Page 184 of Ruin Me With Lies
Lie.But this is Torin Garza—ex-military, MI6-trained, commando, a favored agent of The O.There’s no forcing anything out of him.
Maybe if I ask nicely...“Give me something, Tor.This once.”
He rubs his jaw.“What kind of lead do you have?”
“The kind she left for me to find.”
“Hmm.”He nods.“Explains why you got your ass kicked.You’re too close.”
I snap my fingers.“That’s what I figured.”
“It might also mean she broke some rule or code giving you that lead...”
“Shit, you think she might be in trouble?”
“Look...”He sits back and props his ankle on his knee.“If I thought you’d listen, I’d tell you to pack it up and go home.But you’re clearly gone for this girl.And love makes us brave enough to do dumb shit.So all I’ll say is...”He levels his moss-green gaze at me.“Be careful.And good luck.”
~
TORIN STUCK AROUNDfor a few days until Bratton got back from Monaco.Within another week, I was functional again.Not completely healed, but enough to get back to finding my girl.
This time, I play it smart.Instead of heading straight for Zytglogge, I kill a few more days just doing regular shit—lunches at cafés, drinks at pubs, museum visits, dinners with the Bachmanns, trips to strip clubs...
It’s a long shot, but the goal is to stay unpredictable, throw them off.Appear as if I’ve given up and I’m just enjoying my visit.If Soraya did break some code or rule by leaving me clues, I don’t want to tip off whoever’s watching.
“Where to today, Mr.Castello?”Lars asks as I settle into the Maybach on a random Wednesday.
“Zytglogge.”
Fifty-two minutes later, I’m standing on a cobblestone street looking up at the golden sun and moon hands of the famed clock tower.
3:07 PM.
Tourist traffic is thick, hundreds of picture-snapping visitors milling around, loud and distracted.Makes it easy to blend in.
I avoid going near the tower and instead roam around to scope out the area.Meander from store to store, buy random shit then gift them to passing strangers.Pick up a nice Rolex, just because.
A delicate gold necklace with an emerald pendant catches my eye.It reminds me of Soraya.I buy it without a second thought, knowing she’ll probably hate it, since she seems to be allergic to anything delicately feminine.
At 4:20 PM, I settle under one of the concrete arches, half-hidden by a souvenir stall.From here, I’ve got an oblique view of the tower, partially obstructed every so often by the red trams picking up and dropping off passengers.
Shoulder propped lazily against the column, I scroll idly on my phone while a group of loud-as-fuck Brit girls behind me gossip about their friend Lily being a “wet blanket, knock-kneed hag with her annoying weak bladder.”
Poor girl needs better friends.Justice for knock-kneed Lily and her bladder.
At 4:43 PM, I tap on the camera icon and raise my phone toward the clock, playing tourist like the dozens around me snapping away.
At 4:44 PM, she appears.In the frame of my 6.7-inch screen.Standing beneath the arch below the clock tower.Staring straight at me.
Fuck.Seeing her again after all this time is like getting hit with a defibrillator.For the first time in months, I canfeelmy heart.And it’s thumpingeverywhere—in my temples, throat, fingertips, knees, chest...
All the noise, chatter, engines, horns, camera shutters…it all fades into silence.It’s just us.Staring at each other across the way.
As if to confirm it’s really her, she pushes back her black hoodie, revealing that maddeningly beautiful face.That long, elegant neck.Those fierce, secretive eyes...
Slowly, I lower my phone.And in that exact second, heart hammering, frozen to the spot, I know…
I’m in love with her.
