Make their bones? “You’re wasting your time talking to me as if I speak your criminal slang.”
“That’s right, I forgot. You’re a college girl. Proper-fucking-English only.”
“I’m awoman. I’m inmed schoolat NYU. Why would I know any of your jargon? Would you know what I was talking about if I said the word Pneumoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis?”
Be careful with that mouth. Don’t piss him off.
That was good advice. But he really did provoke me. And whenever he pissed me off, I stopped being so scared and started being angry. It felt better to be angry. But I didn’t want to “angry” myself into getting dumped in the East River.
“For your information, Ms. Doctor Princess, I was paid to kill everyone in that apartment.”
That chilled me to the bone. It was strange to hear someone talk about real murder so casually. But what did I expect from a killer? I was the naïve one here.
“You agreed to kill a woman?” Again, I wanted to blast him with the question, but it came out sounding weak and afraid. A whimper instead of a roar.
His green eyes were cool as he stared at me. “Did I say that?”
I didn’t respond. He was baiting me. Playing games with my head. I didn’t appreciate it.
This time, I won the test of wills, and he spoke first to break the silence. The little victory made me feel absurdly good.
“That penthouse apartment,” he growled. “It’s yours, right?”
“You didn’t know?”
“Everything you say doesn’t have to be a question, Princess.”
I really didn’t like being called “Princess,” but he wasn’t going to stop, so I needed to stop reacting to it. That way, he’d get bored and drop it. It was like dealing with a pre-teen boy.
“Fine,” I replied. “Youknowthe penthouse is mine.”
“Paid for by your father.”
“I’m in med school full time.” I hated sounding so defensive. I didn’t know what he wanted from me. Yes, I didn’t have a job. Sure, there was no way I could afford a place like that on my own. Was he trying to make me feel bad about it? Because I refused to feel bad about it. You had to take what good things life handed you and be grateful. You didn’t need to live like a monk to prove anything.
“Back to your question. Ididn’tagree to kill a woman.” He paused as if considering how much to reveal. “A guy I know from another criminal enterprise, let’s just say, hired me to whack everyone in that penthouse. No names given. No other information, only that he said the orders came from above. I’d worked with this guy for years without a problem.”
“But…whyme?”
“Your father has made a lot of enemies. Killed a lot of people.” Leon’s expression went carefully blank, but his eyes… Those eyes suddenly weren’t hateful or cold. I could’ve sworn I saw a flash of pain in them before he brought down the shutters on whatever emotion he was feeling.
And after those shutters slammed down, he looked like he wanted to shoot me right where I stood. It was cold fury in his eyes.
I didn’t understand why. I wasn’t even one hundred percent certain I’d seen that emotion, that hurt in his eyes—but I certainly saw the anger. “You’re saying that someone wants me dead for revenge?”
“Unless this was all one hell of a clerical error, then yeah, Princess. That’s what I’m saying.”
I closed my eyes, feeling both empty and lightheaded and very, very tired. “So why didn’t you do it? Why didn’t you shoot me? You shot everyone else.”
He didn’t answer. I opened my eyes again, but he’d decided to ignore me. Instead, he moved to the bed and unzipped his duffel bag.
“What are you doing?” I demanded in a high-pitched and slightly panicked voice.
“I need to make some calls. Can’t use a motel phone.” He pulled out a cheap cell phone and tossed it on the bed next to him. “Are you hungry?”
The question caught me completely off guard. “What?”
“Are. You. Hungry?” He pantomimed eating like the obnoxious toad he was. “The feeling in your stomach, does it say ‘give me food?’”
