Chapter 5 Kat
KAT
PLAYLIST: CINDERELLA’S DEAD – EMELINE
Ilisten closely to every word Lilian says on the phone and to her bodyguard.
First of all, it is rare that I meet a person with her wit and understanding of technology.
It also tells me she is not to be underestimated.
Comparing log data with tower data is not only brilliant but also requires access.
And I would admire her for it, if not for the confirmation that everything I found in Sutton’s system is legit, and she is, in fact, guilty of something. She knew about a personal digital vault. She doesn’t want to go to prison for something.
Not to forget, that there’s definitely another player in the game, because I wasn’t the one who deleted the files or changed the logs.
I would not be so foolish as to transmit via tower, which is why I chose the attack in person.
Whoever did it did so remotely. Meaning, there must be a trail somewhere.
What I find even more interesting is the call Lilian made to the woman, probably an ex-girlfriend, although there is no official record of Lilian ever appearing anywhere with a girlfriend or anything close to it.
I thought Lilian was more of a when-done-done type, but then, I also didn’t think she was into girls at all.
“Maybe a booty call,” I murmur to myself as I roll over in my bed to check my laptop again for anything on my side projects, meaning the Prime Minister and the CEO, before I get a couple of hours of sleep.
The next morning comes, and I leave the house, not because I must, but because a black Escalade has been lingering in front of my door for three hours now.
I get down, and her other bodyguard is sitting behind the wheel. I walk outside, and the moment I do, he gets outside.
A sigh leaves my throat.
“She really doesn’t take no for an answer?” I ask.
“Correct,” says the man stiffly and opens the door.
I lurk inside and see it’s empty.
“Miss Knightley would like to invite you for a coffee,” he says. After everything I overheard yesterday, it almost sounds like Lilian was lonely or horny.
Don’t do it, I tell myself in my head. If what I found proves indefinitely, which seems at this point highly likely, I will kill her.
I have the photos. I have the videos. I have her indirect confession.
The only thing I don’t have is the knowledge of how deeply she is entwined with Sutton’s organization.
But the way it is right now between her and me is close enough to get the job done.
“Tell her to get used to it,” I say, turn and walk away.
The bodyguard groans, not that I care.
While I walk to the subway station, I stay aware of my surroundings, as always. Reaching the station, I change my plan and instead walk further as I hear some street music, a saxophone, playing.
There is some live jazz music underneath the Dumbo archway.
A genuine smile appears on my face, because this right here is what I love so much about New York City.
Random people, no questions asked, everyone welcome.
The suit vibing with the homeless person, the single mother with her kids, the shy man dancing with himself—everyday people.
And all of them have their secrets. Like me.
The con artist. The killer. The broken one.
And yet, here no one cares. No one asks questions.
“Here,” says a female voice suddenly behind me, and it takes all my strength not to act as a hypervigilant killer, but as a normal person.
I see a beautiful hand with long fingers and perfectly manicured nails holding out a coffee for me to take. I glance over my shoulder.
Lilian. Tall. Blonde. Perfectly dressed to fit in, casual yet elegant. Two—no, three—bodyguards lurking in the shadows.
“You’re worse than men in taking a ‘no’, you know that, right?” I ask her without saying hello.
“Others would call it determination,” Lilian says, a smirk on her face.
“Or desperation,” slips from my mouth. Lilian stares at me intensely; my words touched her.
Keep your cover, I tell myself. So, I take the coffee.
“How are you?” asks Lilian.
“Fine,” I say without looking at her, but focusing my eyes on one of the saxophonists. The saxophone solo goes straight into my chest.
“Are you taken, or what is the reason you block my interest?” asks Lilian out of the blue, and I choke on my coffee. There are a million things I want to answer her, but I can’t say any of them.
“No,” I say, “I’m not. Just not interested.”
“Why?” she asks, not letting it go.
“Because of this. You rich people think you own the world and are so perfect that everyone wants you, adores you, jumps because you say so,” I say harsher than I wanted to. I don’t even look at her as I empty the coffee in one go and walk away.
I groan internally when I hear her follow me.
She grabs my arm to stop me, her consuming scent of fruit and oak washes over me, a very present and dominant perfume, which fits her perfectly.
“I would have a job for you,” she says, catching me completely off guard. A smirk hushes over my face. Not because of the offer, but because of how Lilian operates and what she reveals to me by it.
I turn—intrigued.
“And then what? I work for you, and you hit on me any other day?”
“No,” Lilian says, and I see who she really is for the first time. “More like a mutual agreement.”
“I see,” I say, as the dots connect on why Lilian has never been seen with a girlfriend or anything before. And in any other situation, I would have said yes. Because mutual agreements and superficial sex are exactly how I operate. But not Ella Larsen.
“Think about it,” says Lilian, and hands me a card with a handwritten number on it. “I heard you studied some semesters of Psychology in Copenhagen. I’m sure you could make a lot more in my area of work than in hotel service.”
I really have to fight the dangerous smirk that wants to appear on my face.
“You heard,” I repeat what she said, drawing up an eyebrow. “More like you researched me properly to know where to get me. Like I said, you rich people who believe they can own anyone.”
Lilian takes a step closer and whispers without looking at me. “I also know that you’re here undocumented. I can change that.”
A shudder shoots through my spine.
I am distracted by what she said and by how she said it. Her tone switched into something very different, something threatening and predatory, something I have heard before. Something Sutton has said to me in almost the same way all those years ago.
I freeze.
My body tenses as I am taken back to when I was fourteen. Undocumented. Naive. Volatile.
Images flash through my mind.
Air gets scarce.
Not right now.
I can’t go back there right now.
I’m Ella, I tell myself as my mind. Ella Larsen. Who has fake documents, yes. Because Ella is a fake person.
All of this is fake.
Hi, I’m Ella Larsen. Oh yeah, I’m from Denmark, yes. Someday, maybe, yes. I love tending a community garden. Oh, you too? That’s so nice.
I replay a fake conversation in my head.
And my body calms.
I can breathe again.
“Is that so?” I ask to keep my cover. She has watched me closely. She’ll think Ella is scared of getting busted. That’ll work.
I’m Ella.
“One call. Think about it,” she says with a knowing grin and turns to leave me standing there.
I am close to snapping, a heavy rock in my stomach.
She walks away in her high heels over the cobblestones as if it were a flat runway. With an ass from heaven. Deliberate steps of confidence. Framed by two bodyguards.
I watch her being driven off with two black Escalades, before I stare at the card in my hands. I have to remind myself, physically, what the real thing is.
She knew what Sutton did.
She was part of it, I am sure now.
She’s like him.
Luring in women with the promise of papers.
She is guilty.
She has to die.
I shake my head and draw my shoulders back. I have to kill her. Soon.
But first, I have to find out who else is after her. Because that other player has been looking for information, too. Information to kill for and go to the length of hiding the traces. I want to know who it is and why.
I sit down as I listen to the saxophones play a beautiful piece for another moment, thinking about what I am going to do next. With each passing minute, my body calms further.
Maybe the best thing is to get some distance between her and me for right now. I could take care of the Prime Minister first.
I can’t have the closeness. It just can’t be. I can’t get triggered by her. But I also have the chance to find out how she is doing it and get to the depths of the organization.
I jump up and walk. I have to blow off whatever just happened. My feet carry me all the way through Dumbo to Brooklyn, and it is night when I sit down by the piers to glance at the illuminated city I love.
I still have the card in my hand and stare at it again, before I do something fundamentally stupid. I take my phone and dial her number.
“Knightley,” she answers in her bossy tone. I just let it sit a moment with me before I answer.
“Tell me the conditions,” I finally say.
Lilian smiles audibly.
“Give me your email,” Lilian says.
“I know you already have it,” I say, and Lilian huffs out a suppressed laugh.
“I’m sending you a contract, including an NDA, that can be discussed, but let me be very clear with one thing,” Lilian says, and her voice gets darker. “There will be no romance or annoying feelings, are we clear?”
No romance. No feelings. That’s an odd thing to say if you plan to drug and use someone, right? It all makes no sense to me at this point.
I laugh out loud to overplay my confusion, and also because the thought of having feelings is obscene to me. With it, I totally forgot that I am supposed to be Ella Larsen.
“No feelings, huh,” I say. “Scared of getting hurt?”
I really shouldn’t have said it. Never, ever have I been so careless with my cover.
Usually, I become the person I impersonate, and everything about me disappears.
But something about Lilian makes it impossible for me not to be me, and that fact should not only scare the hell out of me, but make me stay as far away as possible from her.
“No,” Lilian says. “It’s risk management.”
You really are a cold-blooded control freak, I tell her in my mind, something I rather enjoy in women. I like rationality, predictability, coldness, distance, and the arrogance that comes with it—and also the moment when I make them bend for me.
“Send the stuff,” I say, “I’ll let you know.”