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“That’s not happening,” he says, not looking at me. “Let me ask you something.”
“No, wait, hold on. You don’t get to ask me anything until you take me home.”
Lanzo pulls the truck into a hotel parking garage. I’m freaking out, terrified that he’s going to murder me in some darkened corner. The door’s unlocked, and I’m timing a jump so I don’t get squished, when he asks, “Did you see his face?”
I pause, hand on the door handle. I shake my head, not sure what the means. “Peirce? Uh, yeah, more than once.”
“No, not him.” Lanzo parks the truck. “Burian. Dimitry. Did you see his face?”
There’s something desperate in his tone, desperate and intense, like the answer to this question determines everything else.
I hesitate as my already-fried nerves begin to jangle again.
“Once,” I say.
He sighs, leaning his head back with obvious pleasure. “Tell me what you saw.”
I tug at my hair, smoothing it nervously. “I wanted to talk to him before taking the job. It was already pretty shady, so I pushed him a little bit. Finally, he agreed to do a Skype call. All I saw was a dark room behind him.”
“What did he look like?”
I clear my throat. It’s a weird question, since Lanzo seems to know more about this guy than I do, but he’s probably just confirming something. “Normal. I don’t know. White guy, balding, dark stubble, brown eyes. Hooked nose like it’s been broken. Weak chin.”
“Could you identify him again? If you saw him somewhere?”
I cock my head. “Probably. Why?”
He closes his eyes for a long moment before opening them again. “I’ve been chasing Burian for nearly five years now. I’ve met dozens of people that have crossed his path, and dozens more that didn’t live to talk about it. You’re the first one I’ve met that saw his face. At least, the first living person I’ve met that saw his face.”
I lean forward, putting my face in my hands. “That’s really bad, isn’t it?”
“Well, it’s good for me, since you can identify him. It’s bad for you, because a very skilled, very dangerous man probably wants to murder you. So mixed bag, I’d say.”
A sob wrenches its way from my throat. “This is not how I pictured tonight going. I figured I’d clean up after some especially heinous party. Not dump an FBI agent’s body into a ravine.”
“I dumped the body,” Lanzo murmurs.
I glare at him, anger smashing up against my self-pity. “Not helping.”
He adjusts himself to face me. “I know you’re in a bad spot, but I’m going to help you. I want Burian, and I want to make sure you’re not dead. For some reason, I’ve grown fond of you.”
“You have to be the most unhinged man I’ve ever met.”
“And you are absurdly attractive to me right now. Aren’t we a pair?”
I wipe my face with both hands. “No. We aren’t.”
“Here’s what I’m offering.” He leans closer and I’m overwhelmed by his proximity. “Stay with me for tonight. It’s almost sunrise and you look a little exhausted. You need sleep and time to think. I can provide both.”
“Yeah, thanks, asshole, I’m not at my best right now. I get it.”
“In the morning, we’ll talk about what to do.” He pauses, his voice lowering. “I promise, if you stick with me, Burian won’t get anywhere near you.”
I look away, out at the parking garage. I want to kick open the door and run out into the night. Something very bad is happening here, something worse than Lanzo’s letting on. He just disposed of a dead FBI agent without breaking a sweat—that right there means this guy isn’t exactly on the side of law enforcement.
But so far, he hasn’t led me astray. If anything, he’s saved my ass more than once, by getting the body out, by tossing it into a big pit, by warning me about my former boss. Granted, he’s doing it for his own selfish reasons, but still.
“You’re sleeping on the couch,” I say, sitting up straight and gathering myself. “Understand me?”
