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There is no other route for me to go; Heather’s right. I can’t force her to do jack shit, but I hadn’t expected her to get over her unease with me so solidly. She jerks her head in a nod. Killing her roommate had changed her, I realize. She’s more comfortable with her ruthlessness; more ready to acknowledge and rise up to meet my threats. This is good. This... is really good.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
Heather
“I’m so sorry about this, Ruth,” I apologize again, and she shakes her head. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. It’s just that this appointment is so important, and I’ve been waiting on it forever. I’m not happy it’s so late, but I don’t want to wait another couple of months for an opening.”
“No, no,” She waves a frail, gnarled hand, her smile deepening the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. I feel bad about lying to her, but I have no alternative. “I completely understand, my dear. You’re fine.”
Shouldering my purse, I leave Ruth’s classroom without looking back. My mind whirrs as I make my way through the school halls. Fire licks my cheeks as my own words echo in my ears. I still can barely believe I’d threatened Jack.
I can barely believe he even gave in to me.
“But this isn’t a win; it’s a tie. Limited. Jack won’t make the same mistake twice,” I whisper to myself as I emerge from the front doors. Glancing up at the face of the school, I fight a bitter sigh. “I hope being aggressive doesn’t come back to bite me. He gave me consideration, but I had to fight hard for just that.”
And I’m not stupid. I received my only allowance; if I push him, he’ll push back. Even getting him to acknowledge my real life was an exhausting battle. I frown, watching the sun twinkle against the brick face of the building. Why doesn’t he, though? Jack doesn’t have to go through all this with me. He has the money to throw at a mercenary or whatever they call themselves now; people who assassinate other people for money.
Attempting to subjugate me on the flimsy rationale of my dad’s debt is a risk he doesn’t have to take. I imagine Jack has government agencies after him; he’s putting faith in me not to betray him.
“Which only leads me to one conclusion,” I murmur to myself, pursing my lips thinly in trepidation. “Jack’s treating me especially.”
Turning around, I pause when I see Jack himself leaning against the passenger side door of his car idling on the curb.Crap, I hope he didn’t hear me. Eyeballing him skeptically, I walk slowly towards him.
“What’re you doing here?” I ask, and he smiles charmingly at me. Wordlessly, Jack opens the front passenger door, and my chest tightens in apprehension. Still, I slide into the seat, and he rounds the front of his car to hop in the driver’s seat.
“Before we do this,” he speaks up once we’re off campus, and I look over at him curiously. An almost sheepish expression crosses his face, and he flexes his hands around the wheel. “You were right yesterday. I can’t force you, and threatening you won’t get me far. I apologize.”
“Th— thank you,” I stammer in surprise, clutching my purse tightly in my lap. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on with me anymore.”
“You’re coming into yourself. I’m not so self-absorbed that I can’t appreciate that, even if you get a little... spunky,” Jack chuckles, a pleased expression on his face. I try to ignore it, but a whisper in the back of my mind tells me he’s telling the truth. I’ve fought to be boring, secure, and safe, but it’s all blown back in my face. “Are you nervous, Heather?”
“Nervous? I don’t know if that’s what I’d call it. It’s like I— I can’t acknowledge it,” I admit, my mouth drying. ‘It.’ I’ll be shooting the frigging mayor in public! Glancing over at him, I manage a shuddering, hot inhale. “I’m not afraid if that’s what you’re asking. I just— I can barely wrap my head around it.”
“Don’t worry,” He assures me, putting a warm, firm palm on my knee and squeezing. “It’ll get easier. After this, you’ll have plenty of time to gather yourself.”
I don't respond, and Jack takes his hand off the wheel to grip it and turn on the blinker. We merge onto the highway, away from his mansion, and I cast a thoughtful glance out the window. Now that the looming, ominous task has arrived, I feel numb and empty. I couldn't ignore it any longer, despite having done so all day. But what irritates me is that it doesn't bother me. I don’t shake. I can’t even think about it.
“Here,” he says suddenly, reaching behind my seat to plop a duffel bag in my lap. I tense, unzipping the top to rifle inside. “It’s got the prosthetics like you wanted and instructions on how to glue them on. And the wig you insisted on.”
My lips part in surprise as I pull out a shiny, blonde wig, and Jack nods out of the corner of my eye. “There is everything you’ll need in there. Hop in the back and change.”
“O— okay,” I say, unbuckling and climbing into the back seat. There are only black clothes, even black socks and shoes that are my size. I grimace; I hate black. “I haven’t worn black since my dad’s funeral.”
“You’ll just have to suffer through it. With the overcast, and the time of day, it’s safer than wearing gray or something,” Jack twists briefly to glance back at me as I wiggle and worm out of my jeans and pull off my shirt. “I did put some thought into it.”
Kicking my short heels out of the way, I pull on my clothes haphazardly, bending and twisting awkwardly. They fit quite well, actually. Rifling through the bag, I pull out a plastic baggie of silicone prosthetics. The directions are written neatly on a paper taped to the baggie.
“Oh, there are some contacts in there, too,” he adds. I’m not sure whether to be disturbed or touched by how complete this costume is. He really put a lot of thought into this. Because he wants me to be comfortable enough to do the job or give me peace of mind that it won’t affect my day-to-day life? Either one is plausible. Or both.
By the time we reach downtown, I’m dressed, my colored contacts in place, and what prosthetics I could glue to my face unstably clinging to my skin. Staring at my reflection in the handheld mirror from the duffel bag, I don’t recognize myself.
That’s good. I was worried. Jack pulls up in front of a large warehouse across the street from the rec center, and I stiffen when he cuts the engine. Looking back, his eyes narrow in appreciation as he scans me. I pull back my hair into a tight braid, twirling it and using a bobby pin to pin it up.
“You look,” pursing his lips thinly, Jack’s face tears between a grimace and a grin, “Ugly.”
“Shut up and give me the wig,” I hold out my hand impudently, and he grins in response. Affixing the wig to my hair, I gulp down the sudden, dense lump in my throat and look out the window at the warehouse. “This is it?”
“You’ll go to the roof, the rifle will be waiting for you. I’m gonna be here to pick you up. Shaw should be coming out of the rec center in about 20 minutes,” Jack hands me an earpiece, twisting all the way in his seat to caress my cheek in such a familiar way. My breath hitches and I hold my breath as my heart begins to race. Where’s Jimmy? But Jack doesn’t elaborate. His eyes soften, blazing brightly. “I have the utmost faith in you, Heather.”
