Chapter 6 #3
That infamous impatience of hers rears its head again. “What does it matter?”
“It matters to me.”
“Why?” She frowns. “What do you care?”
That little circle looks suspiciously like the mark of a ring. At the thought alone, that someone dared to plant a fist in her face, red-hot violence bubbles up inside me.
I go with that theory first, painfully aware that the clock is ticking to the two-minute mark, and I only have a few seconds to get the answer I want. “Whose ring was it?”
Her pink lips part.
Fuck. I’m right. God knows, I didn’t want to be.
My fingers tighten of their own accord around her jaw. “Whose ring?”
The brutality of the intentions flowing through my veins is meant for the person who did this to her, the one who marked her for life, but her eyes flare as if the unspoken threat is aimed at her.
“I won’t ask again, Tatiana.”
That threat, she can’t misinterpret. She knows how I work. She knows who I am. She knows what I do to make people talk. I’ve never hidden my true nature from her.
With her pale skin and golden hair, she looks so much like her mother. Yet those wide eyes she got from her father. They have the same upturned outer corners. Only, her color is different. Unique. Dark with fear now. Because whatever she sees in my face scares her.
“Dante,” she whispers in protest.
“His name, Tatiana.”
Because I know it was a man. To have left such a mark, a mark deep enough to scar, the blow would’ve had to carry considerable force.
When she finally speaks, her voice comes out breathless. “I don’t know.”
“What did he look like?”
She wants to shake her head, but I don’t let her. I hold her in the steely vise of my fingers, not giving her the option to say she doesn’t remember.
She wets her lips with her tongue. “Tall. Muscled, like a body builder.”
Good girl. “What else?”
“Long hair—brown. Leather pants.”
That gives me something but not enough. “Can you describe his face?”
A visible shudder runs through her. “He had very dark eyes, almost black, and bad skin.”
“Bad skin?”
“Sores, I think. Some were old and healed. Others were fresh.”
Now we’re getting somewhere. “Did you get a look at the ring?”
“Not a very good one.” She bites her lip. “I won’t be able to describe it in detail.”
I caress the line of her jaw with my thumb. “Try.”
“Why do want to know, Dante?”
“Try,” I coax, tracing the bumpy edges of the mark again, burning its shape into my very soul.
“It was square and gold with a red stone in the middle and something engraved on it.”
That doesn’t sound like a ring that belongs to any of my bounty hunters. “Where did it happen?”
“Colorado.” Long, golden lashes hide her expression when she averts her eyes. “Three years ago.”
“Why?”
Her gaze snaps back to mine. “You know what I was doing there.”
“Why was he after you?”
“The same reason they all were.”
She says that so casually, so callously, as if the words don’t carry any weight.
I press my thumb on that mark, wishing I could wipe it away. “I didn’t send him.”
She grips the basin behind her, supporting her weight on her arms as she looks me dead in the eye. “Someone did.”
Water splashes in the bath. The sounds of Noah’s playing reaching my ears. And we’re out of time.
I jut my chin at her face, motioning at where I’m caressing her skin. “How?”
“Mommy?” Noah calls. “I’m getting wrinkly skin.”
I keep my tone friendly and reassuring, as if Tatiana and I are just having a meaningless conversation about the weather and not an exchange that eats like acid into my gut. “In a moment, buddy.”
“I…”
She starts to shake her head again, but I warn her with a look.
She glances toward the bath, making sure to keep her voice down.
“He broke into our motel room. It was early. I was getting dressed when I heard someone picking the lock. I put Noah in the bathroom and locked the door. When the man charged into the room, I shot him in the arm.” Her lip curls.
“It would’ve been in his heart if he wasn’t so quick.
He kicked the gun out of my hand, but I managed to cut him with the switchblade I always carried in my pocket.
That’s when he hit me. His ring must’ve caught my cheekbone.
All I knew was that later, when I cleaned the wound, the skin was split. ”
I push down the violence that demands an outlet. My voice is deadly calm, giving no indication of what’s going on inside me. “What happened then?”
“Someone heard the gunshot and called the police. The cleaning lady came to my aid and hit him over the head with a fire extinguisher.”
“Mommy?”
“Coming, Noah,” I call. “Go on, Tatiana.”
She continues in a whisper. “When the cleaning lady showed up, the sirens were already audible in the distance. My attacker ran away. I thought I was going to black out. The woman wanted to call an ambulance. I told her I couldn’t go to the police.
I fed her the same story I gave everyone, that I was running with my child from an abusive husband, and that the police would arrest me for kidnapping my child.
She was sympathetic, saying she also knew abusive men, so she lent me her car, and that’s how Noah and I got away.
I left it for her at a gas station we agreed upon with a little money in the glove compartment to thank her for her help. ”
I stare at that mark, imagining the wound when it was red and puffy, caked with dried blood, and going purple around the edges. “How long did it take to heal?”
She gives me a strange look. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“How long?” I bite out.
“A month. Maybe longer.” She adds with frustration, “I don’t know.”
“Where did you cut him?”
“On his bicep.”
“Right or left?”
“What is this, Dante? An interrogation?”
“Right or left?”
She pushes off the basin. “Left.”
I trace the cut on her chin with a forefinger. “And this?”
“I fell and hit my chin on a step.”
“How many stitches?”
“Two.”
“What was his name?”
“What?”
“The man who was chasing you… What was his name?”
She grips my arms and pushes me away. “Your perverse curiosity will have to wait. My son’s bathwater is getting cold.”
Standing aside, I let her go.
She pulls the plug in the tub. After grabbing a towel from the rack, she holds it open for Noah. When he stands, she wraps it around him before lifting him out of the bath. I watch as she dries him, the two of them laughing as she rubs his body and hair vigorously.
“Not too cold?” she asks, sounding guilty.
Noah shows her his hands. “Look. They’re pruny.”
“Don’t worry.” She kisses each one of his fingers. “They won’t stay like that forever.”
I leave the bathroom and close the door behind me. Noah’s giggles follow me down the lobby on my way to the study where I take my laptop out of the safe and send an encrypted message to my investigator with the details Tatiana shared with me.
I want him to find the man who attacked her. And for reasons I can’t put in an email, I want that son of a bitch alive.