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At nine a.m., a car will be waiting for you across the street. The keys will be on the back tire. In the glove box, there will be directions and instructions.
I thought you’d be there yourself.
I can’t, I reply, and I hope she doesn’t ask why. I can’t explain the real reason, the hunger she’s ignited in me that won’t quit. The burning in my chest every time I think about that youthful, fertile glint in her eyes. I want to control her so damn badly, but only if she wants it. Who would want that from a stranger?
Okay. I won’t ask why you’re doing this again, but thank you. This has been the craziest night of my life. I can’t believe this actually worked. When I got the number, I thought it was just my neighbor being crazy.
How did your neighbor get it?
Through an old Army contact, I think. He’s old and schizophrenic. It’s difficult to know.
In my last few jobs, I’ve become sloppy, letting my burner numbers become so widely available. It’s sometimes as if I want to get caught like that would stop the monotony of life, but not anymore, not now that I’ve met my Katy. However, I haven’t really met her.
Another text comes through. I’m worried about leaving him. Earlier, I caught his son shaking him down for jewelry. It looked like it was going to get ugly.
Then what happened? I text, my hand shaking when I think about my woman in danger. There’s no question. I have to get her out of there.
I got involved. He didn’t hit me, but it didn’t seem like that would be the end of it, either. I know it’s rude to ask. Probably crazy. I could be putting our lives in danger because I don’t know you, but the weird thing is I trust you.
I feel my lips trying to shape into a smile. It feels unfamiliar. I associate it with Jackal and his playroom but not much else. Suddenly, I realize how empty my weeks have been, working out, going for long hikes, and fishing. Constantly alone, just me and my dog. That was more than enough until we started texting.
You’re right to trust me. I’d let nothing or anybody ever hurt you.
No, too far. I delete the last sentence and leave the first.
Do you promise, Sam?
I swear, Katy. You can trust me. So ask away.
Can I bring Eli, my neighbor? If he’ll come. I don’t think he has anybody else.
Yes, I reply instantly.
That means more obstacles in the safe houses and more people standing between me and my woman.
Thank you. I’m not sure he’ll come, but thank you.
I’ll have the car delivered just before nine a.m., so it isn’t stolen or vandalized. Be ready.
Thank you, Sam. Really.
Don’t mention it.
I’m trying to play it cool now, as if my heart isn’t thudding, sweat dripping down my body. I was icy calm earlier, waiting for the man with the bear tattoo. I’m feeling now what I should’ve felt then, but stuff like that doesn’t faze me anymore. This does. Katy does. My woman is the only person who can have this effect on me.
CHAPTER 7
Sam
I don’t even know what I’m doing here. It’s been years since I’ve come to a bar alone. In my twenties, I’d sometimes do it. It was easier with people around me, the laughter, the bantering, and everything else. It’s better than being alone with my thoughts, but as I’ve gotten older, my thoughts have become easier to handle. At least, they were before Katy, before the flirting, before I realized I’m not even half a man without her.
I take a sip of my cola, looking at my glass of whiskey. I ordered both, wondering if tonight would be the night I’d finally go off the rails and get completely wasted.
Drinking has never been a huge interest to me, but I can see the temptation now. With booze flowing through me, I wouldn’t have to spend every single moment thinking of Katy, imagining what she’d say if I told her how much she meant to me, imagining how hard she’d slap me across the face if I told her exactly what I want—need—to do to her.
“Do you mind if we sit here?”
I turn to find two women hovering near the bar. I’m sitting at the end, near the TV, as far from people as possible, but the place is beginning to fill up now.
“Sure,” I say, then turn back to my whiskey glass, staring like a psycho.
“Sure, you mind? Or you don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind,” I tell her.
The two women sit. I glance up to find them exchanging a look. They’re clearly wondering what my problem is. Maybe they’re wondering why a man would come to a bar just to sit there and be grumpy.
