Page 5

CHAPTER 4

WE STEPPED INSIDE. The woman wrapped Kira in a tight hug, then backed off and held her at arm’s length. She curled her nose and turned her head to the side. “What the hell, girl! Did you do a swan dive into a cesspool?” Then she looked over Kira’s shoulder at me and lowered her voice. “Okay, now,” she said. “Who’s the hunk?”

Kira turned and did the intros. “Denise, this is Doc. Doc, this is Denise, an old classmate of mine. We got our personal trainer certifications together way back.”

“I cheated off this girl the whole time,” said Denise. She did a spin and waved her hand around the salon. “Then I decided I was more into the appearance aspect than the muscular aspect, if you understand me.”

“This is your place?” I asked. It was a compact setup, with three styling stations, a reception desk, and a small Aveda retail section. The place smelled like lavender and lemons, with a slight undertone of ammonia.

“Three hundred square feet of prime Chicago real estate,” proclaimed Denise. “At a rent I can almost afford.” The beads at the tips of her locs clicked together as she talked.

“Thanks for opening up,” said Kira.

“You said it was an emergency,” said Denise. She looked us both up and down. “You did not lie.” She pointed to the back of the shop, which was separated from the salon space by a thin wooden partition. “There’s a shower back there. Please use it. Both of you.” Denise held her hands up, palms out. “I can’t work my art on a dirty canvas.”

I still didn’t know why we were here, but before I could ask, Kira disappeared behind the partition. After a few seconds, I heard a flimsy door opening and then water coming on. I sat down in one of the salon’s vinyl waiting chairs, exhausted.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” said Denise. “If I remember, that girl takes the fastest showers in the Western Hemisphere.”

She was right. I was barely settled in the seat when I heard the water turn off in the back room. About ten seconds later, Kira reappeared, wrapped in a towel. Her wet ringlets were dripping down onto her pale shoulders. I could smell her shampoo and body wash from where I sat. I stared at her. Couldn’t help it. Before that afternoon, Kira and I had been apart for nearly twelve months.

I’d almost forgotten how beautiful she was.

Kira tipped her head this way and that to jostle the water out of her ears. “Careful with the hot tap,” she said. “It comes on strong.”

I stood up and slipped past her into the back. Behind the partition, there was a simple fiberglass stall alongside a massage chair and a pile of cardboard cartons. A stack of fresh towels sat on a wooden stand. As I stripped off my filthy clothes, I could hear Denise and Kira talking out front. Denise wasn’t even trying to be discreet.

“What’s the situation with the male model?” she was asking. “Bodyguard? Bouncer? Boyfriend?”

“It’s complicated,” Kira said. “Let’s just leave it there.”

I don’t know what I expected her to say—or what I hoped she would say. Complicated. To be honest, I probably would have used the same word.

“Okay, Miss Kira,” Denise went on. “None of my damn business. Let’s get started on you, okay? How radical?”

“Full on,” Kira replied. “Just like we practiced.”

I turned on both taps, tested the temperature on my palm, and stepped into the stall. I feathered the hot tap to avoid being scalded. The water soaked my hair and poured over my body. I grabbed a bar of soap from the holder and lathered up. When I looked down, I could see trickles of brown sludge curling into the drain.

The steam opened my breathing passages. The hot water eased my muscles but stung the scrapes on my back. I tried to relax. But I couldn’t. My mind was racing.

What now?

Kira’s loft was gone—along with everything we needed. Weapons. Tools. Clothes. Our best hope was that the assassins thought that both of us were now in tiny pieces.

Something told me that Kira had a plan from here. She always did. I wondered if there was any chance she would let me in on it.

I lingered under the water for a while. Then I turned off the tap and reached for a towel. I heard Kira’s voice from out front, but it sounded different. Thinner. Weaker. What the hell was Denise doing to her? I wrapped the towel around my waist and stepped around the partition into the salon. I was about to ask for a robe, but I didn’t get that far.

All I could do was gape.

Denise spun the chair around so that Kira was facing me. But the Kira I knew was gone. The woman in the chair was maybe seventy-five or eighty years old, with gray hair and wrinkles creasing her face and neck.

“What do you think?” Kira asked, in that weird, creaky voice.

“Wow,” I said. “How long was I in the shower?”

Kira slid stiffly off the chair, walking with a hunched posture. Very convincing. When she smiled, her teeth had a slightly yellow tint. “Theatrical makeup,” she croaked. “It’s one of Denise’s hidden talents.” She sounded a lot like my late grandmother. Looked like her, too.

Denise patted her chair. “Okay, Hercules, you’re next.”