Page 15 of Danger Close
Then he stepped out of the room.
My heart skipped a beat. I tried to keep my fluttering feelings from showing on my face. I hadn’t seen my daughter in over two years. I’d begged to see her, even just for a coffee. I’d drive the hours for just a glimpse of her. But over time, she picked up fewer of my calls. My desperation, and I’m sure my temper, pushed her away.
I put on jeans, a cerulean halter shirt, and a matching thick, knit sweater that had a wide neck that slid off one of my shoulders. I finger-combed what I could of my hair, feeling clumps of it fall out. Age had done that. I shed like an Afghan Wolfhound. It wouldn’t be long before I was completely bald.
The house was grander than that one room implied. It was a mansion. A villa. A fucking resort chateau! I was afraid I’d get lost when Baroque-style molding followed the large hallway outside of the room, and led me to the top of a large staircase.
I looked down to find Cobra in the foyer, keys in hand.
“Where are we?” I asked as I walked down the marble steps, my hand on the grand railing made of carved stone.
“Mourningkill,” Cobra said, impatiently. “I told you that.”
His jaw was tense, the muscle moving beneath his silver beard.
It was uncanny, looking at him after all of this time. He’d changed so much.
I averted my gaze when he lifted his head, amber and emerald colored irises meeting my eyes before I averted my gaze to the ground.
It was a habit. Anytime I looked Ray in the eye, he thought I was judging him. I’d learned to see through my peripheral vision, to dodge the hits, my arms ready to cover my head, my chest, my stomach at any moment.
Cobra tilted his head, perplexed, before he opened the grand, stained glass double door, spinning keys on a ring around his index finger.
“Come on,” he grunted.
He led me to a sleek, silver Audi S8, with an all-black interior. The car was worth more than my life.
I swallowed, trying not to be overwhelmed by the wealth I had only ever seen in real life while doing photoshoots in Paris. He’d done well for himself, while I had scraped the dregs of life.
“Does Trinity know I’m coming?” I asked, my voice weak.
I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering. I walked down the steps of the grand wraparound porch that was so large, every room of my Philadelphia apartment would have fit on it, and still had room to spare.
Cobra was already at the passenger side door, holding it open. He looked at me like I was an oddity at a zoo, then shook his head.
He pressed a button on his keys, popping the trunk. He walked to it and pulled out a plain, black leather jacket. He tossed it at me without a word before moving to the driver’s side and lettinghimself in. The engine rumbled to life. The passenger door still hung open.
He wasn’t worried that I’d run away. Then again, where would I go? No license, no wallet, no phone, and no friends to speak of in the vicinity. This property was enormous. I’d be exhausted before I ever got off their land. It was more effective than handcuffing me to him.
“Let’s go!” he called from inside the car, and I jumped.
I trotted to the passenger side, holding his leather jacket in my hands. I sat down, slammed the door closed and tugged at the seatbelt, before he growled, “You’re cold.”
I let go of the belt, and it retracted with a snap.
I froze. “Uhm, yes.”
I was always cold. At fifty years old, the cold hit me exceptionally hard.
Cobra turned his head, his eyes dark with frustration. What could I have done to warrant such fury?
“You’re cold,” he said with condescending enunciation. “Put the jacket on.”
“Oh,” I said, looking down at the garment in my hands.
I put it around my shoulders, pushing my arms through the large sleeves. I had to pull the long arms up to get my hands out. Was this Cobra’s? It must have been. It smelled familiar.
The scent of amber wafted from the lining, taking me back to a very different time. I also smelled coffee and motor oil. I pulled the collar up to my nose, shutting my eyes to take it all in. I ran my thumbs over the soft, worn leather at the end of the sleeves, looking at the faint white lines of wear and tear at the folds of the elbows.
