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"You have good instincts too."
Her head shook, and she laughed softly. "Not sure that's true."
"What made you save Ahren? He told me the first time he was pretty messed up. I mean, you could have just let nature take its course. It wouldn't have been murder or anything."
"I recognized him. Billionaire philanthropist Ahren Rossdale in my hospital parking lot with a bullet wound." She laughed, shaking her head. "It was—intriguing, to say the least. His eyes begged me. I have worked on rich and powerful people before and none of them knew how to ask for anything, only demand."
"He does tend to defy expectations." I agreed.
"I guess it was the way he said my name. Like a plea for mercy."
"I understand. He's like gravity. It's impossible not to get sucked in. But see, that was your instinct. You saved a good man."
"Anyhoo," I leaned against the doorframe. "There's this knot building in my stomach. It ebbs and flows with the minor victories andsetbacks. But I can feel the moment before the whole thing explodes. We're close. Be ready for anything."
She nodded. I'm not sure if she really understood my warning, but I hoped she did.
"Are you ok with them? I want to go check on him."
"Yeah. Zeus and Apollo and I are great friends," she laughed.
Pungent garlic and crackling oil assaulted my senses as soon as the door swung open.
"What are you cooking?" I asked, dropping onto the stool at the counter next to him.
"Just frying up some thin slices of eggplant. That smell is lemon garlic chicken in the air fryer. Should be ready soon."
My eyes fell on the plate lined with paper towels that held a thin layer of fried discs.
"Never had eggplant before—"
"Trust me on this one. You're gonna love it."
"Ok. I'll give it a go. Anything I can do to help?"
"Take that ball of mozzarella and that tomato and slice them, maybe a quarter inch thick or so."
I pulled out the chef's knife and began slicing, my mind working over what I hoped was the last clue. 1+2+3=location It sounded like gibberish, but so far everything had meaning. Everything.
"What about light?" Ahren said, and once again, I wondered if he could read my mind.
"I tried it. All the clues had something to do with light."
"Too obvious." he nodded, pulling the last of the eggplant from the hot oil.
"Finished." I said, laying the knife on the cutting board.
Reaching into the window, he pulled five or six leaves and laid them in front of me.
"Roll these and slice thinly. Two minutes on the chicken," he said, cocking his head to the side to check the timer.
I did as he said, watching as he pulled a platter from the cabinet and alternated slices of tomato, mozzarella and eggplant, drizzled them with balsamic vinegar and topped them with the basil I'd just sliced. Once again, I had watched him make something beautiful, yet I wasn't sure I could replicate it.
A shrill beeping signaled the chicken was finished. I held the platter as he pulled the chicken strips out and placed them alongside his eggplant concoction.
“Then why does ‘light’ sound like the right answer? It fits. We're missing something.” I muttered almost to myself.
He nodded, "I'll get Connor. Grab plates and forks, please."