Page 55 of Silas

He unzips one and yanks the opening wide to reveal stacks of cash—100s. “A hundred grand.” He unzips the other, revealing a change of clothing—black BDU pants, black T-shirt, black ballcap, my well-worn and much-beloved Danner combat boots, and my bulletproof vest. There’s another vest, a smaller one for Naomi. Underneath all that, there are several spare magazines for my Glock, a pair of collapsible batons—a telescoping length of steel with a hard heavy knob at the tip, a non-lethal weapon that can still do a hell of a lot of damage—and a few flashbangs, and a first aid kit.

“Hell yes. I can finally get out of this fuckin’ monkey suit,” I say, already eagerly shucking the suit coat and ripping open the button down.

Taj chuckles. “I have to say, Silas, you do clean up quite nicely.”

I change right there, stomping my feet into my boots and kneeling to lace them. “Well, thanks I guess. I had to wear a suit a lot when I worked for The Cabal.”

“Really? Why?”

“I was basically a salesman. I closed deals—guns and drugs mostly. I had to look the part. It’s what they expected.” I push to my feet and pop the ballcap on my head, feeling more like myself now that I’m not in a suit anymore. I could have bought stuff for myself at Walmart, but I wantedmyclothes, and more importantly, I didn’t want to take away from Naomi’s experience. “I mean, everyone wears suits—it’s the look they’re going for, neat and clean and professional, rather than grungy thug, you know?”

Taj grins at me. “I do not think anyone would mistake you for a grungy thug.”

I toss my days-old suit into the trunk and slip the vest on, strapping and adjusting it till it’s comfortable. I shove my Glock into the attached shoulder carry holster, fit a few extra mags in the slots, and then one of the batons. I snag the extra vest and baton, and then move into Naomi’s line of sight, gesturing for her to join me.

She does, but tentatively, skirting wide around Taj, eying him warily from lowered eyelids. “Yes, Silas?”

I smile at her, because it seems to put her at ease when I do. “This is my friend Taj—Taj, this is Naomi.”

Taj seems to somehow soften and shrink—he’s a big guy, a couple of inches taller than my six feet even, with lean, hard, rangy muscle. “Naomi, it is my pleasure to meet you.”

She eyes his outstretched hand suspiciously, glancing at me for…I don’t know what. Permission? Assurance of safety?

I rest my hand on the small of her back, whisper in her ear. “It’s okay. He’s cool.”

She lets out a small, soft breath—as if summoning courage—and takes his hand, allowing him to shake hers briefly, before withdrawing it and shrinking against me. I can’t help a little laugh as I wrap my arm around her shoulders.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Taj,” she murmurs.

Taj’s eyes go to mine, not missing her skittish behavior. His eyebrow lifts, asking a silent barrage of questions, all of them a variation onWhat’s her deal?

“Just Taj, please,” he says to her, taking a step backward out of her space.

She doesn’t respond, only huddles closer to me, glancing up at me; her eyes are more like stormclouds than quicksilver, at the moment. Deep, beautiful, searching. “You look different, wearing that.”

I shrug. “It’s more who I am than the suit, nowadays.”

She smiles, a small, private quirk of her lips. “I like it.”

I’m so tempted to nuzzle my lips against hers—they’re so close, so full and pink and plump. “Yeah?”

Tires squeal. Taj glances at me. “Are we expecting anyone else?”

I shake my head. “No one we want to see.”

The occasional shriek of tires gets closer with every passing second—my enemies or hers, they’re on the way. I can feel it in my gut.

I stuff the vest over her head and make short work of fastening it. “If you were to get hit, this will stop it. It’ll still hurt like a sonofabitch, but you’ll be alive.”

I show her the baton—collapsed, it just looks like a handle about six inches from base to tip. I flick my wrist, and the weighted head snicks out into an 18-inch length of steel. Collapsing it again, I secure it in one of the loops.

“That’ll do serious damage, Naomi. Take out a kneecap, if you want to just drop a motherfucker. Hit him in the temple or throat, he’s either dead or as good as, depending on how hard you hit. And if you gotta get that out, I expect you to hit them as hard as you can, yeah?”

She stares at me, then nods. “I understand.”

“Hopefully you won’t need either, but I’d rather you have them, just in case.” I hear engines, now. “Get in the back seat of the Explorer and lay on the floor. Stay there till you hear my voice telling you it’s safe.”

She swallows hard, once, and then climbs into the back seat of the SUV and curls up on the floor. Before I close the door, she holds my gaze. “Don’t kill anyone, Silas.”