“It bears repeating, especially since you seem hellbent on keeping me here.”
“Noted.” He doesn’t engage with me in an argument like I hoped, but it’s probably for the best. I need to be more agreeable. He just threw me for a loop by waltzing around naked.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the many times folded piece of paper before smoothing it over my thigh. I thought about trying to make a new list for him to see, where I omitted a few names, but if I went and asked him for a piece of paper, I’m sure he would suspect something of the sort.
“Is that the list?” he asks, eyeing my leg.
“Yup. Got a pen or a marker I could use?”
“Why?” he asks before rising and walking into the kitchen to open the drawers.
“It’s been a while since I visited that box. I need to update the names.”
“You have other safe deposit boxes?” he questions casually while looking down over my shoulder and extending an ink pen.
“No.” I try to sound convincing, but the damage is already done. I lean forward, placing the paper on the table, and run the blue ink through three names on the list. Running into Winger and developing an unhealthy obsession with him accelerated my timeline for Eddy quite a bit, but it still didn’t keep me out of trouble.
I let my eyes skip through the remaining names, pondering if any of them stand out as the one who could have hired the man to kill me, but I have an equal amount of hate for all of them and could make an argument for each being the one behind it.
“What do the check marks mean?”
“I know where they are.”
“You’ve tried finding the others?” he questions, leaning a little closer to me. I can smell his shampoo or the soap he used. I take another inhale, finding I like the clean scent. “Max?” he prompts when I don’t answer right away.
“I’ve looked for them, but there’s a chance I could have gotten a name wrong or something.”
“What does ‘or something’ mean?” He extends his hand down, clearly indicating he wants to have a closer look at the list or the names on it.
I hesitate only for a second, then lift the paper for him to take. “Maybe they didn’t use their real name. It’s not like they showed me ID.”
He tilts his head, tearing his eyes away from the list to gaze at me for a moment. The crinkling of the paper allows me to break eye contact with him.
“Careful,” I warn, not wanting him to rip the paper. I could easily make a copy, but that paper holds significance for me.
His fingers loosen, and when I look up, his eyes are back on the sheet. “Could they be dead already?” he questions.
“No, these ones are dead.” I point to one of the names with a line through it.
“I mean before you got to them.”
“Oh right, well, none of the public records I could find with these names matched what I remember.”
“Public records… That’s how you found these guys?” He seems alarmed, or maybe impressed.
“There’s a lot of information on the internet.”
“I know, Iron digs up shit all the time.”
“Iron again. Does he have my computer and phone?”
“He did,” Winger admits.
“Did? What happened to them?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You don’t have them?”
