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“Well, there’s lots of cups here,” I said. I’d expected something like this, and it’d work in my favor when he got independent confirmation of our connection. “I guess I’d better use a disposable one.”
“Yes.” Malik leapt up and hustled to the counter to ask for one of the takeaway paper mugs with a lid. He returned to the table and handed it to me. Feeling a little awkward, I summoned a dollop of saliva onto my tongue and spat it into the cup.
Malik took it from me, holding the cup like it was made out of precious crystal. “I need to go,” he said. “But as soon as I’ve checked—what’s the easiest way I can contact you?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket to make a note.
I recited the number from the burner phone Julius had given me, and my father entered it with swift taps on the screen. He tucked his phone away and gazed down at me one last time. Relief was trickling through me that I’d managed to mostly convince him, but my gut twisted at the same time.
It was a lot of pressure, living up to someone’s vision of their dead child come back to life, wasn’t it? I hadn’t totally been prepared for that.
“You’re okay for now?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” I said. “I’ve got a job and a place to live, friends who’ve been helping me out. I just hope we can get to know each other better once you get the results back.”
“Of course.” He ran his fingers back over his hair and dipped his head to me, a shadow crossing his eyes. “I’ll be in touch soon. In the meantime, be careful out there.”
I thought about telling him that I could take down a man like his domestic terrorist in three seconds flat if I had to, but that would be revealing a little too much information for comfort. Instead, I smiled at him. “Thank you. I will.”
But if any of the people associated with the household came at me or my father again, I was going to make sure they regretted it.
