Page 327

“Fine.”

She smiles triumphantly.

“But first, we talk.”

Her smile fades. She knows exactly what I mean.

I promised. And unlike most things in my life, I don't want to break this one.

Callie closes the refrigerator. “Okay.”

I gesture toward the living room. She walks ahead of me. Alibi trots after her.

I follow both of them.

Callie curls up on my couch like she belongs there.

Temporary.

I sit across from her.

She looks at me. “Tell me what’s going on.”

I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “His name is Gavin Mercer.”

Callie’s expression turns serious. “And he’s the man you were watching?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I pause, staring at the floor.

For eleven years, I’ve kept my work separate from everything else. Names. Targets. Clients. Information.

I don’t talk about it. Ever.

But Callie needs to know.

My eyes meet hers. “Mercer is a fixer. An enforcer when the job calls for it. He works for an organization that moves money, weapons, information.”

“What does a fixer do?”

“Fixes problems.”

Her eyes narrow. “That's intentionally vague.”

“Yes.”

“Roman.”

I hold her gaze. Understanding slowly crosses her face. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

She goes quiet.

This is the part I've been trying to keep away from her. Not the guns. Not the surveillance. Not even the fact that I kill people for money.