With another deep breath, I gather my tattered self-control and give her a gritty, barely there smile and hand her the bottle. The phone has stopped ringing, but then it starts again.
“You better get that.” Her voice sounds like someone has scratched it with sandpaper. It’s rough and gravelly and sexy as fuck.
“Yeah.” I make no move to answer the phone, though. After two rings, the voicemail kicks in and a beep lets me know I have a waiting message.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” she whispers, and then she looks down at her hands that are busy peeling the label off the bottle.
My first instinct is to say it’s no big deal, but it’s a big fucking huge deal so I’m not going to try to sweep it under the sofa like it’s nothing. “I’ve got to make a phone call, but then you and I are going to talk. You’re going to tell my why Gomes keeps coming after you. You’re going to tell me why you won’t let me take you to the embassy. Then we’re going to talk about this morning.”
She nods again and takes a sip of water, looking at me with wet, huge eyes over the plastic container. Looking as if I’m going to drop her off on the side of the road. Rubbing my forehead, I try to find some patience.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Regan. And I don’t want you to use me to hurt you.” I stroke a finger alongside of the back of her hand, and when she doesn’t flinch I squeeze it. “I’m on your side, no matter what. But I can’t fucking help you if you don’t allow me to know what’s going on. I spent weeks looking for you, and I’m telling you right now that I’d rather be dead than allow anything bad to happen to you. So plan on talking when this is all over.”
This causes her to give another little watery gasp, so I back off. I can’t handle another crying bout this morning. My nerves are shot, and I’m sitting on the knife’s edge of insanity with no sleep, a shit ton of guilt, and the worry of Gomes’s men coming and tracking us down. I wasn’t lying when I told Regan that I’d die before I let harm come to her again. I don’t want to hear those broken sounds from her. Not ever again.
Inside the bedroom, I pick up the phone and see that Nick’s called me three more times. I step out onto the fire escape again and pull down the window. This is not a conversation Regan needs to hear. Not yet.
“Is Regan okay?” Daisy answers before the first ring completes its cycle.
“She looks okay. I haven’t taken her to a doctor or anything.” I figured someone at the embassy would take care of that.
“She can go to one when she’s back in Minneapolis,” Daisy muses. “Why isn’t she at the embassy? I thought the plan was to get her and then take her to the embassy.”
“Thanks, Daniel, for saving my best friend when you had nothing to do with her kidnapping,” I say a bit sarcastically. When my harsh words are met with silence, I feel like a dick. “Look, sorry. It’s been a tough few days. I took her to the embassy, but she wouldn’t get out of the taxi. Rather than go through a big production by carrying her nearly bare-assed through the front doors, I brought her with me.”
“How will you get her home, then?”
“I’m taking her over today, but here’s the deal: she’s scared of me and she doesn’t trust me, so how much do you want me to tell her?”
“Everything.”
“Everything? That Nick’s a former Russian hit man and that she was kidnapped because they didn’t know which girl he was boning?”
“Yes, all of that,” Daisy says flatly. “Or I’ll tell her. Put her on the phone.”
“Fine.”
I climb back in and hand the phone over to Regan. “It’s for you.”
She looks at me like there’s a snake that will crawl through the earpiece and bite her, but after a moment she reaches out and takes the phone from me.
“Hello?” she asks tentatively.
CHAPTER NINE
REGAN
“Oh my god, Regan. It’s so good to hear your voice.”
I’m startled to hear her on the other end. “D-Daisy?” She’s the last person I expected. My mind is still back on the sofa, where I more or less tried to rape Daniel.
Oh my God. I’ve become just like those assholes that used me. I feel so revolting, so unclean. I swallow back bile and try to concentrate on the phone.
“It’s me.” Daisy’s sweet, tearful voice makes me feel worse. My roomie, innocent Daisy, is the one that sent Daniel? I don’t understand. Daisy wouldn’t know someone that ran red lights, much less a man that kills people and frequents brothels.