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“Perfect! Hang tight, I’ll be right back.” She disappears through the big, reinforced steel doors and hustles back out a moment later carrying a small, paper-bound brick of hundreds. “Better triple check,” she says. She flips through the stack one by one, counting it out for me. The higher she counts, the dizzier I feel. “And, one hundred.”
She slides the stack into a thick blue canvas bag barely larger than the bills. It has the bank’s logo emblazoned on it, which makes me nervous as hell. I don’t want Reese and his buddies knowing anything more about me than they already do. Whatever. I can always ditch the bag later. It’s not like Reese has people following me around or anything.
Right?
No, he definitely doesn’t. I’m just being paranoid.
I’m sliding the canvas bag into my purse when I get a text from Cassidy telling me to call her. I thank the girl behind the counter and hustle out the door, putting the phone to my ear as I go.
“What’s up?” I ask my sister after she answers.
“I just got a phone call,” she says nervously. “Um, I think it was from the same guys who beat me up. The guy wanted to know what you were doing. I told him I didn’t know. He said if he found out that you stashed the thing in a safety deposit box instead of bringing it to him, that I would be the one paying for it? What does that mean?”
I ground my teeth. “It means I’m being watched, which is actually a good thing right now because…” I pause, clear my throat, and shout the next few words. “I’m on my way to see Reese right fucking now!”
A passing man gives me a funny look but he keeps walking, shaking his head and muttering.
“Hold on a sec,” Cassidy says. I hear a rustling sound as she pulls the phone away from her ear, and then she mutters, “What the fuck?” A second later, her voice is in my ear again. “Uh, Sophia? I just got a text from an unknown number.”
“What does it say?”
“It says, ‘Noted.’”
I ignored the shudder creeping down my spine. “Good. Then they should leave you alone now. I’ll tell you all about it later, okay?”
She blows out a hissing breath. “Okay. Just be careful, all right?”
“I’m always careful.”
Is it really a lie if the other person knows you’re lying? I’m gonna go with no.
After hanging up, I flag down a cab, and twenty minutes later, I’m pushing the button on the panel beside the door for the second time. The building’s theatrics make me huff a little chuckle today, mostly because I know how seriously the man inside takes them. It’s stupid of me to laugh, maybe, since I also know how dangerous he is. Maybe I’m giddy from the massive wad of cash in my bag.
“Took the scenic route, did we?” Reese says over the intercom.
“More like an unexpected emergency detour.” I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “You want me to beam it to you telepathically, or what?”
The door clicks, and I pull it open and saunter in like I own the place. Reading people is what I do, and I got a damn good read on him last time. He’s the sort to give you whatever you’re most afraid of, to play into your worst expectations and take them to the next level. If waiting tables has taught me anything, it’s that there’s only one way to deal with those people: brazen sarcasm and a devil-may-care demeanor.
Reese is waiting for me inside the door this time, wearing a trench coat which falls to his ankles. He must be sweating balls in that thing. Aesthetics are everything, I guess.
“Tell me about this unexpected emergency detour,” he says with a dangerous glint in his eye.
“I couldn’t get the artifact,” I tell him as I heft the bag. “But I have the money.”
I don’t think I’ve ever see anybody look disappointed to receive a stack of cash. He takes it reluctantly and snaps the seal, then fans the bills out and holds them up to the light. He frowns, then sighs heavily.
“They’re real,” he says. He slumps and shoves the bills unceremoniously into his coat pocket. “I guess that means we’re square.”
“Oh, no. No guessing. We’re square. That’s the money Jason owed you, so his account is now closed, and my sister is officially off your radar. Lose her number, lose her picture, forget her name,” I demand with such authority that I could almost forget I’m talking to a drug lord. “So, we’re finished here, right?”
“We’re finished here.” He nods once, then presses his fingertips together as he spins on his heel, making his coat twirl—a little awkwardly due to the weight of the bills on one side—and makes his dramatic exit.
Well then, that takes care of that.I guess.
* * *
The next morning,I stand in front of the mirror in my small apartment. I’m trying to bring yesterday’s tough-as-nails persona back online, but I’m not having a lot of luck.
