‘What?’
I don’t like not being able to see his face, so I reach forward and yank the curtain across. His fingers are in his hair working up a lather. ‘This is it. After tonight, no more. If it isn’t there, you let it go.’ I lose all the anger from my face and give him pleading eyes. I can’t go on like this. The constant wonder, the constant worry. It’ll kill me.
Becker’s eyes bore holes into mine, his fingers still on his head. Then he deflates and sighs. ‘I promise, princess.’
My body shrinks in relief. ‘Thank you.’
He offers a tiny smile. An understanding smile. I return it and go to the sink to brush my teeth. ‘So what’s the plan?’ I ask.
‘The plan?’
‘Yes, you must have a plan. What time are we heading out?’
‘We?’
‘I guess we should wait until it’s dark.’ I take my toothbrush to my mouth and start scrubbing. ‘What should I wear?’ I garble.
‘What should you wear?’ he mimics, shutting off the shower and grabbing a towel. ‘Something comfortable.’
I spit and rinse. ‘Right.’
‘Be ready in twenty minutes.’ He passes me, his hard body glistening wet. My hold of my toothbrush tightens, and I clench my teeth, my brain reminding me that he’s working. I mustn’t distract him.
I hurry through to the bedroom and rummage through my case for something suitable to wear, feeling a strange whirling in my tummy. Nerves, I think. Or is it excitement? I start to breathe deeply to keep my heartbeat steady. I don’t want to display any signs of anxiousness to Becker. He’ll refuse to take me. But I don’t feel anxious. My hands falter as I pull on a roll-neck jumper, my mind assessing my frame of mind. Yes, my heart is thumping a little, and my stomach is twisting, but I don’t feel apprehensive.
It really is excitement. I shake my head in wonder, grabbing my jeans from the bed, but something catches my eye. Becker’s bag. Or something in his bag. What the hell? I inch forward, my eyes jumping from his back at the window to his bag on the bed. And I frown, reaching forward and plucking out the item of my interest and staring at it for a few moments. Then I cast my suspicious eyes across the room to Becker’s back.
He moves, and I quickly stuff my find in the pocket of my jeans.
I’m taking no chances. Covering all my bases.
I’m ignoring the guilt creeping up on me for doubting him. But if I’ve learned anything during my time in Becker’s corrupt world, it’s to be prepared. It’s crazy. I’m never prepared for him. But this time . . .?
‘Okay?’ he asks, looking back at me.
‘Great.’ I smile and make my way over as he returns his attention to the desk before him. He’s dressed now, wearing some old worn jeans, his brown leather boots and a black T-shirt, and he’s leaning over the desk by the window, hands braced on the sides. He looking down at the map, which is spread across the wood. I approach him quietly and stare down at the old piece of paper. It’s not just his part of the map, though. The missing piece that Mr H had hidden in his walking stick all this time is resting where it should be, filling the hole that’s been present for years. It’s glowing, like it’s happy to have been reunited with the rest of the map. And a handwritten note is set to the side. The deciphered code. ‘How did you figure it out?’ I ask.
Becker breathes out heavily. ‘These numbers here on the missing piece.’ He runs his delicate finger across the ancient paper. ‘Gramps thought it was a code. It isn’t.’
‘Then what?’
‘Coordinates, but they’ve been manipulated to look like a complex code. This map isn’t as old as I thought.’
‘How old did you think it was?’
‘Older than seventeenth century when coordinates were invented,’ he muses, his finger stopping over Rome. ‘There are eight columns on the face of the porch of the Pantheon, and if I’ve calculated it correctly, these coordinates indicate between the fourth and fifth columns, about six metres back.’
My astonishment is obvious in my small draw of breath. ‘That’s quite accurate.’
‘Almost too accurate,’ he muses, straightening. ‘But I guess I’ll find out soon enough if it’s a dead end.’ He glances across to me. ‘Ready?’
That feeling inside of me – the one I’ve concluded was excitement – has just soared. I nod and he smiles, taking my hand and pulling me into his chest. I could shout my happiness. He’s not mad with me any more. Cupping my cheeks, he flicks a frown up to my wig before he brings our mouths together, and all of the lust I’ve managed to keep at bay steams forward. ‘I’m still mad with you,’ he breathes, sealing our lips and kissing me softly as he takes my jeans from my hand and tosses them on the bed.