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I’d checked just last week, needing to reassure myself in the middle of the night.
And even if he got out, he wouldn’t come to Boston. He wouldn’t risk it.
I sat down at the table, tasting the lie in my mind, and shaking all over. I’d been starving not that long ago, but now I couldn’t feel anything.
Nothing except for a clawing desire to call Daniel and have him look into that scary dude, have him double-check all my security, and maybe guard my door all night.
But I didn’t get to have that. I shut my burning eyes. I’d learned in Denver that I had no one but myself watching my back.
And Lia.A tear escaped my face.I wouldn’t be here without Lia.
She didn’t think that way, because of course she didn’t. To her, it was par for the course of our friendship.
Swallowing hard, I opened my eyes and brushed at my tears.
If Daniel Michaelson needed me at her apartment at 9 a.m. tomorrow, fine. For Lia, I’d do it. I’d do anything.
Because there was nothing that I could do to ever repay her for saving my life—and pretending she hadn’t.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Zakary
Pounding came from my front door and I jerked upright from where I’d been half-asleep on the couch. Stumbling through my apartment, I frowned, and peered through the peephole. But there was nothing but a blur of a palm against the small circle of glass.
I heaved a sigh and opened the door, rubbing my face as Slinky stepped in with a sneer and then slapped on the side of his head with a thick envelope. I snatched it away and Slinky laughed, then winked at me. He was a lanky, hollow-faced dude with twitchy limbs, in an oversized New England sports coat, and squeaky, old sneakers that got mud and snow everywhere.
“It smells like ass in here, dude,” Slinky said by way of response and kicked aside some laundry. I gritted my teeth as he walked across the room like he owned it and threw himself into a seat by the window, shoving it upright and pulling out a cigarette. “Youshould hire a maid if you want to get any tail to come home with you. Bitches are stupid, but they like a clean spot.”
I sighed, but didn’t answer. Slinky was one of Hendrix’s connections, someone I’d met at theCathouseclub after we’d “had some fun,” with his girls. I still could remember the strange thrill of power, of imagining it was Sara tied and helpless at my feet.
Slinky was a pain in the ass, but he’d been helping me trail Sara and look for proof with which to persuade Sal Michaelson that I was legit. I’d already tried to reach out once over the phone and it hadn’t gone well, with Sal cursing me and demanding to know what Fed had put him up to this. And then it had ended with a strange rant about chemtrails, sissies, before Sal insisted that his son was “too fucked in the head to be with a female. Trust me.” Then he’d hung up and I’d been forced to reach out to Hendrix again, who’d told me to ask Slinky for proof.
“Slink can find this Sara, don’t worry,” he’d told me, shouting over the phone as music blasted in the background. “And come down anytime toThe Cathouse, the girls miss you, punk.”
When I’d insisted that I’d had no luck tracking Sara, that hacking her phone hadn’t worked again, Hendrix had laughed at me.
“You rely too much on new tricks, Zakary. Let the adults handle this—old school.”
I opened the envelope, which I noticed was already addressed to a federal supermax prison in the middle of nowhere. My jaw clenched when I saw the black and white photos of Sara, walking down a nice street in Beacon Hill, with Daniel trailing in her wake. Then her and Daniel facing each other, her looking up at him, and Daniel reaching for her.
“That bitch lives in Beacon Hill?” I growled under my breath, glaring at the photo where Daniel gazed at Sara, who was looking away, the dude looked fucking besotted. I wanted to throw up.
“Yah, kiddo,” Slinky said. “And you’re not getting to her that way, trust me. That apartment is the real deal. Plus, after tonight, I wouldn’t be surprised if Michaelson put some guards on her.” He laughed to himself. “I’ve never seen the guy actually emote before. He’s pussy-whipped. You’ve got your work cut out for you.” I glared over at him, and he held up his hands. “Sorry, sorry. But look, I addressed it and everything.”
“That’s not Sal’s name.”
Slinky snorted and ashed his cigarette on the window-frame. “Zakary, Zakary, Zakary. You’ve got a lot to learn. You can’t just send a mobster king, a fucking legend in his own right , mail. The Feds would be all over you like shit on a shoe.” He nodded at the envelope as he came to stand next to me, barely coming up to my shoulder, and grinning like a fiend, showing a row of yellow teeth, the reek of cigarettes washing over me. “That’s his little bitch at the prison, some little nobody who the Feds won’t look twice at for getting weird mail. Probably don’t even check it.”
“They can trace it back to me?” I asked, shoving the photos back into the envelope with more force than I meant to.
Slinky snorted. “Amateurs. Yeah, dumbass, they can. That’s why you gotta divert the eye.” He tapped the side of his head. “And besides, the Feds aren’t fun, but the last thing you want is for Michaelson’s people on the inside to get wind that you’re contacting Sal.”
I frowned. “Isn’t Sal a Michaelson?”
Slinky blinked at me and then shook his head. “Oh yeah, good point. And, what’s that fuckin’ phrase? ‘In name only,’ yeah. He’s uh…” The man scratched his neck. “Well, dude’s the ‘Reaper.’ Didn’t really have friends—only the Rhino liked him, and Tommasino was his brother, y’know? And even Tommy didn’t stop the Feds from locking him up when he tried to kill his kid.”
A thrill went over me. “He tried to kill Daniel?”
