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“Where’s the trap?” he asked. “When’s the meeting?”
She shook her head “He’ll call with that info later,” she whispered.
He hesitated for a moment. “Why’d you tell me, babe?”
She looked up at him, wet-eyed, utterly bewildered. “Come again?”
“Why tell me about the trap?” he repeated. “Why not just do the trade?”
Her back straightened. She wiped her eyes. “You son of a bitch. How dare you say that. If you have to ask me that question, then you don’t deserve a goddamn answer!”
He shrugged. “Don’t take it personally. I just figured, hey, your first responsibility is to Carrie and Josh, right? Goes without saying.”
“And you think I’d be capable of doing that? Of turning you over to that monster after what you did for me? I love you, you stupid jackass!”
He thought about how he’d felt, staring at the blank façade of that town house today. “And what about Carrie and Josh?”
Her face crumpled. She sagged into herself.
Huh. He was not sure what, if anything, he’d learned from this touching melodrama, other than the fact that her performance remained watertight. The backstory was so believable. The dinky apartment, authentic-looking photos of the little brother and sister. That fucking phone call from Josh, at just the right moment—how the hell had she organized that? She must have had visual monitoring already in place. She must have been so sure Nick’d crawl back, begging for more, after the island. He didn’t blame her. He’d have been sure too, if he were her.
The heart-wrenching tale that they’d bonded over: dear old Dad, Mom eating the pills, Becca raising little bro and sis all alone. That vibe of stoic endurance, tinged with stubborn good humor. Such a likable, masterful touch. He’d eaten it up with a spoon.
But why had she waited so long to turn him in? She could have delivered him at any point in the last few days. He’d been utterly off his guard. His head between her legs, his brain melted down.
Maybe she was going for a bigger prize. After all, Daddy Novak would pay big money for Tamara. And he’d enjoy cutting the McClouds into bloody pieces, too, for what they’d done to his son.
With his usual legendary bad judgment, Nick had exposed and endangered every last friend he had. “Get dressed, babe,” he said.
She looked like she was going to be sick. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know,” he told her honestly. “Anywhere. I don’t give a fuck. I’d rather be a moving target. And I think better when I’m moving.”
She plugged her cell phone charger into the wall, attached the phone, stumbled into the bathroom. The shower began to hiss.
Nick sat down heavily on the bed, and stared at her purse. He wasn’t sure where the impulse came from, to unsnap the clasp and look through it. Self-torture, maybe. Punishment for his own stupidity.
The envelope in the inside pocket made his jaw twitch. It was a European envelope, the dimensions different from American stationery. The paper was thinner, shinier, yellower. The flaps folded differently. It was unsealed, and barely big enough to contain the wad of cash it held.
He flipped through it. Fifteen thousand, in crisp new hundreds. The bills stuck to the cold sweat on his clammy hands.
He shoved them back into the envelope, stuck it into the purse, and looked again, more carefully. Found a slit in the lining of her purse. He groped in, pulled out a tiny tracker. A mediocre commercial brand, but it did the job. The shower shut off.
He shoved the locater back into the lining, tossed the purse where it had been.
So, then. That solved that mystery. She’d gone to Gavin Street to make her report, pick up cash for miscellaneous expenses, obtain a monitoring device. Maybe she’d been ordered to plant it on him.
Which meant he couldn’t lose it without her copping to him.
He groaned, dropped his face into his hands. His head throbbed. Complicated, hell. Complicated didn’t even begin to describe it.
She burst out of the bathroom, damp and naked and beautiful in a billowing cloud of back-lit steam. “Did my phone ring?”
He shook his head, watched her dress with frantic speed. Her hands shook. She kept dropping things. Shirt on inside out. Tripping when she put her legs into her pants. When she got to the laces of her shoes, he couldn’t bear to watch it anymore, act or no act.
He kneeled and pulled the laces of her sneakers tight, tied them for her. Mr. Solicitous. She reached out to touch his face with her fingertips, a butterfly caress. Her eyes were glowing with tears.
Woo-hah. Brace yourself for the tender moment, chump.
