She lifts her head slowly, like it’s too heavy for her neck. She turns her face to me and I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach.
It’s her. I thought I was so obsessed I was seeing her face wrong but it’s her.
“You,” I say out loud.
She frowns. No doubt she doesn’t recognize me with the balaclava on my face. I pull it off, reach across, and grab her, plunging my tongue straight into her mouth. There’s no way she won’t recognize this kiss.
She stiffens as if she’s about to fight me. Then her eyes widen and she examines me afresh. I pull back, holding her cheeks in my hands.
“You,” she echoes back to me. “It’s you.”
“You work for Don Moretti?” I ask, once again blown away by how beautiful she is. How did I not notice it was her? I guess I was too busy trying not to get shot.
“What happened back there?” she asks.
“We almost got our asses handed to us,” Andy says from the front. “That’s what happened. Your employer nearly wiped us out.”
“Don’t worry,” I tell her, slipping her hand into mine. It looks tiny in comparison. “They can’t hurt you anymore.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw that makeshift bed of yours. Don Moretti making you sleep in the stable while you look after the horses?”
“I’m not a stable-hand if that’s what you think.”
“Who are you?”
Andy speaks over my question. “Coming in to land.”
The helicopter starts to descend. “I’m not anyone,” she says quietly.
I know that’s not true but I can wait to get the facts from her once we’re safe inside.
We land on the helipad and I take off my headset, pulling the door open a moment later.
Once I’m out, I hold a hand toward her. She looks at me like she might refuse. Then she grabs it and lets me help her onto solid ground.
“I’ll be in touch,” I tell Andy. I don’t need to say anything else. We’ve two dead men. This has been a shitshow but casualties happen in our line of work. As long as Andy gets paid, he won’t be complaining to anyone.
I lead my hostage to the door that takes us into the elevator. I’ve landed here enough times. I know where I’m going. We ride the elevator down to the lobby and then out onto the street.
“You’re limping,” she says as we walk outside. “You hurt?”
“Just a graze,” I reply. “I’ll deal with it when we get to mine.”
“Is that where we’re going?”
“You got any better ideas?”
She looks blankly up at me before replying. “No.”
“Thought not. Come on.”
I lead the way. The street’s quiet. Not surprising for the time of night. It doesn’t take long to get to my house. I take her up the drive, unlocking the door and then going inside first. I listen. Nothing. No alarms tripped. We’re good.
“Sit there,” I tell her, pointing to the couch.
She does as I say, looking dazed. “Did you start the fire?” she asks as I grab the bottle of sour mash from the cabinet, pouring us both a generous measure.