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“You said the hitman wouldn’t be able to make it into town.” She glared at him, and once again, Gideon realized what a formidable opponent she’d be in court.
“Not talking about the hitman,” he said. Damn it, if he didn’t tell her the truth, she was going to do something dangerous. Or stupid. Probably both. “Trying to get out of here, and drive on those roads, at night, with this storm still dumping snow, would be fatally stupid. I haven’t heard a plow in hours, and there’s probably close to another foot of snow on the ground. You’d get stuck somewhere and freeze to death.” He sighed. “Put on enough clothes so that you’re warm, and we’ll talk.”
The streetlamps on the road sent just enough light into the room to see her expression. She was confused. Wary. But she reached for her jacket and shoved her arms into it. Then wrapped her arms around herself. Stood and stared at him. “Talk about what?”
Gideon sat on the side of his bed, and he nodded toward hers. “Sit on the side so we can see each other better.” He wanted her close so he could grab her if she tried to run.
Without taking her eyes off him, she slid around the bed and perched on the edge of it. “So talk.”
Gideon sighed. “You might want to get into bed. To stay warm.”
“I’m fine here.”
Okay. He hoped she wouldn’t try to run, or lose her shit, but he wasn’t optimistic. “The guy you heard talking to Jerry? The hitman he was hiring? That was me.”
She stared at him and frowned. “You sound nothing like that guy. He had a New Orleans accent. I know, because I was down there recently for a case.”
“Are you absolutely sure of that?” Gideon said, using the NOLA accent he’d used with Trotter to disguise his voice.
She sucked in a breath. Skittered back on the bed, trying to get away from him. He lunged for her hand and circled his fingers around her wrist. She fought to free herself, but he merely held on more tightly. Waited until she tired herself out, struggling on the bed.
