He places the gun and an extra magazine into the safe and shuts it with a quiet click. I doubt he does anything loudly. “The combination?” he asks, half turning his head towards me.
“Should have asked for that before you closed it.”
No reaction from Miles. I wonder what it would take to get him to show some semblance of emotion. Ever the professional, though I bet the composure doesn’t slip even in his off hours. Interesting to know what a man like him does in his spare time. Or perhaps it wouldn’t be. A mystery.
“You forgot your shoes,” I point out.
“I’m not taking my shoes off.”
Funny that his belt wasn’t a sticking point, but this is. “Don’t like feet?” I get that.
“Shoes stay on.”
“Not in my home, they don’t. Put them over there.” There’s a rack specifically for people to leave them at the back door. Barely anyone uses the front door, and all packages go to a PO box—I don’t allow strangers through the gates—but there’s one there for them as well, just in case. Unless it’s a quick visit, such as picking Olivia up to take her to school, everyone is expected to take them off. I don’t have a cleaner, for the same reason as the packages, and I’d rather not mop up mud and God knows what else comes off people’s shoes.
Miles gives a clipped nod and then strides over, his dress shoes clicking sharply on the tiles. No surprise that his socks are as dark as the rest of his clothing.
I almost want to laugh at the image he presents. Not because he looks ridiculous, but because this entire situation is. Ifsomeone had told me that Miles Whitlock would be standing in my kitchen in socks, I’d have told them to get help. And yet, here we are.
He lifts his arms as if to saygood enough?
“Are you hungry?” I ask. I need to do something with my hands, and I have no idea how long he plans to stay. Will I need to make up a room for him? How long does Xavier expect him to watch me? Once I ask him, I can find out.
“No.”
Too bad. I’m in the mood for chocolate chip cookies, and he’ll have some even if I have to shove them down his throat. Has he ever eaten sugar in his life?
Before I can start gathering the ingredients, Miles speaks again and halts everything.
“Xavier is on his way.”
My heart skips a beat at the single sentence. The only time Xavier has ever entered this home is through my bedroom window, deep in the night. Never like this. Not when he risks meeting Olivia or being seen. He hasn’t come to me for a long time now, not since the incident with Jericho’s partner. As if he isn’t sure if he’d be welcomed back or not. Xavier never does anything unless he already knows the answer to his question.
He has to know that I’ll never be able to turn him away. Even when I try, even when I find a way to shut the door, it’s always open.
“I’ll make some coffee.” I have a feeling I’m going to need it. Too bad the last of the good whiskey was finished off the last time that everyone was here. I could use it. “Tell me what you found.” It’s not a suggestion, and he better pick that up.
The noise from the boiling kettle forces Miles to get closer, almost standing shoulder to shoulder with me as I prepare the mugs. I should be annoyed that I still remember how Xavier takes his, but I’m resigned to it by now. There are no memoriesof Xavier, even the worst of them, that aren’t always at the front of my mind.
“Nothing,” is all Miles says eventually, his eyes tracking my hands. His own are behind his back, spine ramrod straight. The perfect soldier.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I wish that I was. The prints are unidentifiable. Not in any databases, here or overseas. No hospitals have had anyone come in with lost-finger injuries that don’t have the finger accounted for, not in the last twelve months.”
“Twelve months?” I ask, the corner of my mouth twitching. That finger can’t have been that old, unless they’d been keeping it on ice and biding their time. That’s somehow more disturbing than the gift itself. For it to have been that planned. No, I’d prefer to assume it was a recent thing even if that in and of itself is unnerving.
“We’re already widening the search. We’re also scouring missing persons, but you and I both know that plenty of people disappear, and no one cares.”
So many slip through the cracks. Once upon a time, Jericho and I were the ones no one missed. No one to notice that one day we weren’t there. Neither of us have any idea what happened to our parents; when we were old enough and had the resources, we looked for them. They simply vanished from one day to the next, leaving us behind. Whether by their design or something sinister, they ceased to exist, and there wasn’t a person in the world that cared enough to look for them or us.
It’s why we do what we do now. We care, when no one else does. And we solve problems the way we choose to, without government interference.
“Get the milk for me?”
He’s even more silent now without his shoes on, the socks making no noise on the tiling. I can’t help but glance downagain. He has large feet, his pant legs only covering just below his ankles. It feels strangely intimate, though I can’t fathom why.Everyonehas to take their shoes off when they spend extended time here. It’s not as though he’s walking around in his briefs. Those are probably black too.
“Here.”
