“Night, brother,” he says. “Try to avoid gutting anyone else this evening, aye?”
“I make no promises.”
I can see Arabella moving through her postage stamp-sized apartment, dragging a chair to put against her door, checking the locks on her windows. I get a glimpse of her frightened face as she’s pulling the curtains shut and again, that unfamiliar feeling hits my gut, tightening all my muscles. Guilt. I recognize it now, it just took a while. Guilt is not an emotion I entertain much. She risked her safety to try to save me, and such a clever wee thing. Reading lips is an amazing skill, invaluable.
Would she be interested in working in our organization?
She’s pulled the curtains on all her windows shut, but my position on the rooftop and the excellent scope on my rifle still gives me a view into her bedroom. The moonlight filters over her skin and that mass of black hair, it’s thick and when it’s down, it tumbles over her shoulders. She’s curled up tight like a potato bug, back against the headboard and her arms wrapped tightly around her knees.
The pubs down the street have closed for the night so it’s mostly quiet, just a few cars passing by. Every time her head nods toward her knees, I think she’s finally asleep, but then she stiffens, looking around her room again.
My poor lass is terrified, and I’m thinking she’s clever enough to know that attack was no random snatch and grab, especially when I stepped in. A police car cruises slowly down the street, flicking on the high beam to scan the alley and the street. Good. Detective Christie’s got an eye on her, too.
Adjusting my position with a groan, I pull up the hood on my jacket and settle in. Both of us awake and alert, Arabella and I, keeping watch together.
Chapter Five
In which yet again, we learn that no good deed goes unpunished.
Arabella…
The pounding on my front door dinnae wake me, but the repeated texts from Meera did. Stumbling to the door, I open it to see my aggrieved friend with a covered breakfast plate, wearing leggings and a t-shirt that says “Sorry I’m late. I didn’t want to be here.” This is a phrase she is also not shy about saying out loud.
“Good morning!” she chirps, “Can I come in, then?” Since she’s already through the door and heading for my tiny kitchen, there’s no need for an answer. I lock the door, double-checking it before I head over.
“Oh… ye are too good to me, my friend.” She’s brought crispy bacon, grilled mushrooms and tomatoes, and her specialty, tattie scones. I shove half of one in my mouth, groaning in pleasure. The crisp outside of the scone and the soft, buttery potato center is divine.
“Ye look terrible,” she says, looking me over with a frown.
“Thank ye for your refreshing honesty,” I say sourly.
“Sorry, I meant ye look like ye dinnae sleep a wink. Understandable, but ye canna keep that up.”
“Did ye get the kids off to school?” I ask, going in for a slice of bacon. I’m gobbling breakfast down with all the manners of a farm animal but Meera isn’t the judgmental type.
“Aye, they’re fine.” She leans against the counter, folding her arms. “I noticed a police car circling the block a few times, looks like that detective is actually concerned for your safety?”
The bacon’s suddenly dry, stuck in my throat and I take a huge gulp of juice to get it down. “It’s nice that she ordered the patrol but we both know they’ll circle ‘round for a couple of days and then it’s back to business as usual.”
Meera gives me The Eye, the look that makes her kids immediately cave and confess everything they might have done wrong for the last six months.
“Why do I feel like there’s more to this story?” she asks, pushing a little basket of muffins toward me.
The muffins are blueberry; she always sprinkles some coarse sugar over the top and it makes them sparkle a bit. It’s easier to think about the visual appeal of her baked goods than the reality of what’s happened to me. Telling Meera about last night could endanger her, too. I dinnae tell Detective Christie the whole truth and I still haven’t parsed out why.
“I haven’t…” I rub my eyes. “I dinnae want to talk about it right now, aye? I’m gonna need some time.”
Here’s why she’s one of my favorite people. She abandons giving me The Eye, and nods slowly. “All right. But I can tell this is twisting ye all up and this is not just about the attack - though that’s terrible enough. Promise me that ye will not try to handle this on your own.”
That opens a whole new terrifying horizon.
WhocouldI talk to? This is so much bigger than me. This is cloak and dagger shite, planned assassinations, a man who can kill… shite, he probably killed those guys at the fundraiser because I never saw them again and then these two and with a knife and-
“Ach, girl, you’re spiraling, ye should see your expression right now.” Meera’s waving her hands in front of my face. “Have a muffin. Take a moment. You’re making me anxious and when I’m anxious I bake and Connor says he’s gained two stone in the last month and he’s gonna hide my Ooni Spiral mixer if I canna find another way to handle stress.”
Poor Connor. Her husband has been putting on weight recently and morally, I canna contribute to that.
“Please, dinnae worry.” I reach across the counter, squeezing her hand. “Let me… I’ll work it out in my head first, and we’ll talk.” I glance over at my clock on the wall and yelp. “I’m gonna be late for work!”
