Chapter 31
Willow
When I wake up, the sheets on his side of the bed are cold. A bag lies on the floor beside the armoire that holds my clothes.
Is he leaving again?
I’m in the bathroom with a toothbrush in my mouth when he stomps into the room.
“We need to go. Pack anything you need to take with you. You can shower at home.”
Panic strikes, but he’s gone.
I quickly get it together. Whatever’s going on, at least he’s not leaving me this time.
The bedroom door swings open as I zip the duffel closed.
“Is Lina up?” I should say goodbye to her, if we have time.
“No. We have a lead on a flat.”
“We’re moving?”
“Can’t stay where we are.” He reaches for the bag. “Ready?”
“Shouldn’t we say goodbye?”
“Already did.”
I follow him through a quiet house. I’m sure Lina’s still sleeping, but I keep an eye out for Nick.
Leo’s Range Rover is outside on the gravel, and he throws the bag into the back seat.
“Is everything all right?”
He doesn’t look at me. No, he’s scanning the horizon. His demeanor is the same as when we fled the garage after the incident with Leandro.
There’s a thin red line across his throat. “What happened?”
He side-eyes me as he lightly touches the injury. “Ran into a branch running this morning.”
“Did you put something on it?”
“It’s fine.” His focus returns to the road.
The stilted silence in the car has me scrolling songs on Spotify, searching for something to lighten the mood. The dense cloud cover and increasingly heavy traffic only exacerbate the negative vibes reverberating off Leo.
I select a channel that touts itself as The Beatles channel. It’s not all Beatles’ music, but it’s selected by fans of the band.
“Can you listen on headphones? I need quiet.”
I don’t possess headphones, but I don’t wish to argue, so I press the screen and silence returns. He side-eyes me and huffs.
There are so many things he could be angry about. A news alert came across yesterday about a Titan ship being detained, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s related to the shipping manifests I saw in his pictures file. I didn’t ask Nick about the ship, as years in my father’s home taught me that women don’t inquire about business matters. Plus, Leo said Lina isn’t aware of what they do, and I shouldn’t say anything to her, and she was almost always around.
Leo could also simply be angry about me getting stoned with Lina. But then again, last night he hadn’t seemed mad. Still, of the options on the table, that’s the easiest to tackle.
“Are you mad about yesterday?” His gaze remains fixed on the road ahead. “Leo? Seriously?”
“What?” He blinks and rubs a hand over his eyes.
“Do you want me to drive?”
“No.”
He’s not this worked up over pot. My father, who has a zero-tolerance rule on drugs, would have gone ballistic. But Leo’s not conservative like my father. He’s progressive and open. Or at least, that’s what I thought. This silent, brooding shit—something is bothering him, and he won’t open up. The pot is the only reason I can think he’d be angry at me. And that doesn’t make sense. Which means it’s more, and he’s treating me like my father would treat my mother.
He reaches for my hand, and with his touch, my incensed thoughts fizzle. We drive like that for the next hour and a half, silent, fingers linked. Occasionally, he lifts our linked hands and presses his lips to my knuckles or to the back of my hand.
I’ve no idea why he’s out of sorts, but the more I give it consideration, we left without him saying goodbye to Nick, at least that I saw. Perhaps they argued. If it weren’t for the middle divider between us, I would slide next to him. Something is wrong, and I want to make it better for him, but I don’t know how. I do the only things I know to do. I remain silent, don’t turn on the music, and hold his hand.
When we return to the garage, Leo parks and tells me to stay. He exits the car, and prickles climb my spine as he rounds the vehicle, searching for god knows what. More people coming for us? Is this not over? Is that what’s the matter? Did he get word Massimo is coming after us?
Leo opens the door and holds it for me.
“Everything okay?” That phrase must be the one I say to him more than any other.
“All good. Let’s go.”
My gaze tracks to the spot where John’s car had been and then the spot where Leandro and his two employees died.
“Come on,” Leo says, his tone softer now.
“Are they coming for us?”
His lips purse and his head shakes. “I don’t believe so. But you need to stay close until I make some additional arrangements.”
It’s not until we’re in the elevator that I ask, “You mean replace John?”
“Yes.”
When we return to the flat, he promptly enters his office and shuts the door. Years of growing up in my father’s home have taught me that if you want to listen, you can’t stand in front of the door where your shadow can be seen. You either have to locate a connecting vent or stand at the side of the door.
There are no vents in Leo’s office that I’ve noticed, so I loudly step away, letting my shoes clatter on the floor, all the way to the kitchen. Then I remove my shoes and slide my feet back into the hallway, flattening myself against the wall as I inch to the door.
As expected, he’s talking to someone. His tone is firm with a chord of urgency. I can’t decipher the words, and I inch closer to the door, eyeing my shadow. I move to the light switch and press it, removing the light source. Then I return to the door and press my ear to the wood, feet still planted to the side of the threshold.
“I need you to do something else for me,” Leo says to someone I have to believe he’s speaking to on a mobile, as no one else is here. “When I’m gone, you’ve got to look out for my arrangement. I’ll leave resources.”
His arrangement? Is he talking about me?
“At least initially, when I’m gone, watch out for her. It’s important. Do whatever you have to do.”
When I’m gone . The phrase ricochets through my mind, unlodging facts. Shipping manifests on his phone. The detained Titan ship. He’s an arms dealer who never parties. Orlando assumed he was gay, but…he’s a plant. When the law seized the heroin shipment last year, everyone had been talking about it. The rumor had been that there were undercover officers within the ranks. That’s what Leo is. That’s why he’s always said what we have is temporary. He’s leaving.
“Forty-eight hours,” Leo says. “You’ve been a good friend. Thank you.” There’s a pause. “I’ll see you on the other side. And yes, I’ll need those updates.”
A drawer opens, the sound a mix of rattle and squeak. There are no voices. I twist the knob and push the door open.
Surprise flashes. Either he forgot I’m here or he can’t believe I had the audacity to open his office door.
On the top of his desk is a smashed SIM card.
“Are you working undercover?”