Page 90 of Ricochet

“For so many years, I was haunted by the thoughts that I’d soon forget what she looked like. It’s the truly amazing things in life that we remember most vividly, in the most vibrant colors. Everything else is simply a white canvas.” She let out a huff. “And some are painted so black, you’ll never see the colors. With Michael, I always thought, if I could just get out, get away from him, I could paint this blackness into a world of vibrant colors again. As it once was.” She shook her head, her gaze directed beyond me, and her eyebrows lowered in an expression of hopelessness that made me want to lift her up into my arms. “Nothing can be painted over black, though. No matter how many layers of color you paint, the blackness beneath it will always bleed through.”

She finally lifted herself from the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. That beautiful smile lit her face again as her gaze fell from mine. “Anyway, that’s my lesson for today. Please come back tomorrow for another riveting half hour of Aubree’s mostly incoherent ramblings.”

I took another swig of whiskey, letting the burn coat my throat, staring at the incredibly complex woman I didn’t think I’d ever fully understand. “There’s sweetness to your poison, Aubree—as intoxicating and beautiful as it’s deadly. The more I know about you, the more I want to know.”

Before she could respond, my phone buzzed from the holster at my hip. I lifted it, eyeing the familiar number across the screen, and stepped out of the kitchen into the foyer before answering. “Yeah.”

Bojanski’s raspy Polish voice spoke low on the other end. “Cops were here.”

“Only cops, or FBI, too?”

“Police Chief, I guess. Didn’t think the bastard worked cases.”

I wanted to laugh at that. “He has a personal interest.”

“Gave ‘em the name, Alec Vaughn, just like you said, right?”

Alec’s idea. A way to throw them off my trail. “Good. Was DeMarcus Corley there?”

“Yep. Good thing, too. Almost had a dead fuckin’ Chief, and I’m sure the natives would’ve gone apeshit over that.” He’d coughed like his lungs might pop through the receiver at any moment, and I tugged the phone from my ear until he’d finished. “Anyway, the ball is in motion now. Good luck, my friend.”

“Thanks. For everything.” My wife had grown up with the Bojanskis. Leon, and his brother Frank, had always looked out for Lena, like the big brothers she never had. And since police stayed away from the notorious brothers who were known for some of the most brutal murders in the city, they didn’t hesitate to help when I came to them.

That was the thing about Detroit. Had to be careful who you fucked with, because everybody had connections.

“Anytime. You make ‘em pay for what they did. You make ‘em pay big time, hear?”

“I will. I promise you that.”

When I returned to the kitchen, Aubree sat on the countertop, beer bottle set between her splayed thighs, and my throat went dry. She raised a fork with eggs and bacon piled on it from the plate beside her.

With a much bigger appetite than her proffered food, I strode across the room, setting my hands flat on either side of her, and opened my mouth to take the bite.

Her hand jerked back. “Wait. I have a question.” The sweep of her tongue across her lips seized my attention. “So, we never got to you. You told me you were a video game designer. What kind of games?” She smiled. “Kidnapping unwitting damsels in distress?”

I grinned, and she shoveled the food into my mouth, the smoky bacon coating my tongue as I chewed before swallowing. “Not quite. A mafia crime game called Ladder of the Gods. Players take out major figures on behalf of the notorious Gabrielli crime family to climb the ranks. The ultimate goal is to take out the Capo of the Gabrielli family. It’s a game of revenge.”

“Ah. And who is the hero of the game?”

“Someone I spent years creating. Long before I designed the game. He’s the ultimate hero.”

“And why does he want revenge?” Her brow winged up.

“I never really fully developed that part of the game. He had a backstory, but … I just sort of kept it obscure. It made him something of a mysterious madman. An anti-hero, of sorts. He had a pretty brutal means of delivering punishment, and throughout the game, players battle their conscience. All they’re given is snapshots of memory. They create their own backstory to justify the cruelty, as they play.”

“That sounds like it’d be a hit.” She stuffed another piece of bacon into her mouth, chomping as she talked. “No pun intended. I’m not much of a gamer. Was it pretty popular?”

“Never made it to production. I had a meeting with the publisher the night—” I cleared my throat, choking back the guilty confession that’d always stung the back of my thoughts. “Just didn’t happen.”

“Nick? I don’t want to pry, but … that night … how did you survive?”

It was a question I’d asked myself over and over. I didn’t know how I’d survived. Physically or mentally. “I somehow got to my feet, ready to go after those bastards. Somewhere along the way, I collapsed. No idea where. But a young girl found me. Girl from the streets.” My cheek twitched with an urge to smile, as I thought of Lauren so young. “She called an ambulance. Took my dog while I was in the hospital. I owe her my life.”

“You have such an amazing sense of loyalty, Nick. It must be a wonderful feeling for a young girl to have earned your respect like that.”

I sipped the last of my whiskey and set it atop the counter. “Lauren’s not so young anymore. Nineteen.”

“She’s something of a daughter to you, then.”