“How much mojo?”
“More than Garrick ever could have.” I’ll say anything to keep him from sending Garrick. “I got this,” I whisper loudly. Maybe too loudly.
“You sure?”
“Who found Savage Adonis? After all these years, who is the badass reporter who found this fucking story? Who? Me, that’s who,” I say, hating myself, but I can’t let Garrick come around. “I am going to deliver the shit out of this story.”
“Prove it.”
“You watch.” I click off. I have to send him something decent. Some good images. I have to keep Garrick out. If I can do that, I stay in control of the story.
Just then Kiro comes out of the bathroom in the sweats, damp hair tousled around the angry planes of his face.
“What’s wrong?”
His fierce attention is on the door. He looks like he wants to bang down the door. “Somebody’s here.”
“What do you mean?”
Just then, a knock sounds.
“Oh.” I stand. “I got it. A friend. Sending stuff.”
He watches me.
I call through the door. “Who’s there?”
“Package fromStormline.”
“A friend.” The car, the money, the phone. I crack the door, sign the paper with the fake name Murray gave me, and thank the guy.
Then I close it and turn. Kiro has put on a shirt.
“Let’s go, let’s stay on the move.” I grab the hoodie I got at the Holiday. “We’re going to a mall.”
Chapter Twenty
Ann
One thing aboutnorthern Minnesota, they have a lot of really comprehensive rugged-guy stores. I go for the priciest outdoor hiker-hunter clothes in the biggest mall.
I can feel eyes on us as we walk in. The store is mostly empty, but that’s not the reason. Kiro is the reason. Two shop girls come around. One smiles. One of them discreetly checks his hand. Not married.
They’re checking me out, too. I’m a few years older, and only medium pretty. I’m in an oversized hoodie over nurse scrubs.
Not his girlfriend.
I smile through the queasiness that rolls through me. “We need everything for him. The best, most rugged outdoor stuff you have—layers, something that will work for every season. He’s going to be…” I look up at him and find his eyes glued to me. I’m so used to him as the drugged-up wild boy that it’s hard to get used to him so alert. Sensing everything before I do. “Um…camping and hunting for long stretches of time. He got separated from his old stuff. The best of everything, but portable.” We’re near the shoes area. “I’m thinking winter boots and rugged sandals.”
“I don’t need foot coverings,” he says.
“Yes you do.”
He glowers, and I soak it up. Again I’m back in our motel room, pinned to the wall. I could bask in that glower of his forever. I like all of his looks.
“You need them. Gas station flip-flops fall apart. And they kick you out of places without shoes…” His glower changes, and I get it right then—any place that would kick him out for no shoes isn’t a place he wants to go. He’s going back to the wilderness. I move in close to him. “It would just make me feel better.”
He grunts softly. Annoyed assent. A slight edge of anger.