Chapter 8

Eight

JANE

By Monday morning, I’d forgotten about the fake dominant dating debacle. All I fantasized about over the weekend was where Cal could be taking us the following week, and even spent time trying on at least ten different looks I thought he may like.

Is he outdoorsy? He seems to like the cold. Though he never talks about outside activities, he was at home in the park the night we went. Did he enjoy it?

Just as I plan an after-work sweater shopping session, Cal’s handsome face greets me at the front door of the store but looks to be in poor shape. He looks like my reflection in the freezer on Friday night, as if he hasn’t slept in a few days and had to make some tough decisions. Dark blue circles line his eyes.

As he stalks toward me with a big smile, I gasp. “Oh, you’re hurt!” Running around the counter, I snag a tissue from the nearby box and hold it up to a cut along his cheek. His face leans into my palm, the heat of his skin warming the coldness of mine.

“Oh, no. I must have scratched myself while I was asleep. It’s not bad.” Holding up his fingers in the air, he gives them all a wiggle. “Don’t worry. Cut my nails this morning.”

“Yeah, it’s scabbed over already.” Standing back, I pop up and down on my toes, giving him a flirty smile. “Huh, I would think a big fancy guy like yourself would have a manicurist on call to take care of these precious hands.”

Weaving his fingers through his wavy chocolate locks, he breathes a laugh. “I should. But I have this weird thing about random people touching me. Do you know how to do nails?”

My stomach does a little flip. Stepping back around to my spot, I smile to myself. That means he thinks I’m not random. I’m not random! “I do… Next time, you can call me.”

Cal leans over the counter on his elbow and lights me up with his jade eyes. “Maybe I will.” A moment passes between us, and all I can think of is what his lips must taste like. Perhaps sweet herbal tea or non-fluoridated toothpaste. Before I delve further into his intoxicating trance, he says, “I mean, I do have some pretty innovative nail clippers you could use.”

My brow furrows. “Oh?”

“Yeah. They’re on the cutting edge of technology.” One side of his mouth kicks up into a smirk, and the smile that stretches across my face is unstoppable.

“You know, I used to file my nails, but I thought…what’s the point of keeping them?”

With full gusto, he laughs at my pun, then reaches out and pushes a lock of hair behind my ear. Delicately. Softly. And the little hop in my belly rolls to a tumble.

As his lids lower, he gets a hungry look as he asks, “So…if I was interested in nailing you, do you have any pointers?”

My breath catches until I think I may need some medical assistance. His words make me wetter than I’ve ever felt before, the intensity of his penetrating gaze a force wilting any of my reserves. “Uh…um. Ha. Bring some hardwood?” Bring some hardwood?! Oh my god, did I just say that?

Trying to contain his mocking grin, he bites his lower lip, but his snickers escape the sides of his tight lips. My cheeks become infernos of embarrassment as I try to giggle my way out of my faux pas.

“I will definitely bring that,” he says with a twinkle in the corner of his eyes. Swallowing, he seems to decide to change the subject with a slight head tilt. “How was your date?”

My grin falters. “Um. Not good. I won’t be going out with him again. Like I said, nothing in common.”

His brow thickens, causing the sparkle in his irises to fade to a matte moss. “What happened?”

As I open my mouth to respond, the same two officers who presented themselves two weeks prior step inside with a loud jingle of the door chime. The sight of their broad smiles without any eye involvement makes my pulse pound inside my wrists, then shoot up to my throat. If I wanted to speak, I couldn’t. “Well, well. Miss Ersatz! I’m surprised you haven’t fled the country yet. Hello, Mr. Von Dovish.”

My heart stops beating for a moment, then quickly hastens to catch up in a rhythm. Before I can even think, Cal slides next to me, pressing into my side with a sculpted arm around my waist, tugging me tightly under his shelter.

“I told you, if you wanted to speak with my employee, you’ll need to speak with⁠—”

“Your employee?” The policeman eyes Cal’s hand clutching me in a less than professional manner. “I’m doing my duty. Sworn to protect and all.”

“What’s this about?” Barely at a whisper, my voice wavers out, but the man heard me somehow. The blood rushing through my ears makes it difficult to understand what he’s saying.

“Rainier Badeaux. You were last seen with him on Friday evening at the Crimson Angel.”

Shaking my head, I protest, “Yes, but I left there early.”

Half of the officer’s lips curl into a smirk. “Of course. We have that on camera. But we do our diligence and question everyone who may have seen him in his last forty-eight hours.”

“Last…” Air stops moving in my lungs as the taut arm around me suddenly feels like a prison instead of protection.

“We found him in his apartment this morning. Stiff as a board. Also, his fingers and his dick had been removed.” I must have gasped because he continues. “Oh, sorry. His penis.” Correcting himself, he tilts his head as if his dirty word was the problem with what he just said. Cal puts me behind his back. “It’s interesting, Miss Ersatz, that you’ve had two dates now to show up mutilated. Maybe it’s a sign to remain single.” His partner chuckles with this annoying pig laugh. Cringing at the sound, I feel sorry for whomever has to spend time with him and listen to it.

“Are you done?” Cal snaps at the two of them, reaching for his phone in his pocket. Pointing it around the room, he says, “This entire conversation is being recorded on several cameras.”

“Mr. Von Dovish! We also find it interesting that both corpses have been recent associates of yours.”

Cal’s right shoulder shrugs. “Almost everyone on West Side is. What’s your point?”

“Strauss may send in more people to look around. If this moves anywhere close to the North, he won’t be happy. And no one wants to see him unhappy.” The officers turn toward the door. “No need to call the lawyers. We’ll be in touch if we need you.”

As soon as they leave, Cal spins around to face me, placing his hands on my shoulders, his fingers gripping my bones firmly. “Are you okay?” A wild look in his eyes flashes as a small smile quirks the corners of his mouth.

“No. I’m not.” Will he let me go? “I-I need to take a sick day.”

“I’m so sorry. Can I do anything for you?” The heat from his grasp sears through my sweatshirt and pinches me into a state of utter panic. It’s not an excuse any longer. If I stay here another minute, I will get sick. All over his shoes…

Shaking my head, I whisper, “Just, please. Let me go home.” Please… Sweat floods my back as he stares me down, with an odd look on his face. Something unreadable. Or maybe it is and if so, I’m absolutely terrified of what I see.

I escape his snare by vaulting left and right, then snatch my bag from the drawer beneath the counter. As I grab my coat from the hooks near the back wall, I hear him telling me to take a few days off and he’ll manage. My focus is so resolute on getting out of the store alive, his words barely register.

Sprinting to my car, I throw it in drive and into full speed as fast as the shitty engine will go until I make it to a gas station three stops down the highway from Gnarled Pine. Pulling in, I dart inside and quickly purchase a cell phone and data card. Within three minutes, I have it set up. In the nasty bathroom, I sit on the toilet and text in the emergency code, waiting for a reply while sipping a bottle of water. My foot won’t stop tapping, the echoes of it off the tiles making me confused as to what is the sound of fidgets or fear in my heart.

So much time passes, I have to re-enter the store and look around, just to keep my mind occupied, as if all my squishy brain matter may literally unwind if I sit by myself for too much longer. A different clerk stands behind the register, which is good, so I don’t arouse more suspicion, but I head back to the bathroom stall to wait with some bubble gum to keep my chattering teeth preoccupied.

In a few hours, the afternoon sun fades, and I’m finally sent some coordinates. Heading out to the open field behind the store, I wander until hitting a thicket of trees. A two-lane country road rests two miles away. Eventually, I find a fallen tree bench to rest on until evening.

By dusk, I hear the engine coming before I see it. The blue-hued headlights flash three times, and I step out from hiding with a sigh of relief. A blacked-out Mercedes kicks up gravel as it parks next to me on the side of the road. Opening the door, I slide in and buckle up as the car darts down the lane, almost spinning out the back tires.

“It’s too early,” Dash says in his patronizing tone. He won’t even turn his face to me, my eyes scanning his set jaw, the muscle in the back of it flickering as he grinds his molars. Should have gone to get that mouth guard like I told him. Probably still does it in his sleep.

“I know it’s too early, but that’s why I used the code. The code is there for a reason, and it’s necessary.” Shaking my head, I try not to sound whiny, but he brings it out of me.

One side of his head is shaved now, the longer half of his light brown hair falling over the top of his head, which he shakes at me. “You need extraction now?”

“Dash. He⁠—”

“Don’t speak until the spot, Zero. Come on. Be smart.”

Instead of screaming through a closed mouth, I clamp my lips together and take a deep breath through my nose, drumming my fingers on the armrest near the door. Fortunately, the ride is only two more minutes. Once he pulls into the grass and dirt covered drive, I unbuckle, ready to jump out and explode with everything I’ve waited months to say.

Dash’s broad, tattooed shoulder shoves in the old cabin’s wooden front door. Pulling out a lighter, he finds an oil lamp and illuminates the living area, but it doesn’t help to take away the chill in the air. Snapping his finger at me, he points to the stiff armchair next to the sofa as he sits. I find my spot, curling my legs up under myself to keep warm. Couldn’t he at least light a fire?

“He knows,” I tell him flatly.

“You don’t know he knows,” Dash leans back against the cushions, the eagles tattooed down his arms stretching their wings. Who wears a fucking tank top in winter?

“Dash, two of my dates are dead with appendages missing. Someone left me a gift of a toe next to my bed. An unnamed individual has been sneaking in and messing with my stuff. I messaged Tracer through the secure channel when it happened, but I haven’t heard a fucking word back from you guys.” Spit rails from my mouth as I discuss the irritation I’ve held on to for weeks now.

The dark freckles across his cheeks and nose dance as he grimaces. “We’ve been watching. You had your code. I still think you used it too early. If anything, it just proves you’re doing your job correctly. Calum has bought into Jane so much he’s trying to get rid of the competition.”

Brushing back some fallen locks off my face, I lean forward, considering every exact micro expression Cal has made toward me. He’s so hard to read and I think he’s doing it on purpose because he’s onto me. “I don’t think so…”

“You’ve been playing this well. You went on the dates and got that data we needed from Will. We got some info from Rainier. Hell, you even let Cal chase you in the woods. You know he enjoys that shit.” His thick bottom lip curls into a smile as he chuckles. “I liked the part where you kept screaming ‘No, no!’ Uh, I bet that just made him want it more.”

I scoff. “That’s because I wasn’t sure it was him!”

His smile fades. “Oh. Well, you did good!”

Shaking my head vigorously, I try to convince him. “No, Dash. Please listen to me. Cal is way too smart. He knows. I know he knows. But I don’t know if he knows that I know he knows!” Nausea returns with a vengeance. I could spew it on Dash’s pretty face. Maybe then he’d give a shit.

Dash’s head hangs back as he sighs. “Fuck, you’re starting to sound like him. Have you been dosing, too?”

“Fuck you. You’ve never protected me.”

Dramatically, his light brown eyes roll as he breathes out, “Here we go.”

The anger takes over until I’m practically standing in my seat. Roaring my voice at him, I let it all out. “No, Dash! Never once have you put my needs above the mission.”

“Because we are the fucking mission, Zero! We exist for the fucking mission!” With a jolt, he stands up and paces a few steps. Grasping an old flower vase, he picks it up and throws it against the wall, shattering it into a million pieces. I’m so over his tantrums.

My top lip edges up into disgust. “Now who’s crazy, brute?”

Spinning around, he darts toward me, and I jump up to defend myself, arms raised in guard. His long, narrow nose almost meets the tip of mine, but instead of the heat of rage in his eyes, they seem to be filled with fright. “You were made for this mission, Zero. You were crafted for it specifically. If you cannot perform your duty…there is no use for you. So get the fuck back there and seduce the shit out of Calum Von Dovish. Do I need to repeat myself, agent?”

The tingles of ire settle into resolute sadness. I’m damned if I do. And damned if I don’t. Either way, I end up dead.

Could be good. Could be bad.

“No, sir.”