Spoiled little rich girl fits better than any explanation. Far better than bank robber. But guesses mean nothing.
“I’m going to send her details off to Brian. I want to know exactly who I am dealing with.”
Brian is one of our contacts back in the States. He has access to every relevant database there is. I’ve yet to encounter someone he can’t get complete data on. It’s a point of pride and a major reason why he’s so successful on the black market.
We have a radio that allows us to send brief messages through a relay, so I get the basic details sent. It’s just a matter of waiting now. Soon I’ll have all the information I could ever want or need on Aslin. I’ll know where she grew up, where she went to school, how many siblings she has. I suppose I could just ask her those things, but there’s something so satisfying about just knowing.
With that task done, I feel like I’ve done something useful, and that feeling gives me the sense of control I’ve lost touch with since Aslin arrived.
“I’m going to go talk to her,” I tell Jason.
“Yeah, you are,” he grins.
He knows I’ve got it bad for her. I’m not even going to try to deny it. My romantic impulses are twisted at the best of times, but she makes me want to be… normal.
Aslin is sitting on the dock wearing pink jeans and sneakers and a white tank top. Her shoulders are brown and one of the straps of the tank has moved slightly, showing a paler stripe of skin that looks incredibly sexy. I want her. I want her fucking bad. But I have more sense than Jason. I know better than to get involved with a stranger.
“Are the fish biting?”
“Not at the moment, but you never know when one will take the bait. Fishing teaches patience,” she says, taking a swig from her little pink decanter, which I surmise does not contain water.
“I think you have a drinking problem, Aslin.”
“I don’t have a drinking problem. I just like to drink. Besides, I’m on vacation. Day drinking is part of the brief.”
“You almost killed yourself diving into a river to get your booze back.”
“That was about making a point.”
“Uh huh. Still. Let’s say no more drinking for a few days.”
“Let’s not.”
I take the flask from her, expecting a tantrum. But Aslin just shrugs and starts reeling what might be her catch in. Her focus is on her prey, and mine is on her. I can’t help but notice how expert she is, how she lets the fish run a bit before tightening up and drawing it in. She’s letting it tire itself out, not risking the possibility that it will use all of its strength and break the line.
Before I know it, there’s a fish on the hook and out of the water. Looks like a decent sized rainbow trout, a good fifteen pounds at least. The girl really knows how to handle a rod.
“Now that’s breakfast,” she declares, handing the beast over to me to dispatch and dress.
There’s something about Aslin I just can’t trust, something even more slippery than the trout, which makes a mighty thrashing motion as she walks past me and propels itself out of my hands and back into the water below, gone in an instant.
“Did that really just happen?” Her expression is a perfect mixture of judgement and amusement.
“Sorry,” I say.
“Fumblefingers,” she replies. “Guess I’ll bait another hook.”
She sits back down and does just that. She’s not mad about me losing her fish at all. That’s a good character trait, being patient. And kind. And having a great fucking sense of humor. And being absolutely adorable. And having that special spark, that wildness that usually gets beaten out of people early on.
I sit down next to her on the dock and watch her fish. There’s a pleasant silence, a stillness of water moving and life happening.
“Tell me about where you grew up.” I ask the question in the form of an order.
“Not much to tell. The great American wilderness, nothing to do but fish and hunt. Never liked hunting, but I did like fish, so I got used to fishing.”
“You have brothers or sisters?”
She glances over at me, slightly perplexed. “I’ve got an older brother and an older sister. Both have different fathers and neither one of them lived with us. My mom raised me by herself out on the land. She used to milk a small herd of dairy cows for a local farmer.”
“Sounds idyllic.”
“Yeah. Well. Like most things that sound idyllic, it mostly smelled like shit.”
She’s cynical. I like that. I like everything about her, even the things I don’t like.
“What about you?” She asks me back. “Where did you grow up?”
“Detroit.”
“Really. Huh.”
“Yep. Me and five brothers. My grandfather worked in the auto industry, my dad was unemployed, and I joined the military as soon as I could. Never looked back.”