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Lanzo comes over. He wraps his arms around me and, without saying anything, I sob into his chest. I hate it, but I need this release more than I realized. I don’t want to act weak in front of him, except I’m not sure thisisweakness, more just an overwhelming emotional response to a deeply painful moment.
“I’m okay,” I say, pulling myself away from him, wiping my face. “I know that probably freaked you out.”
“I wouldn’t have done it if I knew it was going to upset you.”
“I’m not upset. I’m just—” How can I explain to him that I feel like I can breathe for the first time in forever? “I’ve been responsible for Grandpop ever since he got his diagnosis. We had some nursing help, but it’s always been me. And now he’ll get the care he deserves. I’m grateful.”
He nods slowly and wipes tears from my cheek. “I wish I could’ve done it sooner.”
“Learn to time travel then.”
“Working on it.” He seems serious about that. “I meant it when I said I’d take care of you.”
“I figured that meant room and board.”
“I do everything I can for people that matter to me.”
I let out a very undignified snort. “A little soon to be saying that, huh?”
“I’m not so sure.” He shakes his head, lingering. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” I look away, biting my lip. “Should I feel this way? Like I had a burden, but the burden’s been lifted?”
“You’ve been swimming upstream for a while now. This is what it feels like to get a rest.” He squeezes my hand. “Go ahead and enjoy it. You’re not turning your back on your Grandpop.”
I feel so utterly grateful to him for saying that. I wipe my face, taking deep breaths, and steel myself. “All right then, since Grandpop is officially taken care of, I guess I can start caring about this whole Burian thing.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “I didn’t realize you’ve only been half-assing it so far.”
“You saw my corpse burrito. You think that’s the best I can do?”
His smile sharpens. “I can’t wait to see how far you’ll go then.”
Chapter18
Renata
Nerves jangle into my guts as I walk across the park. It’s chilly. I shove my hands into the pockets of my black zip-up hoodie, glancing around for a familiar face.
I keep picturing Burian. His bald head. Those dark, intense eyes. I imagine him jumping out from behind a tree with a gun and a scowl, ready to blow my skull to bits.
Instead, an old lady walking two yappy white dogs ambles past, barely keeping her little ankle-biters from trying to chew on my sneakers.
Lanzo’s somewhere nearby. Hidden, he says. I didn’t press him on the details. I feel exposed, watched, as I hurry down the path toward the bench.
The instructions are simple: gather the package and deliver it to the target. I don’t know what I’m transporting, but I’m guessing it won’t be good. Something illegal. Drugs, weapons. Something worse. I can’t begin to imagine.
There’s a bigger game happening. A dead FBI agent. A Russian assassin. If what Lanzo said is true, and Burian only ever leaves his home country for huge jobs, then more people are going to die before this is over.
I come around a bend and spot the bench up ahead. Per the text, it’s directly across from a street light, sandwiched between a drinking fountain and a huge oak tree. I slow, staring all around, not bothering to hide it. I keep reminding myself that if I were doing this for real, I’d still be paranoid as hell.
Nobody jumps out. No killers, no thugs, no spooky ghosts. I reach the bench and kneel down, my heart racing.
I find a box underneath.
It’s surprisingly small and lightweight. Something rattles around inside, something dull and lightweight. I frown, listening, but don’t hear anything. It smells faintly like metal.
The label at the top lists a house in a quiet, more suburban section of the city, out on the outskirts.
