* * *
I find myself humming as I wait for Wilson to bring up Teddy from the cells. I don’t expect the little mouse to run, and if he does, he’ll be easy enough for the house guards to chase down.
I’m correct in my assumptions. Wilson brings Teddy out to the patio, announces him as “Mr. MacCallum, sir,” and then withdraws to bring more food from the kitchen on my command.
Teddy stands there, docile and slumped in his clothes from last night—and my jacket, so big on him that he looks like a child playing dress-up. I stretch out further in my chair, extending my legs and putting my hands behind my head as I look him over. Letting him have a chance to lookmeover, since his eyes are wandering.
My face may be a nightmare, but I keep my body perfectly sculpted. Still, his eyes go wide when he sees the various scars that pepper my chest. Guns, knives, even fists—they all leave their marks. These scars, though, I wear with pride. They are marks of my resilience.
My face…
That’s a different story.
“Sit,” I tell him when he stays where he is, blinking in the light as his gaze turns to the gardens instead. He sits, or collapses, rather, the chair legs scraping along the patio flagstones. “How did you sleep?” I ask, reaching for my coffee.
He begins to respond, then clears his throat and tries again. “Not very well.”
“But you were warm enough, eh?” It takes a moment, but he gives a nod. One of the day-staff appears with several dishes of food and a fresh pot of coffee. I gesture to the plate and silverware in front of him and say, “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
I smile. “Don’t be silly. You must be, after spending all night chatting with Julian down there.”
His lips part. “You heard us?”
“Eat,” I tell him again, “and then we’ll talk.”
He looks at the dishes—the eggs, the pastries, the bacon. “I’m not hungry.”
“Don’t make me ask again.”
His eyes narrow, darting toward me with irritation, but he reaches out for a croissant.
“Coffee?” I don’t wait for his nod, simply pour it for him. “Help yourself to cream and sugar.”
I drink my own coffee while he chews, his eyes drifting here and there, taking in the view. From time to time, they linger on the bull tattoo that covers the left side of my chest, drift lower to my belly, then skate away. He won’t make eye contact, and so I am content to watch him in the sunshine, enjoy the red and gold glints in his hair, the pucker of his plump mouth as he sips his coffee—two sugars, no cream—and the pink dart of his tongue as he licks pastry flakes from his fingers.
“You’re a liar,” I say to him, after he has eaten halfway through a second croissant. He freezes, a fox in the hunter’s spotlight. “Youwerehungry.”
He resumes chewing, and then swallows. “I guess I was.” He finishes his coffee, and I pour him another. He watches me do it with guarded, curious eyes. “Why are you being nice to me?”
This time I add the sugars for him, stirring the cup as I stare him down. “Am I being nice?”
“J-Julian said…” He pauses, as though monitoring my reaction to the name. When I do nothing, say nothing, he goes on, a little more confident. “Julian said you were treating me well.”
“Julian says whatever he thinks will serve his interests.” Teddy reaches for a third croissant and then glances at me. “Go ahead,” I tell him. “You will need your strength, little mouse.”
His face darkens, but he grabs the croissant and tears into it with his teeth, defiant. But I see his throat has gone a little dry, because he has to swallow down the pastry with the help of a slug of coffee. “How long are you going to keep me here?” he demands afterward.
“As long as I need to.” I sit forward, take off my sunglasses, and pin him with my eyes. “You said you could help me. So before I decide what to do with you, I want to hear what you have to say.”
CHAPTER9
TEDDY
All the croissantsin my belly feel like they’ve turned to stone as I sit there under the weight of Alessandro Castellani’s gaze. Even just sitting there in his underwear, he has an aura of power and danger about him, an aura that I can’t help admiring.
Admiring and…
