I swallow a sigh. Denise in full-on worry mode is like playing tug-of-war with a particularly stubborn dog. She won’t drop it until she’s satisfied. I should have recognized the signs. “It’s an adjustment,” I admit. “I didn’t count on it being as hard as it’s been.” The time I spent living with Nick was mostly out of necessity. That didn’t make it difficult. When I wasn’t driving myself nuts wondering if he was only doing it to ensure my safety, I liked it.
The first night sleeping apart from him, with him in the guest room of my parents’ house and me in my old room, ended up being an anomaly. My brain doesn’t care that the new security system will alert me to any intruders within seconds of a breached entry point. It knows Nick isn’t beside me. “I keep waking up in the middle of the night, expecting him to be there, and when I remember he’s not, it takes a while to fall asleep again.”
She opens her mouth and closes it again as the server deposits the naan in the middle of the table. “Are you having second thoughts?”
“No.” Though if it turns out I’m wrong about Constantine, and Nick can’t forgive me for questioning his motives, I’ll have to move out of the apartment. He shouldn’t have to pay for something when he no longer has any connection with me. “And if it ends, it ends.”
“You know, that’s the second time you’ve said something like that.” She rips the paper off her straw and pokes it into her soda.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re already thinking it’s over.”
I glance up at the server as he sets our food down. “It’s not intentional.” I don’t want to lose Nick. I want to believe this break is just that—a break, a way for us to backtrack and build a stronger foundation.
Breaks have a sneaky way of making themselves permanent, though. I pick up my fork. “We’ll work it out.”
If we don’t, I’ll just have to find a way to survive.
Chapter 24
Several hours later, I let myself into my dark apartment. The dark is expected, as is the disappointment slinking in as I shut the door. And as I stand there, the loneliness slips in and makes itself comfortable.
I toss my keys on the kitchen counter, flip the deadbolt closed, and wander over to the couch. A sense of déjà vu washes over me as I flop down and tip my head back, shutting my eyes. I’ve done this before. Days blended together as I killed or stalked my next target, unaware of how close I was to the edge. I came home to a dark, empty apartment, worn out, ready but not ready to give in. I crawled into bed alone.
The difference is when I went to bed, I knew I wouldn’t stay alone for long.
I rouse myself and track down my phone. Then I hesitate, thumbs hovering over the screen. Something that gets the point across, yet isn’t clingy. I hate clingy. I refuse to be the clingy girlfriend. Made it home. Let me know when you’re at your parents’. I send the text before I can talk myself out of it. It’s a reasonable request. He wants to know when I get home; I should be able to ask the same of him. It’ll keep me from worrying.
It’s early still, about eight, but the few hours of sleep I got last night were restless. And while today wasn’t particularly strenuous, I spent too much of it inside my own head. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep, but right now, it sounds better than being awake.
I drag out my bedtime routine, though, take my time washing my face and brushing my teeth. I spend far longer than necessary debating whether to put on my usual tank top or sleep naked. I double-check my schedule for tomorrow, then waste ten minutes on Facebook and YouTube, watching a video of a baby panda crawl around when it’s supposed to be napping.
No answer from Nick.
Time drips down until it’s 8:30, and I’m out of excuses. Either I’m up and studying or I’m in bed attempting to sleep. I grab my e-reader and trudge off to bed. Compromise. I need to get started on Howard’s End. I might as well do it in bed.
One of my favorite parts about being an English major is the surprises. The amount of reading I do each term can be overwhelming, and by the end, I swear I’m never picking up another book. But every semester, I manage to find myself enjoying at least one of the assigned readings, and Howard’s End proves to be just what I need for the night. The story of the Wilcoxes and the Schlegels is engrossing, and it’s almost eleven when I get up for a glass of water.
I hurry out into the living room and snatch up my phone. Nick texted back an hour ago. An hour ago. Two hours after I texted him to begin with. His answer is brief and less than satisfying. He’s still at the office and probably won’t make it home.
My stomach twists and cramps, and I continue to the kitchen for my water. I doubt he’s alone at the office. If he’s been working since last night, that means Peter and the rest of the team are with him, along with Constantine. He’s not completely alone, and something tells me Constantine won’t do anything with the rest of the team around.
I refill the glass and carry it with me into the bedroom. The rumpled blankets and the single light burning on my bedside table look lonely. Strange how a few months of living with Nick can have such a huge impact.
I turn out the light and lay in the dark, familiarizing myself with the shadows and sounds. With the windows closed, the street noise is muffled, but I can still hear an approaching car from the end of the block. Someone walks by the door. The building creaks and settles, and there’s a shout of laughter from the street below.
I dream in fragments. Denise and I grinning like idiots on the giant Ferris wheel on the Thames. Scott chasing me through campus, like he did on the first day of classes. Nick, his arms around my waist, threatening to throw me into the brilliant turquoise water of Phuket.
Cinnamon drifts under my nose, and I roll over, groping blindly for the source. Hands curl around mine, stilling them, and I scoot closer. I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want to find out I’ve been dreaming Nick into this bed.
“Cassidy.”
On a moan, I slit my eyes open. Broad, hard chest, stubbled jaw. I do my best to lunge toward him and bury my face at his throat. “You’re not supposed to be here,” I mumble.
He smoothes a hand down my back. “I know.”
“Don’t go.” It’s a step in the wrong direction, but we’re allowed a few missteps, aren’t we?
“Not going anywhere tonight,” he says. “Why are you wearing clothes?”
“Didn’t realize we had a rule about clothing in bed.” He smells so good. Feels amazing. “’Sides, what does it matter? You need sleep. I need sleep. Early class tomorrow, and I really need to get a run in.” The reminder draws a groan from me. I’ll have to get up earlier to fit that in before class. Which means resetting my alarm. Which means letting go of Nick.
I pull away reluctantly and feel around for my phone. After adjusting my wake-up time, I roll back to Nick. “You get everything done?”
“Retested all the servers for viruses. Nothing. Since the file deletion isn’t relevant to our current project, we’ve put it aside to handle after the launch.”
I stiffen, and his hand pauses in the middle of my back. The rest of the files could be gone by then. With the entire team called in, I wasn’t as concerned about deletion—they’d be otherwise occupied. I understand the decision to focus on them later too. But someone’s already deleted at least a couple of them, and on the heels of the shootings. Any normal person would be suspicious.
“Cass.”
I can’t talk about this with him. Not now. “Go to sleep, Nick.” I pull out of his arms, and though it hurts, I roll over, putting my back to him. “We can talk about it in the morning,” I say quietly. Or never. Never works. If he won’t believe me, I’ll figure it out on my own.
I just hope I can put it all together before Nick’s taken from me permanently.
For the first night in a long time, he doesn’t make an attempt to hold me. I’ve become used to the heat of him behind me, or the warmth of his chest under my cheek. Facing away fr
om him, I listen to the sounds of him settling in for the night. Because of his injury, he’s taken to sleeping on his back. He tugs the covers up. They end up covering the lower half of my face, and I bat them away. His legs brush mine. He sighs. “You’re being a brat.”
“How is trying to sleep being a brat?” To prove how un-bratlike I am, I turn around.
“Fine.” He drags me across the half a foot separating us. “You’re mad.”
Might as well admit it. “Yup. I’m also smart enough to realize that we won’t end this standoff tonight. You need a big, glaring declaration of intent. You want irrefutable proof that your cousin wants you dead. I can give you the pieces. I can relay snippets of conversation I’ve overheard or point out his odd behavior. But I can’t give you that. I think Constantine wants you dead. You can’t, or won’t, see it. I get it. The horse is dead. We should stop beating it.” I tip my head back and press a kiss to his jaw. “You probably haven’t slept much in the last two days. Go to sleep, Nick. You want to talk about this tomorrow, we can.”
He’s like a fucking security blanket. My head on his shoulder and his arm holding me close, I fall asleep immediately. I sleep deeply, soundly, and when my alarm goes off the next morning, I don’t shut it off and curl back up for more sleep.
Nick doesn’t wake. Heat creeps over my face as I study him. It always hits me when I least expect it—how is this man in my bed? He’s mine, for however long I want him. I know this much. I kiss him softly and slide out of bed, careful not to wake him.
I’m not the only one with the idea of a run before class. I make turns at random as I pass a couple of other students, spotting someone I remember from my American Playwrights seminar last year. She waves, and we keep going in our respective directions.
My tour of the neighborhood uncovers two coffee shops, a convenience store, a yoga studio, plus half a dozen restaurants. Two delis, a pizza place, a bakery-cafe, a Mexican restaurant, and the Indian place Denise dragged me to. The streets are lined with cars, not an inch of space between the bumpers. A few boast parking tickets, and one has a giant pink checkmark on the windshield. I grin. Someone’s about to get towed.
The apartment is empty when I let myself in sweaty and a little out of breath. There’s a bright orange sticky note on the fridge, and my heart squishes a little as I read it.
Come by the office when you’re done with class. You can download the remaining files.
Nothing makes my heart go pitter-patter like Nick’s faith in me. It’s not a total acquiescence, but it’s enough to spark a flicker of hope. I’ll take that flicker. Flickers can become flames. This one will. I just need to be patient.
Determined to hang on to my good mood, I take my time getting ready and end up running out the door, in danger of being late. I hit campus with ten minutes to walk to the north end for my first class. Head down, fingers clutching the strap of my messenger bag, I run smack into a hard chest.
Hands close around my upper arms before I can jerk away and mumble an apology. “Thanks for making this easier, Cassidy.”
I snap my head up. “What are you doing here?” Why is he here? He should be at the office with Nick, pretending he’s not plotting to kill him.
Constantine smiles. That previously charming expression makes my skin itch. “I came to get you.” His tone is pleasant. The gleam in his eyes is not.
Some passing students give us curious looks, and I try to free myself without drawing any more attention. I back into another hard chest, and I glance over my shoulder at a man I’ve never seen before. He’s built like a brawler, sunglasses hiding his eyes and a short, trim beard covering the lower half of his face. I yank hard on my arm.
“You don’t want to do that.” Constantine tightens his grip and pulls me closer, slipping his arm around my shoulders and his free hand going to my waist. A pinprick of pain surprises a gasp from me, and I glance down. I can’t see anything, but as I move my hips, I feel it again. A knife? The bastard’s got a knife on me?
“Unless you want to add to your collection of scars, you should stop.” He digs the tip of the knife in farther. Warmth trickles over my skin.
“Oops. I did suggest you stop moving. Come on. We’ll be late.”
Conscious of the other man’s steps behind us, I stumble alongside him, the trickle steadily spreading over my hip. “Could you move the knife? I’m bleeding.”
“That’s kind of the whole point.” He guides me down a path leading to Sorority Row. The sun shines in my eyes as we break free of the trees covering the walkway and causes me to veer into Constantine, the knife stabbing into my side. A whimper escapes, and he actually adjusts the knife, the pain lessening. It’s still poking me in the hip, but not as deeply, and I think—I think—I may have a shot at disarming him. We’re exiting close to Sorority Row, which means there should be people out. In theory, anyway. People equals possibility of distraction, and that’s all I need to get away from Constantine.
We reach the street, and the moment a bus rumbles past, I grab Constantine’s wrist and jam my elbow into his stomach. As far as defensive maneuvers are concerned, it’s not the greatest, but he’s got me pressed so close to him it’s the only one I have.
He grunts and digs his fingers into my shoulder. “Dumb move,” he hisses.
I slide my hand up his forearm and drill my fingers into the meaty underside, hoping he’ll drop the knife. It clatters to the ground. I drop into a crouch, Constantine following me down because he won’t let go. His hand is firmly attached to my shoulder, and he’s hugging me into him. “Cooperate, Cass,” he growls. “You know you’re safe.”
No, I don’t know that. I know I’m not his intended target. I’m a means to an end, and I will not be that means. We both dive for the knife. I scrape my knuckles on the pavement when Constantine yanks me up. The fucker actually lifts me off my feet, his progress hindered by my bag, and I kick out, wiggling around, not caring if I draw attention to us.
Click.
Lips brush my ear, my skin flushing hot, then cold. “Now will you stop moving?”
His silent companion has a gun trained on my head, heedless of the danger of being seen. “From this distance, he won’t miss,” Constantine murmurs. And he’s right. Headshots are easy to screw up, but there’s less than three feet separating me from the man holding the gun. The likelihood of him missing is slim.
Constantine’s arms tighten around my waist, causing the edge of my bag to cut into my lower back. “Get in the car.”
Eyes on the gun, I do as he says and get into the black SUV parked at the curb. He climbs in beside me, takes the gun from the bearded guy, and shuts the door. “You couldn’t have come up with something more original?” I ask, jolting forward as the car pulls away from the curb.
He shrugs. “Why would I when this is basically fail-proof? Nick will come running to save you. Isaiah was good for a lot of things, but failing to kill you was an unexpected bonus.”
Unfortunately, he’s right. Nick’s proven multiple times he’s downright obsessive about my safety. Constantine will call; Nick will come running. If I don’t come up with a plan, we’ll both end up dead.
The leather seats make it easy to slide away, and I press my back into the opposite corner. Constantine left my hands free. He probably assumes with a gun pointed at my head, I won’t attempt opening the door. And I won’t. The move’s too obvious, and if I don’t end up with a bullet in the head, I’ll still end up injured. But Constantine didn’t take away my bag, and he has yet to insist I keep my hands where he can see them. My phone’s in the side pocket of my bag. Nick’s number is the only one I’ve programmed into speed dial. I can’t tell him not to come. I can tell him to come armed.
The gun hasn’t wavered, and neither has Constantine’s gaze. I inch my hand into the side pocket and draw the phone out, letting it fall onto the seat beside me. “Where are you taking me?” The position of my bag does a good job of hiding the phone from Consta
ntine’s view. Rather than try to slide it clear, I leave it where it is.
“The warehouse you holed up in a week ago. Didn’t know Nick had that place.” He glances at my hip as I try to unlock the screen without looking down. He frowns. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I hit speed dial as Constantine lunges for the phone. As Nick’s voice plays through the speaker, Constantine brings the gun around, and I shoot my hand up to stop him from smashing it into the side of my face. “Nick! The warehouse!” I throw myself forward, aiming for Constantine’s chest.
The gun goes off.
Chapter 25
The world stops. Constantine’s eyes are locked on mine, fury marring his handsome face. The shot might as well have been a cannon blast. And he’s got a firm grip on the gun. We’re caught in a game of chicken, and whoever blinks first is the one who dies.
Focus, Cass. Go with your gut.
Turner’s voice drowns out everything else, nudging me into the cool, empty efficiency I’ve been so desperate for these last few days. The gun’s pointed at the ceiling, my hand on Constantine’s wrist. He hasn’t moved since it went off. My bag’s hanging around my shoulders. There’s not a lot of room to work with in the backseat of the SUV, but if I can get enough momentum, I can smack him with my bag.
Unfortunately, if I miss, he’ll shoot me. Which means I can’t miss.
Without breaking eye contact, I grab the bag and swing it around. The bag makes a loud smack as it connects with Constantine’s arm. I ram my elbow into Constantine’s nose and go for the gun, twisting around on the seat so my back is to his chest. The car swerves, throwing us both against the front seats.
Focus. I can’t use this. Constantine’s arms are longer than mine, so in order to actually touch the gun, I have to lean forward. I’m safer with no space between Constantine and me.
Game of Lies Page 19