“Kage!”
“Good morning. I left you a cell phone in the drawer under the microwave in the kitchen. Go get it.”
For some strange reason, hearing his voice makes me emotional. Probably because of my history with disappearing men.
Once you’ve had one of them go permanently missing on you, even an unannounced trip to the restroom by the next guy is cause for a panic attack.
Hyperventilating, I grip the phone. “Where are you? Are you all right? Are you coming back? The police were here—”
“Natalie. Get. The. Phone.”
I can tell from his tone that he’s in no mood for a Q & A. So I head over to the drawer he said the phone was in. Sure enough, there it is.
It’s a sleek black thing, folded in half to the size of a credit card. When I flip it open, the screen lights up.
“What’s the password?”
“Your mother’s birthday.”
That makes me pause. “How do you know my mother’s birthday?”
“I know everything about you.”
“That’s not possible.”
Without hesitation, he starts to tick off a list.
“Your favorite color is indigo blue. Your favorite song is ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow.’ Your favorite food is your mother’s roast chicken. You’re a Pisces, don’t eat nearly enough vegetables, and donate far too much of your meager teacher’s salary to animal rescue charities. Your first car was a 1986 Mustang convertible. Stick shift. Onyx black. Your father bought it used for you on your sixteenth birthday. The transmission went out three months later.”
Where did he get all this information? Social media? Background checks?
The FBI?
When I stay silent, too stunned to answer, he says gently, “I told you I’ve obsessed over you. Did you think that meant writing your name over and over in a notepad and drawing little hearts around it?”
“Please hold. I’m feeling queasy.”
He ignores me. “I’m going to hang up and call you on the other phone. It’s untraceable. Use it from now on, and destroy yours. Smash it with a hammer and throw the pieces into different trash bins around town.”
I’m still trying to recover my equilibrium, but I manage to ask, “Is that really necessary?”
“I wouldn’t ask you to do it if it wasn’t.”
He hangs up without saying goodbye. Within seconds, the other phone rings.
I pick it up and say, “Please don’t tell me I have to leave the country. I like it here.”
“Don’t be dramatic. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Don’t be dramatic? Excuse me, but I’m an accessory to murder!”
He chuckles. “You’re panicking. Don’t. Everything’s under control.”
“Whose control?”
“Mine, of course.”
He sounds so confident, so unruffled, so calm. Too calm.
How many guys does he shoot in an average week?
“Kage?”
“Yes?”
“I’m having trouble with all this.”
His voice grows softer. “I know, baby. But trust me when I say I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of everything. Everything is going to be all right.”
“But the police are looking for you!”
“There were no security cameras in the restaurant. The eyewitnesses who provided my description to the police didn’t actually see me shoot anyone. I walked through the room, then they heard shots. The kitchen doors were closed behind me. They can’t ID me as the shooter.”
“How do you know all that?”
In his pause, I feel his satisfaction. “I know everything.”
I’m beginning to think he really does.
“Sloane—”
“Is in Rome. I know.” His voice drops. “You look so peaceful when you sleep. Like a little angel. So sweet. Good enough to eat. Fuck, I love the way you taste. The way you come so hard for me. I’m already addicted.”
I sit back down at the kitchen table, drop my head, and gently bang my forehead against it a few times.
“What’s that sound?”
“My mental breakdown.”
“You’re tougher than you think. You’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? Because right now, I feel like I need some preventive hospitalization. A very concerned doctor should be monitoring me in the ICU.”
“That’s just adrenaline. You’ll get used to it.”
My eyes bulge in horror. “Used to it? Will this kind of thing be happening frequently? Guys will be dropping around me like flies?”
His voice turns firm. “Natalie. Beautiful girl. Take a deep breath.”
Forehead resting against the smooth wood tabletop, I close my eyes and obey him.
“Good. Now do it again.”
I mutter, “Bossy,” but obey him anyway.
After a few moments of silence, he says, “I was called away on business early this morning. I don’t know how long it will be before I can come back. In the meantime, you can contact me on this phone at any time of day or night. If you need anything, just let me know. Don’t talk to anyone about what happened except Sloane. And get rid of your other phone as soon as possible. Today. Understood?”
He doesn’t interrupt my silence. He lets me think everything through until I’m ready to speak.
When I sigh heavily, he demands, “Tell me.”
“I signed up for this. I said yes—”
“Are you regretting it?”
“Shut up and let me talk, please.”
A low, rumbling growl comes over the line, signaling his impatience, but he complies.
“As I was saying: I said yes to you. To this thing between us. To being kept in the dark about a lot of stuff, and basically living separate lives, only seeing each other…well, whenever it suits you, if we’re being accurate—”
“For your safety. For you.”
Steaming mad, I jolt upright in the chair. “I’m talking now! Your turn’s next! Where are your manners, mobster?”
There’s a small sound. A muffled chuckle, perhaps. Then he comes back on the line, sounding contrite. Also like he’s trying very hard not to break out into gales of laughter.
“My apologies. Please continue.”
If he were standing in front of me right now, I’d kick his arrogant ass six ways to Sunday.
“If this is going to work, you have to promise me something right here and now. Promise it and mean it.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t ever lie to me.”
He sounds insulted. “I’ve already told you I wouldn’t.”
“Tell me again. Because lying is a dealbreaker for me.”
His exhalation is slow and heavy. I can almost hear him rolling his eyes.
“I can’t tell you everything, even if I wanted to. There are other people’s lives at risk. But if I can answer a question, I will. I won’t deliberately withhold information for no reason…but there will be more holes than you’ll like.”
“And that’s fair. That’s understandable. Just don’t ever lie to me, Kage. If you want me to trust you, I need to know you’ll tell me as much of the truth as you can.”
He says softly, “I hear you.”
“So we’re agreed?”
“Yes.”
I stretch my neck and blow out a breath. “Okay. I’ve got to hang up now.”
“Why?”
“I’m late for work.”
“You don’t have to work anymore, if you don’t want to.”
I laugh. “Oh, really? Did I win the lottery or something?”
He chuckles. “Or something. You won me.”
Wait. He’s actually serious. I stop laughing and frown. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that after sleeping with me once, you’re willing to support me financially from now on?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t make it sound so reasonable!”
“Why not? It is.”
“No, it’s absolutely not.”
“You’re mine now. It’s my duty and pleasure to take care of you.”
Who talks like that? What’s happening? “Give me a sec. My head is spinning.”
“I’m not saying you should quit your job. I’m just saying you could. Money will no longer be a concern for you.”
I look around the kitchen as if for help from some other, more reasonable person. “You’ll be sending me an allowance now, is that what I’m hearing?”
“Yes.”
“Great. I’ll take it in gold bars, please. I’ve always wanted to stack them into a giant pyramid in the living room to see if I can communicate with aliens.”
Ignoring my sarcasm, he says, “Your house is already paid off—which is good, because that salary of yours is pathetic—but I’ve set up a trust account for you that you can draw from for any large expenses. A new car. New wardrobe. New jet. Whatever.”
Jet?
When I’m quiet too long, trying to pick my jaw back up off the floor, he says, “The trust is solely in your name, if that’s what you’re worried about. I can’t revoke it. That money is yours to do with as you wish.”
When he hears the small, strangled noise I make, he chuckles. “If seven zeroes isn’t enough, I’ll wire in more.”
Trying to work out how much money has seven zeroes, my brain turns to scrambled eggs. I say breathlessly, “Wait. Wait—”
“Mr. Santiago from MoraBanc in Andorra will be contacting you with the details. You can trust him. He’s a good man. We’ve been doing business together for years. In fact, we should plan a trip there. It’s a beautiful place, right between France and Spain in the Pyrenees Mountains. Amazing ski resorts.” His voice turns tender. “I know how much you love to ski.”
Another detail about myself that I never told him.
He’s been a very busy boy.
I decide it’s safer for me to be facedown on the table. The longer this conversation continues, the more I’m liable to topple sideways to the floor and crack open my head.
“Baby?”
“Hmm?”
“You okay?”
“Just a small brain hemorrhage. Nothing to worry about.”
“You’re so damn cute.”
“Glad I amuse you.”
“I’ll try to be back for Christmas, but I can’t guarantee it. In the meantime, relax.” His voice turns hot. “And keep out of that toy drawer. I want you wound tight as a spring the next time I see you. I want you to come on my cock the second I shove it inside you.”
The line goes dead.
I stay in the same position for a long time, thinking, until finally I rouse and take Mojo outside for a pee. Then I get dressed and go to work.
Life goes on, even when it’s bizarre and confusing.
Even when you’re the new obsession of a rich, sexy, dangerous criminal.
Even when you’re in way over your head.
