12. Lily

12

Lily

Now

I sat there in the darkened car for a full half hour before I finally had myself under control. The drive home helped—it was familiar, relaxing. It helped me remember that I was thousands of miles away from New York. I didn’t kid myself that I was safe: I’d never be safe, with my uncle out there looking for me. But I was as safe as I’d ever been.

As the memories receded, the anger started. It was almost a relief.

I hadn’t had a full-on breakdown like that in months, and it was all because I’d forgotten the rules. I’d gotten lazy and careless and let myself believe that I could start some kind of thing with some guy. As if it was possible for me to be happy.

As if I deserved it.

I parked beside the bus and stomped inside, slamming the door behind me .

Or I would have done, if I hadn’t lived on a goddamn bus. I had to hit the key fob remote and then stand outside, fuming, while the door did its agonizingly slow pump...hiss and folded open. And once I was in, I found that bus doors don’t really slam, either, so I had to settle for mashing the button as hard as I could.

Now I was even more frustrated. With him. With me. Mainly with me.

I turned on the coffee pot. It was getting late but I needed to work. My stupid attempt at a night out had put me behind. What I do pays well and there’s no need for me to take on as many jobs as I do, but staying busy keeps me from thinking about the past.

I fell into my seat and picked up where I’d left off. But working didn’t vent my anger or quiet my brain. Stupid! I trimmed an edge that wasn’t quite straight. Idiot! I checked the printing. Moron! I tested the hologram. Stupid, idiotic, moron acting like a freaking teenage girl—

I threw down the passport and stomped to the kitchen to get coffee, adding lots of milk so that I could drink it immediately. I stood there glowering at my own reflection in the darkened window, glugging the entire mug. I resisted the urge to hurl it at the floor.

It wasn’t Bull. Or it wasn’t just him. Yes, he’d been cocky and presumptuous and annoying as hell. But that was him— that was what he did, every day. Judging by what I’d seen at Lucky Pete’s, his brand of dim-witted, over-muscled arrogance was exactly what the local girls wanted. I couldn’t blame him for being him . The person acting out of character was me.

And dim-witted wasn’t fair. The slow talking and that broad accent were misleading—I’d seen the sharp intelligence in his eyes. He wasn’t dumb...just stubborn as hell. Simple, in the good sense of the word. Uncomplicated.

Pretty much the polar opposite of me. One of the many reasons we’d never work.

Why the hell had I gone there in the first place? What had possessed me to sit with him and drink with him and— Dear God!— ride a freaking bull in front of him? I leaned against the counter, put my palms over my eyes, and groaned at the memory.

It was an infatuation. That’s all it was. It was just because I’d been sleeping alone for so long. A simple maintenance problem that could be taken care of with a long bath and a vibrator. In the morning, I’d feel much better.

I decided that I’d finish off two more passports. They were Russian ones, for Luka, the arms dealer, and Russian ones were easy—it wouldn’t take more than a few hours.

Luka. I’d met him a handful of times over the last few years. With his chiseled jaw and his sharp suits and that accent... Not my type, but he was gorgeous in his own way. I hadn’t seen him in months—he was probably busy bedding one of his Russian blondes. Life seemed to be one long party, over in Moscow. I bet he’s never had to go on the run, I thought miserably.

Yes. A few more hours of work and then I’d get in the tub. I’d hit my...ahem, reset switch and everything would be just fine.

When I sat down again, though, I found I couldn’t concentrate. The caffeine hadn’t really kicked in yet and the combination of tiredness and frustration had me frowning at the little bits of paper and rubbing my eyes. Even with my magnifying glass, I couldn’t seem to align things quite straight. Nothing would stay in its proper place.

I rested my head on my forearms and gave a silent scream. I knew that this was coming from somewhere deeper down. This wasn’t just about Lucky Pete’s or a stupid bull— either bull. It was about the limitations I’d placed on my life, that night in New York when I’d made my decision. It was about the path I’d chosen to keep everyone else safe.

I had to convince myself that I didn’t really like him. That it wouldn’t work. That the whole thing was stupid. Because the alternative—that I wanted him and could never have him—that was too painful to think about.

I only intended to close my eyes for a few seconds. But sleep dived on me from a thousand feet, plunging me down into the depths.

Sleep is the time when the memories of New York sometimes stirred, uncoiling and lunging up at me as nightmares. But I’d cried all my guilt and pain out, for tonight. So something else took their place, something deeper, warmer and more primal.

As the caffeine finally kicked in, stirring up the day’s memories to swim around me, I dreamed.