Page 58 of Lethal Abduction

“Don’t touch me.” I’m naked and furious, but the sickening memory churning inside me is a reminder of all the reasons I won’t ever allow rage the upper hand, not where women are concerned. “I need to get out of here.” I’m finding it hard to breathe, the scent of paint and turpentine suddenly cloying rather than the sensual backdrop it’s always been for me.

“Please don’t.” She drops her brush and comes toward me, her hands out. “I was scared, Dimitry. I know that’s no excuse—”

“No.” I pull on the jeans and shirt I threw over the back of the sofa hours before, back when the sun was shining and the darkness was far away. “It isn’t.”

Picking up my shoes, I stumble for the door, gulping the dank air of the corridor beyond like it’s my salvation. Even here, past and present shift like sliding doors through my brain, the old chipped corridor in Miami superimposed on the dank stone of this one in Malaga. I almost fall down the stairs, lighting a cigarette as I go, Abby coming behind me, calling my name. I make it out onto the street and almost run down the alleyway toward the still water of the bay, collapsing on the sand by the marina, my elbows on my knees, head down.

I smell the paint on Abby’s skin moments before she sinksdown beside me. Out here the scent is no longer cloying, but achingly familiar.

“You shouldn’t be here.” I still can’t look at her.

“I couldn’t let you leave like that.” She’s still naked but for the sarong. She sits at a distance, not trying to touch me.

I know I should tell her to go, but I can’t. Instead I smoke in silence, staring out at the thin silver line on the horizon, the first hint of the coming day.

When she finally speaks again, her voice is subdued and she doesn’t look at me. “I was in prison. In Colombia. For two years, before I came to Spain.”

Shocked out of my silence, I twist toward her, but it’s Abby’s turn to stare out over the sea. She reaches for my cigarette, and I hand it to her. She takes a deep draw on it before she speaks again.

“I had a boyfriend. He was... stupid. And he crossed some very dangerous people.” She blows a stream of smoke out over the water. “By the time I realized what he was, and who they were, it was too late to get out. He—they killed him. I was put in prison.”

She falls silent.

I have a thousand questions. But I know better than to ask them.

“I made a deal to get out,” she says finally. “And then I came here.” Crushing out the cigarette, she turns to me. “I can’t go through that again, Dimitry,” she says quietly. “I know what I did to you was wrong. I knew it the moment I put those pills in your drink. I’m not trying to make excuses for it. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared.”

I sift sand through my hands. “Scared.” I study her face, but in profile and the dim light, it’s hard to read her expression. “Scared of me?”

“No!” Her answer comes quickly, with a fierce shake of her head. “Never of you. But I am afraid of the world you’re partof, Dimitry. I know how dangerous that world is. How quickly it can turn on you, and turn ugly.”

“My world isn’t like that, Abby.” I still don’t quite trust myself to touch her. “I’m not saying it isn’t dangerous. But not to you. Not ever. Look at me.”

She slowly turns toward me, her eyes wide and dark, and suddenly my anger is gone. Or rather, it’s directed toward someone else, toward whatevermudakcaused that fear in the first place. Amudakwho is a dead man already, not that he knows it yet.

“Listen to me.” I take her hands, and she shivers slightly at the touch. “I’m not the idiot who crosses dangerous people, Abby. Iamthe dangerous people. Roman, me—our entire army, if it comes to that—we’ll all go to war to protect what belongs to us. And new as this thing is between you and me, I swear I will always protect you from danger, not bring it to your door.”

“I don’t want that,” she whispers, her eyes searching my face. “I never wanted that. What I want is to leave that life behind. To live a normal life, one without guns and scars and fear.” Her hands slip from mine. “And after what you said tonight, I know that’s impossible for you. Roman and you... I understand that now. Why you’re so loyal to him. I know you won’t ever leave him.”

I clench my fists in frustration. “So what does that mean? Are we just done, then? You walk away and act like the last few weeks never happened?”

Her shoulders rise and fall in a wordless gesture of defeat.

“Wow.” My anger is back, but it’s worse now. It’s dangerous, a taut friction between the allegiance to Roman that I’ve never questioned and the seductive possibility of a life I’ve never imagined. It’s anger born of a frustration I’ve never felt and can’t, right now, make any sense of.

I leap to my feet, shaking off the last of the drugs in mysystem. “Well, when you work out what you want, Skip, you feel free to give me a call. In the meantime, I’m going to walk you back to your apartment, then go to work. You know, the work I do in that dangerous world you want no part of.”

I glower at her until she finally stands. She pulls the sarong tightly around her and walks back to the apartment, her head down. I follow her to the door and see her safely inside, but we don’t speak again, let alone touch.

London, England

Present day

When I wakethe next time, it’s midmorning and the sky outside is gray with rain. I swing myself out of bed, wincing at the stabbing pain in my skull.

Forget cigarettes for the next fucking decade.

Not to mention the memories. Not just of Abby, but of my mother as well. It was like a dream within a dream, although in this case, it’s more like nightmares. I don’t think I’ve thought clearly of that memory since the drug-addled night it came to my mind. Now it seems as real as if I were still there. I can smell the scent of that apartment, hear my mother’s terrified cries.

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