“Just about,” I reply, glancing down at my grazed shoulder. “I need you to call in those favours. There could be footage.”
“Already taken care of. Jesus, little one. I said to make it a night to remember, but this wasn’t what I had in mind.”
“You and me both, boss man. You and me both.”
He chuckles lightly. “How’s the client holding up?”
“Target is fine.”
“Kara,” he scolds.
“He’s still alive, isn’t he?”
Owen looks over and raises an eyebrow at me.
“What’s your plan?” Andrews asks.
Good question. What is my plan?
Glancing over at Owen, I tap at my lip as I take a moment to ponder my response. Something is niggling me.
“I’m not sure. I need to understand what this is,” I reply, but keep my gaze on Owen. “I need to understand fully what’s going on.” Owen nods, knowing that I’m talking to him now. “Then I’m thinking we disappear.”
Owen raises his eyebrows; his eyes widen and his head jerks sharply.
“I’m not fucking hiding,” Owen snaps.
“You’ll do as your goddamn told,” I snap back.
He rolls his eyes, flopping back to the sofa dramatically.
“Do what you have to do, little one. Just remember he’s a client, so try not to get him killed or kill him yourself when your patience runs out,” Andrews says, although I’m watching Owen as he crosses his arms and watches the TV, the news still shows clips of the events. “Where are you?” he probes.
“In a safehouse.” Which isn’t exactly a lie, because we are. Just not one that he knows about. “I’ll touch base with you later when we’ve talked. Keep your contact on the case. I don’t need my face showing up on tomorrow’s breakfast news playing bodyguard.”
“But it’s such a beautiful face,” he replies, and I tut, hanging up the phone, turning it off, and slipping it back into the envelope.
“You know I’m not hiding, right?” he reaffirms.
I place the envelope on the table, taking another sip of my drink, peering over the top of the glass to see his stubborn expression.
“You hired me to protect you, so that’s what I’m going to do.”
“And as I did hire you, that makes me your boss. So you have to do what I say, and I say we aren’t hiding.”
I slam my whiskey down on the table, annoyed at his petulance. “Whatever the fuck you’re involved with has gotten people killed.”
He flinches as though I slapped him.
“You need to listen to what I tell you and do what I say. But first you have to tell me what the fuck is going on.” I turn towards him, where he folds his arms and leans back. “Because blowing up a charity dinner was a bold fucking move, which tells me whatever you know has someone somewhere shitting bricks.”
“You’re still bleeding.” He nods towards my arm, and I glance down, looking at the bandage that is red. I sigh and stand up.
“I need stitches. How are you with a needle and thread?” I ask, walking back through the bedroom.
“What do you mean?” I hear his voice as I continue to the bathroom. I rummage for the first aid kit. “Ah ha,” I say, cuddling it and open the zipper, looking at its contents. There’s a suture kit, which is just what I need.
Yay past Kara. Always being prepared.
