She smiled a little before schooling her features. "Humour me and tell me something in Spanish. I've always loved the way it sounds."
I figured this was her way of testing me to make sure I wasn't feeding her bullshit, but the only words she'd ever hear from my mouth were the truth. "Eres muy hermosa."
She planted her hands on her hips, highlighting the fact that neither of them held a weapon… around a stranger… in an isolated place. I'd seen how fast she could draw both weapons, but still. She'd already shown tentative trust in me, just like I'd done by drinking her coffee. "Which means?"
"You're easy on the eyes."
A soft huff came from her, but I couldn't tell if she was flattered or amused. Maybe a bit of both. "Apocalypse pretty you mean? Doesn't any woman start to look appealing when there aren't many of us around anymore?"
I smiled. "Apparentlymuy loco,too."
Silence fell between us, and I waited while she gave me another thorough head-to-toe look. She was trying to figure me out just as I’d been doing with her since I first laid eyes on her. “So..." I prompted, lifting my brows. "Are you going to tell me your name?”
A fleeting look of surprise crossed her face as if it hadn't occurred to her that I didn't already know it. “It’s Olivia McCall. Liv.”
I tossed the remaining Skittles in my backpack and looped my arm through the handle. “Ironic.”
She frowned. “How?”
“Liv in a world full of death.”
She rolled her eyes, but I caught a glimpse of humour in them. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and rose from the chair, keeping alert for changes in her body language as I approached. Her demeanour didn't shift at all, though. No moving her hand closer to her weapon, no tension in her features.
Now that we were both standing, I was almost a head taller than her, but she didn’t seem bothered by the difference in height. I gestured toward the door. “Want to come inside?”
Liv narrowed her eyes, and for the first time in months, the urge came over me to laugh. “And do what?”
Commenting on her appearance right before I suggested we go somewhere private probably hadn't been my smartest move. “Talk to each other in a place where we’re less likely to be found?”
“About what?”
“Whatever brought you up here to see me.”
She gave me a steady look that had a kick of desire coming out of nowhere. “I have a knife.”
“I know.”
She followed it up with an appealing dose of side-eye as we walked toward the door. “And a sword.”
“Saw that, too.”
“If there’s any funny business...” Liv stepped ahead of me and turned, walking backward for a couple of steps. “I know how to use them.”
Her take-no-shit attitude reminded me of the women in my family, and being around her felt like home. “Again, I know. I've seen you take down more corpses than I can count.”
"Okay, okay. I'm just making sure we're on the same page, that's all.” She faced the door and pulled it open, poking her head inside to make sure it was clear despite being in that spot not five minutes ago.
I took the door from her and closed it behind me, leaving us in an enclosed stairwell. We made our way down a flight of steps to the sixth floor and wandered through a carpeted maze of cubicles with desks and chairs. Paperwork was strewn across the floor, a suit jacket had been draped over the back of a chair, and a lonely umbrella hung from a coat rack in the corner. The place had a stale smell to it, but it was better than the overwhelming stench of death I’d come across in other buildings.
“I’ve been staying over there.” I pointed toward the fancy corner office with the views.
Liv sent me a wry look. “Of course you have.” She wandered in that direction, her footsteps light, her head moving from side to side to keep ahead of any surprises. I’d already cleared this level, but I appreciated her thoroughness—one of the many traits of hers that had caught my interest. Notallof them were physical. “Is there whiskey in there?” she asked.
“Used to be.” The more she spoke, the more I warmed to her, and she’d been borderline abrasive part of the time. I must have been alone for too long and convinced myself any form of human contact was a good thing.
Liv patted the nameplate on the door as she passed through as if in silent thanks to barrister John Angelone for the temporary use of his office space. She slipped off her backpack and dropped it to the floor. “I don’t drink it anyway,” she said, looking up at me as she sank onto the tan leather couch. “Whiskey, I mean. I just like the smell. It reminds me of my dad.”
I left the door open and took a seat behind the desk in the plush executive chair, engulfed by the scents of leather and money. I had no idea if she was telling me her dad was an alcoholic or if he used to be a whiskey expert. Either way, it probably didn’t matter. “I take it he’s gone?”
