Текст книги "Alone in the Dark"

Автор книги: Karen Rose

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 49 страниц)

He heard himself demand who she was afraid of. Heard her whispered reply: ‘The man. His wife. They own us.’

And then – a split second before he heard the shot – he saw it. A flicker in her eyes. Terrified recognition.

Not only had she seen who shot her, she’d known the shooter.

‘Sonofabitch,’ he snarled, ignoring the short stab of pain in his back as he leaned forward too quickly, his gaze locked on the screen. Please, please, let the camera have gotten something.

The video lurched, the camera on the bill of the ball cap sweeping across the bricks of the alley in a blur as Marcus had spun to see behind him. When the picture refocused, the entrance to the alley was empty, just as he remembered. He’d begun running then, the camera jumping all over the place as he looked for the gunman – or woman – but when he got to the end of the alley, the shooter was gone.

The camera spun again as he’d turned back to see Tala lying on the asphalt, her polo shirt already soaked with blood.

‘Sonofafuckingbitch.’ The oath cracked out of the speaker as he watched himself run back to start first aid. ‘Tala!’

Marcus sat back with a sigh. The camera had picked up nothing more than his eyes had. The video would be of no use to Scarlett Bishop.

Still, he rewound and watched again, this time focusing on Tala’s mouth, turning up the volume at the point where he’d started first aid, hoping the camera’s microphone had picked up more words than those he’d relayed to the police.

But once again, there was nothing new. Tala hadn’t said anything else, at least not loudly enough to be recorded. He disconnected the hard drive from his confidential laptop, hooked it up to his official, on-the-books office computer, and sent the video files to Scarlett Bishop as he’d promised.

He glanced at the clock. Plenty of time before Gayle arrived. He needed to check the list of threats she’d been compiling for the past few years. He didn’t believe there was any chance that he’d been the target, but if Gayle found him looking at the list, she’d know something was up. More importantly, if he was still here when she arrived, she’d take one look at him and know he’d been hurt. She’d make a fuss and then the whole staff would be in his business. Worse still, she would tell his mother.

He’d always trusted Gayle to keep his secrets and she’d never betrayed him, not even once in all the years he’d known her. And he’d asked her to keep some very big secrets. But she’d made it clear from the beginning that his physical health was one area that she would not keep from his mother.

Marcus wasn’t sure his mother could stand the shock of hearing he’d been shot again. She seemed to be holding on by the slimmest of threads since Mikhail’s murder. Hell, even his sister Audrey had been minding her Ps and Qs. She hadn’t been arrested once in nine months.

Marcus would not be the one to upset the family apple cart. Not right now. He needed a few hours’ sleep, a hot shower, and an ice pack for his back before he let any of them see him. But he’d promised Scarlett Bishop the list of threats, and Marcus O’Bannion kept his promises.

Once he’d sent her the list, he’d focus on the story. He’d give it to Stone. His brother was currently between the assignments he did for the magazine he worked for – probably because he didn’t want to leave the country while their mother was still so fragile. Whatever Stone’s reasons for remaining local, he was available to write the story of Tala’s murder.

And importantly, Stone was one of the few people Marcus trusted with all of the details. He’d make sure that Stone omitted the facts that Scarlett had requested, but his brother was a hell of an investigator. Marcus had a better chance of finding Tala’s family with Stone’s help.

He picked up his phone and speed-dialed Stone’s cell. Not surprisingly, Stone answered on the first ring. His brother didn’t sleep any more than Marcus did.

‘What’s up?’ Stone asked, the television in the background going mute.

‘I have a story I need you to cover.’

‘Where? When?’

‘Now. Here in the office. On your way, can you stop by my place and pick me up some clean clothes?’ He didn’t want to be seen going into his apartment wearing bloody jeans. ‘And walk BB for me?’ He shifted, the bruise on his back a reminder. ‘And get the Kevlar vest from my bureau drawer. Should be second from the bottom.’

Stone was quiet for a moment. ‘Um . . . why?’

‘I’ll tell you when you get here.’ He brought up the threat list on his computer and sighed. ‘You should wear a vest too. Just to be safe.’

Another pause. ‘Safe from what?’

‘I’ll tell you when you get here,’ he repeated. ‘Thanks,’ he added, and hung up before Stone could ask any more questions.

Marcus skimmed Gayle’s list, his eyes going a little blurry, his lack of sleep starting to catch up with him. Coffee, stat. His brain needed to be alert so that he could catch all the threats he didn’t want Scarlett or Deacon to see. If they saw certain information on this list, the two were smart enough to put two and two together and realize he was doing far more than reporting the news. He didn’t want to leave any breadcrumbs leading back to him or his core staff, the handful of men and women he’d trusted enough to bring into his real business – the real reason he’d kept this newspaper alive for years after it should have died a natural death like most other city dailies across the country.

He had a feeling Scarlett would respect his real business on a conceptual level. She might not agree with his tactics, however, and her disapproval could risk the livelihood – and the freedom – of the people who trusted him as much as he trusted them.

Unfortunately, not one of those trusted people was here to make the damn coffee. He pushed to his feet to make it himself, so that he could focus on keeping his promises.

Cincinnati, Ohio

Tuesday 4 August, 4.45 A.M.

That Marcus had another gun was a given in Scarlett’s mind, and the fact of it had gnawed at her all the way home from the crime scene. He’d handed over his knife and his backup pistol, but not his main gun. What else was he hiding? And why?

He makes his living with the news. That explained it all. The press was made up of a bunch of slippery weasels, lying as easily as they breathed, always angling for the big story. She’d never met a newsman or woman who cared who they hurt. Still, she found herself hoping that Marcus was different. That he was the hero she wanted him to be.

You’re setting yourself up for a major disappointment. More than likely he would run Tala’s story, then go on to the next, never looking back.

Scarlett downshifted as she turned on to the narrow road that ended in front of her house, creating a T with her own street. The downside of living at the top of one of the city’s steepest hills was that skilled driving and a four-wheel-drive vehicle were required to make it to the top during the winter. But snow and ice were months away and her little Audi, while rather elderly, was more than ready to take on the climb.

On those rare blizzardy days, she drove her ancient Land Cruiser. Twenty-five years old and affectionately called the Tank by her and her brothers, it had been bequeathed to Scarlett by their late Grandpa Al. Too big to fit in her garage, it sat in her driveway most of the year, unused. It was a pain in the ass to park anywhere in the city and gas mileage was practically zero, but it had plowed straight through six-foot drifts in the past and Scarlett planned to keep it for another twenty-five years. Being unaffected by even the worst weather left her free to fully enjoy the benefits of living at the top of the hill – the most obvious being the killer views of both the city and the river from her upstairs windows.

That those upstairs windows enabled her to see anyone approaching by car or foot was an advantage that hadn’t originally attracted her to the house but that had become something on which she relied. Being able to identify who’d come calling gave her time to transform herself into whichever Scarlett Bishop she needed to be by the time she answered the door – calm, loving, patient Scarlett-Anne for her mother, professional, not-about-to-lose-it Detective Bishop for her father, just-one-of-the-guys Scar for her brothers, or let’s-drink-wine-and-gossip Scarlett for any of the very small circle of girlfriends she’d trusted with her address.

Her mother, of course, presented the most critical challenge. Scarlett had to find a way to hide the aggression and violence that churned within her, shoving it down deep so that she could maintain the calm, collected persona she’d adopted for her mom for nearly a decade. Seeing who her daughter had truly become would break her mother’s heart, and Scarlett would walk over hot coals before she allowed that to happen. Jackie Bishop had suffered enough loss already. Scarlett would be damned before she added to her mother’s pain.

Greeting her father required the same burying of her aggression and rage, but for a very different reason. Her dad, a decorated Cincinnati PD cop, would report her state of mind to her superiors, getting her grounded so fast her head would spin. It would kill him to do it, but he would without hesitation. To protect me from myself. Because I’m not strong enough for the job. Her father had once said that she wasn’t tough enough to survive the stresses of the police force. That she was too emotional, her heart too tender.

So she’d spent the last ten years proving him wrong.

Only to realize that he was right. She was too emotional. She’d been too angry for too long. She was a powder keg ready to blow, a danger to herself and others. Which made her unfit to serve. She knew this, but she didn’t know any other life. So she protected the one she’d built.

Unfortunately her entire family was very perceptive, so Scarlett had spent the last ten years hiding her true self without completely disengaging. It was an exhausting tightrope to walk. But her brother Phin had broken relations with them all, and it was killing her parents, so Scarlett walked the line.

She was a good daughter. A good sister. The favorite auntie. She was even relearning to be a good friend.

Deacon’s sister, Dani, and his fiancée, Faith, had drawn Scarlett in to their circle of friends. Dani was a doctor and Faith a psychologist, and both women saw too much. Spending time with them would have been threatening enough, but their circle also included Meredith Fallon, another shrink – one of the most perceptive Scarlett had ever known.

Girls’ nights were difficult, because they required Scarlett to share confidences and have actual fun while keeping up her guard. Her fledgling friendships with these women often felt like a minefield, but she had not been able to make herself back away. It had been ten long years since she’d had a true friend. Her heart seemed to soak it up, like rain falling on parched earth. She had a sudden urge to call them now and tell them that Marcus had called her tonight.

But I won’t, of course. She’d kept her obsession with Marcus O’Bannion to herself for nine long months. That he’d called tonight meant nothing without that context. It only means something if he’s been obsessing about me too. That the thought made her heart beat faster was pathetic. If he’d been interested, he would have done something about it. He would have called.

But he did call.

Scarlett frowned. Tonight’s call didn’t count. Tonight’s call was about helping Tala. If he’d been interested at all in me, he would have called months ago.

Like you called him? the little voice in her mind asked sarcastically.

‘Shut up,’ she muttered aloud. But it was true. She could have called him at any time over the last nine months. Why hadn’t she?

Because you’re scared.

Not entirely true. ‘I’m cautious,’ she said, intending it to come out firmly, but she could hear the defensiveness in her own voice. So? So what? ‘Anyone would be under the circum—’

Halfway up the hill her thoughts scattered, a weary groan escaping her lips. Another advantage to living on a steep hill was being able to see her own driveway as she approached. It should hold only the Tank, but right now it didn’t. The sleek black Jag parked next to her battered old Land Cruiser filled her with a guilty dread. What the hell was he doing here anyway? It wasn’t even dawn.

Like you don’t know. Why does he ever come by? And how many times would she have to tell him that it was over before he stopped? She sighed heavily. She didn’t want to deal with Bryan right now. It had been a long, long time since she’d wanted to deal with Bryan.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t hide behind her window curtains this time. You’re going to have to talk to him.

The last few times Bryan had stopped by uninvited in the middle of the night, she’d been home. Which he hadn’t known because, after spying his Jag struggling up the hill, she’d decided against coming to the door. Having no energy to rehash the same arguments again, she’d gone back to bed and pulled the covers over her head, leaving him to sit in the driveway.

The first time he’d stayed only a few minutes. But the periods of waiting had grown longer each time. Three nights ago he’d arrived a little after two A.M. and stayed almost an hour, getting out of his car at the end to pound on her door, demanding she let him in. She hadn’t fooled him. He’d known she was home. She’d been halfway down the stairs when her neighbor opened her window and shouted that she’d call the cops if Bryan didn’t stop making such a racket. A minute later his engine had roared and he’d sped away, making Scarlett feel like a worm.

You are a coward, Scarlett. It was true. She’d rather deal with a psycho killer hopped up on meth than hurt the feelings of an old friend.

She made it to the top of the hill and parked behind her Land Cruiser, careful not to block the Jag’s exit. She didn’t want to give him any excuse to linger. She got out of her car and quietly closed the door. Her neighbor still had amazing hearing despite being eighty-five years old. Not only would Mrs Pepper wake up, but the little old lady would make sure to catch every word. By dawn’s early light, the entire neighborhood would know. Her neighbors were good people, but nosy as hell. And everyone would have advice.

Still in his car, Bryan pointed at her front door, but she shook her head. The last time she’d let him in ‘just for coffee’, he’d refused to leave. It had been super-awkward.

Bryan got out of the Jag, slamming his door hard enough to make Scarlett’s teeth clench. Staying on his side of the car, he glared at her over the car’s low roof. ‘Where have you—’ he started, way too loudly.

‘Sshh!’ Scarlett pointed to the surrounding houses, all of the windows still dark. ‘Do you mind?’ she whispered fiercely. ‘You’ll wake the whole neighborhood.’

He blew out a frustrated breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered back. ‘I was just worried.’

No, she thought. He was just horny. Just like every other time he stopped by. If he was here, it meant that he was ‘between relationships’, as he termed it, but Scarlett knew better.

Bryan Richardson was a total womanizer, moving from woman to woman with ease. He made no promises, so he told no lies. Most people thought he should have settled down long before now, but most people didn’t know what Bryan had been through.

Scarlett knew, though. Because she’d gone through it right along with him. Their shared nightmare had fused them in a way that was utterly unhealthy, creating an on-again, off-again thing they’d had since college. Friends with benefits. A way to take off the edge when her physical need began to cloud her rational mind. Someone to turn to when the loneliness grew too big to bear.

That Bryan would never be her happily-ever-after any more than she would be his had never bothered Scarlett at all. Not until nine months ago, when she’d heard Marcus O’Bannion’s voice for the first time, when she’d stood at his bedside in the hospital watching him fight for his life after he’d been shot while saving the life of a woman he’d never seen before.

Why? she’d asked Marcus then.

Because it was the right thing to do, he’d whispered back.

It had changed everything. And nothing at all. She was still alone and might always be. But now what she had – or had never had – with Bryan bothered her a great deal. She’d told him that they were done, that he needed to find another port in the storm, but obviously not firmly enough.

End this now. For both of your sakes.

‘I’m a cop, Bryan,’ she said quietly. ‘Just like I’ve been for the past ten years. You’ve never worried about me in the past.’

He slowly walked around the Jag, coming to a stop an uncomfortable six inches from where she stood. ‘I’ve worried about you every day of my life since the day I met you, but I didn’t think you’d be too happy to hear it so I kept it to myself,’ he said, his voice carrying a thread of tension that went beyond sexual frustration.

Something was wrong. But then again, something was always wrong with Bryan. He had issues. Jagged scars, deep inside where no one could see. As do I. Their shared issues had been the glue that had held their relationship together. But the glue had lost some of its stick.

‘So why tell me tonight?’ she asked.

He lifted his hand to stroke her cheek, but she flinched, shifting so that he touched only air. His hand dropped to his side and his mouth curved bitterly. ‘Because I feel you moving away from me and I don’t know why. It’s been almost a year since we—’

‘Hooked up,’ Scarlett said flatly, because that was all it had been. ‘And it’s been more than a year. It’s been eighteen months.’ His confused frown made her sigh. ‘The last time was before Julie,’ she supplied dryly.

‘Oh yeah.’ His lips curved, but his eyes remained oddly distant. ‘We had a good run, Julie and I.’ His slight smile faded. ‘When it was over, I came to you, but you said you weren’t in the mood.’

That had been a month after she’d met Marcus. ‘No, what I said was that I didn’t want to hook up anymore.’ Her cheeks heated at the memory of the times she’d given in and had casual sex with him. At how little she’d expected for herself. At how very reckless she’d been. ‘I still don’t, Bryan.’

Scarlett had turned him away that night and all the other nights he’d shown up at her door thereafter. When Bryan had tried to cajole her into changing her mind, all she could hear was Marcus’s deep voice in her mind. Because it was the right thing to do.

Bryan’s gaze dropped abruptly, then winged back up a moment later, troubled. Wounded. ‘Did I do something wrong? Something to hurt you?’

Pity pricked at her heart. ‘No, Bryan. You haven’t done anything wrong and you haven’t hurt me. You’re exactly who you’ve always been.’

His tension draining away, he leaned in far enough to press his face into the curve of her shoulder while taking care to touch her nowhere else. He breathed in deeply, drawing in her scent. ‘Then let’s go upstairs,’ he whispered. ‘I need you tonight. It’s been too long.’

She took a step back, coming up short when her ass hit her car door. Bryan remained frozen in place, his back bent, his shoulders hunched.

‘I’m sorry, Bryan,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t. I’ve told you this, over and over.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’ he asked harshly.

‘Either. Both.’

‘Why?’ he asked, his whisper barely audible.

‘Because even though you haven’t changed, I have.’

He exhaled, dropped his chin to his chest. ‘Is there someone else?’

‘No,’ she said honestly. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She drew a deep breath. ‘But maybe I want there to be.’

He looked up then, eyes narrowed. ‘But that isn’t me.’

‘No.’ She smiled to soften her words. ‘We both know that you’re not forever material.’

‘True,’ he murmured. That it hadn’t even seemed to occur to him to deny it made her want to cry. He straightened slowly, studying her. ‘Are you forever material?’

Tears rose to burn her eyes, because she knew exactly what he was asking. Was she even capable of being some guy’s happily-ever-after? Importantly, could she be Marcus’s happily-ever-after? ‘I don’t know. I’m just as messed up as you are.’

He was quiet for a long moment and she instinctively knew he was thinking about that day, that horrible, horrible day. The day that had changed their lives so irrevocably. It might as well have been yesterday, the memory was so vividly clear. So much blood. In all the years she’d been a cop, she’d never yet seen another crime scene with so much blood.

She blinked, startled out of the memory by the feeling of soft fabric touching her face. Bryan held a cotton handkerchief and was using it to dry her wet cheeks. The tears in her eyes had spilled without her realizing it.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

She made herself smile. ‘For what?’

‘For not being forever material. I wish I could be. But I can’t. Not even for you.’

Touched, she cupped his cheek. ‘Maybe when you meet the right person it’ll seem easy.’

Again his eyes narrowed, this time in discovery. ‘You’ve met that person.’ He crossed his arms over his chest, going from wistful to menacing in a heartbeat. ‘Did he hurt you?’

‘No. It’s not like that. He’s just . . .’ She sighed. ‘He doesn’t know.’

‘Then he’s blind and stupid,’ Bryan declared, and the wicked gleam she knew so well was back in his eyes. ‘I could help you forget him,’ he suggested slyly.

Scarlett shook her head, more than a little glad that the moment was over. ‘I appreciate your offer to make the sacrifice,’ she said. ‘But the answer is still no.’

‘Coffee then?’ he said.

‘Sorry, not now. I have a body on its way to the morgue.’

He frowned, lightly lifting the thin strap of her tank top with his pinkie before letting it snap back against her shoulder. ‘You dress like this while you’re on duty?’

Her cheeks heated. It was on the skimpy side as tank tops went, baring her shoulders and hugging her curves. Neither her top nor her low-riding jeans were the proper attire of a law enforcement professional. But I didn’t get dressed for work. She’d dressed for Marcus. She thought now about the way his dark eyes had followed her as she’d processed the crime scene. He’d noticed.

‘I have a jacket in the car.’ A jacket she’d deliberately left off at the crime scene.

Bryan’s frown didn’t falter. ‘I thought you were off duty today.’

Scarlett blinked, then set her jaw. ‘How did you know that?’

‘I called your mother last night and asked her,’ he said unapologetically.

‘You asked my mother?’ she asked, incredulous at first, then resigned. Her mother had always had a soft spot for Bryan. ‘How did my mother know?’

‘She asked your father.’

Scarlett sighed. ‘And of course he knew.’ Her father knew nearly everything that went on in CPD, especially when it concerned the three of his seven children who’d followed in his footsteps to join the force. She tilted her head to one side, studying Bryan’s face in the harsh glare of the streetlights. ‘Why did you call my mom looking for me, Bryan?’

His shrug was careless. ‘You’d been pushing me away. And I was . . . lonely.’

‘What about Sylvia?’

‘Ancient history. We broke up six months ago. Kathy followed Syl, and then there was Wendy.’

‘What happened to Wendy?’

A one-shouldered shrug. ‘We broke up two weeks ago.’

Scarlett lifted a brow. This was the Bryan she’d known since their freshman year of college. His slew of recent visits now made sense. Had he and Wendy still been a thing, he would not be standing in Scarlett’s driveway. ‘So you came to me,’ she said.

At least he had the good grace to look ashamed. For a second, anyway. Then he lifted his chin, his jaw taut. ‘I came by a few other times last week, but you weren’t home.’

The accusing way he said it made her wonder if he knew she really had been home those times too. It made her wonder how he’d known she was home the last time, when he’d banged on her front door with his fists. Because she didn’t want to admit she’d been hiding under her bedcovers, she didn’t ask that question. ‘I work odd hours, Bryan. You know this.’

He gave her a pointed look. ‘I also know when your car is parked in your garage. It smells like dirty socks.’

She let out a breath. Damn diesel fuel. ‘I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t want to hurt you.’

‘Well I’m about to hurt you,’ he said flatly. ‘So brace yourself. I saw Trent Bracken downtown last week, eating lunch with the senior partner of Langston and Vollmer.’

Scarlett flinched, feeling like she’d been physically slapped. Then the fury hit and she had to take a deep breath to keep it contained. Trent Bracken should be on death row, not lunching with the most powerful law firm in town. ‘Why?’ she asked hoarsely.

Bryan’s mouth twisted. ‘Because they just brought him in as a junior partner. His win record in the courtroom is “legendary”. That was the word the partners used in the memo they sent out to everybody in the firm.’

‘Fucking bastards.’ Scarlett had to take another breath, this one to keep from throwing up. ‘They’d hire a murderer?’

‘They would and they did,’ Bryan said bitterly. ‘They said his “horrific experience with the justice system” had given him a passion for “defending the rights of the innocent”.’

Scarlett’s knees wobbled and she leaned against her car for support. ‘The innocent,’ she whispered. ‘Michelle was innocent. Don’t they care that he killed her?’ Huffing a bitter laugh, she answered her own question. ‘Of course they don’t. They’re just like the animals who got Bracken off in the first place.’ Defense attorneys looking for any possible loophole, not caring that they pushed a killer back on the streets. ‘Of course they’d hire scum like him. They are scum like him.’

‘I thought you should know in case you met him in court. I didn’t want you blindsided.’

New tears had risen to burn her eyes and she blinked them away. ‘So that’s why you’ve been coming to see me? To tell me about Bracken?’

He nodded, then shrugged. ‘And for sex,’ he admitted.

Her chuckle was unsteady at best. ‘Hell, Bryan. Go home, get some rest. Maybe you’ll meet someone new tomorrow.’

‘Maybe,’ he said sadly. ‘Who is he, Scarlett? At least tell me that.’

She frowned, still in enough shock over Bracken’s new mockery of justice that it took her a second to process Bryan’s question. Oh, she thought, and then the memory of Marcus’s voice was filling her mind, soothing the frayed edges.

She wasn’t willing to tell anyone yet. Not when it could, quite literally, be all in her mind. ‘There isn’t a “he”. Not until one of us makes a move. Assuming one of us ever does.’

‘If he’s not dead, he’ll make a move,’ Bryan predicted grimly, then turned and walked back to his car. ‘I guess I’ll see you . . . when I see you. Next month for sure.’

Scarlett nodded, still feeling sick. ‘For sure.’ When Michelle’s friends would gather by her grave on the anniversary of her death and remember the woman whose loss had scarred them all. She stepped out of the way as he slammed the door of his Jag and revved the engine loud enough to wake everyone on the street. Peeling out of her driveway with a squeal of tires, he set off down the hill at a speed far too high to be safe. Scarlett might have whispered a prayer for his safety . . . if she still believed in prayer. Which she had not since the moment she’d found Michelle’s body in that alley, covered in blood.

The thought of bodies and alleys jerked her out of the past. Tala. Michelle had never gotten her justice, but Tala sure as hell would. Digging deep for the anger that had kept her going for ten long years, Scarlett straightened her spine, marched up her front steps, unlocked the door and stepped inside. As she locked it behind her, the sob she’d been holding back barreled up from her gut like a tornado, stealing her breath. Slumping against the foyer wall, she slid to the floor, burying her face against her bent knees as she rocked herself for comfort, her keening cries echoing in the empty space.

The uneven patter of claws on her newly laid hardwood floor cut through her tears, giving her a moment’s warning before a sandpapery tongue licked her cheek. Choking on a wet laugh, she threw her arm around the three-legged bulldog whose life she’d saved the day she’d brought him home from the shelter. ‘Hey, Zat,’ she whispered, still surprised at how quickly he’d wormed his way into her heart.

She sat there with the dog for several minutes, then pushed herself to her feet and climbed the stairs to the one bathroom she’d finished remodeling. A shower, clean clothes and some coffee, and she’d be ready to start searching for Tala’s identity. And her killer.

That the search might include more interactions with Marcus O’Bannion shouldn’t seem like a silver lining, but it did. ‘And who knows,’ she murmured as she turned on the shower. ‘Maybe I’ll be the one to make the first move.’