If only I could figure out who he really is and what he’s done—what’s so awful that he is next on the hit list. Then I’d know what to do. The monster wants out, and for the first time since I married Brian, I’m afraid she might manage it.
I blow out a breath. I need to just do this, get it over with. So maybe I will. Maybe, tomorrow, I’ll kill him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
When I find Gran thatevening, she’s at a table, eyeing two men across what looks like a Texas Hold’em spread. Not that I know how to play—I don’t—but I joined in a couple card games in college and quickly learned my ability to maintain a poker face, to manipulate. My desire towinmeant I was one card game away from a gambling addiction.
Not unlike my killing addiction.
And deciding one vice—especially my particular choice of vice—was more than enough, I never touched a deck of cards again.
“Gran?”
“Shh.” She squints at the man closest to her, who wears a bathrobe and, apparently, nothing else. His white hair looks like it hasn’t been combed in quite a while, but he wears a wry grin, like he’s done something very clever. “I’m busy.”
“It’s Nadia.” I crouch down beside her.
“That’s lovely, dear, but luck is in my favor. You boys better buckle up, this ride is just getting started.”
The other man—smaller and peering at her through thick glasses—says, “What? Speak up.”
“Gran, I have to talk to you.”
“Who are you?” She stares at me with hard, unflinching eyes. My stomach does something funny. It feels like a punch to the gut.
I swallow, manage, “I’m Nadia, your granddaughter.”
“I’m too young to have a granddaughter.” She pulls back slightly, affronted. “Now please go. I’m busy, as you can see.”
I squeeze my hands into fists, take a slow, deep breath, trying to expunge the rising frustration inside me. The last thing I need ismoreemotion aboutanything. The monster is there, simmering inside me, just looking for an excuse to come out to play.
“Gran—”
“Time to pay up, gentlemen.” Gran sets a spread of cards down with a cackle. The men groan. I rise to my feet—it’s time to go. I need to keep an eye on Brian. I desperately wanted to talk to my grandmother, for her to be lucid just long enough to give me something, anything, even if it was just a pat on the hand and anIt’ll be all right, Nadia, despite us both knowing it was a lie. But the other night when we ate pilfered chocolate cake was an odd exception, a rare moment of the person who gave me a chance at a life emerging from a darkness I can’t begin to understand. Where does she go when she’s not lucid? Is she justgone?
I’m approaching the entryway when her voice rings out: “Nadia Davis, where do you think you’re going? Without even a hello? A hug?”
Relief wells up inside me, tears forming in my eyes—god, why am I about to cry? I turn to see Gran frowning, the game forgotten, stomping—as well as an eighty-five-year-old woman can, anyway—across the facility’s lobby.
When she reaches me, she takes my arm and whispers, “Let’s go, I have booze.”
—
Gran does, indeed,have booze.
“Where did you get this?” I hold up two airplane bottles of Seagram’s.
“Oh, I have my ways.” She goes to the mini fridge and pulls out soda. “Let’s make some seven and sevens, eh?”
I frown, although another part of me hopes her ability to swipe alcohol is a sign that Gran is special. That she has her own “superpower,” that she is like me, and therefore, I am like her.
“Sure, a drink would be good.” Despite Penelope the RN’s assurances, my grandmother is clearlynotbeing watched more diligently. I make a mental note to find the nurse before I leave and ask how my grandmother would have gotten her hands on the whiskey. A quick nip should be okay, but she’s on meds that might interact poorly—especially if this becomes (or already is) a regular thing.
While Gran is busy procuring glasses—seriously, how does she find this stuff?—I mill around the room, trying to sort out what exactly it is I want to ask her. Time is of the essence.
“Gran, I have a problem at—um, work.”
“Mm-hmm?”
