25. Lily

25

Lily

I bit my lip as I stared up at him. Part of me was already sliding, instinctually, into full-on denial mode. It’s nothing! A misunderstanding. Goodbye, Bull.

Except...now that the danger was over, I was shaking from how close I’d come to being badly beaten or even killed. Really shaking. I shook my head to indicate that I couldn’t speak, turning from him, my lip trembling. Shit, I was going to—

And suddenly, he was gathering me into his arms, turning me back to face him and wrapping me against his chest. I gave a sort of hiccupping groan and then the tears started. Shit! I didn’t want to cry, not about business. That’s so goddamn weak! Don’t let him think you’re weak! But I kept thinking of Carl’s fake smile and being driven out somewhere lonely by him and no one looking for me—

“Shh,” said Bull, almost as if speaking to a timid animal. “ Shh—shh.”

I tried to speak but still couldn’t. Eventually, I just pressed my face to his shirt and clutched at the warm, solid muscle of his sides with both hands. I needed something strong and stable and he was the strongest thing I’d ever felt. I sobbed but, instead of spilling down my cheeks, my tears soaked into his shirt. That made me feel better, as if I wasn’t on my own.

When I was all cried out, I gently moved back and looked up into his eyes. The look of concern I saw there almost started me crying all over again.

I knew he’d still want an explanation and that any lie I told wasn’t going to convince him. Not after what he’d seen. And the relationship between us had changed again. Just like when he’d saved my life from the bull, I felt that I owed him.

I hesitated for another moment. I’d kept my work a secret for two long years. Telling Bull was like taking a willing step over the edge of a precipice.

I nodded to my car. “Get in.”

Bull looked ridiculous with his massive body folded into the passenger seat of my little Toyota, but he didn’t complain. Nor did he badger me with questions on the short drive out to the bus, which gave me time to compose myself.

When we arrived, he spent a moment just staring at my home. Inside, he eyed the improvements—the kitchen, the stairs down to the bathroom...the bed. Particularly the bed.

To say I hadn’t been expecting guests was an understatement. No one had set foot in the place but me for two years. I kept it pretty clean, but maybe my norms were all off, after two years alone .

“You did all this yourself?” he asked at last. He didn’t sound surprised that I’d managed it; he sounded impressed.

“Yeah,” I said shyly. Then, “I had some time on my hands.”

He nodded slowly, still gazing around. “So what do you do, Lily, that involves assholes like those guys?”

I took a deep breath. I was way past lying, now. Opening up, after so long, was intoxicating. I folded back the bed and revealed my desk.

Bull took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair as he stared. He stepped forward and brushed his fingers across the partially-completed passports, fingering the covers, examining the bundles of special plastics and the strips of holograms I used. He gave a long, low whistle. “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit,” I agreed.

Bull picked up one of the finished passports at random. The gold letters on the dark red cover were in Cyrillic. He opened it. “Grigori Arsenyev,” he read.

“His real name’s Yuri. Bodyguard of a Russian arms dealer—Luka Malakov. Yuri managed to get himself on a watch list so now he needs a little help getting into the country.”

Bull turned and stared at me.

“What?” Then I realized I’d said it sort of nonchalantly. This stuff was just normal, to me.

“Just…” he shook his head. “I thought you were all done surprising me.”

I allowed myself a little smile.

He opened another passport. “Mexican. I guess the drug cartels?”

I nodded.

“And Russian arms dealers...” he mused .

“Also the Yakuza, sometimes.” I said helpfully. “The Colombians. I don’t discriminate.” I was smiling. But then the mood changed.

“So you do passports for anyone?!”

I crossed my arms. “Of course not anyone. I check my clients out. Personal recommendations. No one I think is a terrorist. I’ve even tipped off the FBI a few times. Anonymously, of course. And that German asshole today was selling women.” I shuddered. “That’s why I said ‘no’.”

Bull shook his head again. “Jesus, Lily….”

“What?” I could hear the defensive note creep into my voice.

“I just can’t believe you’re mixed up in all this.”

“ Mixed up in it? What, you think I fell into it by accident? I didn’t get mixed up in it. This is what I do.” I held my chin up high.

“ Why? I mean...you’re smart”—he gestured at the converted bus—”you work your ass off. Why do this?”

I stiffened. “I found I was uniquely qualified. Most criminals aren’t too smart.” I considered. “Well, Luka’s pretty smart. But most of them aren’t. I’m good at it, okay? And I can do it quietly. I can stay hidden.”

He frowned. “Why do you need to stay hidden?”

Shit. I didn’t answer. Instead, I pointed towards my computers. “Most people think it’s just about the physical stuff—the passport, the driver’s license. But these days, those are the easy parts. As soon as they’re scanned, the online records are checked. If they don’t match up, you end up in a very small room at the airport, talking to some guys from Homeland Security.”

“So you’re a hacker, as well.”

I shrugged. “By now, it’s pretty much routine. I have ways into anywhere I need to get to.” It was the first time I’d ever been able to tell someone and I was surprised at how proud I felt. “If I don’t know, I know who to ask and who to pay. Some of it’s hacking, some of it’s favors for the right clerk at the DMV.”

He shook his head again. That stung—I’d been almost glowing with pride as I laid out my whole little empire. “Will you stop shaking your head at me? You wanted the truth.”

He stared at me, eyes blazing. Because he disapproved, or because I’d been keeping it from him? Neither alternative was good. At last, he slumped down on my couch. “Why do you need to stay hidden?” he asked again.

Shit. I’d been hoping I’d distracted him from that one. I tried to come up with an answer that was both truthful—because I was sick of lying—and that would close down this line of questioning. “Things got complicated in New York. I had to leave.”

He stared at me. “You’re gonna have to do better than that,” he rumbled.