Текст книги "Denial"

Автор книги: Lisa Renee Jones

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

five

Kayden doesn’t look pleased about my detour for the journal, but I pretend not to notice, walking with him to the door, where he holds up a hand stop-sign fashion, opening the door to peer outside. I wait, the reality of what we’re about to do hitting me, nerves fluttering in my belly. Too soon, and not soon enough, he’s pulling me in front of him, his body framing mine. “Remember the plan,” he whispers near my ear. “I’ll be right behind you.”

I don’t even try to find my voice, giving him a nod while the flutter of nerves in my belly turns into an explosion radiating straight to the back of my skull. But there is no time for weakness or mending my body as Kayden orders, “Go now.”

I inhale, shoving aside my pain and forcing myself to step directly into a half-moon-shaped waiting area with only three other doors indicating rooms. Thankfully no one is in sight. Taking advantage of the clear path, I double-step, hurrying while I can, and push through a door that buzzes with my exit.

On the other side I find a long hallway, doors lining my path as I continue onward, passing several rooms. A nurse exits one of them, while a man in street clothes enters another. The nurse walks past me, and I manage a smile and a wave without making full eye contact, only to have yet another nurse come out of yet another room. Again, I smile and wave, nervously noting a security guard monitoring a bank of elevators, worried he will ask questions I won’t know how to answer. I’m relieved when I spy a sign indicating the stairwell that avoids that problem altogether.

Resisting the urge to bolt for it, I count my footsteps for no reason but to calm my mind. One. Two. Three. Four. All the way to twenty, and finally, I am at the door I need, pushing it open and entering the stairwell. The instant I’m sealed inside the small corridor, I face the door and shove it closed, holding it like it might pop open when I’m certain that I saw a security panel that won’t allow entry from this side. Inhaling steadily to calm myself, I turn and collapse against the steel surface, one part relieved, one part listening for any activity around me. There appears to be no up level, and a good number of stairs to reach the bottom level, but with the increased security on this floor, I reassure myself that no one can enter this area from anywhere but the door at my back. Which is why I need to get away from it!

Dashing forward, I grab the railing with a frustrating sway. “Not now, please,” I whisper, fairly certain I’ve overexerted myself. I’m ready to be over this damnable concussion already. Giving myself another beat to recover, I push forward, traveling down one flight of steps, then two; I estimate there are another eight to go. I make it three more when the door above me opens and the rumble of Gallo’s voice speaking Italian stops me in my tracks. No. No. No. This can’t be happening. It can’t be coincidental that I’m here and so is he. Someone must have recognized me and told him I left through the stairwell.

Another voice sounds with Gallo’s, and I about fall over at the idea that it’s me against not one, but two men. My only relief is the certainty that they aren’t moving. But I need to be. Fighting the inclination to run at the risk of the noise it would create, I force myself to tiptoe forward. I’ve made it one level when the voices stop, the door slams shut, as if it was being held open, and footsteps come briskly at me. Fight-or-flight overcomes me and I start to run, every step a blur. Every second is laced with the fear and adrenaline that rockets me to the door I yank open.

I exit the corridor directly into the parking garage. Cold air blasts me, and I eye the rows of cars in front of me. Fearing the open space between me and them, I cut left toward a row nestled behind the stairwell, rounding the corner at the same instant the door opens. Heart in my throat, I take shelter behind a bumper, squatting and holding my breath. Footsteps sound, and then I hear Gallo talking to someone in Italian, this time on the phone, I think. Time ticks by, each second a bullet that is too near, the cold air tormenting my cheeks. Cautiously, I shift my purse to the front of me, debating the idea of digging for the cell phone to contact Kayden, but instead begin to panic at the idea it will ring any moment.

Anxiously, I open my purse and search for it, shivering as I grab the iPhone. Finding the ringer setting, I quickly switch it to vibrate. Task complete, I hear Gallo still talking away, and I decide I have to warn Kayden, searching the phone for the auto-dial number he said he entered. Bingo. I click the message option to text him.

I start to type, pausing as I realize Gallo’s voice has gone silent, and I’m ready to shout for joy as I hear his footsteps moving away from me. Tension zips from my body, but I don’t kid myself into being too overjoyed. Gallo could return at any moment and Kayden hasn’t called. I refocus on typing a message to him, when his voice echoes from just in front of the stairwell. Assuming he’s on the phone, I pop to my feet to go to him, stunned when another man starts speaking. Since there was no one else involved in our plan, I am officially worried. I stuff the phone back in my purse and, not for the first time, I wish I spoke Italian, and, also not for the first time, I wonder if I do, and just can’t remember it. Kayden and the man go back and forth, and I listen, hoping the words will ring some bells with me, frustrated when they don’t.

Deciding I need to assess their body language, I stand and lean against the wall framing the stairs, peeking around the corner, bringing a tall man with curly black hair into view, shaken to the core to realize I don’t know how or why, but I know him. And I don’t like him. I jerk back, flattening against the wall, trying to calm my heart, which has decided it wants to jump out of my chest. Where do I know him from? Why do I know him? And why is he with Kayden? Most importantly, why do I fear him? And I do. I fear that man. A memory flickers, an image of that man leaning against a wall, but the image is gone a second later. What wall? Where?

Worried I’ll be seen, I squat down between the lines of cars, trying to decide what to do. Stay? Run? Listen, when I can’t understand anything being said? And why isn’t Kayden worried about me right now? He has to know I’m not in the stairwell because I’d already have exited. Another image flickers in my mind, and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing answers to come to me, and am transported back to the night Kayden found me.

I stuff my hands into my jacket pockets, nervously walking the deserted sidewalk, hoping I’m going to find help ahead and fighting the urge to look over my shoulder. Afraid to look and alert anyone following me—I know that they are there—but just as afraid not to look. So I do it, and I discover two men trailing me by half a block at most. It could be innocent, but it doesn’t feel innocent at all, and I turn back around, hurrying my pace without breaking into an outright run. Please don’t let them be after me. Please don’t let them be after me. I double-step and look over my shoulder again, and they are closer. Much closer now, and my heart wrenches with the certainty that I am in trouble and have no option but to run.

“Ella. Ella.”

I open my eyes, shocked to find Kayden squatting in front of me, those blue eyes meeting mine, and I flicker back to an image of me lying in that alleyway, and him staring down at me. I woke up. I saw him there. “I told you to wait inside, damn it,” he scolds.

“Gallo was in the stairwell. Who was that man you were talking to?”

“He’s a friend.”

“A friend?” I ask, terrified that I’m about to discover he and that man were the two men following me. “What kind of friend?”

That “friend” appears to the side of us, speaking rapid, urgent Italian, then disappearing again. “Fuck,” Kayden murmurs, before announcing to me, “Gallo is headed back in this direction. Hide behind a car.” He stands and walks around the wall while I crawl to the back of the bumper I hid behind before, listening as three sets of voices sound this time.

Lowering my head to my hands, I try to see those men following me, but my mind proves to be a brutal bitch that gives me nothing when I truly want and need information. Feeling sick, I press my hand to my stomach. Kayden was not following me. He wasn’t. Every instinct I own says I can trust him. He saved me. Didn’t he? Unless . . . Could someone have spotted him, leaving him forced to call for help? Cotton forms in my throat, and I go back to the cold, hard conclusion I faced in that bathroom and forgot too soon. I don’t know what happened to me or who I am, and I cannot trust anyone until I do. I have to leave, right now, and alone.

I push off my knees and go to a squat, hesitating a split second before I start moving down the line of cars, hoping I’m headed toward the exit. Ten cars later, I find a short stairwell, and I take off down it. A few seconds later, I seem to be at the side of the hospital overlooking another parking lot. It’s pitch dark, and thunder is rumbling overhead, with the scent of rain lacing the air. I run left, away from the main entrance of the building from what I can tell, a gust of wind lifting my hair and blasting me with bitterly cold air, but I do not allow it to stop me. Forever it seems I push forward, until I’m at the street separating the hospital from a neighborhood. I turn and look behind me, relieved that no one follows.

Adrenaline and hope mix together, energizing me. I cross the road, running even faster now, and I am rewarded with the sight of a giant church, certain they will shelter and protect me. But it’s not as close as I thought, and I find myself winding through the streets, trying to find the fastest way out of the cold. The first drop of rain hits me as I cut down the cobblestone road, my mind flickering back to another cobblestone road, and the night of the attack.

Run. Keep running. Faster. Don’t stop. Don’t look back. I can’t be caught. They can’t take me back to him. They can’t. I won’t let them.

I’m jolted out of the past when a downpour of icy rain rushes over me, and the church appears farther away than seconds before. My entire body hurts and I think I’m crying. I know I’m scared. I don’t want to be scared. I want to be brave. I have to be brave and I’m not going to quit.

The rain keeps falling, though, brutal, cold, punishing droplets pelting me, while thunder rumbles above with the fierceness of a beast gone as mad as I feel. I’m numb when I finally reach the edge of the massive church parking lot. I’m discouraged to find no cars, no signs that anyone is present, but I press onward, hoping for any form of shelter. I’m within reachable distance of the massive steps leading to the door when a roar sounds in the distance. My heart skips a beat and I drag my aching body forward. Don’t stop running. Don’t stop! The roar gets closer. Louder. Don’t stop! I close in on the steps and spot another set leading downward that puts me closer to a door. I cut right toward them, but the roar of the engine is on top of me, and I’m so bitterly cold I can barely feel my toes. Still, though, I push myself, and push some more. Only a few more feet. A few more feet!

Suddenly, a motorcycle is in front of me, skidding to a stop and blocking my path. Stunned, I am forced to stop dead in my tracks, and even with a helmet on, I can feel Kayden’s energy, his dominance, and I do not wait for his dismount. I dart to my right, determined to reach a door, where I can try to get help. The bike goes silent, and I know it’s a matter of seconds before Kayden catches up to me, but I am so close to those downward steps. So close, but I don’t make it. Kayden’s strong hand grasps my arm, while I try to jerk in the other direction. “Ella! Stop! It’s me!”

“Let go!” I shout, only to be pulled around to face him, his helmet now gone, and already his hair is plastered to his face. “Let go of me, Kayden, or I’ll start screaming.”

He shackles my wrist and drags me to him, holding me hard against his body. “I told you. I’m not going to let go of you. I took care of Gallo.”

“I don’t care about Gallo,” I hiss, tugging away from him, water running into my mouth. “I don’t care about Gallo! You lied to me!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw you with that man at the hospital. I know he was there the night I was attacked.”

A car pulls up beside us and the driver’s door pops open. Kayden curses, releasing one of my wrists to hold up his hand, silently telling our visitor to stay back. I tug against him again and take one look at the man who’s standing by the black sedan, and even in the rain, I know he’s the “friend” from the night of my attack. Certain I will have no chance if they double-team me, a rush of adrenaline overcomes me, and I jerk hard, the water working in my favor and loosening Kayden’s grip.

The instant I’m free, I turn and start running for the stairwell, torn about screaming, both desperate for the police to help and fearful they will expose me to Niccolo. I’m not even sure that Kayden isn’t Niccolo, or at least working for him. I wanted him to be a good man. I wanted to trust him, and even when he grabbed me just now, some part of me still did. Some part of me does, and it’s terrifying.

I hit the stairwell and a sensor triggers a lantern, a glow of light illuminating what is an alcove in front of the door, and now I scream. “Help! Help!” I stumble into the door and start pounding. Kayden is there then, turning me and pressing me into a corner.

“What is wrong with you?” he demands, water pouring off him and onto me.

My hand hits a holster under his jacket and my gaze drops to a gun he didn’t have before. I gasp, my gaze rocketing to his. “Is this where you kill me? At a church? Or are you going to take me somewhere else to do it?”

“The gun is to protect us. I saved you. I’m not here to kill you.”

“Maybe you saved me because you had to. Maybe someone saw you that night and you had no choice. Maybe you had to call an ambulance.”

His hands come down on my face. “There are a lot of things I want to do to you, Ella, but I promise you, killing you isn’t one of them.” His mouth slants over mine, his tongue delving deep, and I want to resist. I do. I try. But his lips are warm when mine are cold, and the taste of him, passion and fire, and yes, demand, burns through me, tempting me, taking me. And for just a moment, I can’t seem to help myself. I want to be possessed by this man. I want to be consumed, so I kiss him back. I kiss him like it’s my last kiss, because maybe it is.

I lean into him, wanting another second, another taste, but he tears his mouth from mine, and my hands are pressed to his chest, his heart racing as fast as mine, as he declares, “I’m a lot of things you won’t like, Ella, including the bastard who has wanted to fuck you since you opened your eyes and called me beautiful despite being in a hospital bed. But I will say it again. I’m not your enemy.”

I’m trembling, not from the cold, but the impact of his kiss. While I was lost in the moment, I have not lost touch with why I ran. “I want to believe you. But words and a kiss, no matter how beautiful you might be, aren’t enough when I’m fighting for survival.”

“As am I. We’re linked, Ella. I’m right here with you.”

Unbidden, the detective’s words play in my head—Kayden Wilkens does nothing, including you, without an agenda—and with them a bad thought hits me. “What’s to keep you from handing me over to Niccolo?”

“Me. I’m stopping me, and that’s the only answer I can give you.”

“How’s that supposed to make me feel safe?”

He presses his hands to the door on either side of me. “I hate Niccolo. I’d destroy him if I could.”

“Why?”

“My reasons don’t matter.”

“They do matter. And selling me would be self-preservation, which I believe you’re very good at.”

“Oh, I am, sweetheart, but I’m not giving you to Niccolo,” he vows, and the way he says the other man’s name is pure acid and hate.

“You hate Niccolo. Gallo hates you. You’re a man with enemies.”

“Wake up, Ella. Your enemies are mine.”

Footsteps sound on the stairwell behind him, and his “friend’s” voice cuts though the storm. Any bit of progress he might have made with me washes away. Kayden curses at the interruption, glancing over his shoulder and speaking to the man in Italian. I have a fleeting image of me with red hair, wearing goggles, while firing a gun. I know how to use a gun, and I reach for his. He grabs my hand. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re full of shit, Kayden Wilkens,” I hiss. “You aren’t selling me to Niccolo? I don’t believe you. I know your ‘friend.’ And I know he was there the night I was attacked. You’re lying to me, and I won’t be kissed into stupidity. I might be alone and desperate, but I’m not that girl.”

“His name is Adriel Santaro and he works for me. And you’re right. He was there. He also has a sister who depends on him and could be used as a weapon against him or even me. The minute I found that matchbook, I sent him away before he ended up on the police report.”

Hope blossoms and expands in my chest. “Why didn’t you tell me he was there?”

“You don’t trust me, as you’ve proven by reaching for my gun. I wasn’t going to give you someone else to doubt.”

“And yet he was at the hospital.”

“I asked him to cover us while we left. A safety precaution I thought we needed.”

I study him, searching his eyes, looking for answers he’s too savvy to let me find. “How can I trust you, Kayden?” I ask, wanting him to say something, or do something, that erases my fears, when I know it’s an impossible feat.

He doesn’t immediately reply. Both my impossible demand and that steamy hot kiss hover between us, and it hits me that what I call familiar, he calls linked. We are linked. We both agree on this, but I don’t think it’s the way he claims. Not completely. He pushes off the door and puts a small space between us, his expression all hard lines and dark shadows. One second passes. Two. Three. He doesn’t have an answer for me, and I’m shivering again, my heart in my throat, sensing something is coming, dreading it. And I’m right. Something is coming.

Actually, it’s here. Kayden reaches into his holster and pulls his gun. And now I know what the kiss meant. It was goodbye.

six

I tilt my chin up and look Kayden in the eyes, not willing to die a coward. He holds my stare, not so much as blinking, and seconds tick by that could be my last until he surprises me and takes my hand. “Let me be clear, Ella,” he says, his tone deepening on my name. “I never give up control, but I am now, for you.”

“You’re talking in code,” I accuse, my voice remarkably steady considering I’m about to die. “Say what you mean.”

He places the butt of his weapon into my palm, closing my fingers, and his, around it. He steps into the barrel of the gun, pressing it to his chest. “You have control,” he says, his hand falling away, while mine trembles around the heavy steel. “You have two options,” he adds. “Trust me as I trust you right now, or . . . shoot me.”

But I’m not thinking about me shooting him. I’m thinking about him not shooting me. “You weren’t going to kill me.”

“No. I was not going to kill you.”

The adrenaline I’ve been running on this past hour drains away, leaving me weak, aware that my head is throbbing, but I’m oh so relieved. I laugh, and it sounds a little crazy. I think I’m losing it. “You weren’t going to kill me.”

“But are you going to kill me?” he asks. “That’s the real question. Or are you going to put the gun down and trust me?”

“Neither,” I whisper, becoming aware of how fiercely I’m shivering, every quake of my body intensifying the heaviness at the back of my head. “I’m not going to kill you, Kayden, but I won’t blindly trust you, either. And now”—I squeeze my eyes shut—“I need to sit.” I slide down the door, releasing the gun gently to the ground to pull my knees to my chest.

Kayden kneels in front of me, his fingers wrapping my calves, his touch confusingly right and wrong at the same time, like everything about him and me. “How bad is it?” he asks.

I ignore his question, focused on his hands on my legs, on him sitting in front of me, blocking the rain and the wind. Protecting me. Or is it possessing me? “You touch me like you own me,” I say, and I sense that my comment isn’t about this moment. Maybe not even about Kayden.

“I touch you like a man who wants you.” His answer is unapologetic, showing me that wolf in him that doesn’t bother with sheep’s clothing, his fingers flexing against me as he inches forward ever so slightly to add, “I don’t want to own you, Ella, but I will intervene when you’re trying to get yourself killed like you did tonight.”

“Because protecting me is protecting you,” I say, and now it’s all about the here, the now, and him.

His jaw clenches, eyes hardening. “In ways you don’t begin to understand and you never will.”

“I’m the one his men attacked,” I argue. “I need to understand. I deserve to understand.” I’ve barely finished the sentence when a sharp pain darts through my head and immediately repeats, forcing my face to my knees, and a frustrated sound from my lips. “I hate this. I thought this was over.”

“That was before you ran through a rainstorm.” His hand settles on my hair, his touch gentle, intimate. Familiar. “We need to get you someplace warm and safe.”

“That would require going back out in the rain, and I can’t do that. Not now. It feels like someone’s poking me with a needle over and over.”

“Which is all the more reason we need to get you out of here.”

I turn my head to rest my cheek on my legs. “I can’t move right now, Kayden. And I really can’t ride on your motorcycle.”

“Adriel left us his car.”

“We still have to get to the car.”

“Leave that to me,” he says, unzipping my purse where it hangs at my hip and placing the gun inside. “Security for both of us.”

I shut my eyes. “I’m not sure what that means. I’m not sure of much besides that I’m pretty sure you’re very rich and probably even more dangerous.”

“Not to you,” he promises, stroking my wet hair from my face.

I shiver at the touch, my lashes lifting to find those blue eyes staring into mine, and even in this dim light they are as stunning as ever. “If you’re trying to make me feel better—”

“You should feel better. Do you really want a saint helping you fight a mobster?”

“Double-edged sword,” I whisper, pressure forcing my eyes shut again.

“That’s it,” he says. “We’re getting you out of here.” He slides his arm under my knees.

“No,” I plead, grabbing his shoulder, the sound of the rain splattering on the pavement promising misery I can’t take right now. “Please. Not yet. It’s too cold.”

“The car is at the curb and the heater is running.”

“Yes, but—”

He scoops me up and stands, curling me easily against his body. Some piece of sanity breaks through the pain and I grab his jacket, fighting to even keep my eyes open. “I’m going with you, but I know how to use that gun and I will if I have to.”

“That’s why I gave it to you,” he surprises me by saying, already starting up the stairs, pausing just before we’re about to leave the overhang. “Ready?”

“No. No. I’m not. Kayden—”

He steps out into the downpour anyway, and I gasp when the icy water instantly consumes us, huddling against him for the mercifully short run to the curb. Kayden sets me down on my feet, his arm shackling my waist while he opens the door and helps me inside, water pouring all over the expensive leather seats. I expect his quick departure, but despite the storm punishing him from all directions, he lingers by my side, hitting the button to lower my seat, his wet hair draping his face. And it’s all I can do not to reach up and shove it from his forehead, to see his eyes and try to understand the man who has become the only person I can depend on in this world.

But I don’t, and he’s gone, shutting the door, and sweet heaven, the engine really is running as he promised, the warm air blowing on me, offering a tiny bit of relief. Still shivering, I roll to my side as Kayden climbs into the car and shuts us inside, water pouring from his clothes and hair as he shrugs out of his coat.

He tosses it on the backseat. “Your turn,” he says. “You’ll feel better without that wet leather weighing you down.”

“I’d rather not move.”

“You can rest when you get it off.” He reaches over and maneuvers my purse over my head.

Regret fills me. “I’m sure it’s ruined. A Chanel purse is not meant to be drenched in water.”

“I’ll buy you another one,” he says, as if a five-thousand-dollar expense is nothing to him.

“How rich are you, exactly?”

He tugs the zipper down on the front of my jacket. “Not as rich as Niccolo, and that’s a problem.”

“Because money is power,” I whisper, shivering, and this time it’s not from the cold.

He gives me a keen look. “That sounds like experience talking.”

Images flash in my mind. A white mansion. A huge mahogany bed. A man’s hands. “Probably. Maybe.”

“Whatever the case . . .” he says, reaching up and brushing hair from my lips. His fingers linger there just a moment too long. “You’re right. Money is power, and Niccolo’s supply of both is limitless.”

“How do you know him, Kayden?”

“How isn’t what’s important,” he says, his tone hardening, and I can almost feel a wall come down between us. “Just be glad I know enough to keep us off his radar.” He reaches for my jacket. “We need to get you out of this and get moving.”

I grab his arm. “You really don’t know how to take no for an answer, do you?”

“And here you said you know nothing about me.”

“Not enough.”

“You do know,” he says, covering my hand where I hold him, holding me to him, and I have this sense of a shift in control, from mine to his. “I could say the same of you.”

“But I’m the one at a disadvantage,” I remind him.

“Are you now?”

“How can you ask that? Of course I am.”

“We’ll agree to disagree on that one.”

I purse my lips but don’t push him, sitting up enough to shrug out of my jacket while Kayden reaches down and drags the heavy weight off my back. “You were right.” I breathe out, relaxing into the seat as he tosses my jacket onto the backseat with his. “I do feel better without it.”

I’ve barely spoken the words when Kayden leans over me, his arm stretched across my chest, his spicy, almost sweet, scent teasing my nostrils. “You shouldn’t have left like you did,” he says, his low, angry tone throwing me into defensive mode.

“Because you’re my hero and I should just blindly trust you?”

“I gave you a gun to earn your trust because I know you won’t need to use it on me.”

“Yes. You did. But that was after I saw Adriel and thought he was one of my attackers.”

“You mean you thought I was one of your attackers.”

“No. I don’t know, Kayden. You should have told me about him.”

“You should have asked before you ran.”

“And risked not having the chance to run? If you were me, would you have made that decision?”

His teeth clench, his expression hardening. “You have the gun now. That’s me trusting you whether you choose to trust me or not. Don’t pay me back by getting us both killed.” He grabs my seat belt and pulls it across me, buckling me in and then settling back in his seat.

I sit there, stunned, and the stormy night is not the only thing creating the dark wall between us. There is anger. Lots of anger on both our parts, as he adds, “And just so we’re clear. I’m not your hero. I’m just the man trying to save both our fucking lives.”

My anger evaporates instantly, and I say, “But you’re no monster.”

His head cuts sharply in my direction, willing me to look at him, and when I do, he demands, “And you know that how?”

“Because monsters always claim to be heroes.”

I expect him to ask how I know this as well, and I have no answer. There is just what I feel deep in my soul, a sense of having trusted the wrong person, who I refuse to believe was Niccolo. I would not trust a gangster. But Kayden doesn’t ask me. He doesn’t say anything. For several seconds he simply sits there, his body rigid, his jaw set hard. And when he does move, he faces forward and shifts the car into drive. I don’t turn away immediately, studying his profile, not sure if his lack of response is agreement or disagreement with my statement, only knowing that before this is over, I will find out.

Turning away from him, I sink farther into the leather seat, my gaze catching on the Rolls-Royce emblem on the glove box. I wait for the car or the brand to ring a bell beyond the obvious, and I’m relieved when it doesn’t happen. I don’t want Kayden to be lying to me. It’s the thought I replay in my mind as silence stretches between us, the rain pattering on the rooftop, the tension in the air between Kayden and me slowly softening to a hum instead of a scream. Kayden must feel it as well, because he leans down and turns on the radio, punching several buttons before an Imagine Dragons song starts to play.

I roll to my side and look at him. “You do know this song is called—”

“ ‘Monster,’ ” he finishes, giving me a sideways look, his lips hinting at a smile. “I thought it was appropriate, don’t you?”

Relieved we are over our argument, I feel a smile cut through my pain and find my lips. “Very,” I agree. “I guess Adriel likes American music?”

“Yes. He went to college in the States. And he’s a big enough Imagine Dragons fan to drag me to one of their concerts here in Rome.”

My eyes go wide. “Wait. You went to a concert?”

“I owed him a favor. And why is that so hard to believe?”

“I don’t know. You just pressed a gun to your chest. It’s hard to think about you doing something so . . .” I lift a hand. “Normal.”

“Normal’s overrated.”

“I’d take normal right about now,” I argue offhandedly, and get back to my main goal: finding out who Kayden Wilkens really is. “Do you ever go back to the States?”

“Occasionally,” he says, detouring my mission by offering nothing more.

“How old were you when you moved here?” I ask, digging in another direction.