There was a pause. The faint sound of traffic over Darius’s line.
“He’s not keeping Kit as a sex slave,” James said, with more confidence than he felt. “Just an ordinary hostage, to be released… whenever. Don’t worry about it.”
“Where did you pick him up?” Darius asked. He was on speakerphone as he drove.
Interesting, that Darius was so interested. James toyed with a pen. “What did Bishop tell you?”
“I’m asking you, not Bishop.”
“My answer is whatever Bishop told you.” James turned off his computer as he talked, gathering up his things. “You’re not getting anything different from me, unless you tell me why you want to know.”
After a moment, a gruff laugh came over the line. “You’re not as dumb as you used to be.”
“Aw, I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be.”
“Hey, listen,” James said. “What are you doing on Monday?”
“That’s confidential.”
“You’re no fun,” James said, and hung up.
Exiting his office, James waved goodbye to his assistant, who would know to have the car brought around for him by the time he reached the ground floor. James contemplated his next target’s travel itinerary as he took the elevator down.
There was a lunch reservation for tomorrow. James could easily arrange a reservation of his own, but it would look more natural if he had a date. Someone who wouldn’t be surprised if the buffet turned bloody. If Darius wasn’t free, maybe Bishop would be willing to play the role.
Or maybe…
Kit was braced for his eviction, but when he headed downstairs the next morning, Bishop was nowhere to be found. The extra locks were gone from the front door and the garage. Kit could unlock them and leave at any time.
Instead of leaving, Kit continued inspecting the house. Most of the doors were unlocked—he could enter or exit through anydoor in the house except Bishop’s bedroom, Bishop’s office, and the attic.
He found the first evidence of Bishop’s presence in the kitchen. A half-pot of coffee sat still warm on the counter. Next to the pot sat Kit’s wallet, and his cell phone plugged into an outlet.
So, that was what freedom looked like. Kind of anticlimactic.
Kit poured coffee into a black and gold San Corvo Police Department mug—the biggest mug in Bishop’s kitchen, and therefore Kit’s favorite. He stirred in too much sugar, then sat cross-legged at the kitchen table with the coffee and his sorely-missed cell phone.
Fully charged, on. No new notifications.
Except when Kit unlocked the phone and opened his texts, there were a number of messages from the last few days—all marked as read, though he obviously hadn’t been able to read them.
Bishop or James or whoever went through his messages, and they didn’t care enough to hide it from Kit.
“Fucking assholes,” Kit muttered, lifting the giant mug to his lips with both hands. He couldn’t quite muster the appropriate outrage. Of all the things they’d done to him, reading his texts was really the least of it.
Besides, the phone was only a year old, with a new number. There wasn’t anything important on it.
He browsed the texts he’d missed. Just friends of acquaintances, people who would have known he was at Uncle Ed’s place but hadn’t been complicit enough in Ed’s crimes to warrant a death sentence from Bishop.
Did you hear Ed’s place got shot up? wtf
were you still staying with ed?? what happened?
Kit ignored them, more interested in checking what important cat videos he’d missed over the past five days. But before he could open any other apps, his phone buzzed. A push notification popped up at the top of the screen, from an unfamiliar contact.
Sexy:Hey babe, come to lunch with me tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at 1
