Chapter 1 #2
My headache rages. My stomach swirls. All that water, primed and ready to make me look even stupider than I already am. My knees knock and my heart thunders. But through it all, my brain tries so, so hard to understand.
Nicolas Cage? What?
“Mayet steps left. I step left. Harrison stays the fuck put.” Cato points where he wants me to go. “Mayet moves. We don’t look. The plate stays steady, and no one dies.”
“For God’s sake.” Since both sets of eyes are on the ceiling anyway, I scoot out from between Cato’s broad back and the over-stocked fridge, and, maneuvering my towel strategically, I cover my most important bits and dash into the hall.
“I’m going for a shower. When I get back, no one will be inside my apartment. ”
“Write this shit down!” Cato booms. “You document how I didn’t look. How I covered her, but I didn’t touch.”
“Mr. Mal—”
“Write it down!”
An entire hour after entering the hallway, I step out again with freshly washed hair, shaved legs, thoroughly flossed teeth, and, though I tried my best, lungs free of shower water.
I was so hopeful I would drown and put this mess behind me.
Instead, I’m forced to re-enter civilization, moving into my kitchen in a black, knee-length skirt, a sleeveless blouse, and with my hair tied up to keep it off the back of my neck. I head straight toward the fridge, but I don’t miss Cato’s presence by the TV.
Like he vowed to stand as far from me as humanly possible.
And Harrison’s stance by the door. As in, straddling the threshold, one foot in my apartment, one foot outside.
“We’re going to pretend today is starting just now.” I tear the fridge door open, the clatter and clang of bottles vibrating on the shelves. And because I’m more awake now, I scowl at the overflowing produce. The yogurt pouches. The protein shakes.
And most notably: the chill.
“This fridge didn’t work yesterday.” I snatch a protein drink with my right hand and creamer with my left.
Heading back to the coffee machine, I set both down and actually fill the mug I didn’t fill earlier.
“I know it didn’t work, because everything inside was warm.
Now the light works again, the shelves are cold, and, unlike yesterday, there’s actual stuff in there. ”
Was it Archer?
“I sent Harrison out last night,” Cato grunts. “He fixed this mess, since you clearly can’t be trusted to take care of basic human needs… like buying food.”
I shoot a suspicious look Harrison’s way, but he drops his gaze and studies his feet.
Not Archer, then.
“So you also swiped that credit card I told you not to swipe, Mr. Harrison, and procured my medication though I said not to?”
“That’s about the gist of it,” Cato answers instead. “Also, I only looked at your panties once. It was instinct. I wasn’t peeking or anything.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” I peel the carton of creamer open and tip a little into my coffee. “My day is just starting right now, remember?” I turn back to the fridge and toss the carton back in.
Should I offer the guys a coffee?
Absolutely not. They can get their own.
Spinning one last time, I plaster my backside against the lip of the counter and crack the protein drink open. Because I’m a mature, functional adult human being, even when Archer Malone is not present to force sustenance down my throat.
“Why are you here?”
Cato stabs his thumb back at his chest. Who, me?
I nod.
“I got used to sleeping on the couch. New house is fun and all, but we’ve been there for less than a week, and it’s been about that long since I’ve had a decent sleep.
” He drops his hand, digging it into his jeans pocket.
“I moved to the house because everyone else did, but I didn’t actually wanna leave my couch. If you get to come back, then so do I.”
“Mm. Right.” I swing my gaze toward the door. “I don’t recall walking home last night, Mr. Harrison. I sincerely hope you did nothing stupid or horrifying… like carry me.”
“No, ma’am.” He chokes down a nervous gulp, his throat bobbing with the action. “I drove you, though. I did not carry you.”
“Good.” I bring my focus back to Cato. “I don’t wanna talk about all the—” I gesture… away. “I don’t want to talk about any of it.”
“Good. I don’t wanna hear about it.”
“How’s Steve?”
“Good. Mary’s on him like white on rice. He told me to tell you that as soon as he can steal a car, he’s driving back down the hill and following you. He doesn’t wanna stay at the house unless you’re there.”
Yeah, well… we don’t always get the things we want. “Is Mary aware of his plans? Is she putting things in place to ensure he doesn’t succeed in his escape?”
His lips curl and crinkle. “She practically raised five Malones. She knows how to control a situation.”
“Fat load of good that did. All five of those Malones turned out to be bastards.”
Not really. Not at all.
But instead of saying so, I bring my drink up and chug, chug, chug, until my lungs protest and my stomach whooshes for the second time this morning.
Harrison shifts in my peripherals, from scolded employee to formidable soldier, because footsteps echo on the stairs outside my apartment, each thump echoing all the way up to us. It’s not Archer’s walk. Not Aubree’s or Tim’s or even Fifi’s.
I finish my breakfast and trade the bottle for my coffee mug, and while Harrison slips his hand into his jacket—gotta keep that gun nearby—I lean across the counter and snag my phone.
I have shit to do today. Calls to make. Men to hunt down.
“Oh…” A guy no older than Cato startles and stops at the top of the stairs, his feet skidding and his eyes shooting through my open apartment door.
He looks at me, then to Harrison. Me, then Harrison again.
“Uh… hi. Package for Chief Mayet.” He cautiously approaches my sentry, his arm outstretched and, in his hand, a small box wrapped in tape that reads FRAGILE.
“She doesn’t have to sign for it,” he gulps.
“I just have to eyeball the situation. So…” He tosses the package for Harrison to catch, then he spins and darts back down the stairs.
“What is it?” Cato stalks across the apartment and stops beside Harrison, snatching the package and looking it over.
My name and address take up one side, and glaring yellow tape snakes all the way around.
“There are no sender details.” He turns it over.
Then over again. Then a third time, before he lobs it back into the hall so it rolls and bounces, slamming against the far wall.
“We don’t accept mail unless we know who it’s from. ”
“Yes, Bo—”
“No.” I stride the length of the counter and push through both men.
Stepping into the hall and crossing the extra fifteen feet to where the box sits, I scoop the lightweight parcel up and head back inside.
“This is my mail. It has my name on it.” I take it all the way to the counter, set it and my coffee down, then I open the top drawer and take out a knife.
“It’s a federal crime to mess with someone’s mail. Didn’t you know that?”
Cato comes around the counter and folds his impressive length, resting on his elbows to get a closer look as I slice the tape open.
“Didn’t you know it’s unsafe to accept anonymous packages when you weren’t expecting any?
There could be a grenade in there. Or the finger belonging to someone you care about. ”
“I think I’ll risk it.” I tear the box apart with no care for the outer shell, uncovering a smaller, sturdier box. Opening that one, I discover a row of pills, each one about three times the size of a Tic Tac.
Like magic—not—my phone chirps with an incoming call. I roll my eyes and exhale a breath of exasperation, then I snatch up the device and bring it to my ear. “Sophia. I said no.”
“Oh good, you got the parcel. I know you infused last night, so you don’t have to take one today if you don’t wanna.”
“I don’t wanna.” I slap Cato’s touching hands away. “I’m not taking them ever.”
“You could take one this morning,” she continues. “Jen said they’re super safe, and it’s not like you can OD or whatever. I dunno.”
“No.”
“She said to take one once a day. If you forget a day, that’s okay, just get back to it the next morning.”
“Still no.”
“She said they’ll give you energy, so best to take them in the morning. If you take them anytime after noon, you might struggle to sleep.”
“You’re not hearing me, Sophia.” Sensing the warmth of a stare to my right, I glance that way and find Harrison’s eyes not only trained on the side of my face, but his body, just twelve inches away. I lift an eyebrow and stare him down. “You good?”
“What are they?” Forgetting himself, he reaches for the box. “What kinda pills are you receiving in the post, Chief?”
“Nasty, addictive, party pills.” I whip the box back and whack Cato away a second time.
“Stop touching! Stop standing so close.” I snap the box closed and stalk out of my kitchen, around Harrison, and all the way to where Cato began by the TV.
“I’m not taking them, Sophia. I’m not volunteering to be your guinea pig.
I’m not becoming Jen’s dumb test subject. ”
“She’s a doctor, too! She has that fancy-pants degree, and this is absolutely not the first medication she’s put on the market. You don’t trust her?”
“No, I don’t trust her. She dove into a murky lake not so long ago, no clue what was at the bottom, and needed stitches because she cut herself on a broken beer bottle.”
“So—”
“And then she wouldn’t shut the hell up about it. Whined the whole time I was stitching her up.”