Johnny chuckles. “Told you, we’re attached at the hip.”
I don’t reply. What I really want to say isn’t meant for Johnny’s ears. If my life weren’t so messed up, stepping onto a private jet would have floored me, but losing one freedom numbs all experiences.
Thankfully, my aunt works the night shift and is asleep when I leave for work each morning, sparing me an interrogation about the brand-new Mercedes-Maybach S-Class Pullman waiting at the curb. I only know what it is because I Googled it the first time I stepped inside. The interior is obscene. Leather seats so plush I could sink into them, a partitioned driver’s area, and rear-facing seats that make the whole setup feel more like a limo than a car. Cyan’s car. Of course, it is.
By midweek, I’m praying my luck holds. So far, the universe is on my side.
On Thursday, I’m on lunch break and sitting at Leventhal Park, soaking in the rare moment of freedom. No Johnny, no security, no one watching me—just me, my chicken salad sandwich, and a can of ginger ale.
An elderly man lowers himself onto the bench beside me, his movements slow and deliberate. “Hello, Aria. Guess you didn’t listen to me after all.”
I freeze mid-bite. My head snaps in his direction, and I inspect, but I’m certain I don’t recognize him. Gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses, a hooked nose; his eyes look somewhat familiar.
“I’m sorry, do I know you? Who are you? How do you know my name?” I shift, preparing to stand, but his next words root me in place.
“Don’t move, Aria. It’s me. Ethan.”
Shock bolts through me. I look closer, now spotting the prosthetic nose. The disguise is clever.
“Ethan?” My stomach twists at the thought of him getting his face beaten bloody. I start to rise.
“Wait, Aria, this is the only safe way I can talk to you,” he says quickly, voice low. “I warned you to stay away from him. You’re in over your head. But I can help you.”
I swallow hard. “How?” But I already know he wants information about Cyan.
“Help us bring him down.”
A humorless laugh escapes me. “You want me to spy on Cyan?”
“Yes.”
“Hell no. I’d rather not get my ass beaten like you. Or worse.”
Ethan’s eyes narrow. “And how did you know about that?”Shit, I slip up.“See?” he presses. “You already have valuable information.”
“I’ll deny it if asked.”
“It wasn’t hard to figure out my so-called break-in was staged. Then Cyan MacBrady lays claim to you publicly, and you’re being watched right now?”
A chill prickles my spine. “You’re lying.”
“Look toward the guy reading that book.” My eyes flick toward the man casually flipping pages a few benches away.
“And the other feeding the birds.” My stomach knots. “Don’t stare too long!” Ethan hisses. “You’ll tip them off. Take a bite of your sandwich; act normal.” He leans back and laughs like I just said something funny, masking his following words with a cough.
“Tell your driver you’re working late. Meet me tomorrow in the underground parking lot.”
“I already told you. I’m not interested.”
“Aria, trust me, I can help you. Cathy is a good friend. I wouldn’t be risking my neck for this if I didn’t think it mattered. Meet me tomorrow in the parking garage. An hour. That’s all I ask.” I open my mouth to refuse, but he cuts me off. “You should get going. Don’t want to be late getting back to work.”
Then he stands, leaning heavily on his walking stick. Loud enough for others to hear, “Bye, Miss. Nice meeting you. Hope to see you again.”
He hobbles away before I can say another word.
Nineteen
“There’s no such thing as clean hands when you’re caught between the law and the lawless.”–Aria Boschett.
