“Something my grandfather used to say.”
“Fitting.”
“I think we need more than four or five spiders.” Samira swiveled and returned to her glass on the kitchen island. “Jamie, tell me what happened, with your family, your career.”
He raised his eyebrows, still looking at the tent. She made it sound like a condition of her cooperation. Blackmail. But, hey, no point lying anymore.
“I think you can guess,” he said.
“Drugs.”
“Aye. Prescription, not street—not that they were prescribed, not for me, anyway.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, her quiet tone ripping into him.
“It was not supposed to become an issue.”
“The one thing I wanted from you, the one thing I asked for, was the truth. Trust. No surprises.” She spoke slowly, like she was selecting every syllable from a catalog.
He swallowed. “I know.”
“‘It’s rare that somebody we know and trust will betray us.’”
He turned his head. She was examining the water like it was fine wine. “What?”
“Something you said, in the car.”
“I talk a lot of bollocks.”
She met his gaze, her jaw firm. “Please don’t be flippant.” She sipped. “Your arm’s still giving you trouble.”
He’d been cradling it with the other hand. He let go. “It’s fine.”
“There’s that word again—fine.” Another sip. “So that’s why you wouldn’t take painkillers—you’re an addict. That’s what your sister said.”
“Aye. I’m an addict.” If it was supposed to be healthy to admit that, why did it feel like he was shriveling?
“There must be something we can do for your wound.” She strolled up and unbuttoned his coat. Getting bolder—not waiting for an answer. He liked that. He’d like her to undress him for a different reason but...no.
“I can probably fix it myself, using the bathroom mirror,” he said. “Might need a hand here and there, though.”
“Of course.”
The bathroom was windowless but had plenty of lights around the mirror. She helped him remove the suture strips and directed the flashlight of her phone onto the wound. He began to excavate. It was as much of a mind-fuck as reversing a trailer—left when you wanted to go right, right to go left.
“You don’t need to hide from me,” she said, quietly. He got the sense she was studying his face in the mirror. “Or impress me.”
“I’m guessing there’s no point in either after last night.”
“I, for one, am glad we’ve moved beyond both those things. So? Tell me your story. The full truth, this time.”
“It’s not something I like to relive.”
“You’d rather pretend it didn’t happen?”
“Pretend what didn’t happen?”
“You know, it’s strange.” She turned and leaned back against the cabinet, only her back view visible in the mirror. “You come across as so wise and steady. I knew you were hiding something, but this... It doesn’t compute with the Jamie I know.”
