“Because—” I open my mouth to sayI said so, but snap it closed, allowing him to finish, “I wanted to see if they would come back for you when they realized their first attempt failed.”
“Did they?” I’m staring up at his face, and he turns away from me as if he’s checking to make sure the apartment door is locked, but when he rejoins me, he makes a point to stand on my other side. I instantly realize why. He’s hiding his scar.
“No one has been there since the first time I went there.”
“When was that?” I question.
“Two or three days after you were stabbed.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Since you let him stab you, or since I was there?” He pushes the button for LL on the elevator.
“Since you were there.”
“Ten days.”
“Damn, it feels like it’s been longer than that,” I admit.
“I know.”
The underground parking is so quiet, our footsteps echo as I trail him to his car. I wish I could say I think he’s underestimating me with the way he’s not tracking my every movement, but the truth is, I underestimated him from the beginning. I treated him like one of my targets. Weak men like even weaker victims, but that’s not him.
Despite the cool feel of the garage, the car is warm and stuffy inside. He cranks up the air before moving, and within seconds, I can feel the difference.
“Where are we going?” He puts the Audi in reverse, then uses his mirrors to turn around.
“Wayne. Head west on 96.”
“It’s not in Taylor.”
“No.”
It takes about thirty minutes to reach the credit union, where he parks in a spot right in front. I glance over, wondering if he’s at all concerned with cameras and shit like that, but then I realize he doesn’t have any reason to be. No one knows I’m not with him willingly.
Winger shifts to the side and pulls a slim wallet from his pants, then produces my ID. I glance down at the small rectangle. I can’t believe I didn’t even think about needing it.
“Wait for me,” he instructs, getting out of the car. I watch him through the windshield as he scans the parking lot before coming around to my side and opening the door for me, allowing me to step out of the low car, and then he closes the door behind me.
“I’m going to touch you,” he warns in a low voice before his palm lands on the small of my back. There’s no panic or disgust, which I attribute to him alerting me. He steps in front of me to pull the door open, then he’s right back in the same position.
Once inside, I make my way over to the woman sitting behind the first desk. It takes her a second to look up, but when she does, she smiles between us. “Hello, do you have an appointment?”
“No, I’d like to visit my safe deposit box.”
“Okay, I can help you with that. May I see your identification please?” She begins typing on the computer. I slide my driver’s license across her desk. “And your key.” She barely looks at me before picking up my ID and continuing to type.
From the corner of my eye, I see Winger turn his head and examine me. “I have a digital vault.”
“Oh, perfect, I see that right here.” She sets my license back on the desk for me to pick up.
“Feel free to have a seat, sir.” The lady offers him one of the chairs in front of her desk as she stands. Winger responds by putting a little more pressure on my back.
“It’s okay, he can come with me,” I tell her.
“I’m sorry, miss, but only owners are allowed into the vault rooms. Unless his name is on the box, that’s impossible.”
“She can add me as an owner now,” he tells her flatly.
