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He didn’t drop his smile, despite the fact that he had a gun to his head, held by one extremely volatile, pissed-off Colombian woman with a tendency to snap and make bad decisions. No, he licked the grease from his lips and stared me right in the eye, calm as day.
‘Don’t you want to see your son again, Mariana?’
I’d like to say his words didn’t affect me. That they rolled off me, unbidden.
But it would be a lie.
I backed up, felt the sting of tears building in my eyes. Refused to let them out. He didn’t deserve my tears.
‘Get out,’ I demanded. It hurt to talk around the lump in my throat. ‘Take your fucking food and get out of my house.’
He moved slowly, our eyes never leaving each other’s. I watched, mesmerised, as he pressed his palm towards me in a sign of peace, then ever so slowly reached his right hand inside his suit pocket, balancing his plate in the other.
I watched, my finger ready on the trigger to take down the son of a bitch if he so much as sneezed. He pulled out a piece of paper. A photograph. And held it up to me.
‘I can get you what you want,’ he said casually, like I wasn’t holding a gun to his head.
My heart broke in an instant as I looked at the photo he was holding up.
I swallowed thickly. It was him. My baby. Only, he wasn’t a baby anymore. This photo was recent. How could I tell it was my Luis and not just some random kid Murphy had plucked off the street and asked to pose? His eyes. They were like mine, dark blue, and inside them I saw my own soul. I knew without a doubt that Murphy was not bluffing. I knew that he had somehow gotten a photograph of my son.
My heart started to beat wildly.
‘Where did you get that?’ I whispered. Thudthudthud. My heart was about ready to beat out of my chest.
‘I took it,’ Murphy shrugged. ‘I’m not exactly a pro at photographing children, but I think I did okay.’
I wanted to take the photo from him. I wanted to shoot him. ‘Why?’
‘There are plenty more of these,’ he said, opening his fingers and letting the piece of paper flutter to the ground. ‘Why do you think I took them? I can’t very well buy your cooperation with just the one.’
I remained silent; it wasn’t easy. My skin was crawling, just from being alone with him. I just wanted to know what the hell Murphy wanted from me, so I could either acquiesce, or shoot him between the eyes.
I kind of hoped I’d get to shoot him. I’d try to aim so that none of his blood would splatter against the photograph that lay on the floor between our feet.
‘Ask me,’ he said.
‘Ask you what?’ I sighed.
‘Ask me what I need your cooperation with.’ He took an egg roll between his fingers and bit into it, hot sauce running down his chin. ‘But ask me while I’m sitting down eating. I’m fucking starved.’
* * *
Ten minutes later, we were sitting at the dining table. Murphy had proceeded to bring a stack of photographs out of his suit pocket and place them face-down on the table beside his hand, but hadn’t let me see any more. I’d since collected the one he’d let fall to the ground, and I held it in front of me, my food untouched. I’d also poured myself a vodka, no mixer. No ice, either. After the fucking I’d taken from Dornan on this very dining table, I couldn’t think of ice cubes without blushing and getting very, very turned on. Being turned on didn’t really match being stuck with Christopher Murphy.
‘You’re not gonna eat?’ Murphy asked around a mouthful of food.
‘Just get to the point,’ I said.
‘Alright.’ He stopped eating, looking at me seriously as the snark vanished from his face. I swallowed nervously. Snarky Murphy I could handle. When he got serious, it scared the living shit out of me.
‘In approximately—’ he paused to check his watch, ‘one hour, your father and the rest of your family will be entering the United States government’s witness protection program. The DEA are on the ground in Colombia, moving in to take them to a safe house.’
I raised my eyebrows; inside my heart was thundering.
‘Why should I believe anything you say?’ I replied tersely. Witness protection? Bullshit.
He didn’t smile, didn’t smirk. In fact, this Christopher Murphy was entirely normal, concerned even, and that made him even more terrifying.
