by Alaska Jones
Since then, my life has turned into a fascinating game of cat and mouse – the mouse being Doug Miller, an ageing detective from LAPD. I don’t think he expected me to play the game with such enthusiasm, or was prepared for what I had in stock. At some point, I actually had a note left on his desk at work, inviting him to join me for a drink at the abandoned warehouse where they had found one of “my” victims a week ago. He didn’t show up, of course, which was his bad. There was no trap, just another note and a bottle of good whiskey.
Apparently, that’s not how he imagined the game when he took on the case. Too bad, because I just wanted to play, being bored out of my skull most of the time.
I connect to Jenna’s phone again and turn my attention back to the conversation in my earpiece. The wait is going to be long, and if I want to make the most of it, I might at least pay attention to what’s going on.
Picking up the binoculars, I turn my eyes to the building. Someone’s got to be watching it in case Jenna comes home; someone who will lead me to the people that might know something about Hunt.
And I’m going to find them.
Chapter 8
Jenna
“Cage still not there?” I ask, suppressing a yawn. That sleeping pill definitely did find its way into my system before I could get it out, and I’ve been fighting the sleepiness for a while.
“Nope. You’ve been on the phone for an hour. Go do something fun. I’ll call you once we have something.” Charlie sounds weary, and I suspect the old man’s about to fall asleep, too.
“Fun? Like what, try to pick a lock again? It didn’t exactly work out the last time. Other than that, there’s absolutely nothing for me to do.” I get up and close the window, wincing at the screech it makes. The next second, I’m too tired to stand, so I flop back on the bed and let the weariness wash over me as I drift on the edge between sleep and reality.
“Well, you’d better come up with something, because I’m afraid you’ll have to stay there a little longer.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t think he’s coming, kid. We’ll stay here as long as we can, but I can’t promise you anything. You sure you can’t see where you are?”
“No-o-o…” I drag a hand across my face, rolling onto my stomach. “There’s just some street. No signs. I’m screwed,” I grumble into the pillow.
“No, you’re not. If he doesn’t show up today, we’ll start looking for red brick buildings in the forty-minute radius from your place. We’ll narrow it down based on your description and find you eventually. Don’t worry. If he’s not…”
Charlie’s voice fades away as my head starts to spin, pulling me under, deeper and deeper, until there’s nothing but darkness. Once again, I dream about Cage, a meaningless sequence of images, shapes, and sounds. He’s standing over me while I toss restlessly in bed, haunted by his cold, watchful eyes. I can’t make out the words, but I hear his voice, its rumbling sound frustratingly elusive. It seems I’m stuck in this erratic, confusing fantasy, but then his hand wraps around mine, and I wake up with a gasp.
The lock clicks, and I bolt upright, my heart swelling with hope. It sinks into my stomach when it’s Cage who comes in, and then it sinks even more when I see a big duffel bag in his hand. It’s gone, the only chance that I had, because now there’s no way I’ll make him go back there again.
Behind my back, my hand runs across the phone that I fell asleep with, and I push it under the pillow. Cage just gazes at me in the soft evening light, as if lost in thought.
He unfreezes and takes a step closer, clearing his throat. “I brought your things.”
“Just drop them on the bed,” I hear myself say as I struggle to wipe the betrayed expression off my face.
He keeps his eyes on me as he empties the bag onto the bed. The tension between us is palpable, though I only understand my side of it. As for him, I’m too numb to care.
“I found your pills,” he says in the same careful manner, finding the brown bottle among all the clothes and cosmetics and handing it to me. The damn thing wasn’t supposed to be where I said, and it’s vitamins, not medicine, but he found it anyway. I put on a friendlier face and take the bottle, thinking what a perfect plan it was, to make him search for it while Charlie set up a trap for him. “You hungry?”
“No,” I mumble, finding the jewelry box in the pile. I quickly sort through all the expensive items, but don’t find the one I really care about. “You didn’t find the Jenna necklace?” My despair grows worse with every second it takes him to respond. It seems I just can’t win today.
“Oh, right…” His hand reaches into his jeans pocket. Before I can pull away, he takes my hand and slips the necklace into it in a surprisingly gentle gesture. His fingers linger on mine as he looks me in the eye. “Now that you have clothes, would you mind putting on some underwear?”
I gasp at his dirty, mocking smile. “Jackass!” I yell as he walks out.
His hearty chuckle makes my chest warm, for God knows what reason. I sit in the dark, amazed at how this simple exchange between us made me even more confused, if that was still possible after the weird dream I had. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake off the feeling of his hand on mine.
Chapter 9
Cage
I drop the bag on the living room floor and look around me with a weary sigh. I’ve let this whole situation with Jenna get under my skin, and now I’m paying for it.
Instead of plans for work, there’s an image of her betrayed face in my head, as if seeing me in her room was the worst thing that could’ve happened to her. Before, I wouldn’t give a shit. Now, for some reason, it’s frustrating how she can’t see the big picture. As if I’m the reason she’s in this situation. As if I’m the biggest problem in her life right now.
My thoughts turn to my next move as I get dinner started. While Jenna and Charlie were on and off on the phone, I found the guy that had been watching her place, and thanks to him and my somewhat swollen right hand, I now have another connection to Hunt. It’ll be a few days until I actually have it, but still, it’s progress. If Jenna’s friends don’t find out and share anything on the phone with her, I’ll have a backup plan. All I have to do is wait for the guy’s boss to call me when he returns to town.
I had to return to Jenna’s place afterward, since the plan was to go and get her things later so she wouldn’t suspect anything. Keep telling yourself that, a treacherous voice sounds in the back of my head as I leave the chicken on the stove and hop in the shower. I tell it to shut up, even though deep inside, I know I’m lying to myself.
I could find plenty of reasons not to return to her place, and I don’t have to explain myself to her, but the truth is, I’m not comfortable with keeping an innocent woman locked up like an animal. I’d never admit this to her, but after her trick with Charlie, I’d rather have her as an ally than a hostage. Good plan, but what’s with the necklace, jackass? I snort and wrap a towel around my hips, hurrying to the kitchen as I remember about the chicken.
Fifteen minutes later, dressed in comfy gray sweats, I open the bedroom door to find Jenna in the same position on the bed, staring out the window with an unseeing gaze. She has put on a disturbingly tight white tank top and shorts, but hasn’t touched the pile of things at her feet.
“Dinner’s ready.” She jumps at the sound of my voice and gives me a skeptical look as I hand her the plate.
“Chicken and veggies?” Her eyes widen in surprise.
I pull back, perplexed. “What’s wrong with them?”
Her expression wavers in about ten different ways as she grabs the plate and digs in. “N-nothing.” I shrug at her strange reaction and head out, but her voice stops me by the door, “No books, huh?”
“What?”
She points at her things on the bed. “You haven’t brought any books. They were on the list.”
“Oh, right…” I push my hair back from my face, thinking about the mess in her apartment. “The shelves were al
l overturned. There was no time to straighten it all up to get to the books.” She gives a sad nod, and as I look at the dark bedroom, an idea hits me. “Wait a sec.”
I grab the small TV from the living room and come back. She doesn’t say a word as I put it on an end table and plug it in. It takes me a few minutes to get a signal, but when I’m done, the picture is pretty clear.
“Well, this is better…” I glance at her over my shoulder.
“Not really.”
Getting a sense she’s just pissed off about her failed attempt to escape, I ignore her and get my plate so I can watch the movie as I eat. It’s been forever since I watched TV anyway. I turn the armchair around and sit down, watching her out of a corner of my eye.
“Was it bad?” she asks.
“Was what bad?”
“The apartment.”
“Well…” I swallow, thinking over my answer. “On a scale from one to ten, it was fifteen.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Why do you care? It’s not like you’re going back there.”
“If someone trashed your home, I bet you wouldn’t like it either. All of my things are there.”
As if I have a home. I put the plate aside, turning to face her. “I thought I brought you your things.”
“This?” she points at the pile of clothes. “You honestly think you can fit a woman’s life into a bag? This is just the essentials.”
“It’s enough essentials for a small African village.”
“Whatever. Everything I own is in that apartment. The dresses, the shoes, all the photos and memories and…” she trails off, picking at the bedcover, and I let out a sigh.
“They’re just clothes. You’ll have to start a new life anyway. You can’t be seen wearing those again.”
“Just clothes. You obviously don’t know what Prada is. I could at least sell them.”
“If you have any savings, I can help you transfer them to a new bank account so you can use the money without the risk of being discovered.”
She sighs and looks up at me, and finally, it seems like she has accepted the situation. “Thanks.”
I nod my head. “You’ll lie low someplace else, then return home without being too loud about it. They’ll stop searching for you soon enough.”
“After you kill my boyfriend, right… Is there really no way out without killing anyone? Can’t he just… I don’t know, fix it?”
I raise an eyebrow at her naïve question. “You think your boyfriend can just come back with the truck of cocaine he’s stolen from the mob, and they’ll forgive and forget?”
“He what??” Her eyes grow two times bigger.
“I bet he didn’t tell you about that. He knew exactly what he was doing. There’s no way to fix it, because he doesn’t want it to be fixed.”
When she doesn’t say anything for a long time, I shrug my shoulders and turn back to the TV and my meal. A few minutes pass before she speaks again,
“Does it make it easier for you?”
“What?”
“Knowing what a pig he is. Does it make killing people easier?” A subtle trembling in her voice tells me I should wrap up the conversation, but what can I say? That I only kill the bad guys? That I don’t realize there’s always a good guy somewhere deep inside? A son, a father, a person? Or should I just tell her honestly that I’ve learned how to block out those thoughts because I didn’t bother to find another way up from the rock bottom that I’d hit after Iraq?
“It doesn’t make it easier,” I say at last. “It makes it possible.” I look down to find the plate empty, and since I can’t focus on the movie now, I get up and head to the door.
“Wait.” She jumps off the bed, and I tense, sensing another personal question. But apparently, I’m always wrong when it comes to her. “Is there more chicken?”
I breathe out and take the empty plate from her. “Are you sure it’s a good idea after- ” I bite my tongue, remembering that I’m not supposed to know about the throwing-up incident earlier today.
“After what?” She frowns.
“After six. You know, with your gastritis and all,” I add lamely.
Her eyes flash at me. “You gave me oatmeal for breakfast. I’ll be alright!”
“Fine, fine!” I leave the room before I say something stupid again.
Get a grip, Cage.
Chapter 10
Jenna
Once he brings me more chicken and leaves, I wrap it in a napkin and hide it in the nightstand. Maybe tonight he didn’t feel the need to give me any more sleeping pills, but who knows what he’ll put in my breakfast tomorrow. If it’s another bowl of oatmeal, I’m not eating it.
I get off the bed with the plate in my hand and walk over to the window. There’s only a little grease left from the chicken, but it’s enough for the rusty hinges, though I don’t know if it will work at all. I’ll need the window to open soundlessly while I wait for an opportunity for Plan B.
As I stand there applying the precious drops of grease to the window hinges, it suddenly hits me that I’m the inadequate one here.
From the moment I woke up in this room, I was the cause of all the awkward moments between me and Cage. I thought he was a threat, I acted like a freak. Sure, keeping me here against my will is not normal, but aside from that, he’s not that bad. So what if he’s right about it all? What if this is the only safe place for me right now?
On the other hand, what do I know about him to trust his judgment? Maybe he’s a fool like many others. He’ll make a mistake, and after they’re done with him, they’ll come for me, locked in here like a helpless pet. No thanks, I’d better get out while I can and disappear before things get really ugly.
The lock clicks, and I hop on the bed, dropping the plate on the nightstand.
“I would appreciate it if you knocked,” I say, squinting as he turns on the lights. “What if I was undressed?”
“I would appreciate it if you were dressed.” Cage crosses the room, a dark silhouette against the light, and sits on the bed by my side. “All the time.”
I give him a pointed look, half-squinting, half-frowning. He puts two tubes with medicine on the bed and presses his thumb to my eyebrow the same way as yesterday.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.” I sit still as he rubs in some medicine and picks up the other tube, unpeeling the Band-Aid to take a look at the cut. “Will there be a scar?”
“Not if we use this.” He holds up the medicine. “Make sure you sleep on your right side tonight.”
I nod my understanding, caught up in my thoughts as I watch him work on my bruise. What do I know about him? His name? The way he squints his eyes a little when he’s focused on something? How they’re gray in daylight and green when the lights are on? The way he pushes his hair back from his face when it gets in his eyes, or purses his lips to the side when he’s annoyed with me? Is it enough to trust a stranger with my life?
“Cage?”
“Hmm?” he murmurs distractedly.
“It’s your last name, isn’t it?”
He screws the cap on and looks me in the eyes, his face blank. “Yes.”
“What’s your first name?”
“You know I can’t tell you.” His lips twitch irritably. Of course.
“Why? I won’t even know if it’s real or fake.”
He tilts his head to the side like a bird, studying me as he takes a moment to think. “Why would I keep my name from someone, only to give them a fake one when they ask?”
I raise an eyebrow at his surprisingly honest reply, and as a silent moment passes between us, my eyes fall on the long, angry scar at the base of his neck. Seeing this, he turns away and stands up.
“You know I can do this myself,” I say as I stand on my feet, grabbing his hand. “If you just left the medicine…”
“I prefer to keep my things in one place.” He avoids my gaze, but I pull at his hand, not letting him go. His big palm is warm and rough against my skin.
“Why? So you can pack up and run any moment?” It comes out somewhat harsh, and this time, he turns and glowers down at me.
“Yes. Any more questions?”
I look down at my feet, suddenly uncomfortable under his intense stare, and realize I’m still grasping his hand. It’s only then that I notice his bruised, swollen knuckles.
“Yes. What’s this?” I raise my hand, pointing my eyes at his injury. “I thought you only went to my place and back.”
“I did. It’s nothing,” he waves me off, trying to free himself, but I use his distracted state to push him back on the bed.
“Your nothing looks way worse than mine. Was there someone at the apartment?” I ask as I take the medicine he used on my bruise earlier and unscrew the cap.
“No, but someone was watching it. Just leave it. It’s not like it’s my face.”
“Like this one?” I put two fingers on his neck, and the moment he looks up into my eyes, I know this is the reason of his sudden thoughtfulness.
Behind the cold façade, there’s raw, unhealed pain, and I get lost in it for a minute. His gaze changes, darkening in a way that tells me I should take my hand off his neck and step back, but I’m frozen in place while his eyes slowly roam over me. I clear my throat, trying to break the spell that I’m under. “How did you survive?”
He snaps out of it and shrugs his shoulders. It’s the only response that I get, so I turn my attention to his hand.
“I need to ask you something.” I keep my eyes down, avoiding his gaze as I work. He stays silent, so I take it as a permission to continue. “Those men that attacked me – did you kill them?”
The silence lingers, and I pause, looking up into his eyes. The answer is there, but he blinks slowly, confirming my thoughts. It’s like suddenly, he’s too tired to even speak, and all because I brought up the scar on his neck. If I escape tomorrow, how can I live without knowing his story?