6. Mina

Istare out the window, and I'm sure I look like a sad kitten from an ASPCA commercial right now. The snow is coming down hard and the flights are grounded. I know because I already checked. The hit isn't until Monday, so maybe we could fly in a day or two. We'd still make it. But this storm system is insane. I don't know if anything is flying out of here before Valentine's Day.

Fuck. I need to be some place warm. I've been hanging on by a thread, knowing that at least I'll be able to get this brief reprieve from winter. And now it might not happen. I'm about ten seconds from just flinging myself onto the ground like a toddler and having a fit over this new turn of events.

Now we'll have to figure out a new way to take these two out, and there's no guarantee of when we'll be able to catch them both together away from their people. We could even lose the contracts to someone else—someone local to the area. We promised a Valentine kill, after all. They aren't going to want to wait beyond that, but if we can't even get out there…

The hamster running feverishly on the wheel in my head stops abruptly, his little cartoon eyes bugging straight out of his head as I notice Brian coming toward me with intent. I have literally forgotten all the thoughts in my head and probably couldn't even reconstruct them on penalty of my own death.

Sure, he's got the same violent and terrifying vibes as normal, but I have to say, it's not landing the same way it normally does right now.

"What the fuck are you wearing?" I ask under my breath when he reaches me. And I'm really trying not to laugh because we've made every strong effort to maintain Brian's image and my demure submission to the Big Bad Wolf. And we have been more-or-less successful up until now, but I'm standing in the cafeteria—a common gathering space for the girls at the house—so we have an audience.

And he looks like… God, I don't even know what he looks like… He kind of looks like a suburban dad, the kind of guy who shows up to every soccer practice because he doesn't have a high-powered corporate job to focus on. But why? My mind can't even begin to conceive a reason he would need to dress like this.

The whispers in the cafeteria grow louder and Brian shoots them a menacing glare.

"Listen ladies, if you think I won't get the khakis dirty to punish bad girls, you'd be wrong."

The whispering abruptly stops, and they return to their tea. Oh yeah, in the afternoon we have tea time. Just after the new year, Phyllis got on this whole scone kick and demanded all these adorable mismatched tea cups and saucers and little plates, and so now we do afternoon tea, like we're all proper and shit.

They go back to their tea time ritual and I turn my attention back to Brian.

"I'm kind of into this whole dad vibe you've got going on… but I have questions, first among them… do you want me to call you Daddy now?"

"No."

"So what's with the wardrobe?"

"It's not important," he hedges.

I pout. "Come on… you can trust me."

He sighs loudly. "Okay, fine. I was checking in on Aidan at his school Valentine's party. Happy?"

Oh my god. That is so cute. What is happening to my psycho killer right now?

He glares. "Don't even start with me right now, Mina."

I pretend to zip my lip, lock it, and toss the imaginary key over my shoulder even though I want so many details right now.

"How was he?" I ask as nonchalantly as possible.

"The love of his young life just rejected him, and my first thought was to burn the school down."

"Awwww, poor little guy. Are you okay?" I ask with mock concern.

"Fine. Listen, I'm sure you can guess from the giant snow storm that the flights are all grounded."

"Yeah, I checked online."

"So we're going to have to drive. We'll talk kill logistics on the road."

"I don't know, Brian…" I say. I'm not exactly excited about driving in all this snow and ice.

"We've got snow tires. It'll be fine."

"We do not have snow tires on the black government-looking vehicle you insist upon driving around."

"We're not taking that," he says cryptically.

"Then what are we taking?"

"You'll see. We have a whole garage of suitable transportation."

"Be honest with me, Brian. Are we going on a cross-country killing spree?"

He chuckles. "I'd hardly call it a spree. I thought we'd pop off a few gas station attendants here and there on lonely patches of old highway, stab a motel clerk... Maybe hit a bank or two to mix things up."

"Funny," I say.

"I'm a funny guy. Nobody appreciates my humor."

"Poor baby, such a rough day you've had."

"Where are our bags?" He is all business and very ready to kill people.

"By the front door, did you not trip over them when you came in?"

"I'll take them out. Just grab your jacket and meet me at the big garage at the side of the house."

I go downstairs and bundle up. Ten minutes later, I'm in the big garage.

"Is that a parka?" Brian asks when he sees me.

"I'm cold! I'm sorry I can't wear the sexy leather jackets when it's 5 degrees outside."

"You look like a giant marshmallow."

"I'm a cute and deadly marshmallow."

"You are," he says, chuckling. "Get in."

He pushes the button on the key fob and the lights on a red Bronco light up as the SUV gives two short sharp beeps.

"Oh this is discreet," I say.

"Do you want me to paint it before we leave?"

I just laugh and get in the car.

We've been driving for fifteen minutes when I finally feel warm enough to take off my coat. I stuff it in the backseat. Brian has been totally focused on the road this whole time, and the only sound has been the windshield wipers trying to stay ahead of the snowflakes pelting down. It's warm enough now for them to melt when they hit the glass.

"Can I listen to my playlist?"

We've never gone on a long road trip together before, so it's theoretically possible he might murder me before we're done because I am an antsy traveler. And I'm going to have to pee every two hours like a chihuahua. I've decided not to inform Brian of any of these things yet. We can just let it be a fun discovery on the trip.

"Sure."

I hook up my MP3 player and press the play button.

"What is this?" he asks as a song called Killer begins to play.

"My villain playlist. Just go with it."

"Oh, this is going to be a fun trip."

"Yep."

"Did you bring my music?"

I pull the Chopin CD out of my bag. "Right here."

We don't ever talk about this, the fact that he pretty much has to have this music. Just in case. It's one of only a few vulnerabilities I'm aware of. No one else knows what this music means to him, or how it helps him when things get bad. Anyone who has heard him listening to classical music at night when he runs on the treadmill probably just thinks it's a creepy Brian thing—like he's some kind of civilized killer. They don't understand that he actually needs it.

"So what's up with the tarot card?" Brian says out of nowhere.

"I'm sorry, what?" Of course he'd bring this up when we're miles away from the house, in the middle of frozen nowhere with only the heat from his SUV protecting us, so I can't just dramatically fling myself out of the Bronco and walk home to avoid this conversation.

"The card. You took it as a trophy, right?"

"Uh..." I say. I look out the window because Brian is really good at telling if somebody is lying. I found the death card peaking out from under the blankets and hoped Brian didn't see it, but even then I knew somehow he had.

"I saw it on Groundhog Day, Mina."

"What? How do you remember it was Groundhog Day, and what is it with you and the fucking groundhog?" These words sound mad, but I'm not mad, more surprised. I seriously cannot believe he's been holding this in for nine days. When he didn't mention it for a day or two, I thought maybe I was wrong and he didn't see it. But nope. He was just waiting for his moment.

"Did you just take the one card?" he asks.

"Ummm, no. I took the whole deck."

"Why?"

"Because they were beautiful." It's not a lie.

He takes one hand off the wheel and skims the back of his fingers down my cheek. "I get that."

We drive for another five minutes with only my villain playlist filling the car when he says, "Learn anything worth knowing?"

"I don't know what you mean." I say. Is he actually open to this?

He shrugs. "I think we've both thought about that tarot reading more than once since Christmas Eve. The Lovers. The Devil. The Tower."

I can't believe he remembers it. I thought he would have brushed it completely away.

"I thought you didn't believe in that stuff."

"I don't."

"Okay, then," I say.

"Okay, then."

I'm not about to tell him that the death card has shown up four more times since Groundhog Day. And the tower, twice.