I may have missed some of what they discussed but the part where she said she is feeling lost left its mark. I don’t know how her father died here, do I? I can guess, because her gut instinct that the institute is involved tees up with my own knowledge.
I come from the Revenant Institute. I was made there. And in my world, they sent me to do the job. My biggest problem—I don’t have proof that has any weight, here.
Sitting down with her, telling her the truth about my mission might get her to stop her sleuthing. Might. It would also scare her, make her hate me. It might make her more determined to get someone to pay. Hell, no. I want to get closer to her, not push her away.
But, if she doesn’t stop digging for info, someone will send another killer after her, a quiet killer, not a man who taps her shoulder while she’s in the waiting room.
I’m as sure of this as I can be.
Caught between a rock and a hard place, I am. I remember Hailey’s sexy body and how she moaned and moved against me, and I smile. Rock and a soft place? I will always choose the soft place—her.
The scraping of chairs on the sidewalk tells me that Ron and Molly are on the move, and once they’re back in the shop, I’ll return to Hailey’s house to get those clothes, if I can. It’s an easy house to break into.
Twenty minutes later, I’m halfway up the well-forested but sheer slope that leads to Jordan Street, when I stop to check the view over the town. Something brushes my leg.
It’s a cat. That cat. The one from her house. This morning, she named it Squiggle.
“You’re a wanderer.”
It looks up at me and purrs, its eyes large dark pools.
“If you were a dog, I’d give you a lift, if I could, but seeing you’re a cat, I bet you know the way. Race you to the house.”
Squiggle cat’s forehead wrinkles, making that Rorschach blotch move.
I freeze in mid-step. I can remember the Rorschach inkblot test? Did I used to know that? Or is my memory of who I was returning to me, piece by tiny piece? I touch the pocket where the photo I stole resides.
When should I ask her about this?
To do that, I may have to make her sit still for me because her doing that voluntarily seems unlikely. Tie her up?
That could be…interesting. I savor that thought.
I jolt into seeing her gagged, bound, helpless…and naked, with a hellish background of weaving black tentacles where many of them snake over her body, slide up between her legs and over her face. She’s smothered by them then sinks under a heaving black sea.
“Fuck.” I shake my head and continue up the slope. The exercise doesn’t banish that image for quite some time, and if anything, I embellish it, in many filthy ways. Was I always this creepy, this fucking kinky?
The cat reappears and easily keeps pace, leaping and sprinting from rock to grass sod like a pro.
“Let me tell you this, cat, climbing with a hard-on is not recommended.”
It meows agreement.
13
TRADING THREATS
Clay Skinner
The buzz from my secretary alerts me, and I switch the laptop to the waiting-room cam.
“Hailey Tarrant. Well, well. Good to see you.” I smile and keep the security cam open on my screen to study her a little longer.
She’s almost the same age as me, looks good, considering she’s probably had to struggle more than I have. The surveillance images didn’t lie. The navy blouse is filled out well, and judging from the shape of her rear and legs in those dark jeans, she exercises. She also has an unexpectedly bleak assurance, with a set to her mouth that says maybe she hopes to do a blitzkrieg attack on me.
Once she co-operates and hands over her phone, takes up the pen, I go around to the front of my desk to wait for her. I lean back into the desk, pick up a tablet I can use to playacthaving some info at hand. My secretary witnesses her signing the confidentiality agreement, and the girl is ushered down the hallway toward my door. She’s smiling but warily, like she expects someone to bite.
I turn off the screen on the laptop.
