We both jumped. “Hell. That’s your father,” he grumbled.
What? “My father?” I scrambled away from Paolo, horrified by some irrational fear that he knew what Paolo and I were doing at that very moment.
How idiotic! I was a grown woman with nothing to be ashamed of.
I shook my head while Paolo arranged himself, took a breath, and then sat down at his laptop. He logged in and read.
His back was to me, so I couldn’t see his face, but his sagging posture radiated defeat, disappointment, and possibly something much, much worse.
“What? What is it?” I asked.
He didn’t reply. I got up from the bed and slid on my panties. “What? What did he write?” I demanded.
His head drooped. “I am to hand you over to someone else tomorrow morning.”
“But why?” I asked.
He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know.”
“Well, answer him back. Tell him no.”
Paolo didn’t turn around or look at me. “I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” I asked.
“Both, and you know why,” he said quietly.
Yeah. I knew…he didn’t want to fight for me. Whatever hold the past had over him was stronger than anything he felt for me. I guess he had his own ghost to deal with. “Sure.”
I flipped off the lamp and got under the covers, turning my back to him.
“Dakota, this is my job. If your father is asking me to hand you off, it’s for a damned good reason. He depends on me to follow orders. That’s the deal.”
I closed my eyes and silently berated myself. I’d known this was “the deal,” but that didn’t make it any easier watching him choose his job and his ghost over me.
Paolo lay down behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, nuzzling his rough cheek into the back of my neck. “I wish things were different.”
Me, too…
~ ~ ~
The next morning, Paolo packed up his equipment while I showered yet again. I wanted to see him as little as possible before being delivered like a prisoner to a new penitentiary. I pulled my hair back into a neat bun and stared myself down in the mirror. You will not cry, you will not cry. Do you hear me, Dakota Dane? You will not…
Oh shit. I’m so going to cry.
Well, to hell with it.
I emerged from the bathroom avoiding eye contact with Paolo.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Sure.” I threw my stuff in my backpack and marched to the truck, holding my chin up high.
The moment he got behind the wheel, he took a deep breath, looked at me with his mouth halfway open, and then pressed his lips together. Whatever he wanted to say, he’d changed his mind. Good. Because no words could make me feel better. I simply couldn’t understand how he could do this.
We drove through town in silence, and when we pulled into the police station my nerves took over.
“Why here?” I asked, thinking we’d do the exchange in the back of some seedy bar.
“It’s safer. Lots of witnesses. Not to mention, I have friends here.”
I remembered Paolo’s “friend” at the San Diego PD. “And just why is that? Aren’t you people supposed to be ghosts who don’t exist?”
He thought about his answer. “Even ghosts need friends, but they don’t know what I do or who I am. They only know they get paid well for keeping an eye on things for me from time to time, and I pass them helpful information when it comes my way.”
“So what did your ‘friend’ give you the night I saw you outside the police station in San Diego?” I asked.
“I had your new identity package sent there for safekeeping. But in addition to that? He gave me information about your roommate and everyone in your classes.”
“So you check out every single person who comes into contact with me?” I asked.
“Pretty much. Thank God you’re antisocial. It’s a lot of fucking work.”
Ass.
A white SUV pulled into an empty spot a few cars down. “Wait here,” he ordered.
I watched the other driver, a bald man with a cold stare, exit his vehicle and greet Paolo with a handshake. I sincerely hoped Paolo had done his homework on this guy; he looked scarier than shit.
They started talking and Paolo waved me over.
My entire body surged with adrenaline and pulsed with anger as I approached the man. How could Paolo leave me with some creepy stranger when my life was a horrible nightmare? This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. But the man’s icy, blue eyes instantly zeroed in on me, extinguishing my rage with a cold chill.
“Dakota,” he nodded his head. “Nice to meet you. Your father speaks very highly of you.”
“Dakota,” Paolo said, “this is Derek. He’ll be watching over you.”
I looked at Paolo. “For how long?” My insides were trembling. Something didn’t feel right.
“As long as it takes,” Derek replied.
I whispered to Paolo, “Please, I’m begging you. Don’t do this. I don’t know him.”