Chapter 12 Colson #2
“He’s damn good at what he does,” Specter says. “He’s particularly good at noticing details. If there’s a clue at your place, he’ll find it.”
“Okay.”
Wraith reappears in front of the door in a large black SUV. He rolls down the driver’s window and grins. “Your chariot, sir.”
Specter huffs a laugh, guiding me by my elbow to the vehicle. I slide into the back seat and inhale the scent of expensive leather. Guess being a hitman pays pretty well.
As we head back to my apartment, I try to distract myself from thoughts of what happened last night.
“Where are you from originally, Wraith?”
“New Jersey,” he quips, then cackles as Specter shakes his head.
“Okay. Guess it’s a secret.”
He glances over his shoulder at me. “I’m messing with you. A long time ago I lived in an enchanted place called Norway. I forget I even have an accent anymore.”
“I can hear it, but I pay attention to things like that. My mom spoke French to me, and we worked so much on my accent that I think I trained my ear to pick them up.”
Specter turns in his seat to look at me. Did he notice I used the past tense when talking about my mother? Please don’t ask.
“You speak French?” he asks instead.
I nod. “I’m rusty because I don’t get to use it much anymore.”
“I’ve always thought it was such a beautiful language,” he says.
“It is.”
He holds my gaze for a second before righting himself in the seat and facing forward again.
“I never spoke French,” Wraith says, “but I wanted to.”
“I was gonna learn German after I learned Portuguese,” I admit, letting those childhood goals wash over me for a moment. “My mother’s mother was German. Her dad was French and she was raised in France for a while before she came to the US.”
“Why Portuguese?” Wraith asks.
“He’s half Brazilian.” Specter answers quickly before muttering, “Sorry. You can speak for yourself.”
“That’s okay. Yes, that’s why, even though my dad didn’t speak it. He wanted to learn though. He was going to.”
Everyone falls silent, and my skin crawls. I don’t want people feeling bad for me, especially these people. I change the subject again.
“There’s an amazing Brazilian restaurant in downtown Mistone.”
Specter turns to me, his gaze soft and filled with understanding. “I’ll have to check it out sometime. Maybe we can go together.”
I nod, shifting my gaze to my hands folded in my lap. There’s a chance that his life has been even more fucked up than mine. I mean, what has to happen to a guy to turn him into a killer for hire? Do I even want to find out?
Maybe it would be best to keep all my well-constructed walls intact, get through this ordeal, then return to our previous dynamic where Specter watches me dance and that’s it.
Why am I pretty sure that’s not gonna happen?
“Is this the place?” Wraith asks, slowing down in front of my apartment complex.
“Yes.” Specter’s gaze is focused outside the car. “Building four on the right.”
Unbelievable. He must be good at his job though because I never noticed. Never even had a clue he was lingering in the shadows.
“I’ll be right outside, man,” Wraith says to Specter before turning to me. “You’re safe. Safer than you’ve ever been.”
“Thanks,” I mumble.
Specter opens my door for me, and as soon as the cold air hits my face, my knees practically buckle. He grabs my arm, holding me against him.
“I’ve got you.”
Nodding, I blow out a breath. “He got so close.”
“Hey.” Specter moves in front of me, focusing his intense gaze on my face. “He never will again.”
“Okay.”
Wraith stands at the bottom of the stairs leading up to my apartment. Specter walks ahead of me, and I brace myself for whatever I might find at the top.
My door is thankfully bare, and as I unlock it with shaking hands, I feel my nerves die down. I am safe. I’m literally flanked by two killers right now. If anyone is stupid enough to be here, that’s their problem.
I push through the door, but Specter is ahead of me suddenly, his hand resting on the gun in his chest holster. The apartment is the same as I left it. Quiet.
He checks every room and closet anyway until we’re in my bedroom. I grab a tote bag and begin throwing clothes into it, extremely uncomfortable in my own home now that I know how close the danger was.
Specter stands guard, intimidating, eagle-eyed, and intense. I bristle slightly at the knowledge that I actually need this right now. I’ve made it almost thirty years on this planet without needing backup, and it pisses me off that it’s come to this.
In the living room, I grab a couple of books and look longingly at my record player. I pat it wistfully.
“What?” Specter asks.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“No, thank you.”
His jaw clenches as he stands in front of me. “Tell me.”
Sighing with resignation, I nod. “It was my mom’s. It’s the only important thing in this place.”
Specter nods, and the look in his eyes—of protection, care, understanding—makes my stomach flip. See, this is why I didn’t want to get to know him. I had a feeling he would unnerve me, and so far, I’ve been right.
He bends and unplugs the turntable. “Easy enough to bring with us.”
“I… I don’t want to impose.”
“I want you to. I want all your things at my house, in my room. I want your products all over my bathroom counter, your clothes draped on my chairs, your scent all over my sheets. Impose on me, Cashmere. Please.”
I don’t know what to say, so I whisper “Thank you” and grab a few of my favorite records.
I walk to the door, but Specter’s hand on my arm stops me. “Do you have everything you’ll need for a while?”
Nodding, I consider his question. “My stage costumes are at work. I’m good.”
He winks without saying another else.
Based on that look, I’m pretty sure I won’t be sleeping here ever again.