Page 12 of Samuel's Heart

“It’s me.”

The sound of Aidan’s voice on the other end of the phone that woke me has my groggy stupor lifting immediately.

“Yeah,” I repeat, sounding like a broken record.

“Not a morning person,” he chuckles, and I frown, surprised by his chirpy behaviour. “I have what you need.”

Fuck, that was quick. That’s why they’re the best of the best. Information that would have taken months—and lots of paperwork—for me to get, recovered in a week.

“Okay,” I say, trying to hide my surprise and awe at how good they are.

“Meet me at ten a.m. at Hot Coffee.”

The line is silent for so long that I’m ready to hang up, but before I do, Aidan’s voice comes through again.

“Don’t be late.” Not a request, but a fucking order.

I open my mouth with a comeback, but this time, the line disconnects before I can speak.

Slowly, I rise from the bed and walk, zombie-like, to the bathroom. Once I’m done with the shower, I’m back to being human, even if inside I still feel like a punching bag after a day of training.

I ponder calling Keegan, but when I glance at the phone to check the time, I change my mind pretty quickly. That bastard gave me just enough time to grab a shower and get there.

I don’t have time to waste drying or styling my hair, so Aidan will have to survive my uncombed appearance. I pull on a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, then walk to the door after pushing my feet inside my trainers, and I’m out.

I don’t even attempt to take the car, as it’ll take hours to get there. Instead I rush to the Tube, hoping I won’t have too long a wait.

When I walk into Hot Coffee and find Aidan—with his high-end, well-pressed suit, so out of place in this café—I’m forced tolook at myself in the window and regret not taking the time to make myself a bit more presentable.

The grin Aidan welcomes me with has me scowling at him. He knew I’d be forced to come as I was and now he’s enjoying my discomfort. I shake my head and take a seat in front of him.

“Glad to see you can follow orders.” His satisfaction makes me vibrate with anger.

Why is he able to get under my skin so well? And why is he trying so hard to do it?

“I need the info, otherwise I’d tell you where to go.” He’s even a master at getting the worst out of me.

“You should be nice to people who hold the info you so desperately need.” His face is now a mask made of ice or carved in stone. Maybe both, if that’s even possible.

“I’m here as you asked. For one moment, please stop being a b—” His raised brow stops me from calling him a bastard to his face. “Play nice,” I say, trying to change direction and avoid poking the bear in the eye.

The girl at the counter approaches the table to take our order and I watch, stunned, as Aidan transforms from a heartless killer to a charming business owner, all smiles and nice words. The waitress is swooning and half in love with him by the time she leaves the table.

Once she can’t hear us anymore, Aidan pushes a folder towards me without a word. I open it, convinced I’ll find the first name. Instead, Rory’s face is there, looking back at me.

“I’m sure you had someone checking him out, but it won’t be as extensive as the folder you have in your hands.” There is nopride, no mocking in his tone, just conviction as to the accuracy of the information provided. There is no space for mistakes in his line of work.

“You should read it. If, after you’re done, you’re still convinced he deserves to know that name, I’ll tell you.” Again, no emotions are showing that I can feed off and evaluate for the correct course of action.

He would make a fantastic criminal.

Oh, wait.Heisa criminal.One of the good ones, but still a criminal.

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” he tells me. With no other choice, and without raising my head, I open the folder again, while trying not to be an open book for the man sitting in front of me.

His eyes never leave me, not even when the waitress returns with our drinks, and I close the folder so she can’t peek inside, opening it when she’s gone again, trailing hearts from her pores.

Submerged by the chatter of the other patrons, I discover who Rory was and is, and more than once, I want to close the folder and avoid reading more. Anger and empathy at our similar experiences make me continue until the last page.

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