Against the Dark (23 page)

He stood and went to the window, casual in his nakedness. He pushed the curtains aside, peeked out, then came back to her.

“What’s wrong?”

“He’s been gone a while,” Cole said.

“He said he might be. I believe he used the word
days
.”

“And he’s not answering his phone.”

“Because of the mole.”

Cole gazed at her darkly. “You need to stop talking like you know what’s going on with us. You need to stop thinking you know anything. Fuck.” He pressed his palms to his forehead. “I need to get out of here.”

“Macmillan said to stay put. That Borgola has eyes out for us. Do you think Borgola wants us back in the dungeon?”

“No, he’ll want us dead now. Borgola needs to kill us to restore his cred. I have to get out there and help Macmillan find the mole.”

“But he said to stay put.”

“Stop reminding me what he said.” Cole went back to the window.

“Or what?”

“You know what.” His glance over his shoulder sent a bolt of lust through her belly. He let the curtain go and walked back to her, slid onto the bed. He grabbed her foot and kissed her toe.

“Will you plan B me?”

“Plan B went out the window as soon as I knew you,” he said.

“That’s not how you made it sound back in the room. After we hit the safe.”

“Because I wanted you to think it.”

Her stomach churned. “Why would you let me think it? It was horrible.”

“Angel,” he shook his head, like the explanations and problems were too unruly to capture in words.

“You were opposite training me.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Don’t do it anymore.”

His grip on her ankle tightened minutely. “I can’t make any promises to you.”

“Because of the Association.”

“You have to stop saying that.”

“Because you’re a spy or agent. And you infiltrate places.”

He frowned.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell. I just want to know about you. And you’re into math equations.”

“Logistics,” he said.

“Isn’t that, like, trucking and shipping?”

“In its simplest form it is. But the way I do it, it’s looking at three puzzle pieces and knowing what the other 97 are.”

“
El león se conoce por sus garra,
“ she said. “My dad used to say that. It means, by the claw you may know the lion.”

“The rat and the hole, the lion and the claw. Sounds like your dad was into instructive sayings.”

“Isn’t that what dads are for?”

“I didn’t have that kind of dad,” he said. “But yeah, I use the claw to visualize the lion.”

“That’s what your equations do?”

“That’s enough questions.”

“Tell me,” she whispered, mimicking him from earlier. “You must tell me.”

He yanked on both her ankles, pulled her down onto the bed. She yelped and he crawled over her. “What do I have to do to shut you up?”

Her heart raced. The way he loomed over her was so hot, and the sense of danger in the air made it all the more intense. “You know what,” she whispered.

He yanked away the sheet, exposing her nakedness to him, like he was in charge. And the way he looked at her seared her clear through. Her heart skipped a beat as he pulled off his glasses.

She tried not to think too hard about anything outside the room. There was only a specific minute, the slide of a hand across goose-bumpy skin, the keen thrill of an unexpected suck. He wouldn’t pull her hair at the end and she loved even that, how intent he was to have their lovemaking be slow and sweet.

As they lay together afterwards, she thought about them in the mirror. How ferociously he’d wanted to make her see whatever he saw. He couldn’t untwist the way she’d gotten herself all twisted up, but strangely, it made a difference that he cared that much to try. It loosened something that had been stuck for a long, long time.

They ordered a pizza later. He eyed her as he was making the order. “Everything except mushrooms,” he said. He set the phone down.

“You remembered,” she said.

“Of course I did.” He pulled on his pants. “However…” he picked her clothes up off the floor, brought them to her. “You’re going to have to revise your memory of us. Because, I must point out, you did put out on the first date. In fact, I didn’t even need to spring for a restaurant. Dinner with the boss is all it took.”

“Some boss.” She popped off the bed and took her clothes from him. She pulled on her panties, shimmied into her pants, and grabbed her bra.

Cole watched her. “I liked having you there. You were a good partner. Aside from the wasting-time-to-hold-the-diamonds bit.”

She snorted and threw a sock at him.

“Also, congratulations on your new almost client. You could’ve really had something going there if you hadn’t tried to grab his jewels.”

She pulled on her shirt. “His place is horrible. But it’s perfect. For how it reflects him.”

“The man really took to you.”

“Ugh.”

“How did you know what he’d like? How’d you know he’d go for your floral ideas?”

“It’s what I do, Cole. Or, how I do design. Some designers have a signature style, but others are more about reflecting what’s inside of the clients. You sort of tap into…their sensibility. Their inner life. And challenge them to be more, to own it. It’s kind of a journey, though ideally, I help them find something awesome inside themselves.”

“Is that what your place is about? What do I see when I go there?”

“A place where I test concepts.”

He looked at her tenderly. “Nothing of you is there?”

She reached up to him and squished his lips together again. “You’re going to say weighty things now, and I don’t want that. Okay, darling?”

He grabbed her wrist and yanked her hand away from his face. “We’re back to this, darling?”

“Not with a pizza coming, we’re not.”

A mischievous smile spread across Cole’s face. “Angel, did you tap into Borgola’s inner ugliness?”

She grinned.

“He was into it. You made him happy.”

“What can I say? It’s a gift,” she said.

A thoughtful expression appeared on his face.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing. But it’s an effective cover. On paper, you really do look like a full-time designer.”

He’d investigated her. Of course. “It’s not a cover, Cole. I’m retired from the jewels. I’ve been retired for five years.”

He adjusted his glasses. His gaze seemed more keen, somehow. “You’re retired?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t look retired the night of the party.”

“My old gang pulled me out of retirement because I’m the only one who can do a Fenton Furst. I said yes because of Aggie. Aggie was like a second mother to me.”

“Five years you were out of the game?”

“Macy and White Jenny knew I didn’t want to come back, and they tried to get the Flesh Boys to go for a different ransom, but it was all about embarrassing Borgola with them—it had to be his rocks, it had to be his Fenton Furst. The Flesh Boys knew Furst died last month, which means his safes are fair game for the Fenton Furst-trained crackers who aren’t dead or in jail. Hell of a time to come out of retirement, huh?”

He fell silent—more of him not saying all he thought.

“What?” she asked.

“Why? Why stop stealing? If you enjoy the game?”

She lay back against him, careful to put her weight on his good shoulder. “It didn’t sit right anymore.”

He stroked her hair. “Stealing didn’t sit right?”

“I realized I was hurting people. The people I robbed and my family. It wasn’t worth it, you know? Also, I wanted to do something positive. I know you probably think designing people’s homes isn’t important. But it is to my clients.”

“You did something important today. Getting into that safe, Angel. Your skills resulted in saving a lot of people’s lives.”

A strange feeling stirred in her chest. “Those people on the boat are for sure okay?”

He stroked her hair back. “Yeah.”

She felt stupidly choked up with emotion. She’d never done anything truly important.

The phone rang.

She felt Cole rouse to attention behind her. She sat up. “It’s probably the pizza.”

Cole got off the bed and picked up the phone on the fourth ring. “Yeah?” She could hear a voice at the other end. “Thanks.” He hung up and went to the window, tipped back the curtain. “Pizza on the way.”

“You don’t like that they called? Pizza places do call.”

“Instinct. I don’t like being cooped up. I’m not used to it. He dug a few bills out of the satchel on the dresser. Something was still wrong.

He grabbed a gun and shoved it in the back of his pants, then grabbed the other one and cocked it. “Pay him and take the pizza. Stay a good ways away from him. I’ll be right beside you.”

A knock. Cole looked out the slit in the curtains, then nodded. She went to the door and opened it to a young girl with dark braids and a Dodgers cap. Cole came and stood beside Angel, opening the door wider, keeping his gun just out of sight. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi.” She handed Angel the pizza, and Angel gave her the bills.

“Thanks. Keep it.”

“Thanks.” The girl smiled and left.

Angel closed the door. “Sometimes a pizza is just a pizza.”

He still seemed wary.

She brought it to the dresser as Cole watched the parking lot. “We’ve been here too long.”

“Macmillan thought it was fine.” The scent of cheese and spices as she opened the box nearly knocked her over. “And also, pizza, Cole.
Pizza
. Aren’t you starving?” She gave him a napkin and a slice.

“Yes.” He sat on the bed and folded it in two, started eating. She pulled up another slice, freeing it from slim tethers of warm, gooey cheese. She set it on the dresser on the napkin. “You want water?”

“That would be great.”

She went and filled glasses from the bathroom faucet and came out with them. Cole was on his second piece. “How is it?”

“Delicious.”

“I’m just glad it wasn’t a trap for how goddamn hungry I am.” She took a bite of her piece, biting right into a meaty mushroom. She spit it out.

“What’s wrong?”

“Mushrooms,” she said.

“I said everything except mushrooms.”

She looked down, dismayed. “Maybe they thought you said extra mushrooms.”

He frowned. “Let’s order another.”

“And wait? Hell no. I can pick them off.” Carefully she picked off the mushrooms, gathering them in a little pile. A lot of the mushrooms were chopped up tiny, so it took forever. When the piece was clear, she picked it up and folded it, New York style.

“Angel. Stop. Don’t.” Cole’s voice sounded funny. She looked up from her project to see him staring at a small pile of crusts. “Don’t eat it. It’s drugged.”

Panic shot through her. “Cole.” He’d eaten at least four pieces.

The shrill ring of the phone slashed into the silence and made her jump.

“Don’t answer it.” Cole stood, staring helplessly at the gun in his hand. “My aim is screwed unless I’m in their face. I might not be awake much longer.”

“Could we call the police?”

“No time. And too many cops belong to Borgola.” He touched his lips. “I can’t feel my lips.”

She took the gun from him. “I’ll shoot.”

He eyed her, seeming unable to focus. “This means it’s Borgola,” he whispered. “He’s coming himself. He doesn’t like people to fight. The drugs. We have to get you out.”

“I’ll pretend I’m drugged and ambush them.”

“That’s the one thing they’ll be ready for.” His breathing came more quickly. “Come on. Stay low.” He grabbed the other gun off the dresser, took her hand in his, and they snuck out the door, staying low, shutting it quietly.

“Can you do this?”

He seemed to ponder for a while. Then he said one simple word: “Yes.”

The balcony’s white railing stretched both ways outside the door. The stairs down were a few feet to their left. Crouched as they were, the overhanging portion of the roof hid them from the parking lot out front.

Angel’s heart pounded. Everything seemed to go slow motion.

“This way.” Cole directed her right, the long way. They crawled on their bellies. He gave her a phone number to memorize. “You get away and call that number when I make my move.” Even his words were slurring now.

She stayed right behind him. “You don’t have a move left.”

“There’s always a move left,” he said.

“Is that a logistics maxim?”

“Yeah,” he whispered after way too long a pause. She could hear the faint ringing of their room phone start up again. Then it stopped.

Car doors slammed somewhere nearby.

“Crap.” Cole stopped. She scuttled up next to him. He took off his glasses.

“Cole?”

“Can’t focus my eyes anyway. Lemme rest a sec.”

“Don’t rest!” Her hands shook. She didn’t know if she could aim any more than he could.

“Shhh.” Footsteps below them. “Taking the long way like us. Three.”

“Should I shoot them?”

“They’ll kill you first. You get out.” He pulled the gun out of the back of his belt and began to crawl, seeming to listen intently to the footsteps below.

Like hell she’d get out. Like hell she’d leave him. “What are you going to do?”

“Simple logistics. Supply and transportation.” He held up his gun. “This is the supply.”

He wasn’t making sense. She felt stupid with fear. She wished she had one of Macy’s grenades.

“Get out,” he whispered. Then he launched himself right over the railing, rolling over the roof lip and onto the ground.

She gasped, dumbstruck.

Grunts and yells sounded from below. A gunshot. Another.

That was his move. Throwing himself onto them. He couldn’t aim—unless he was in their face.

Sounds of a struggle intensified. She scuttled low to the far steps and crept down, one step, then another, until she had the men in view.

Two men lay on the ground and Borgola was fighting with Cole. They were just beyond the two parked cars below her, close enough that she could hear their grunts and sniffs. Cole struggled madly, more like a windmill than a boxer. He was giving her time to get out.

She crouched on the landing, obscured by one anemic palm tree, rested her gun on the lower rail, and aimed. She couldn’t get a clear shot with the way they were moving. Even if she did, could she do it? Her hands shook like mad.