He stiffens, pulling me even closer. “Of what? Who’s after you? What did you see?”
I shake my head, because I’m making such a mess of this. “No one. Nothing.”
“Kate…” he says, coating my name with frustration.
I snag a deep breath and force myself to meet his gaze. The gold flecks are flashing in his eyes. His pupils are small in the sunlight. “You make me want things I’ve never wanted before. You make me do things I never thought I’d do.” My voice gets thick, and I have to work to swallow. “I don’t know who I am anymore…”
The iron line of his jaw softens. “And someplacenormalwill help.”
I shrug, the motion constrained by his grip on my arm.
“A coffee shop,” he says, perfectly mimicking my tone from moments before.
I start to snap a smart reply, but I realize he’s trying. He wants to understand. I nod pathetically.
He shifts his fingers to my elbow, and before I can piece together another idiotic reply, he’s leading me past his illegallyparked Bentley in front of the subway station. Without a word, Wolf marches me down a crowded city street, past a bank, a pizza parlor, and a post office.
At the far end of the block, half a dozen tables scatter across the pavement. Young people are grouped beneath umbrellas, sheltering from the spring sunshine. They look like uni students, with their George Washington sweatshirts and backpacks. We’re just a block from the college campus.
Every customer nurses a large paper cup. A few are eating cookies. One guy is working his jaw around a massive sandwich.
Pick Me Upsays a sign over a large plate-glass window. The aroma of coffee is so strong I almost lose my footing. Wolf pulls open the door, holding it while three young women spill onto the sidewalk, more concerned with gossiping to each other than thanking him for his courtesy. We wait our turn to order.
In less time than I thought possible, we’re sitting in that huge window, staring out at the pavement. I’m sipping a rich black coffee, twin to the one in Wolf’s hand. An April shower springs up out of nowhere, spattering the umbrellas. Students clear out, hurrying to take shelter, or maybe even going to class.
A woman at the counter next to me croons into her mobile, “Come on, Mandy. You’re way too good for him.” Mandy must disagree, which brings a torrent of avid support from her friend.
I turn away to find Wolf studying me. “This is what you needed?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, before I scald my tongue on too-hot coffee. “More or less.” And then, because I have to say something, I ask, “How do you know about this place? Did you go to GW?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t go to college.”
“Too busy coding?”
“Too busy serving five to ten.”
I laugh, because it’s exactly the type of lie I tell when people ask too many personal questions. But Wolf isn’t laughing.
“For what?” I ask. There’s hardly a made man in the Canton Crew who hasn’t servedsometime. But Wolf seems a lotsmarter than the average made man in Baltimore. And he has enough money to buy the best lawyers.
“Fraud.” He’s calm. Unruffled. As if he’s telling me a fact no more interesting than his shoe size.
“That’s a stiff sentence for a first-time offense.”
He eyes me steadily, as ifI’mthe one sharing a secret past. “They let me go when I turned eighteen.”
“You were still a juvenile?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the only time you’ve served?”
“That was enough.” His tone is firm. The topic of conversation is clearly closed.
Two women hurry by outside, holding hands. The taller one has blond hair dyed blue at the tips. That makes me think of something new to say. “Your sister,” I start.
He’s wary, like a wild animal scenting the wind. “What about her?”
