nope. I told you, I want to be the one who kills him." I spot something out the window and tap the glass. "Look, there. Can't we use the computers in the library?"
He sees where I'm looking. His slowness to respond emboldens me; I open the door, avoiding him when he swipes to catch my arm. "Hey!"
"I'll get things started," I say. He climbs over my seat, hanging out the door, but I dodge away from his reach.
He grumbles something under his breath, before yelling, "Wait!"
I pause on the grassy slope that leads to the library. "What's the harm in letting me search Caruso's name?"
He sighs. "Get back in the car."
"I don't think I will."
Jamison's eyes flash, darkening past black. Then he wipes his face with a hand and lets out a tired breath. "I'll take you to where we get our intel. It's more reliable, and definitely safer, than a public library."
"You mean it?" I ask, gliding my foot closer to him. "You'll really help me find Caruso? Today, right now, without the rest of the money?"
"It's better than risking you getting caught doing something illegal."
Hopping into the car I shut the door. Jamison eyes move magnetically to mine. "I'm smiling, aren't I?"
"You're about to shoot into the sky like a rocket," he says miserably.
He's right—I'm wriggling in my seat in a mix of joy and impatience. Even the congestion on the freeway can't dampen my mood. Eventually we break out of the traffic, parked cars blurring past us on a quieter street.
I don't recognize where we are—I think it's somewhere in Echo Park. Searching for anything I'll recognize, I'm tossed against my door when Jamison jerks the car around a corner into an underground parking structure. It's dark here, none of the lights in the cracked ceiling work. "Where are we?" I ask.
He stops between the faded yellow lines of a marked spot. There's a dented, red Hyundai across from us, a blue Camry to our left. No other cars are here. "It's a private lot that belongs to my coworker. He lives in the building above us."
I squint out the window at the busted light strips. "What if he's not home?"
"Rory doesn't leave."
"He what?" I laugh as I exit the car. "Everyone has to leave their place sometimes."
"Not Rory." Jamison locks his door behind him, adjusting his jacket as he scans the parking structure. "He's... well, you'll see. This way."
Together we approach a small steel door off to the side. Jamison slips a key into the lock, cracking it open, waving me inside. I crane my neck to see the dimly lit staircase covered in maroon of graffiti. The splatters are uneven where they soak into the pitted concrete. "This is very horror movie coded," I note.
Jamison shuts the door softly, but the noise echoes, jump-starting my nerves. "I didn't take you for the easily scared type."
"I'm not," I cut back. His half grin annoys me deeply. "Shut up and just lead the way."
"You go first, I'll be right behind you."
I lift my eyebrows but the last thing I want to do is admit I'm nervous. Shifting my shoulders, I climb the stairs gingerly. Relax, it's okay, it's just a dumb building. But why does it have to be so damn dark? Where are all the windows? "Your friend Rory," I say quietly, "is he a vampire?"
"He's not my friend. And no. I hope you don't believe in that junk."
"Of course I don't." Swallowing, I wipe at the sweat on the back of my neck. Each step brings me closer to each new stairwell. "How many flights up are we going?"
"Just two more," he whispers, and his breath stirs the hairs on my scalp. It reminds me of how close we were in my bed last night... how his teeth scraped my ear. How my whole body clenched with need.
I peek back to find Jamison is standing right behind me. Thanks to my position on the steps his mouth is level with mine. We're at the perfect height to kiss.
He stares hard at me—I stumble backwards, slipping, throwing up my hands in surprise. One of his long arms scoops around my shoulders, stabilizing me. "Oh!" I squeak.
"Careful," he says, "you don't want to twist your ankle."
"Yeah, right." My entire body is glowing hot as a red poker. I slip out of his grip and essentially jog up the steps. My heart is bouncing around, my chest burning, and it isn't from how fast I'm moving. Stop getting so flustered when he touches you!
But, oh man, he has touched me a lot. More than any other man ever has in... years? No wonder I'm acting like an idiot. I'm rusty. In time, I'll get used to Jamison and I won't— wait.
Get used to him?
I stop short on the next stairwell. I have no reason to get used to that guy! I remind myself sharply. He's a murderer for hire. I shouldn't want to normalize being around him... his touch should upset me. If I grow comfortable with it, if my hairs don't stand on end, then I'm in real trouble.
"This is it," Jamison says beside me. He gestures at the dented door with its shiny, new looking knob. "Stand there and say nothing."
"What, why?"
He hesitates, his frown growing longer by the second. "Rory doesn't like strangers."
"Alright."
"Just alright?" he asks in disbelief. "No arguing about it?"
My shoulders shrug up. "I don't like strangers, either." Jamison starts to smile, the two of us watching each other in silence. "Aren't you going to knock?" I ask.
"No need. He knows we're here." Jamison waves overhead, indicating the small camera I didn't spot in the top corner of the ceiling.
I hear the metallic clack of the door's mechanism before it swings inward. This is no hesitant door crack, no set of eyes peering at us distrustfully, which is what I expected after all this build up. Rory—or I assume it must be him—stands in the doorway with his feet spread wide, his other hand on the wooden frame. He resembles a starfish in that pose... and his tight-cropped neon orange hair, yellow tinted glasses, and over-sized tangerine sweater add to the impression.
He shoots a look at Jamison, then points at me. "Who's she?"
"Selena," I reply.
"Relax, Rory," Jamison says. He moves to get between us. I don't understand where this protective side is coming from, but I'm grateful, because Rory storms into the hallway straight at me. "I said relax," Jamison growls, putting his hand on the man's chest.
Rory glares at me around Jamison. "I didn't ask what her name was, I asked who she was. You know not to bring anyone here."
"This is a complicated situation," Jamison says patiently. "Let's go inside. I'll tell you what's going on."
With a final stare-down at me, Rory backs up into his apartment. He makes room for Jamison to go by, and I take the hint and follow. As I pass Rory inside the door, he stabs me in the stomach.
"Oh!" I gasp, stumbling into the wall in the tight entryway. I clutch at my belly, pulling away to find something sticky. It's not blood—it's bits of candy from the red lollipop Rory has in his other hand. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I ask angrily.
"Okay, so you're too slow to be a hit man in training," he huffs. "Not family. Doubt a friend, he doesn't do those. Fuck buddy?"
My eyes bulge. "No!"
Jamison shakes his head like he's annoyed. "Quit agitating her, Rory."
"I'm just figuring out what's happening." Rory pops the lollipop into his mouth. "Can't be... no way he'd bring a client here."
"That's right," I reply.
He gawks at me, then shuts the door, locking it tight. "Give me your phone."
I lean away, clutching my purse. "Why?"
"Just do it, Selena," Jamison says.
Reluctantly I pass Rory my phone. He drops it in a metal box sitting on an empty shoe rack in the hall, shutting the lid. The entire time he doesn't stop looking at me. Even with his tinted glasses I can see the shock plain as day.
"What is it?" I ask, squinting at the container. "A lock box?"
"A Faraday cage," Rory explains. "Makes it hard for anyone to track your location."
"Nobody is doing that," I snort.
Rory clacks his lollipop against his teeth. "You're always being tracked. Don't you know that?" He doesn't wait for my answer, looking over at Jamison. "You just take money from any idiot now, or?"
"Hey, fuck you," I snap. "If people are always tracking me then don't they know I'm here? I carried my phone all the way from the street to your door."
Rory cups his forehead, starting to laugh. "You're comparing wearing a life preserver on a dock to when you're out in the open sea." He gestures with his hands wildly. "There's no signal in the parking structure below here or in the stairwell. But if you stay long enough, your phone will ping off of the cell towers nearby. Is that clear?"
"Yeah, why didn't you say that first?" I ask.
"Stop arguing," Jamison grunts. "I came here to ask for your help finding someone, Rory."
With a final scowl at me, Rory walks down the suffocating hallway, until he and Jamison turn the corner. I chase after cautiously, not sure I want to get close to Rory again.
The apartment interior is as dark as everywhere else; the blinds are drawn down, covered with black drapes. The only light comes from the computer monitors against the wall. There are three of them, all as big as kites. Their sheer size is enough to make the apartment feel like it's lit by proper lamps, though the glare that bounces off everything gives the space an eerie feel... like a room in a cheap haunted house.
Rory settles into the single, wheeled chair in front of the computer. He kicks the chair into a spin, drawing his knees to his chest. I've never seen such a tall man squeeze into such an awkward position, but he seems comfortable. "I already figured that's why you came. You only visit for work." He slows the spinning, watching me across the room. "Tell me what's going on with her ."
"I can tell you," I say, moving closer. "I'm trying to find a man who's responsible for my friend's death."
Rory drums his fingers on his knees with a yawn. "No, I want to know how you are here with him. See? That's not supposed to happen. We have a very distinct no clients under the same roof rule."
"That's not the rule," Jamison says tightly. He looks uneasy with his arms crossed over his chest. He glances at me, then away again. "Selena hired me in an unorthodox manner. It's fine, there won't be any problems."
"Suuure," Rory chuckles. "No problem at all having a person who could turn us all in to the cops waltzing around at your side."
"You can trust me," I insist. "I mean, I had a chance to call the cops on Jamison last night when he was in my home, and I didn't."
"He was in your home?" Rory drops his jaw, catching the lollipop at the last second. I read what he's hinting at... or what I think he is... and I start to blush.
"I trust her," Jamison says firmly. I give him a double-take. He dares to meet my eyes, showing me a faint smile, before nodding at Rory. "The usual pay rate?"
"Extra, because you trusting her doesn't mean I do. My life is in danger with her here seeing my face," Rory says.
"I wouldn't—" I start to argue.
"Fine," Jamison talks over me. "I'll pay extra. Now, we're trying to find out anything we can about a man named Caruso Oakley. Only thing I know is he was the boss of someone named Sanford Grecko, who is now deceased."
"Saw it on the news. Your handiwork?" Rory asks with a sneer.
Jamison is cold and still as a statue. "Yes."
My heart skips at the reminder of what I watched Jamison do yesterday. Rory isn't fazed, he leans over his keyboard and begins typing. "This could take a few minutes," he says. "Grab yourself a soda or something from the kitchen."
Jamison nods at me. "Want something?"
"Uh, sure," I say.
He turns his back on us, heading into another room around the corner. I can't see him, but he's close enough that I hear the telltale noise of a fridge being opened.
"You're nuts, you know."
"Excuse me?" I ask. Rory isn't hunched over the keyboard anymore, he's reclining in his chair, hands behind his head. The monitor makes his yellow glasses glow like car headlights.
He pushes the lollipop to the other side of his mouth. "Letting the Silencer spend the night at your place."
"The Silencer?" I laugh derisively, but Rory watches me calmly. My skin starts to crawl and it's a fight to sound bored. "I guess every hit man needs a grim nickname."
"You don't know." He doesn't ask, he states it.
Winding my arms around my chest I stare down my nose at him. In my guts, I know I have to act calm. I can't show fear. I can't be afraid when I'm in a den of people who sell murder for money. "What don't I know?"
Rory pulls the candy out with a grotesque plop. "Jamison kills anybody who crosses him. And I mean anybody. His first client got drunk while at a little shit-hole bar in Bakersfield, blabbed to the whole room about hiring him. Jamison got wind of that. Wanna know what he did?"
My nails dig into my upper arms to the point of pain. "I guess he killed his client."
"Ding ding ding!" Rory wags the lollipop with a grin; his teeth are stained red from the dye. "But he didn't stop there. He sliced up every single person in that place."
The way my stomach twists around has me crunching myself together. "You're lying."
"Swear to god."
"How would he hide all of the bodies?"
"That's why he's called the Silencer," he nearly sings it. "No trace left behind, no one knows he was even there. But you didn't ask about the most fucked up part."
I don't want to know... and yet... "Tell me."
"The now-very-dead client that set the massacre off?" Rory leans closer, hands on his knees, looking like some monstrous owl with glowing eyes. "It was his own sister."
"How's it going in here?" Jamison asks as he comes around the corner with two cans of Sprite. I fall against the wall, using it to stay on my feet, hoping against all odds I don't look as pale and awful as I feel. Jamison glances at me, but if he notices, he doesn't act like it.
He moves purposefully over to me, passing the soda. I take it, drinking quickly to hide how I'm shaking. Jamison smiles gently. He doesn't have the kindest face I've ever seen, but in this moment, he looks as normal as anybody I'd pass on the street.
He goes to Rory, the computer making his tan skin ghostly. He stands casually, talking, none of the words reaching my ears. I can't hear anything. I'm sinking into the floor, the world shifting around me, changing by the second.
He killed his own sister.
I think I might be sick. Could Rory be lying? Just telling a far-fetched story to freak me out? The guy doesn't seem to like me, that's obvious. It's very possible. Yeah. It's just him fucking with me.
So why is my neck slick with sweat? The trembling in my knees continues, ignoring how many ways I'm rationalizing the info Rory cursed me with. My vision pin points on Jamison... on the side of his face, his jaw as it moves up and down, the way his Adam's apple vibrates with his voice.
It's not fair for him to be so at ease while I'm fighting a panic attack.
You knew he was a killer. Murdering for money isn't great... and I'm no saint either...
But to slaughter a room full of strangers, as well as his own sister?
How do I come to terms with that. How do I—
"Selena."
The buzzing in my head vanishes; both of them are watching me curiously. "What?" I ask. "Sorry, I was zoning out."
Jamison squints, while Rory gives me a knowing smirk around his lollipop stick. That's all that's left of it, but he sucks the white paper like it's full of nutrients. "I said Rory found out who Caruso is," Jamison explains. He motions for me to come to the computer.
My heels are cemented to the floor. "Who is he?" I can't get closer to him I can't I can't.
"I thought you'd be jumping at the bit for this," Jamison says with a frown.
"Just tell her," Rory sighs. "It's not some revelatory news." Again, he grins at me, enjoying our private knowledge.
His cruelty gives me the strength to march forward on stiff legs until I'm standing near Jamison. "Tell me everything you learned."
Jamison taps his finger on the desk. "Caruso Oakley, CEO of Sparks Entertainment. His address is just a PO Box, but his company has a physical location."
"Where?" I ask eagerly. The sickening news from before is dampened by my rising excitement.
"In Glendale," Rory says, "about a half hour drive from here. His business is huge, by the way. He makes and distributes tons of streams online for high level influencers. But, where he really rakes in the cash, are the amateur porn stars. With his network he launches their careers sky high."
My guts wrap around on themselves; I slam my hand on the desk, making the keyboard rattle, knocking over an empty can of soda. "He also blackmails innocent girls to work for him. He's sick."
"Oh, touched a nerve." Rory's laugh is hollow. "I wasn't saying I support what he does. Just explaining an operation like that makes enough money to have serious security. You aren't just walking in."
"Sure I am," I say flatly.
"Oh, a girl with a death wish. Cool."
Jamison reaches out for my shoulder. "He's right, Selena—"
I wrench away instinctively. Jamison locks up, his hand hovering in the air. He stares in confusion at me, and I flinch, turning away, too ashamed to look him in the eye. "I want that man dead. Okay?"
"I'm saying we need a plan." Jamison's tone is low, patient... concerned. Someone who wants to help me.
I hate how I reacted to his touch even more now.
I just couldn't stop myself.
With sick heat flooding my face I hurry towards the front door. "Then make a plan. You two clearly understand this business better than me."
"Where are you going?" Jamison calls out.
"I need some air." I pop open the Faraday box and take back my phone. There are footsteps—Jamison has followed me into the entryway. His broad body fills the space. I can't avoid his intense stare, not here. "Don't worry, I'm not going to march off without you holding my hand," I say, my smile twisting. "I can't get caught or killed before I finish paying you, right?"
"Selena..."
"I swear," I say, unlocking the door, opening it wide, "I'm not running off. I'll be by the car. This place and... Rory... they're giving me a headache. Okay?" I wait for him to nod. I just want a sign he won't interfere, that he trusts me enough to be out of his sight.
His head bobs.
I'm off, shutting the door on my heels. I suck in the biggest, most desperate breath I can in the stairwell. I remember how he caught me when I almost fell here earlier.
He killed his sister and who knows who else.
Because they betrayed him.
Because he thought they did him wrong.
Had that really happened? What if the story is true, but the slight wasn't? How far can Jamison be pushed before he perceives something I do as a betrayal? Jumping down the steps as fast as I can without snapping my neck, I burst into the parking lot. Stumbling through the shadows I brace myself on the trunk of his car.
You always knew he could kill you, I remind myself harshly. Don't let this get to you! You have a job to finish. A person to avenge.
I peer back over my shoulder, expecting Jamison to be looming there. The small hairs on the nape of my neck tingle. I'm alone, but my thoughts are horrible enough that I don't feel like I am. I could just ask him, right? What an idea. Hey, Jamison? Did you murder your sister? Did she deserve it?
Did all those innocent bystanders?
My skull is splitting, the skin across it too small for my brain beneath. Clutching my head I hunch over, face on the cold metal. I need to get a grip. Jamison is going to ask me what's wrong if I don't get a better mask on.
He can read me like a favorite book. I think about last night and my cheeks heat up. Those hands of his that made me feel good, they were the last ones to touch his sister before she went cold.
The stairwell door opens, creaking, whining. Jamison stands in the threshold. He's a pure black specter, I only know it's him because Rory is shorter, and no one else is here. His shoe glides softly over the concrete. I'm watching him, ears straining, but hearing nothing.
Yes. I think he could kill a room of people and get away unscathed.
"What's wrong?" he asks when he gets close. I don't retreat, only because the car stops me. "You're acting strange."
"I'm just thinking about Caruso."
His eyes narrow under scrunched eyebrows. "You were acting like this before you heard where his business was located." I don't have anything to say to that. My silence pushes him to get closer; I'm pinned between him and the trunk. "Did Rory tell you something?"
The ripples that roll up my spine steal my breath. "No," I croak.
Jamison clenches his jaw. "Tell me."
"I... don't know if I can," I say honestly.
Something softens in his features. Dipping his head, he bends lower until we're eye to eye. His hands grip the car, making a barrier with me in the middle. "He told you my nickname, didn't he. The Silencer."
I fight the urge to grimace and fail. "He might have."
The tension smooths from his forehead; he swings his head lightly, chuckling in the base of his throat. The sound is delicious. It's almost enough to calm my nerves. "That asshole. This is why he has no friends, he loves terrorizing people too much."
"But is it true?" I ask in a whisper.
"Yes," he sighs, looking extremely drained. Watching my face, he hesitates. "It's impossible to work in my industry and not become notorious. Having a name like the Silencer benefits me. It's frightening, it acts as a warning, and it gives me a name to go by other than my real one."
"Wait, is Jamison your real real name?" I ask dubiously.
"It is," he laughs. "I don't give it out much in day to day conversation." He grins in that angled way of his. "You tried to give me a fake name when we first met, I recall. Polly, was it?"
"I thought that was the smart move. I guess the better one would have been to have not met you at all, huh?" I say it with a teasing smile.
The light fades from Jamison's eyes. His grin goes away. "You're right."
"Oh, fuck. I didn't mean to offend you." Why did that upset him?
"You didn't. Come on, let's get out of here," he says, backing away from me. I'm free from his body trapping me on the car. I should feel relieved. Instead, I have burrs in my stomach.
He enters his car, I get in on the other side. "Where are we going?"
"We need to make plans, and I'd rather do that when I'm not starving."
"So... you want me to look up restaurants near my apartment?"
"I'm taking us to my place."
I recoil at this news. "For real?"
He shoots a side-look at me. "We'll swing by your apartment so you can grab whatever you need."
"But, my car," I argue feebly.
"In the morning I'll drive you to the bank. Is there a problem?"
"Ten thousand of them." I shake my purse. "Is that what this is about? You want me locked somewhere more secure, so I don't slip off to handle Caruso without paying my contract?"
"It crossed my mind."
"I said I wouldn't do that."
"It's because you went out of your way to bring it up that I got suspicious."
"That's so stupid," I scoff. "Fine, I don't really care where I sleep."
"I do. I can't do another night on your floor."
Crossing my legs I wag my foot anxiously. "Your poor back. I thought you were 20-something, but you must be in your 70's."
"And the way you act, you could be 15." He shakes his head with a snort.
I stop wagging my foot. "How old are you?"
Jamison turns the steering wheel, putting us on the Freeway. He doesn't look at me, but there's a faint smile on his lips. "I'm twenty-five. Hardly old and broken, but if you think you're tougher, I'll let you sleep on my floor. You can report about your experience in the morning."
"I've slept on lots of floors. I can handle it. However," I draw the word out, "I don't want to make you look pathetic, so I'll accept your generous bed."
"You've changed your mind about sharing?" he asks softly.
My pulse goes wild; I give him a wary look, but he's as stoic as ever. "We shouldn't do that. Share a bed, I mean."
"Worried you'll do something you'll regret?" He doesn't let me reply. "Don't worry, I won't let you take advantage of me. Though... I hope you can control yourself this time."
Squirming in my seat I stare out the window. The city rolls by, tinted by half of my own reflection. "What happened last night was a mistake. I won't repeat it."
"We'll see."
I whip around to gape at him. "Excuse me?"
His shrug is bored... matter of fact. The edge of his voice strokes me between my thighs. "You're prone to making a lot of bad decisions. Even when you know they're dangerous."
"Fuck you."
"Well," he chuckles thickly, "I think that's what you're trying to avoid."
My phone buzzes in my purse. I straighten up, feeling his attention shift to this new event. Peeking in my purse, I read the screen. Shit.
"Answer it," he says calmly.
"No, now isn't a good time."
"Why?" Fuck, he's cold as ice.
Thumbing the phone I end the call. The perspiration sticks under my arms and on my belly, my clothing clinging uncomfortably. "It's none of your business."
My phone buzzes loudly all over again. He steers the car on the road at a violent speed, tossing me in my seat; I scream in surprise. Jamison exits the Freeway like he's on a mission, tires screeching from the angled turns. The brakes punch, the engine cutting, and before I can gather myself, he's reaching in my purse. "Hey!" I argue, trying to stop him.
Jamison ignores my swipes, clasping my phone, reading the screen. Panic swells up, making me fight harder—he doesn't care, not even when my nails scrape his cheek. "I knew it," he growls. "You were playing me all along."
"I wasn't! You don't understand!"
He thrusts my own phone at me, showing me the name flashing. "Los Angeles PD? You're trying to get me arrested."
"You're wrong! I swear!"
His laugh is awful... more beast than human, more crude than mirth. He throws my phone to the floor at my feet, reaching for my throat. I manage to block him, so he catches my arm instead. Jamison isn't bothered, he slaps my limb against the window, holding me there. I can see out the glass—we're under an overpass. Nobody will know what he does to me. "Didn't even wait until Caruso was dead. Was that all a distraction? Did you just want me to take the fall for Sanford? Tell me!"
"That's all wrong!" I shout desperately. "I never—"
"Then why call them? I'm not an idiot, Selena! Why call them?"
My voice breaks from my scream. "They called me!"
Jamison rips away like I'm too hot to touch. There isn't anywhere to go in the car, but this movement helps me breathe easier. "What?" he asks.
"They started calling me last night," I say, shuddering. I rub where he gripped me, cradling my arm to my chest. "When you left to get food. They have video of me at the hotel, like you said they would. I don't know how they knew my name, or if they suspect me in the murder or just as a witness, but they asked me to come in and talk. I told them I'd reach out to set up a time. I guess they got antsy."
"I checked your phone last night," he admits. "I thought something was wrong when I looked at the call history. You were talking to someone when I walked in, but there was no call at that time frame."
"I deleted it," I say, shaking my head. "I was too afraid to tell you. I thought you'd freak out and... well."
Jamison strokes his fingers through his hair, leaning back in his seat with his eyes closed. "Selena, I'm sorry."
"You're paranoid. I understand. I am, too." I dart my eyes to my phone at my feet. "There are a lot of things I'm too afraid to talk to you about."
He shifts loudly in the driver's seat. "Like what?"
Like your sister.
I bite my tongue.
"It's okay," he says gently. "I understand. I haven't given you a reason to trust me, not really, and especially not after—well." He gestures broadly. "Ask me when you're ready. I won't pressure you."
I don't know if there's ever going to be an easy way to ask what I want to. "What do we do about the police?"
"I'll think of something."
"More planning, then," I chuckle weakly.
Jamison's eyes warm over, but his smile has no heart in it. "You wouldn't believe how much planning goes into getting away with murder."
"I guess I'm about to learn."
He muses over that, then starts the car. "I'll tell you this. If I knew about the police this morning, I wouldn't have offered you a chance at backing out."
"Then, that was real? You weren't just trying to scare me by letting me know you could have me killed at any time?"
Casting a look so offended I shrivel, Jamison drives us onto the Freeway with the rows of other cars. We fit into the flow naturally. Nobody looking in would guess who Jamison really is. They'd have no idea what I'm praying to do with my time here on Earth.
I study Jamison as we move along... wondering what I'm supposed to think about this man known as the Silencer. Both of us have lied to each other. Neither of us likes it. Even so, we'll keep doing it. We don't have a choice.
He was ready to kill me.
The look in his eyes as he threw my phone, calling me a liar, will haunt me.
And I wonder... even as I wish I didn't...
If that's the last thing I'll see when our contract ends.
End of Part 1