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I make a face, sitting forward to pull up a browser on my computer. “I’m making her an appointment with Dr. Martin, and she’ll be going on it. I’ll pass the prescription along to Miles.”
“You think that’ll satisfy him? She could technically be going on it for any reason.”
Typing in the online scheduler, I add a note of identity to my request, then hit submit. “It’ll do.”
It has to.
After we’ve looked over prospective replacements for the three Flaming Chariot employees we lost, and set up an intelligence meeting with the Ivers International team, Jonas leaves the office, and my phone nearly vibrates off the desk.
A tabletop pendulum sits on the wooden filing cabinet in the corner of the room, swinging side to side, immediately drawing my negative attention as I pick the phone up.
Irritation floods my being as I scan the screen, hitting accept before I can talk myself out of it.
“Carmen,” I say, expecting the shrill voice of my former lover to fill the speaker, but I’m met with a low timbre instead.
“Anderson.” Rafe’s voice is clipped, unlike I’ve ever heard from him before. “Thought I would have to chase you down in order to speak to you, but it appears you’re just as eager to chat with my wife as you’ve ever been.”
“Believe me,” I say, leaning against my desk, crossing one loafer over the other, “I’m never eager to do anything regarding that she-devil.”
He makes a grunting sound. “In any case, I didn’t call to talk about Carmen.”
Of course, he didn’t, because any conversation about her inevitably ends in admitting defeat where she’s concerned. She’s a lost cause, drifting out to sea while everyone chooses to look on.
“How’s my daughter?”
A laugh tickles the back of my throat, but I swallow over it, aware that I need to navigate whatever it is he’s about to say carefully. “You mean after you deliberately had her attacked? She’s as well as can be expected.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to mention the tight warmth I’ve buried myself in twice now since yesterday, but I bite down on the urge, not wanting to fan the flames just yet.
“I can assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rafe replies, and I can imagine him fingering the edge of his massive thumb ring, staring down at the same insignia that was etched into the card left at the bus station. “It’s just been a while since she answered her mother’s texts, and we were starting to get worried.”
“Maybe don’t spread lies about the way her marriage started, and she’d be more inclined to speak to you.”
“What were the lies exactly, Kal?” He pauses as if waiting for my answer, but barrels on before I can say anything. “Did you not murder her fiancé while he dressed for his wedding? Force me to bear witness to the ceremony where you stole my little girl’s hand, after already stealing her virtue?”
“I forced you to do nothing. I presented the situation and gave you the opportunity to make a decision. You chose safety over the contract she had with those media vultures.”
He sniffles, and I blink into the empty office. Is he crying? “The fact of the matter is, Dr. Anderson, that we want our Elena brought home. I don’t care what we have to do to get her back, but please, stop keeping her captive. She’s my... bambina.”
His voice breaks on the last two words, the Italian thrown in dramatically, and a thought snaps into place in my brain, pushing me into a standing position as anger grows sour in my gut.
“What are you doing, Rafe?” I ask slowly, glaring at the only framed picture I own; it’s one of a sixteen-year-old me, sandwiched between Rafe and Carmen during their anniversary party. Carmen’s arm is wrapped tight around my waist, keeping me close to her side where I’d stay for years, like an idiot.
Rafe stares on, oblivious. The way we needed him to be.
And then one day, he wasn’t.
Things were never quite the same.
Which I suspect is why he’s being so cagey now—this has all the makings of a setup, and the idea that he’s trying to lure me into some kind of trap has my blood boiling.
Especially since he hasn’t asked me to do a single job for him since I initiated our little arrangement, and while I’d begun to think that meant he was accepting my retirement, now I’m realizing that maybe his plan all along was to take me out in a more creative fashion.
Beside the picture frame, the pendulum sculpture keeps ticking, making the muscle beneath my eye twitch with each swing.
After a moment, Rafe clears his throat, and when he speaks again, the sadness is completely absent. “I want money. You fucked me over in this Bollente deal, and I had to square off a nice portion of Ricci business just to get out of it.”
“I wasn’t the one who told you to sell your daughter,” I say. “Or who asked her to come to my bed.”
