“You smoked inside.”
“I’m going outside to smoke with plausible deniability.”
“Stay near the rear door,” I say.
She gives me a long look. “Don’t make her clean up your mess too.”
Then she leaves.
The door shuts.
Evie and I are alone in the wreckage.
I stand several paces away because if I stand too close, I may touch her. If I touch her, I may not be able to leave. If I cannot leave, Ron lives longer than he deserves.
Her voice comes quietly. “You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve seen you angry. This is different.”
“Yes.”
She turns. Her face has lost the customer-service smile entirely now, and what remains is raw enough that it hurts to look at. “How different?”
“I am deciding how many of them need permanent injury.”
She flinches. Not much. Enough.
I hate myself for that.
“Kauss.”
“They will not stop because you ask.”
“I know that.”
“They will not stop because police are notified.”
“I know.”
“They will stop when fear becomes stronger than greed.”
Her eyes shine. “And what does that mean?”
“It means I will make them afraid.”
“Are you going to kill them?”
I do not answer quickly enough.
She steps toward me, crossing broken glass glitter I thought we had cleared. I move instinctively, catching her waist and lifting her over the patch before her shoes can find a shard. She steadies herself with both hands against my chest. For one fractured second, all my anger goes silent beneath the shock of her closeness.
She looks up at me. “Are you going to kill them?”
“No,” I say.
Her eyes search mine. “Truth.”
