Baxter Flynn was smart, charming when he wanted to be, and ferociously attractive, particularly in his natural state. Most Feds seemed to lack his vivacity. Somehow, the Academy hadn’t stamped the personality out of him.
I thought about what Tino Morelli had often advised me before his death, and what my new Don kept saying as well.Live a little. Enjoy this work that we do. Don’t take everything so seriously. There was something inside me that wanted very much to enjoy the young man in front of me, enjoy him in every sense of the word.
But he was, and would always be, the enemy.
“How could I possibly trust you?” I asked, leaning in closer so that my chest brushed against his.
“I’m standing here naked in the shower with you,” he said flatly. “I guess if you can’t trust me after this, there’s not much else I could do to convince you.”
I was cautious by nature, but I hadn’t always been. In my younger years, I’d taken the same foolhardy chances that Flynn seemed to enjoy taking. “I’m sure you could be even more persuasive if you wanted to,” I said, just to shake him further. Then I took a step back. “But true trust is earned, Flynn. Just because you come to me and tell me what you think I want to hear, it doesn’t mean I trust you.”
He waited. For once, he seemed to understand that silence was the optimal response.
“Still, I’ll take a chance on you,” I said at last. “With some conditions.”
His head came up and he looked like he was bracing to take a punch. “Name them.”
“One, you do what I tell you at all times. Two, you don’t ask any questions about my day job, or fish around for intel.” I paused to see how he was taking it.
“Fine,” he said, shrugging.
“Three, we go underground while we do this. No contact with your Fed buddies, you understand? Once we leave this apartment, we’re ghosts.”
His mouth flicked down on one side and he frowned, but then he said, “I have something at my place that I need to pick up first.”
“No.” I leaned back in and took his chin, lifting it up. The water cleaved around his face, glistening. “If you want to come with me, you can’t go back to your old life. Understand? You’ll be mine and mine alone until the job is done.”
His eye twitched, and I thought for a moment he was going to refuse. I felt a strange regret at the thought. But then: “Yeah,” he muttered. “Okay. Is that all?”
“No. The last condition is, you get the hell out of my shower and let me enjoy it. Where we’re going, there won’t be much time for long hot showers. Go wait in the living room.”
He almost smiled. “Sure thing, Boss.”
I grabbed his wrist as he made to open the shower door. “Don’t call me that,” I told him. “Not ever. You understand?”
Irritated, he tried to pull away, but I had my hand firm around his wrist, gripped tight. “Fine,” he snapped. “Angelo. Whatever.”
I was about to tell him not to call me by my first name, either, but it sounded nice coming out of his mouth. Even sulky like he was.
“Fine. Now get out of here,Baxter.”
Hedidgrin at that.
Chapter Ten
Baxter
Once I’d dried down and dressed again, I made my way back to the living room and resisted the desire to snoop around. It wouldn’t be worth it anyway. This might have been Messina’s apartment, but it sure wasn’t hishome. I would have bet the only things I’d find here would be a few sets of clothes, towels, enough cutlery for a few meals a week, and nothing else.
I confirmed my suspicions by looking in the fridge. Not even a carton of milk. He only had individual shelf-stable milk cups stacked in the egg holder tray, as if making them cold would make them taste any better. This wasn’t a home, it was a hotel. Not exactly a safe house, but a place where Messina could come to when needed and vanish from at a whim.
Smart.
Expensive, too.
Once I’d scoped the fridge I did what he’d told me to do: I sat on the lounge suite and waited. I turned on the TV briefly and caught a late-night news story about what the media had dubbed the Central Park Slayings, but there was nothing new released about suspects. Not even the Morellis were mentioned. There was a brief interview with Captain Walsh in which he said it was too early to tell if the killing was connected to the other hits that had been carried out over the last two months.
“Who do you think you’re kidding,” I said under my breath. And then I channel surfed until I gave in and admitted that trying to distract myself wasn’t going to work.
