Chương 6
Lucian leaned over Elena’s shoulder.
“Asset location.”
“People.”
“Sometimes.”
She clicked an archived social media page.
A photograph appeared.
Garrett stood at a charity golf event with four men.
Elena recognized only one.
Lucian recognized two.
His hand came down on the desk.
“That’s Adrian Bell.”
Elena looked at him.
“Your cousin’s husband.”
“Yes.”
Garrett stood beside Adrian with one hand on his shoulder.
The photograph was eleven months old.
The caption thanked local sponsors.
Elena looked back at Lucian.
The room seemed to change shape around them.
Two problems became one.
Not by coincidence.
By employment.
Garrett found people.
Adrian needed Lucian found.
Garrett had spent seven years wanting Elena found.
Lucian said, “He was using Adrian’s resources to look for you.”
“And Adrian was using Garrett to track you.”
“Possibly.”
“Why tonight?”
Lucian sat in the empty chair beside her.
“I was supposed to meet Adrian at one.”
“Where?”
“A private club near the river.”
“Why?”
“He said someone was stealing from us.”
“Was someone?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Lucian rubbed his jaw.
“My younger brother.”
Elena looked at him.
“You have a brother?”
“Marco.”
“And he was stealing from you.”
“He said he was moving money.”
“That sounds like stealing with grammar.”
Lucian almost smiled.
“Marco claimed Adrian was setting us up to take losses and blame him. I didn’t believe him.”
“Why not?”
“Marco lies.”
“About what?”
“Anything that makes a room easier.”
“That doesn’t mean he lied about this.”
“I know that now.”
The quiet way he said it carried more weight than regret explained aloud.
Elena closed the webpage.
“So Adrian arranges a meeting, someone shoots you before you get there, you run—”
“I didn’t run.”
“You arrived at my fire escape bleeding.”
“I withdrew tactically.”
“You ran.”
“Fine.”
“You ended up at my building by chance?”
Lucian hesitated.
Elena saw it.
“No.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“My driver brought me.”
“What driver?”
“Eddie Salvo.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why my building?”
Lucian looked at her.
“Eddie said there was a nurse here.”
Elena stopped moving.
“Who told Eddie that?”
“He didn’t say.”
“How did he know my apartment?”
“He said third floor, rear unit.”
Cold moved through Elena slowly this time.
Garrett did not simply discover her after Lucian arrived.
Someone had sent Lucian to her.
She stood.
“Get your things.”
Lucian remained seated.
“Elena.”
“Get up.”
“Listen.”
“No. Somebody directed a bleeding mafia boss to my home using information that should not exist. Two fake cops arrived fifteen minutes later knowing my old name. Then Garrett called a phone planted beneath my sink.”
Lucian stood slowly.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Because I think you’re treating this like an interesting conspiracy.”
His face hardened.
“You think I’m not afraid?”
“I think men like you turn fear into orders.”
“And people like you?”
The question hung between them.
Elena answered before she could stop herself.
“We leave.”
Lucian looked at her.
Something passed across his face.
Not pity.
Recognition.
“That worked once,” he said.
She slapped him.
The sound cracked through the fluorescent room.
The attendant at the front desk looked up.
Elena’s palm stung.
Lucian did not move.
She expected anger.
Instead he said, “I deserved that.”
“You don’t know anything about what worked.”
“No.”
“You don’t know what it cost.”
“No.”
“You do not get to make running sound cowardly.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I said it worked.”
Elena looked at him.
Lucian touched his jaw once.
“You’re alive.”
The anger had nowhere to go.
That was its own cruelty.
She picked up the bag.
“We still leave.”
They abandoned the Range Rover six blocks away.
Lucian objected.
Elena pointed out that if Garrett worked as a professional locator, a vehicle registered through any Moretti entity was an invitation.
They took a bus instead.
At four twenty in the morning, Elena Voss and one of Lakehurst’s most feared organized-crime figures sat beneath flickering lights beside a man asleep with a grocery bag full of laundry.
Lucian’s knees touched the seat in front of him.
He looked miserable.
Elena handed him two ibuprofen.
He stared at them.
“That’s it?”
“You’ve lost blood and may need surgery. I’m not giving you anything stronger without monitoring.”
“I have been shot.”
“Yes.”
“Twice.”
“Yes.”
“I feel the second one deserves medication.”
“You can have a third ibuprofen.”
He took it.
Outside, the city moved through wet darkness.
Sanitation trucks.
Bakery deliveries.
A woman walking a tiny dog under an umbrella large enough for three people.
For four minutes, nothing hunted them.
Elena realized how exhausted she was.
Her head rested against the window.
Lucian said, “Sleep.”
“No.”
“I’m awake.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“I’ve killed fewer people than you think.”
Elena turned.
“That was somehow less reassuring.”
He looked out the window.
“I meant I can watch the bus.”
“You’re terrible at normal conversation.”
“I don’t have much.”
They got off near Mercy General because Elena knew the streets and because hospitals had people entering at every hour.
She did not take Lucian inside.
Instead she used a staff entrance to reach an employee locker room while he waited in a delivery alcove.
Her badge still worked.
That ordinary green light almost broke her.
She changed out of the blood-marked scrubs into jeans and a sweatshirt kept in her locker.
She washed her face.
In the mirror, shoulder-length blonde hair framed someone who looked slightly older than she had at midnight.
She thought of Garrett saying nice hair.
Then cut six inches off with trauma shears.
Not because she believed it would hide her.
Because he had commented on it.
Because she wanted one thing he had seen to no longer exist.
The result was uneven.
She stared at herself.
A respiratory therapist named Nia entered carrying coffee.
“Elena?”
Elena turned.
Nia looked at the hair.
“Either congratulations or I’m sorry.”
Elena laughed softly.
“I haven’t decided.”
Nia opened her locker.
“You okay?”
May you like
The sensible answer was yes.
Elena had survived for seven years on sensible answers.
