Chapter Thirty-Two - James
I like the thought of the desert when the blood is practically dripping off my hands after a kill, but experiencing it outside of an air-conditioned house, that’s another thing altogether. And the 1992 Hummer is not known for its awesome air-conditioning power.
We might be in hell.
But the desert is a hell I can relate to. It’s a hell I belong in. It’s a hell that calls me over, invites me in, and offers me sanctuary from my sins. The desert heat is a penance I joyfully accept on the off-chance that suffering in the heat is enough to dry the blood on my hands.
I hate the fucking heat.
I hate the fucking desert.
But when you deal in death, you must atone in all ways possible. And my motto is, Things can always get worse.
Hell could be worse than the Sonoran Desert in the summer. Hell could be the Sonoran Desert in the summer with ninety percent humidity.
“Um,” Harper says, as we stare at the shack Merc calls ‘the Sonoran safe house’ from the tepid comfort of the climate-controlled Hummer. “I don’t think it has air-conditioning.”
“It barely has walls,” Sasha adds. “I’m not going in there. I bet there are more rattlesnakes inside than there are outside.”
She’s probably right about that. “Come on, you two are exaggerating. It’s fine.” Fucking Merc. That asshole never comes through for me. Ever. Who has a shithole for a safe house? Mine are stocked with anything you could need on the run. I got guns, I got a vehicle, I have first-aid kits in every bathroom. I have dry goods in the pantry and—
“Let’s get a hotel,” Harper offers with a wave of hope in her voice. “I’m sure Palm Springs has nice hotels. It’s a resort town, isn’t it?” She makes a face as she looks around.
Right. I’m getting the feeling she hates the desert too.
I turn the engine off and the air-conditioning stops. The three of us begin to sweat simultaneously. All of a sudden we can’t get out of the Hummer fast enough. “Come on, let’s just rest a little bit and then we’ll see how we feel once the sun goes down. We should at least stay the night, then start again in the morning.”
“It’s lunchtime, James,” Sasha says with an irritated clip as she smacks the back door closed. “Sunset is practically tomorrow.”
I take Harper’s hand and ignore the Smurf. She can go wherever she wants. I’m not her keeper. We make for the front door as Sasha checks for snakes and Harper drags her feet behind me as I tug on her. Merc’s place looks like it was built by mud-hut dwellers in ancient times. The kid was wrong, walls are the only thing it has going for it. Thick—I’m talking like three feet thick—adobe mud walls. I know this because the front door is recessed back about that same depth.
I grab the handle, then pull back from the sting of burning metal on my palm. Fucking desert. I use my t-shirt to twist the handle and find it unlocked so the door swings inward.
A rush of cool air smacks us in the face and all three of us say, “Ahhhh,” in surprise.
“It does have air-conditioning,” Sasha says.
We all move forward into the house and then I close the door. “No, I think it’s just naturally cool in here because of the adobe walls.” We’re standing in a small foyer in front of a flight of steps leading down to a sunken room. Up here on the terrace is another room off to the side. It’s got bars on three sides.
“It’s a jail,” Harper says, looking up at the cell as she walks down the stairs to the living area.
“An old jail, from like the cowboys and Indians days,” Sasha adds. “I bet Jesse James stayed here. Or some other famous outlaw.” She laughs and looks at me. “Like you, James.”
“Like you, Smurf.”
“Merc belongs in a jail,” Sasha says as she follows Harper. “If that asshole has a style, this is it. Retro poky. But it’s better in here than outside. I guess we can stay. These couches look comfortable.”
She’s right, the couches do look comfortable, and the coolness makes everyone love it instantly. It’s a helluva lot nicer on the inside than it is on the outside. I have my gun ready in case there’s someone here, but I know where Merc is, and it’s not anywhere near Palm Springs, so it’s just a formality.
“Is there a kitchen? And water? I want to take a shower. I’m still gooped up with blood and dirt.”
The morning’s bullshit comes rushing back to me. I’d already forgotten about the kid’s drugged-up bike ride this morning. It feels so long ago. “Knock yourself out. I’m sure there’s a shower somewhere.” I pull Harper over to the couch. It’s just some old comfortable thing with a white sheet over it to keep the dust off, but I do not care. I plop down and then pull her into my lap. “We can stay a night, right? Have some alone time?” I waggle my eyebrows at her. God, I just want to settle for a little bit. Hold her close for a night and forget about shit. Is that too much to ask for?
“Shit,” Sasha calls from another room. “James, you better come in here.”
I push Harper up and we find Sasha in a pretty decent modern kitchen. It’s got new appliances and stone countertops. It even has a six-burner stove. “Nice,” Harper says as we look around. But then I notice what Sasha is staring at.
A phone.
“What the fuck?” I look over at Sasha and she’s shaking her head.
“I didn’t,” she insists. “I have nothing to do with this phone. At all.”
“And it’s lit up,” Harper says. “Like the one I found at your place, James.”
“What fucking phone at my place?”
“Remember? I told you about that phone that was waiting for me on your kitchen countertop. When I came in it was lit up and there was a message from Nick on it. That was the phone the assassin was sending messages to after he took Sasha.”
I shake my head. “No, you did not tell me that.”
“Yeah,” she insists. “I thought it was from Nick, and it said, ‘We’ll talk soon. Don’t forget why this is happening.’ And it had that little mushroom icon, like the one on the message this morning.”
I don’t want to hear about a mushroom. There’s no way that can mean what I think it does. I look away from her so she can’t watch me struggle to make sense of this. This whole fucking job is a mess. Nothing has gone right.
“James?” Sasha tugs on my t-shirt. “Should we listen to it?”
I turn back around but Harper already has it in her hand. “Listen to it?”
“There’s a message,” Harper says as her finger swipes the screen. It takes everything in my power not to snatch that phone right out of her hand. Her finger connects with the right button and there’s some static as a voice cuts in and out. “That was not in the plan.” And then the phone beeps to signal the message is over.
“What plan?” we all say together. I play the stare game with them. They look at me with narrow eyes. I shoot them back a silent don’t-fuck-with-me and then direct my attention to Sasha.
“It wasn’t me.” She’s shaking her head. “That message was not for me.”
I look back to Harper. “That was Nick?”
She nods. “But… I don’t know what he’s talking about. None of this makes any sense. And don’t even bother asking me what the plan was when we left last year. He never told me.”
I believe her. So I don’t ask that question. I just need some fucking time to think. I need some answers. I need a way to get those answers and I need to make contact.
“Well,” Sasha says as she puts her head on the counter. “I’m tired. Nick is obviously not gonna come try and kill us. That would make no sense. Let’s just stay here. I don’t want to drive any more. Besides, that message could’ve been for Merc, right? I mean, this is his house.”
Harper shoots me a look. “Your friend is working with my brother?”
I don’t answer, just let the question hang there. I change the subject back to Sasha. “I thought you were worried about snakes inside, Smurfette?”
She yawns and walks off. “You guys can do what you want. But Merc’s like my default adopted father, so the way I see it, I own this place. I’m gonna find a bathroom and clean up. Then I’m going to sleep.”
We watch her walk out of the kitchen and then Harper turns to me. “That kid is like a pendulum. She swings in every direction. I thought Merc was the devil?”
I don’t know what to say to that, either, so I change the subject. “Do you want to stay?”
She gives me a wicked little smirk. “Do you?”
My grin is so wide, she starts laughing. “I do,” I whisper in her neck as I pull her close. “We need some down time. It’s been go, go, go since we met. I can use some peace.”
She wriggles free and puts a hand on my chest. “No more sex.”
“What?” I almost choke.
“It’s not right. I have so many personal questions for you. Questions I should have answers to if we’re together. And if we’re not together, then none of this is appropriate.”
“Harper,” I say softly as I grab her hand and twine our fingers together. “How much clearer do I have to make it? You agreed to be mine when I took your virginity.”
She pries her hand free of mine and then walks back out to the living room and sits down on the couch again. I sit next to her and she lays her head down in my lap. “Things have changed though.”
I play with her long golden hair, making sure to touch the back of her neck with each pass once I figure out it makes her shiver. “What things?”
“I mean, everything that happened today, James. I killed a man. You admitted to killing all the other assassins. My brother leaving cryptic messages. Who’s this message for? Me? I guessed that the first one was for me, but it was in your house and that one might’ve come from the guy I killed. So maybe it was for you?” She tips her head back so she can look me in the eyes. “Do you know my brother?”
“I’ve met him, of course. I’ve seen him every year on your birthday. So yeah, I know him. But this morning’s message was clearly not him. Why would he kidnap Sasha?”
“Why seems to be the only question we are able to ask right now. Who do you work for?”
“I told you, I work for me. Who do you work for?” I counter.
“I work for me too, I guess. And Sasha seems to work for whoever she’s with. So how do we know whose side we’re on?”
I swipe a few stray strands of hair off her forehead. “Trust me. I know what’s best. If you just trust me, Harper, it will be OK.” I lean down and kiss her on the nose. “You and me, Harper, we’re in this together. I’m the only one you should always trust. No matter what’s happening. I’m the one you look to. Because everything I’m doing is for you and me. Not just you, not just me. But both of us.”
“But I don’t even know you, James. Trust is something you earn. And I’m not sure you’ve earned that kind of trust. I think you’re hot. And sex with you is something I want to get used to. But back under the pier, that first day you came to me, you said you didn’t just want to fuck me, you wanted to know me. And so far you’ve done a pretty shitty job at getting to know me. All you really did was fuck me. In fact, you know nothing about me outside of those one-day birthday trips. And I know even less about you. So which one is it?” She sits up and turns around, tucking her feet underneath her so she can be eye level with me. “You can’t have it both ways. Either you want something convenient and fast filled with sex and that’s it. Or you want something meaningful and you earn the trust that comes with it.”
She stops talking and I’m still playing her words over in my mind. It comes across as a hesitation, so she makes to get up. But my brain kicks in before her feet find the floor and I pull her back onto my chest. “What do you want to know about me? I’ll tell you anything you want.”
She thinks for a moment and I imagine every horrible question she can possibly dream up.
What did it feel like to kill the first time?
Why did it take them so long to rescue you when you were captured?
Do you think your parents love you?
Why didn’t they fight harder to keep you safe from the Company?
Do you miss your brother?
What happened to your sister?
I draw in a breath, running all the ways in which I’ll have to lie to her when these questions are asked. But all of that’s unnecessary. Because her question finally comes out. And everything about it throws me off my game.