Page 14 of Deadly Sights

My first stop upon landing in Denver, is Bio Solutions, the name of the organization that sends me contract hits. Gary waits for me with a cup of steaming tea.

“So, London,” he says.

“Yeah, London.”

“Break it down for me.”

I relay my actions for the time, ending with when the emir took Julian’s bullet.

“Then what happened?”

“Because of the chaos, I kept moving until I was sure about my surroundings. When I found a safe place to call, I did.” I don’t know why I didn’t mention Julian or why I don’t do so now. But neither my lips nor tongue form his name and my voice box joins the picket line to keep him unmentioned.

“The next time you’re in the field and I call you, pick up your fucking phone. We cool?”

I nod without remarking on his abrupt change from calm handler to concerned father figure.

On many occasions, Gary acted as more. As a ten-year-old orphan, he oversaw my recovery, created my training regimen, acted as my sounding board, my friend, advisor, and yes, sometimes, my father. Since I have no memory of my real father, I cling to his constant presence in my life.

“Dismissed,” he says, though he watches me with concern.

I leave, feeling frustration fill me because my mad dash here resulted in a meeting lasting five minutes. Without a reason to stay, I head home to plot my revenge against a man who’s beginning to take up too much of my thoughts.

CHAPTER 8

A SURPRISE WAITS AT HOME

Nadira

Everything is quiet, but a sixth sense tells me Julian has been in my apartment again. Leaper watches me while I watch the tape of Julian carrying shopping bags into the kitchen where I don’t have a camera set up.

I expel an exasperated breath as I add another to-do item on my list. The man didn’t give me any time to upgrade my system before I left on the job, but I’ll make damn sure he regrets breaking into my place again.

New cameras, maybe a few traps that would impress even Kevin McCallister. As annoyed as I am at Julian, if he wanted me dead, I wouldn’t have made it home alive. Honestly, I don’t know what annoys me more at this point, the way he wields my weakness for chocolate cake or that he took my kill.

I groan at the latter as he pauses and winks at the camera before leaving.

I’ll definitely correct my security oversight. But first, I rush to the kitchen with Leaper eagerly following me and setting up residence at the threshold.

Nothing looks awry, but the Julian I’ve known less than two full days wouldn’t leave without having done something. Despite the seeming normalcy of everything being where I put it, I begin opening cabinets. Leaper’s head bounces back and forth as she tracks my movements.

Julian has grouped my dishes by pattern and function. The canned goods and seasonings that I gave up on organizing a long time ago could give supermarket aisles competition for their orderliness. When I get to the fridge, I bypass the orderliness and zero in on the folded paper in front of a quart bottle of milk.

Don’t worry about grocery shopping.

How does he predict my reactions before I realize what I’m doing? This whole time I’ve been mentally adding to my shopping list. But now I don’t have to. I return to his note.

You’ll also find an oven-ready meal prepared for you on the second shelf so you don’t have to spend too many hours in the kitchen. Take your time to relax. And when you’re ready, come find me.

I’m starting to hate his insistence that I find him. He’s the one who’s fixated on me. Yes, I want to kick his ass, and yes, I’ll probably kill him while I’m at it. But if this is his way of wooing, he needs lessons. And the fridge filled with foods I like isn’t it.

My stomach growls. In a huff, I take out the meal he prepared for me. On it are simple reheating instructions. I bet he doesn’t know nothing about seasoning. I throw the food in the oven and set the timer for the suggested minutes. As I take a wineglass from the cabinet and fill it with a pinot noir, I chuckle at the thought of roasting him for his subpar cooking skills the next time we meet.

When I realize that I’m looking forward to seeing him again, I hit my forehead with my palm. Something must have addled my thinking when I was unaware. What had he used to knock me out? Whatever it was must still be in my system, or maybe I’m anticipating the ass whooping I’ll rain down on his presumptuous stalker ass.

The timer on the oven dings and I plate the pork chops and root vegetables. I line up a slew of seasonings to doctor what I expect will be a bland meal. The scintillating scent of the pork and vegetables isnotmaking my mouth water and isnotan indication the food will taste good.

Leaper follows me to the table and jumps onto the chair beside mine and waits for me to set my plate on the surface.

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