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I stared at him, the sentence going in my ears, penetrating my brain, and evaporating in the space. “Excuse me?”
“They’re bombs.”
“No, they’re not.”
“But they are.”
“They’re not.”
Amused, Rafael tossed his head. “They are.”
“They’re not,” I pushed through gritted teeth, “because no one in their right mind would plop half a dozen bombs next to their bed. What happens if you flip over and smack that alarm clock?”
He barked a laugh. “Nothing good.”
“Rafael! Tell me you aren’t keeping a stash of explosives in your bedroom.”
“Well, I’m not going to leave them lying around the house. How irresponsible do you think I am?”
“Get rid of them. Right now. You want to talk about making me uncomfortable? A pile of bombs right down the hall does that!”
“Relax,” he breezed. “I haven’t put the triggers in any of them. They’re harmless.”
“I doubt that. If you won’t get rid of them, I will.”
Rafael arched a brow. “Oh, you will? You know how to safely dispose of explosive material?”
My mouth opened and nothing came out. Dispose of it? I wouldn’t make it out of the house with that stuff without crapping my pants at the first person to give me a weird look.
I snatched up my spoon. “I hate you.”
“Damn.” The bastard was far from put out. “And we had such a good mood going.”
“This isn’t over.”
Pulling my bowl to me, I focused on my food to give me something to do.
One swallow of his soup and I moaned, eyes rolling up in my head. I promptly ignored why I was pissed at him.
“Oh my damn, this is amazing.” I scooped three more swallows in my mouth, moaning louder. “Shit on a stick, Rafael. Where did you learn how to cook like this?”
“My mother taught me. She was an assassin, specializing in poisons. Want to get your target to swallow it? Sprinkle it on the best thing they’ve ever tasted. They’ll lick the plate clean before they’re choking on it.”
He dropped these electric-chair confessions so easily, it was impossible to know when the man was serious.
“Tell me something normal about her, so I can believe it.”
Rafael grinned at me across his soup. “She loved Shakespeare, as you can tell from Cato’s name. Purple was her favorite color. Purple walls, purple furniture, and on Christmas, purple food. Sometimes she took me with her on jobs, leaving me in the car with music blasting. I heard the best off her playlists.”
My face fell with every word. “Was?” I whispered.
His grin melted away. “Yeah... she died.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Rafael leaned back on the stool, bracing his palms on the table edge, and fixing darkening eyes on a spot on the wall. I knew this move. He was distancing himself from me, this conversation, and the pain that went with it.
I didn’t try to draw him back. I didn’t say anything. For a long time, we sat in silence, eating our soup and listening to the guys shuffling upstairs.
“It was an explosion.”
I slowly set down my bowl.
“Same one that fucked with my hearing,” Rafael said, almost too low for me to hear. “I was nine.”
“I’m sorry, Rafael.” My hand found his, lacing our fingers together across the table. The question pulled out of me. “Was it an accident or...?”
“Or.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, my heart shrinking in my chest. Losing your mother that young was devastating enough. But finding out she wasn’t lost, but was taken—that smashed you into dust.
“Did they find the person who did it?”
He shook his head. “Ten years later, we still don’t know who rigged our house or who hired them to do it. Mom and Dad had enemies spanning six continents. Too many to name.”
“So.” My head tilted to the ceiling. “All those devices in your room. How can you stand to be near a bomb when one took your mom?”
Twin, swirling pools captured me. “How can you stand to be on this campus when it took your sister?”
I stiffened, my grip strangling his fingers.
“You don’t have to answer, because I know.” Rafael placed a light kiss on my knuckles. “This place isn’t a reminder, it’s an enemy. You have to destroy it in her place. Prove it wasn’t stronger than her, or you.
“Like I have to study, pick apart, and examine everything on this planet with a trigger until I understand them and the man creating them. They’ll lead me to him, then give him the death he chose for my mother.”
Gazing at our clasped hands, I stopped questioning why Rafael was willing to go so far to help me.
“You’ll find him.” I didn’t recognize the hard, empty voice that came out of me. “Give him a death worse than the one he gave your mother.”
“Yes.” Rafael trailed his lips over my knuckles—soft and tickling, kissing each one. “I like you a lot.”
Alarm bells started to sound, but I didn’t pull away. “Can I ask you something?”
