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CHAPTER EIGHT

ST. CLARE

“That’s your third coffee today,” Lars mutters as I lift it for a sip.

“Are you caffeine shaming me?” I ask, squinting at my computer and trying to make heads or tails of these fucking spreadsheets. “After the ordeal I just went through?”

Lars chuckles, lounging in the chair across from me, occasionally clicking or typing loudly on his laptop in a way that’s so sporadic it’s making my eye twitch. “Sure. The ordeal. That’s what’s caused this sudden addiction. Not the new barista you’re thirsty for.”

I’m not surprised that Lars has picked up on it when I’ve done nothing to hide my interest. Not from him or me … or Perry. Fuck. He’s so hot. A sweet, rambly mess with shoulders that look too broad for him to know what to do with. Then there’s the way his smile lights up his whole face like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Watching him move around that tiny cafe counter is like watching an overexcited Doberman in a china shop.

Truthfully, Perry isn’t the kind of guy I normally go for, but something in his voice gave me this instant hit of familiarity, and the more I see of him, the more interested I become.

“Good thing they serve drinks there, then. ”

“Something tells me the tall glass of water you want isn’t actually on the menu.”

I finally let my attention free of the spreadsheets. “Why?”

“He hasn’t asked for your number yet. Any queer dude would have gotten your message by now.”

“Maybe he’s closeted?”

“Maybe. Which is another reason why you should let it go.”

Lars is right, and normally it would be easy to leave it alone, but I swear, every time I go in there, it’s like he wants to say something to me but holds back. That, combined with the flustering and rambling, are all giving me good signs. I shrug. “He’s cute.”

“We get plenty of cute guys in here every night, and from what Onyx says, a lot of them are on the lookout for you.”

That’s not good when I’m supposed to be disappeared right now. “What’s Onyx been telling people?”

“You’re on a business trip.”

“Good.”

“Might want to stop visiting the cafe next door if you want people to believe it though.”

Back to this again. I could stop visiting and consuming enough caffeine to wreak havoc on my blood pressure, but then how will I ever have a chance with this guy? Maybe Lars is right and I don’t have a shot in hell anyway, but Perry can be the one to tell me that.

At this point, we haven’t done anything more than make small talk while he gets my drink ready, but when I went in today, I got his real smile. Then he called me his favorite customer. And drew a smiley face on the lid of my cup that I glimpse every time I take a sip.

I’m starting to understand what he means about a happy charm.

Lars straightens suddenly. “Oh, hey, I got it.”

“It?”

“Surveillance from the night you were hit. I told the restaurant across the road that my boss got mugged and asked if they could send through the footage. I wasn’t sure they would.”

A chill creeps along my spine. “What are you hoping to find? ”

“Don’t know. Where he came from? Some detail that might give us a starting point to finding him? All you picked up was the hoodie and skeleton mask, but what if there was something else?”

“I doubt a paid assassin would leave clues behind.”

“Yeah, but paid assassins don’t tend to patch you up and send you on your way either.”

I swallow around the lump in my throat. If he’d taken a shot and I’d gotten away and that was the extent of my interaction with him, it would be easy to let my anger and fear take over.

But the man took my fear and twisted it into confusion, and now, that night is a melted lump of indecision in my mind.

“Is there anything there?” I ask, wanting to distract him.

Lars clicks loudly again and falls silent, watching the screen. “You wanna look?”

“Not in the slightest.” All I need is to see my would-be murderer saving a granny from being hit by a car, or rescuing a kitten up a tree, or … or … whatever. He’s already trying to replace the monster image with a good-guy one, and I don’t want any part of it. Because of him, I’m missing a chunk of my fucking ear. Sure, I could have been missing a whole lot more, but I don’t think that earns him brownie points.

He wanted me dead, and if his shot had been a fraction closer to my skull, I would be.

So fuck him and his fake concern.

“Not a great angle,” Lars says, suddenly clicking again. “But this could be him.”

“Great.”

“Do you want to check?”

“Nope.”

“But—”

“Unless he’s getting out of a car with a clear license plate showing or holding a sign with his address up to the camera, I’m not sure it’s going to tell us much.”

“I’m sort of hoping that we see him meeting with the owners of Rev. That’s something we can go to the cops with. ”

I don’t bother pointing out again that we won’t be going to them with anything.

Lars watches for a bit longer. “Shit. There you are.”

“Right.”

“Damn it. The video ends before I can see whether he follows you out.”

Lars stands up and stretches his arms over his head. “I’m going to head down there and ask for more.”

“You’re pushing your luck.”

“Nah.” He flashes his smug look. “The manager took a liking to me.”

“Of course she did.”

As fast as his teasing appeared, it vanishes, and he pins me with his serious face. “Stay here. I mean it. No coffee, no need for fresh air. Nothing. I’ll be back soon.”

Like I’m going to argue with him. I’m more than happy to hole up in my office or my apartment if it means not risking my life again. As much as it would be easier for me to have the guy find us , there’s no guarantee he would let me talk before firing, and there’s no point ignoring his warning if it’s not going to lead me to Colin.

“I’m as protected here as anywhere,” I remind him.

“I’ll be fast.”

Lars leaves, and I take it as a sign for a break. Numbers are hurting my head, and my posture isn’t winning any awards either. I stand, stretching my arms over my head like he did and daydreaming about how Saint Clare’s was supposed to go.

Me and Colin, stressing over entry numbers and staffing and keeping enough stock on hand. Bickering over who to invite to our VIP areas and how much to pay ourselves out of the takings.

I was never, ever supposed to be dealing with a missing brother and a fucking murder plot.

Screw it. The bookkeeper I hired will have to swamp through the numbers and talk to me about it later since she understands this shit better than I do.

All the coffee I’ve drunk today is making me need to piss, so I duck into my private bathroom across from my office, empty my bladder of what’s probably ninety percent coffee, and then avoid my reflection as I wash my hands.

I don’t need the reminder that I look tired as shit and have a mangled ear.

Maybe while Lars is gone, I can let myself nap. Just a teeny bit. This week has thrown enough shit at me to fill a year, and I didn’t sign on for any of it.

I like anonymity, and I may have some regrets about my name being in neon letters above the door.

And the feature article.

And all the social media posts I’ve been tagged in.

The thing is, our nightclub needed a face, and Colin flat out refused to do it, so it’s not like I had a lot of choice. It was supposed to be temporary. Something we did early to get people engaged—the person-to-person attachment always works better with selling a brand—and then the focus on me was supposed to stop as soon as we were doing well.

If only I’d known someone was seeing my face out there and plotting out the best way to destroy it.

I return to my office, locking it behind me so that Lars doesn’t have a fucking meltdown, and decide I might as well try to fill in this spreadsheet one more time.

The prospect of more hours in front of the screen makes me want to rip my eyes out though, so when a throat clears behind me, I’m almost relieved.

Until my brain catches up with me.

“Your ear doesn’t look too bad.”

My back locks up, and I hate that I’ve relived that night so many times that my brain recognizes his voice as familiar. “Why don’t I cut off half of your ear and see how you like it?”

When he doesn’t reply, I get the courage to slowly turn and face him.

He’s half sitting on my wet bar, skeleton mouth mask in place, hood up, one elbow propped on his knee, while the other hand holds his gun loosely between his legs .

“You pinky swore,” he says, which catches me off guard.

“Yeah, well, lucky for me, we’re not in kindergarten, and that means shit all.”

His heavy eyebrows pull tight. “It means something to me.”

“If I can get over the ear thing, you can get over that,” I throw back dryly. The fact he’s trying to make out like this is a totally normal conversation and that his gun isn’t here to make me feel threatened pisses me off enough to keep the fear away.

“You forgive me?” he asks.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say he lights up, but it’s hard to tell anything when half of his face is covered. “No. This isn’t the type of thing you get to be forgiven for.”

“But technically, it was an accident.”

He’s got to be kidding me. “It was only an accident because you missed my fucking head.”

“A happy accident.” He groans and rubs his head through his hood. “I was hoping we could move on from all that.”

“Move on ? Is there something wrong with you?”

“My sister would tell you there’s plenty.”

I latch onto that detail. “You have a sister.”

He twitches, realizing he’s said more than he should have. “Uh, no?”

“You just said.”

“Well, maybe I was throwing you off.” His hand twitches tighter on the gun. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Because you broke our promise. Which means that I have to kill you.”

My fear kicks up a notch. “You don’t have to do anything.”

“But you’re making me.”

“I’m not,” I hurry to say. “Look, I needed to ask you a question. That’s it. All I’ve done since that night is come here or stay home. Only one person has seen me in that time.”

“Plus everyone in the cafe.”

My eyes narrow a little. “You’ve been following me.”

“Umm, yes. Obviously. What else would I have been doing? ”

“That’s fucking creepy.”

“You didn’t keep your word!”

The slight whine in his tone makes me laugh. “Now who’s hung up on small details?”

He looks at me expectantly, and it takes a second to figure out why he’s waiting. “You want me to apologize for that?”

“I thought we had an understanding.”

“You. Shot. Me.”

He has the fucking audacity to roll his eyes, and like his voice, I’ve clearly been thinking about him too much because they seem familiar too. “And now you’re making me do it again.”

I throw my hands up. “Can you wait a second? My brother’s missing,” I explain, and I don’t know why, but I actually have hope that I can win him over. “How would you feel if your sister went missing?”

Those eyes of his give away too much, but it’s clear he doesn’t like that.

“Yeah, it sucks. And I thought, well, if you had orders to kill me and instead told me to disappear, that maybe you did the same for Colin.”

It’s a long shot, but I’m desperate, and I hold my breath while I wait for him to answer me.

“I haven’t seen a Colin,” he says, and my hopes crash. “I didn’t even know you had a brother.”

I slump back against my desk, fear forgotten as hopelessness tries to take over instead.

The masked man stands and moves closer. “Wish I could help.”

“You’re sure?”

He shrugs. “Positive. My list of names isn’t long. I’m new.”

Finally, my laugh breaks free, and I swear his eyes crease up too. “Yeah. I could have guessed that.”

“ Damn . Right where it hurts.”

“I’m sorry, are you telling me that I hurt your feelings ?”

“And not for the first time.”

“You are really bad at this, aren’t you? ”

With the hand not holding his gun, he pinches his fingers an inch apart. “I’m calling it a learning curve.”

Then the familiarity vanishes, and he lifts his gun my way.

All of the relaxed air sucks from the room as I stare at that barrel again.

“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper.

“Yeah, I do. You broke our trust.”

“To be fair, you probably shouldn’t be trusting complete strangers at all. Consider this a life lesson.”

“Sorry that I like to see the best in people.”

“Is that before or after you blow open their skulls?” The bottom of his eyes twitch, like he’s cringing at that imagery. “Is that what you want?” I push. “To take me away from my friends and family? To splatter my blood over my desk? Will that make you feel good?”

“I get the feeling it’ll come down to being you or me, and I sort of like where my blood is right now.”

“Funny. I could have said the same. But if you can do it, then do it.” I’m totally fucking bluffing here because if he does it , I die. Not a fan of that outcome, so I hurry to continue. “I’m sure you don’t think about all those other people you’ve killed when you’re trying to go to sleep. Your sister must be so proud to have a murderer in the family.”

Again, the grip on his gun tightens when I mention her. It draws my attention past the barrel. Past his hand wrapped tightly around the metal.

To his wrist.

And the bright red plastic strawberry peeking out from under his sleeve.

A happy charm.

My thoughts screech to a sudden halt.

Fuck.

There’s no fucking way.

I’m about to say his name when he drops his gun hand suddenly .

“Last chance,” he says, like he’s trying to sound intimidating, but it comes out all wrong.

All I can picture is the slightly dopey sweetheart bumbling around behind the counter at the cafe. “Last … chance?”

“You need to leave. Disappear. I mean it this time.”

“Right.”

He rubs his head again, and this time, I’m sure I get a glimpse of dark hair. I’m overlaying my memory of Perry with this guy in front of me and coming up with match after match. “Close your eyes while I leave.”

Stupidly, I do exactly that.

I don’t question whether I’m making myself an easier target, and when I hear the soft creak of my office door pulling open, I’m not at all surprised.

A second later, I look.

He’s gone.

And now I need to figure out what the hell I’m going to do with this information.

He hasn’t seen Colin. He’s useless to me. One call to the police will remove him from my life, and then I won’t need to worry about disappearing.

Except.

If he is working for someone like he claims he is, there’s nothing to stop them from sending someone else. That someone else might not be so easy to scare off.

It’s like playing Russian roulette with serial killers.

Who do I want to off me first?