She laughs, and the sound carries across the open field between the stable and the shoreline. “It’s okay not to be good at everything, Adrian. You can add it to the list of things I’m better at.”
“The list is short.”
“It’s growing.” She nudges her horse forward at a walk, I follow, and within thirty seconds, I’ve accepted the horse is in charge of this relationship and I’m a passenger.
We walk the horses along the shoreline, making slow progress on wet sand while the tide creeps in around the horses’ hooves. The pace is slower than walking would be, and the salt air is warm and heavy, but I can’t remember the last time anything was this absurd or this good.
I killed a man almost three weeks ago, and the murder is being investigated by a possibly corrupt homicide detective. I’m being hunted by a rival syndicate, but that doesn’t matter because Aurora is laughing at me when I can’t hold reins, and I haven’t been this settled in years. The contrast should disturb me but doesn’t.
“You look like you’re solving a math problem,” she says, glancing at me from her saddle.
I look down at the black stallion for a moment. “In a way. I’m trying to understand how the horse knows where to go when I’m not steering.”
She chuckles. “You’re not driving a car, Adrian. You’re riding an animal. The horse can feel what you want through your seat and your legs. Relax, and she’ll follow the shoreline on her own.”
I mentally correct myself to mare, not stallion. I loosen my grip on the reins and let the horse do what she wants, which turns out to be walking at exactly the same pace beside Aurora’s horse. The animal apparently has better instincts than I do about who to follow.
“This is what normal people do on vacation,” she says after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “They go to beaches, ridehorses, and eat grouper sandwiches at plastic tables. They don’t carry guns or travel by private jet or worry about rival syndicates finding their address.”
“I’ve never been normal.”
“No.” She looks at me, looking younger than she usually does. “I’m starting to think that’s a choice, not a condition.”
“Touche.” The legitimate businesses could sustain themselves. The numbers work. I’ve run them before. I could be the man on the horse instead of the man behind the desk, and Aurora could be the woman beside me instead of the woman I’m protecting from my own consequences.
The fantasy is seductive, and it collapses the moment I remember Karpov would read withdrawal as weakness, and weakness is an invitation I can’t afford to extend.
Aurora is leaning forward to pat her horse’s neck and murmuring something I can’t hear. She looks like she belongs here, in the sun, on a horse, with no heels, no VIP list, and no performance.
“You should come back here after all this,” I say. “When it’s safe.”
She looks at me. “Back to Key Largo?”
“Back to this.” I gesture at the water, the horses, and the open space. “You told me you want stability and honesty. This is what that looks like.”
She doesn’t answer, but she smiles, and the smile isn’t guarded or strategic. It’s real. We ride back to the stable in silence, returning the horses and thanking the owner, and the normalityof the entire afternoon stays with me alongside the image of me being the man beside her in a way I’m not equipped to process.
My mother calls at four.She’s sick with some cold or virus she picked up at a fundraiser last week, and she needs me to represent her at the Bayside Investors Gala tonight. The event is hosted by three of my legitimate business partners, and my mother has been their liaison for years. Missing it would raise questions I don’t want answered.
Viktor advises against attending. I overrule him because the gala provides cover for my presence in the Keys, and because refusing my mother’s request while she’s ill would generate maternal guilt powerful enough to make Karpov’s threats seem manageable by comparison.
Aurora looks at me when I ask if she wants to come with me. “I have nothing to wear to a gala.”
I frown. “You said Marisol packed three dresses.”
“Marisol packed three brunch dresses. None of them are gala appropriate.” She crosses her arms. “If you wanted me to attend black-tie events, you should have included that in the logistics brief.”
“You’re right. I’ll send Fedor to…”
“I saw something at the store in Islamorada.” She picks up her phone. “Give me thirty minutes and your prepaid card.”
I smile because she’s not protesting using my money this time. I like buying her things, not because it gives me leverage over her, but just because I like pampering her.
Fedor drives her back to town, and she returns with a garment bag and a look of satisfaction that tells me the four hundred dollar wardrobe budget just increased significantly. She disappears into the guest room and comes out forty-five minutes later in a dark green dress that fits her like it was made for her body. I have to remind myself to keep breathing.
“Will this work?” She spins theatrically.
“It will.” I manage to hold my voice steady, which requires more discipline than anything I did at the training range today.
