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We shower after then sit in the living room in sweats and eat take-out.
He tells me more stories from his travels, nicer stories this time, stories about making German friends in France, about helping a kind older couple in Belarus with their chickens, human stories. The sort of thing I can’t imagine him sharing with his macho Atlas friends.
I feel comfortable. It’s strange, how we’re clicking together, falling into place, finding a rhythm. This is the new phase, where everything’s exciting, but I love this tumble from probably-maybe-sorta into yes-yes-please-yes-more. It starts as a dance and ends in a freefall.
And right now, I’m dropping through air.
Only there has to be a bottom at some point. There has to be solid ground, stability, something I can rely on.
Only I don’t know if I have that with Lanzo.
I keep thinking about how surprised his friends seemed that he had a girlfriend. How they all assume he’ll disappear back to Europe the moment this thing with Burian is over.
Can I really let myself get attached to a man that most likely won’t be here anymore after this is all over?
I put my feet in his lap, listening to him talk, watching his lips move, except all I’m thinking about is how badly this is going to hurt when it’s over.
But his stories get interrupted by my phone.
I stand up, raising the screen so he can see Burian’s name on the glass. Lanzo’s easy, carefree demeanor disappears as he grabs his laptop.
“Answer,” he commands. Bossy as ever.
“Are you sure?” Fear spikes into my stomach. I don’t have time to be annoyed with him. “He knows we’re working together.”
“He wants to talk. That’s a good sign.” Lanzo shoves a cord into my phone, connecting it to his laptop. “He probably knows we’re fucking too, I bet. Answer it.”
I groan, but steel myself. This is why I’m here. This is important. I hit the green button. “Hello?”
“Renata.” Burian’s voice, low and glad-sounding as always. “I wasn’t sure you’d pick up.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d call, considering how things went. Who was the guy that tried to kill me?”
“He was a problem, which you so kindly solved for me. Or I suppose Lanzo did. Hello, Lanzo. I know you’re listening.”
“Hello, Burian.” Lanzo doesn’t pretend like he’s not sitting an inch away from me. He taps away wildly at the keyboard. “Keep talking, old friend. I’ll catch up to you this time.”
Burian laughs, sounding genuinely delighted. I frown at Lanzo, head tilted.Old friend?I’ve never heard him refer to Burian like that.
When I think about it, I don’t even know their relationship.
How does Lanzo know Burian so well? Why has Lanzo been hunting Burian, in particular? And how long has this dance gone on for?
“I should’ve known you were involved with the girl,” Burin says. “She’s much too special to be left alone. But I suppose I don’t need to tell you that. When did you pick her up?”
“On the very first job. I managed to intercept some of your emails.”
I glare at Lanzo. He hadn’t told me that, though I should’ve assumed. How else would he have known to go to that motel room? Still doesn’t feel good to find out he was spying on me.
“Very well done,” Burian says. “I suppose I’ll keep this short then. Renata, don’t worry, I’m not disappointed in you. I would have done the same if I were in your position. I asked a lot of you.”
“I’m not too concerned over how you feel about me.”
“Oh, but you should be, considering the lives of everyone you love rest in my hands.”
Lanzo grunts. “Don’t take his threats seriously.”
“Why wouldn’t she?” Burian asks, sounding curious. “I’m successfully killing undercover FBI agents. Why do you think a few mafia thugs can keep me from killing a doddering old man? You should know better than that, Lanzo.”
