CHAPTER 23
Jane was just out of the shower, staring at a small red dot on her face that was threatening to move into pimple territory, when the phone rang. The boss. Jane picked it up. “Hello, Mr. Dawes, sir.”
He laughed; Jane smiled into the phone.
“I thought maybe this time I should give you a little extra warning that I’m coming.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, sir.”
“I’m in the kitchen,” he said.
“What? But I’m not dressed. I’m naked and wet,” she blurted.
There was a pause, then an amused curse word. And then: “I’ll be in the living room when you’re . . . ready.” He hung up.
Jane stared at the wet rat hair and her unmade-up face and rolled her eyes. Then she got on with it, hiking her towel a little higher and a little tighter, and went into the bedroom, where she pulled on some jeans and a T-shirt.
When she came out, making a pit stop to squeeze water out of her hair into the sink, Nick was standing in the living room looking not the least bit relaxed, staring out the window with his hands clasped behind his back. His posture was excellent and showed off the breadth of his shoulders and made her want to peek under his jacket and shirt just to see if his shoulder blades looked as awesome as she suspected. That said, he didn’t look particularly comfortable. Jane had the weird sensation that, unlike the last time he’d stopped by, the penthouse was now her home, and he was just a visitor.
“The fish are happy,” Nick said.
“Well, you gave me very detailed instructions. It’s been a nonstop party here.”
He turned around and gave her a look. “I know.”
She flushed and then realized what he meant. “Oh. Right. From when you were here with the hit man.”
“Don’t call him that to his face next time you see him.”
“I’m kind of hoping that I never have the opportunity.”
Nick smiled. “Fair enough.”
“How can I help?” Jane asked.
Nick came over and sat down on his sofa, his arm slung along the top. “I have another proposition for you.”
You look and sound like a sex god. I can’t think of a single thing you’d suggest that I wouldn’t want to do. And thank goodness you’re not a mind reader. “Which is?” Jane prompted.
“I need a date for a fancy consulate party.” He stopped there, no further details provided. “I was hoping you’d go.”
“When?” Jane asked, her heart suddenly pounding. I am giddy. I am actually giddy over you asking me out. Except . . . you should not be asking me out, and I should not accept.
I am totally saying yes.
“Saturday night,” he said. “I’d pay you one thousand dollars.”
Jane flinched. Oh. Right. “You’re already paying for my time taking care of your stuff,” she said quietly. “I’m happy to do it.”
“It’s a job for the Hudson Kings, so it’s only fair that you get compensated,” Nick said.
Jane could not for the life of her figure out why something so reasonable felt so unpleasant. Particularly given that she’d recently argued with him that he should hire her for just this sort of thing. She’d meant full-time, on a salary, though. Not so escortish. She’d happily go to a party with Nick Dawes for free. “Mr. Dawes,” she said, in a hard voice. “The thing is that I like hanging out with you, so I don’t feel the need to charge you more than you’re already paying me for taking care of your fish. It sounds like fun.”
Nick just stared at her like she’d said something weird. “Give it to your grandmother then,” he finally said.
Jane shrugged. “Yeah. Okay. That’s very generous. I’ll do that. I’d be happy to help.”
“Stop being so fucking polite, Jane,” he said quietly. “I didn’t just suggest you because I thought you’d be good at it. I enjoy your company.”
Jane lost her ability to look unflappable. She had to take a moment to confirm that her jaw was not hanging open. “I enjoy your company” was simply the nicest possible thing Nick Dawes could say to her short of “I can’t go one second more without totally making out with you.” She could only pray that a weird guttural noise of sexual desire didn’t spontaneously spring from her mouth.
“You’re a good guy, Nick,” she said. “Your ‘Nana’ . . . Jemilla. She did a good job.”
Nick’s eyes widened.
“I looked in your office, you know. Your desk drawer.” Jane bit down on her lip, suddenly worried she’d gotten this wrong. “I think . . . I think you wanted me to.”
Nick just nodded, his gaze boring into hers, and said heavily. “Yeah.”
“Do you . . .” Do you want to talk about what happened to her? Do you ever? Jane decided to go for it. “It was so short; there weren’t any details. What did your Ms. Johnson die of?”
He took a breath and then managed a funny little smile that was totally mismatched to his answer. Probably because he was trying to cover the pain he felt when he said, “Bullets. My Ms. Johnson died of bullets.” He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to stay or go.
“I’m sorry,” Jane said. “Oh, wow. I’m so sorry.”
Nick got up from the couch, stuck his hand in his pockets, and wandered toward the enormous window overlooking the water. In a dispassionate voice he said, “The newspaper had a line about it when it happened, but . . . you know, like it wasn’t as important as what else was going on that day. Something like ‘Librarian shot on school campus.’ I remember the rage just filling me up. How could they not use her name? She was everything to me. She was all I had. I remember going to class the next day, and a teacher—I don’t even remember who it was—said, ‘Let’s have a moment of silence for our librarian.’”
Jane joined him at the window. He didn’t look over. Just kept staring at the water.
“And I started yelling,” Nick continued, “‘Her name is Jemilla Johnson.’ Yelled it over and over, and they took me down to the nurse’s office. Because I was there, you know, when it happened. Some stupid fight outside, nothing to do with me, nothing to do with Ms. Johnson, but one guy bursts in, tries to hide in the stacks. He’s running all over the library. I’m in the back room eating chips and reading a book when bullets start going off. Shakespeare starts barking his head off. I drag him to the floor under the desk. It’s chaos out there. There’s a boom. So loud. And then it’s quiet. And then screaming. I come out, Shakespeare runs ahead, looking for his mom. On one side of the room in between the stacks there’s a dead kid.”
Jane put her hand on Nick’s arm, unsure if he would welcome it.
He looked down at her smaller hand on his big, muscular arm and finally looked into Jane’s eyes. “On the other side, the stacks are knocked over. Ms. Johnson . . .” Nick’s voice cracked. “Ms. Johnson’s bleeding all over a pile of books. She’s just laid out flat on top of all these books, pages soaked red.”
He stared down at the rug. “Shakespeare starts licking her, and I’m trying to find the gunshot hole, but there’s not just one hole, and she’s bleeding so much. So I pull her on my lap. She’s not even crying. Wide eyes, you know? Shakespeare’s licking her face and whining. I’m just saying, ‘Ms. Johnson, don’t leave me, don’t leave me . . .’ And her fingers uncurl, and Shakespeare puts his nose in her hand, and she looks at me and says, ‘Promise me, Nicholas.’ And then she just . . .”
Nick made a vague hand motion.
She died in his arms. “Oh, Nick,” Jane said.
“I took Shakespeare home after he stopped chasing the ambulance. She loved that dog. I had him until he died of old age, the second worst day of my life.”
“But you kept your promise,” Jane murmured. “Look at you now.”
Nick walked away from Jane, as if to check out the view, and when he looked back the next time, the pain in his face was gone, and he’d put his armor back on. “Well,” he said dispassionately, “I got myself to college, graduated, and never looked back. When the big money started coming in, I started telling myself that this was the promise. But I didn’t really keep the promise. That’s the thing that gets me. I didn’t become the man she was talking about. Sokolov saw that. He may be a complete bastard, but he spotted my weakness, and he figured out how to push my buttons. And that’s when I made my mistake.”
Sokolov? But no way did Jane want to break the spell, so she didn’t ask.
“Armor’s pretty good,” Nick said, more to himself than to Jane, “but it’s not foolproof, because you need weak spots to be able to move around. Sokolov found an opening, and it’s like he jammed a blade right in there. And now, right when . . .” His attention came back, square on Jane.
She sucked in a quick breath, stunned by the pull between them.
Suddenly, Nick moved to stand in front of her. He raised his hand, and for a minute she thought he might touch her face, before he reached right past her ear. Jane looked over her shoulder and watched as he straightened a framed painting of expensive splotches a microinch, which didn’t seem to make a difference. Her face burned in some hell-born combination of embarrassment, desire, and total confusion.
“I could have had it all,” Nick mumbled to himself.
Jane desperately wanted him to finish the thought. What’s having it all?
Nick ruffled up his hair, shaking his head. “Jesus, I don’t know where this keeps coming from. You’re so easy to talk to. Man, I did not mean to get . . .” He looked at his watch, another one of a million gestures he seemed to be employing in an effort to look nonchalant when he was clearly not feeling that way inside.
Jane knew the spell was broken. So, she simply said, “Is there anything special I will need to do at the party?”
“Don’t do anything but have a good time. You’ll get a short briefing before we go. Missy will be in touch.” He moved quickly to the front door and opened it before turning to give her a smile. “I like knowing that you have a grandmother you’re so close to, right around here. That you’re not alone in this town. That’s a nice thing.”
“Yeah, it is,” Jane said. “You’re—” She stopped short, rethinking her words.
Nick waited patiently in the doorway.
She decided to see if she could move the needle: “You’re not alone either, Nick Dawes.”
He smiled. But all he said was “Missy will be in touch with the details.”
Nick hopped a cab and called Missy from the backseat. “Jane MacGregor’s all yours.”
“Cool,” Missy said. “I’ll reach out.”
“But . . . ,” Nick said.
“But what?”
“Don’t make her look like someone else. Keep her the way she is. I like her the way she is. Have her wear her own stuff or something.”
“Uh . . . okay, Nick. Got it.” There was a suppressed laugh before the line cut out.
Nick looked out the cab window, trying not to go and do something stupid like actually fall in love with a woman right after pissing off a trigger-happy Russian criminal. But he was falling in love with Jane, and it didn’t seem like something he could stop. Yeah, it was selfish, but he didn’t think he wanted to stop.
And god help me, I think the feeling might be mutual.