“I don’t know.”
She huffs. “I’ve seen your scars. Unless you’ve beenmuggedon a regular basis, carrying a gun?—”
“I didn’t say none.I don’t knowhow many, Carina. I stopped counting.”
I watch that reply register, waiting for the disgust to appear.
She’s remarkably blasé as she comments, “So, a lot.”
I shrug. Numbers are relative. A hundred seconds pass fast. A hundred graves cover a significant amount of ground.
Our shooting session must have sparked this curiosity. The number of potatoes Carina hit—or didn’t hit, rather—was alesson that murder isn’t as simple as pointing and pulling a trigger. You have to work at being a successful killer.
“Do you get used to it?”
Naked curiosity blankets her tone, and I’m not sure if I should feel relieved or uncomfortable that she hasn’t run in the opposite direction yet. I didn’t avoid discussing work with her only to protect myself. This was darkness I didn't want Carina anywhere near.
“Yes, and no. It is part of the job. Unavoidable.”
“You could change jobs.”
I turn my gaze on her, ensuring she sees the sincerity when I say, “That will never happen, Carina. Never.” I snuff my cigarette, abandoning the smoldering butt on the tray.
Carina slumps lower in her chair. Looking away, at the pond, she says, “I’m going back to Paris in the morning.”
“You can’t go back to Paris.”
Her head jerks left, annoyance evident in her expression. “I can if I want to.”
I hold her gaze. “You can’t go back.”
“You soundexactlylike my father,” she spits, which I know is not a compliment.
“Who is still looking for you.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
“How?” she demands.
I exhale. “An informant. He’s the one who told us you’d run.” It’s dangerous for her to have that knowledge, but she needs to understand I’m not speculating. That returning to Paris will be a matter of when, not if, she’s found. “I know they’ve sent more men recently. They’re still searching. They’ll keep searching until they find you.”
Carina glances away again. Not before I catch a spasm of … something on her face.
“You are not telling me everything,” I realize.
Silence.
“I’m trying to help you.”
“Are you? Or are you just doing your fucked-up job?”
“If I were doing my job, we would be in Russia.”
“And if you weren’t doing your job, you’d let me go.”
I shake my head. “Where would you go, Carina? You want to hide in a hostel for the rest of your life?”
