to her. I need her to believe they’ll be right behind me.
I watch Sherm roll onto his back. We’re both the spitting image of our old man, except my whiskey-colored eyes are more jaded. I think that happened somewhere between the time I put a knife into my “uncle” and when I ordered my first hit.
I back away from Lee’s room and stand with my hand on the knob for a long time before heading to the door at the end of the hall. I squeeze through into the tight staircase to the widow’s walk. When I push out the door, the night air is cold on my bare chest and shakes the last remnants of sleep from my system. I pull the Glock out of my waistband, rest it on my thigh as I prop myself into the corner of the rail.
Earth and sea seem to have struck a deal. White surf rolls rhythmically onto the beach below, giving back instead of taking. The breeze sweeps my sweaty hair back from my face. I lift my gaze into the blanket of stars in the vast black sky overhead, wishing the universe could tell me what it’s going to throw at us next.
Never in a million years did I see my life leading me here. Grant is right. This is the middle of fucking nowhere. On top of that, we’ve got a whole set of unknown rules we need to live by now. It would take so little to blow this whole thing out of the water. We might not even know it’s happened until it’s done: an innocent comment to the wrong person, a nosy neighbor asking tough questions, or God forbid Grant should piss off the wrong woman.
None of us can risk getting involved with the locals on any level. Even a casual hookup could destroy everything.
At the thought of hooking up, a pretty, heart-shaped face framed in soft blond waves, with wide-set blue eyes and freckles flashes in my mind.
Adri Wilson.
Maybe it’s just that she’s not hiding behind layers of makeup like most every other woman I’ve ever known, but there’s something so open and genuine about her. And the way she was with Sherm . . . how she made him laugh . . .
More than anything, he needs something normal right now. She could be the one to snap him out of this.
Or she could be the one who brings us down.
It would be all too easy for him to slip around her. I need to be sure that doesn’t happen.
***
I stagger out of the shower, brace my hands on the sink, glare at the pair of bloodshot eyes glaring back at me. Morning is not my friend. In our business, things generally happen between sundown and sunrise, so that’s my schedule. But Lee is insisting I handle Sherm’s day to day, which means, despite the three shots of Jack it took to get me back to sleep last night, I’m already showered at seven thirty. Automatically, I look for my tube of hair gel before remembering I don’t have any. My hair was the first thing the relocation consultants changed, tossing my gel and going for a more standard “tousled” look. I comb a damp hand through it and call it done.
All there is in my drawers are the black slacks I arrived in, a few pairs of jeans, a handful of plain T-shirts in various colors, and a half-dozen wrinkled button-up shirts that they gave me at Safesite. I haven’t bought anything new because I don’t know what the fuck to buy. Our guys always handled making sure Pop’s and my stuff was clean and ready to go. They’d take it all to Sadie’s because we could trust her. I don’t even know where to get stuff cleaned around here. There’s a laundry room downstairs. Maybe Lee can figure it out. I grab a pair of jeans and a random button-up shirt and yank them on.
I don’t know how the fuck to look or act around here. All I know is, whenever I leave this house, people stare.
Maybe it’s because they know we don’t belong here.
Lee is standing at the stove in her green plaid bathrobe and fluffy slippers when I trudge downstairs, buttoning my shirt. Sherm is in a kitchen chair, his arms folded in front of him and his forehead resting on them. Neither of them appear to have gotten much sleep last night either.