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But this time the shaking never comes.
Forty-Six
SAMMARA
”Okay, let’s hear it.”
I walked into the kitchen as if I owned the place, and Briggs was just an invited guest. I poured coffee. Sat down. Leaned forward, to make sure he saw me.
“The secrecy bullshit is over,” I told him. “The car chase was one thing, but people are breaking into our house now, Briggs. They’re coming after us. Coming after me.”
He sipped his coffee, eying me impassively over the rim of the mug. Black. Probably no sugar. He’d been up a while though, because it looked cold.
“If you’re not going to let me call the police, I need to know what you are going to do. Besides show up what easily could’ve been five minutes too late.”
“I wasn’t late,” he protested.
“That’s debatable.”
We stared at each other for a long moment, and I saw the thinnest hint of a smirk curling at one corner of his mouth. Maybe he was goading me into anger. Maybe he was just remembering last night…
“Alright, what do you want to know?”
It wasn’t the answer I expected, really. But I pounced on it.
“Everything,” I said. “Start with who attacked me and why.”
“The man who attacked you was an agent of Markus Ladrone.” Briggs looked sideways at nothing in particular, then snapped his fingers. “Daniels, I think his name was.”
“Daniels?”
“Yes.”
“And what the hell did he want?”
“You,” Briggs said simply. “He wanted you.”
“Me?” The blunt honest of the statement sent a flash of panic through me.
“Yes. He wanted you as leverage against me. Against us, really.”
“So this guy…” I struggled with the words. “He… He wanted—”
“Markus Ladrone is a mercenary captain,” Briggs said matter-of-factly. “Runs Di Spatia, his own outfit. He’s been screwing the US military for years by siphoning off surplus weapons, and selling them to insurgents.”
I blinked. None of this made any sense. “What? Why?”
“In order to raise money to expand his own company.”
“But that’s—”
“Illegal yes, but only if he gets caught.” He took another swig of cold black coffee. “I’m the one who
caught him.”
My mind tried processing the whole thing. It felt crazy. Like something out of a movie. And yet here I was, sitting in the kitchen of a 200 year-old house, drinking coffee with someone I’d just met, just screwed. Someone who’d also just saved my life.
Oh yeah, and someone was supposed to be my boyfriend, to boot.
