"You made the error?"
Riley hesitates for half a second and she looks adequately terrified. Her pasty skin is pale as she says, "Yeah, I mean… I don't make mistakes at work so I'm sort of anxious. I must've just transposed two numbers."
Officer Davis studies her for a long moment. I think Riley's obvious nervousness must help us because Davis moves away from the topic too easily. She mutters something to the agents who stand beside her then looks up at me.
"While we're here, how about a tour of the facility? Just check up on things a little." The matter-of-fact way she says it means we've shored up the issue and nothing can be done on their end, which means Riley pulled it off. And I have no problem showing them around because this warehouse is always ready for a surprise inspection.
The agents spend another twenty minutes walking through the warehouse, checking manifests and inspecting pallets. Riley stays close to me the entire time, her hands shoved into the pockets of her sweatshirt, her shoulders tense. By the time they leave, Officer Davis is satisfied.
I watch their car pull out of the parking lot, and I don't exhale until they're out of sight.
I turn and look at Riley. She's still standing by the loading dock, her arms wrapped around herself, staring at the empty road where the Feds disappeared. Her face is still pale, her jaw still tight, and I can see the adrenaline draining out of her now that the danger has passed.
I walk over to her, but she doesn't look at me.
Watching her work this morning felt transcendent. Not once did she buck me or try to get out of it. And when she stood there in front of federal agents, she could've used her last name, which would've alerted them to her location and connection to me the very instant her family reports her missing. Because at this rate, it's gonna take a bit longer than I hoped and they will definitely report her.
So why didn't she?
Why didn't she open her mouth and ask for help when she had two armed cops right there?
"You did well," I tell her, and I make sure I'm looking out at the road and not down at her. If I study her for too long, my dick will start to swell again like it did the other morning. "You could've let it all fall apart on me and I'd have been arrested."
"Then what?" she asks, turning to glare at me. "You have a gun to my sister's head. Right?" Her eyebrows lift and I look down at her. "Didn't think I had any choice but to play a part. Now, can we go? I'd like to finish my job and go home."
Riley walks off with feet slapping the polished concrete floor, and I smirk at her attitude. All of that, and she still has some sass to her. It makes me want to pull her hair and tell her what a bad girl she's being mouthing off to me like that.
But having the ability to take me down openly and probably go home to her family safely but not using it… I'm impressed. I wonder what else she'll do for me considering I have a metaphoric gun to Lila's head. And I wonder if the way she looked at me while we were standing on that deck has anything to do with the reason she just covered my tracks.
Maybe I'll get a chance to find out soon.
9
RILEY
My eyes hurt. My fingers are tired of typing. My brain feels like I’m seeing numbers in my sleep and the cypher is almost cracked.
Marco Lombardi was a very smart man, but once I figured out he was using a cypher to encrypt his hand-written ledgers, I knew I could crack the code and rewrite things. Unfortunately, it's taken me this long and I missed Thanksgiving with my family entirely.
I know they're probably worried sick, and maybe they've called the cops by now. They won't find my car, and Rafe probably had people destroy my phone too, so it's not like they can track me down.
I just want to go home.
Nothing in life would make me happier than to hear my mom nag me about bringing home a "nice boy" to give her grandchildren. Though Lila's engagement and impending marriage squelched some of those nag sessions lately. But life just doesn't feel the same without family around at the holidays,and it really doesn't feel the same knowing I have a gun to my back at every turn.
I yawn, needing a moment of break from today's work, which happens to fall exactly the same time as Rafe wanders into the room with a plate of food for me. He's been good about making sure I'm fueled and not stepping away from the desk for any reason other than to pee, and if he could insert a catheter so I didn't have to do that either, I'm sure he would.
At first, I thought it was nothing more than being practical. That Rafe Ferretti is a man on a mission and refuses to have his mission delayed even for sustenance. But the way he presents the food and the little touches, like the fact that he recognized at lunch time that I hate mayo and started leaving it off even without my asking, shows me it's not just pragmatism. Rafe cares for some stupid reason.
"I have roast vegetables and quinoa served with grilled chicken breast and a side of blueberry cobbler." The scent hits me before the sight of the food and my mouth waters intensely as it comes into sight. Rafe sets the plate on the desk next to my notebook where I'm working, and my belly grumbles, already poised to devour it.
"Oh my God, that smells so amazing," I tell him, and before my sentence is finished, the lights flicker and go out. They come back on for a split second and then something douses them again, and this time, they stay out. "What's that?" I ask, and my body tenses.
There's a winter storm buffeting the city tonight, wind howling around Rafe's small neighborhood, but it's not supposed to be severe weather.
"Shit… power went out. Let me go check the breakers and make sure I didn't mess something up while cooking." I sense him moving away, though my eyes have to adjust. The only light in the room is the flickering fire in the hearth, but it's on the other side of the room. And the computer screen in front of me, but it's turned to dim. I'm used to staring at a computer all day with the brightness up.
"You cooked this?" I ask incredulously, not truly believing that.
