Chapter 9

Spitting rain pattered the windshield. I watched the wipers slash across the glass as my mind drifted through the back-to-back near-death experiences I'd scarcely survived.

Was being an MPD agent always this hazardous? If it was, Lienna had more guts than I'd thought. My KCQ employment had nothing on today. The last time I'd felt remotely safe was in Jenkins's study, picking books off his shelves and giggling over the Kama Sutra.

My thoughts lingered on the books, and a long breath slid from my lungs.

"You okay?"

I lifted my head, my gaze shifting to Lienna in the driver's seat. "Huh?"

"You're quiet."

"Just contemplating the timeline in Primer."

At my flippant tone, she returned her attention to the road. I remembered the way she'd held me as that deadly potion flooded the room. The tears in her eyes when she thought I'd died. The way she'd blushed as she stared up at me once we were safe.

Maybe she didn't hate me for being an anarchical mythic criminal flouting the MPD's benevolent rule. At least, she didn't hate me as much.

"Lienna…" Actually, nope. Never mind.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What were you going to say?" she persisted.

"Forget it." It'd been a dumb idea anyway. No way she'd agree.

Taking a hand off the wheel, she lightly smacked my shoulder. "Just tell me, would you? I don't have the nerves for any more suspense."

Did she want to know that badly? I slumped in my seat. "I was going to ask if we could make one stop before you throw me back in jail."

"For burgers?" she quipped, annoyance creeping into her tone.

"No." Not that I'd ever say no to burgers. "To… my apartment."

Her brown eyes shot toward me.

"You see, rent is due in a couple of days. When I don't pay, my landlord will pitch out all my stuff. There are a few things…" I let out another heavy breath. "A few things I really don't want to lose. For, you know, the day in seventy or eighty years when MagiPol finally lets me out of prison."

Ideally, I could recover my items once I escaped custody, but I was down three for three opportunities and I wasn't sure if I'd get another one.

She eyed me suspiciously. "Where's your apartment?"

I arched an eyebrow. "Nuh-uh. Not gonna tell you that unless you agree to take me there. Otherwise, you'll just raid my shit after I'm locked up again."

"Why didn't you take this stuff with you when you fled the country?"

"Didn't have time, and also didn't know if I already had bounty hunters on my tail. I didn't want to lead them home. I was going to have my landlord mail my stuff to me."

For a price. A hefty one, knowing that greedy asshole, but I could've afforded it—before MagiPol confiscated the contents of my bank account.

She nervously ran her hands up and down the steering wheel, then blew out a breath, her hair fluttering away from her face. "Which way?"

I straightened, staring at her. "Seriously? You'll do it?"

She glared at me. "If you try anything, I'll teleport your limbs to the bottom of the ocean."

"Which limbs?"

"All of them."

"Oh, well, in that case… take a left here."

I directed her across downtown and into Coal Harbour, a ritzy neighborhood with towering condo buildings that overlooked long beaches and the ocean-gray inlet. We pulled into the circular drive of a particularly tall and glass-walled structure, and she parked in a visitor stall.

"You live here?" she asked. "No way. You're leading me into an ambush."

I pushed the door open. "Nope. This is where I live—or lived. Scout's honor."

She shut off the car, pocketed the keys, and followed me to the door with one hand in her satchel. How much did I want to bet she was holding a stun-marble, ready to fling it into my back and send me crashing into unconsciousness for a second time today?

Just inside, the doorman sat behind his desk. He glanced up at our appearance and offered a professional smile. "Welcome home, Mr. Morris."

"Thanks, Hardy. I lost my keys. Can you let me into my apartment?"

"Sure thing." Jumping up, he went ahead of us and hit the elevator call button. The doors chimed and opened. Lienna was stepping on my heels as I walked in alongside Hardy. He pressed his key fob to the panel inside, then selected the eleventh floor. The door closed, and the elevator rushed upward.

Lienna's glower singed holes in the back of my head the whole way up.

With another chime, the doors opened, and Hardy led the way down a carpeted hall with numbered doors. At 1106, he unlocked the bolt.

"Have a nice evening, Mr. Morris. And let me know if you need a new key."

"You bet," I said as he retreated toward the elevator, then pushed the door open.

The familiar scent of home, underlaid with the mustiness of a room that'd been closed up for too long, hit me hard. I walked in, sighing as my gaze traveled across the open floor plan with its spacious kitchen, large living room with a wide electric fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the harbor.

"Fancy," Lienna observed acidly. "Crime pays well, doesn't it?"

I shrugged, too tired to come up with a good retort.

"Go get your things, then," she snapped. "We aren't staying."

Not bothering to remove my shoes—it wasn't like I'd ever return here to be annoyed about grit on the glossy hardwood—I headed for the short hall. Three doors waited, and I opened the center one to enter my bedroom. It was large and airy, with a king-sized bed that faced more tall windows.

I crossed to the nightstand beside the bed, but when I squatted down to reach for the low shelf at its base, Lienna appeared at my shoulder.

"Hold it!" She crouched, elbowing me aside, and peered at the contents of the shelf. Her wary squint faltered. "Those are—"

I reached past her and pulled the handful of books out. As I straightened, she shot up too, her glare undiminished.

"Books?" she said accusingly. "That's what you came for?"

"Yep."

"What's special about them? Are they valuable?"

To me, yeah. To anyone else, not one bit. "If you're worried, see for yourself."

I dumped them into her arms, taking her by surprise, then strode into the walk-in closet. Most of it was empty. My clothes were lined up along the nearest wall, neatly arranged on hangers.

As I flipped through the garments, she opened a tattered copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, frowning at the expected and mundane story inside. When she looked up again, I was halfway out of my shirt.

"What are you doing?" she asked shrilly.

"Changing. Clean clothes. It's nice, you know?" I pulled the shirt over my head, dropped it on the floor, and shook out a dark blue tee. "I can enjoy it for a few minutes before I'm back in a jumpsuit."

Her mouth opened and closed as I slid on the clean shirt, tugged the hem down, then toed off my shoes. When I unbuckled my belt, her stare jumped back to the books she held. She raised the Mark Twain paperback and frowned at the leather-bound Bible beneath it.

"I thought you weren't religious," she began, lifting her gaze—right as I pushed the MPD-issued torture-boxers down my hips.

Her eyes bulged, and I almost snorted. I was pretty sure she looked away before spotting the goods, but she still wobbled with bashful shock as though I'd started pole dancing. The stack of books she held tipped dangerously.

"Don't drop those," I warned as I slid on a clean pair of boxer-briefs. Ah, so much better. "And I'm not religious."

"Then why do you have a Bible?" she asked, staring at the floor, cheeks flaming.

I stepped into a pair of worn, extra-comfy jeans. "Because it was special to someone else."

"Who?"

Instead of answering, I fed my belt through the new jeans and buckled it, then stuffed my feet back into my shoes. Brushing past her, I returned to the bedroom and paused beside the bed. The scent of laundry detergent filled my nose, making my chest ache. Clean laundry was the smell of home.

Whether I escaped MPD custody or not, it'd be a long time before I got to enjoy the scent, or the feeling, of a home again.

"What else do you want to take?" Lienna asked, following me out of the closet.

"Nothing. That's it."

Her frown returned, more doubtful than suspicious this time.

I glanced at her, then pitched forward onto the bed. My face hit the thick comforter and I groaned.

"What are you doing?"

I rolled the rest of the way onto the mattress and flopped onto my back, one arm across my eyes. "Do you know what those jail cell cots are like? This is the last bed I'll get to lie on for… years. Just give me a minute to memorize the feeling."

Silence answered me. After a moment, the mattress dipped. I peeked under my arm to find Lienna sitting on the corner of the bed, gazing around with a wrinkle between her brows.

"This just isn't the sort of place I imagined you'd live in," she muttered.

"Me neither. This is ten times fancier than anywhere else I've ever lived." I covered my eyes again. "Rigel recommended it. I think his buddy owns the place. I got a good deal, and KCQ paid well."

"Ah, yes. The spoils of fraud and theft."

"'Suppose so."

Her voice went even icier. "Do you even care that you were cheating people?"

I thought of the books in her arms, then nestled back into the comforter and breathed in the scent of home. "Being a mythic crook is better than being a human freak."

"You aren't a human."

"Didn't know I was a mythic, remember? KCQ found me. They taught me about magic."

The mattress creaked as she shifted. "I understand that, but once you realized they were criminals, you… you should've left the guild."

I cracked my eyes open, but all I could see was my arm, resting on my forehead. This weird sharing mood of mine was waning, but I'd blabbed enough mush that I might as well finish with the truth.

"I've never fit in anywhere. People don't want me around. I make them uncomfortable… scare them. Everywhere I ever went, everyone wanted to get rid of me—until Rigel invited me to his guild. There, I wasn't just welcome… I was useful. I was part of the team." I let out a short, harsh breath. "So to answer your question, no, I didn't care what the guild was really doing. Not enough to leave."

The bed bounced again. A soft footstep, then a warm hand tugged on my wrist, lifting my arm. Lienna leaned over me, peering into my eyes.

"Kit… you…" She struggled for words, lips pursing with thought.

I watched her soft lips, surprised by how entrancing they were.

Her gaze searched my face, and that faint blush reappeared. She abruptly straightened. "You broke the law. But… but if you help catch Quentin, I'll do whatever I can to minimize the charges against you."

"What can you do?"

"I'm not sure." Her eyes blazed. "But I'll figure it out."

An odd tightness constricted my throat—and I realized I believed her. I believed she would help me.

Wow, I was really going mushy. It had to be the bed. It was hard to be jaded while lying on a slice of cumulus heaven. Before I lost my grip on reality, I sat up. Lienna moved aside as I slid off the mattress.

"I guess we can go now." My focus settled on the books tucked under her arm. "But those… I need to stash them somewhere safe."

If they went back to the precinct with me, I'd never see them again. Damn it. Why hadn't I thought of that earlier?

Lienna hefted the small pile. "I… I can hold on to them for you. For the time being."

My eyes narrowed. "You're taking my belongings hostage?"

"No, I'm offering to care for them until you—until you're ready to take them back."

"They're mementos, not grimoires. You won't find anything in them that you can use to—"

"I'm trying to be nice!" she cut in. "You saved my life and I want to do something nice for you!"

Doubt flitted through me, but she was giving me that fierce stare, and instead of accusatory and condemning—like most of her glares—it was… I didn't know, but it poked at the part of me that wanted to believe her.

"Okay," I conceded. Not like I had any better options anyway. "Thank you."

The stern downward tilt to her mouth softened into a smile. A real one. An actual nice smile.

Musing over her offer to care for my books, I scooped them out of her arms and left the bedroom. With a longing glance across the living room, I headed for the door.

"Kit." She lingered beside my seventy-inch flat-screen television—one of the few items I'd purchased for the apartment. "Are you sure there isn't anything else you want to save?"

I shook my head. "None of this is mine. The apartment came furnished."

Frowning, she crouched beside the TV stand. "What about these?"

I drifted back to her side and peered at the shelves—lined with the spines of DVD and Blu-ray cases. I sank down, sitting on my heels.

"I collected them after starting with KCQ. I always wanted a movie collection, but I could never afford…" I coughed. "But yeah, none of those are rare or anything. I can find them all again if—if I get the chance," I finished lamely.

Not likely, considering I was doomed to either a life on the run or a life behind bars.

Lienna ran her finger across a large assortment of goofy comedies, includingthe entire Monty Python collection, before landing on my copy of Casablanca.

"Ooh," I murmured. "Classic."

She pulled it off the shelf. "I've never seen it."

"Seriously? Everyone should see Casablanca."

"Hmm." She examined the illustration of Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart dramatically pressed together on the cover. "It looks kind of…"

"Don't you dare say boring. This is the most beautiful movie ever made."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"It is!" As her eyebrow rose higher, I stepped back my enthusiasm, oddly embarrassed. "It's about being part of something bigger than yourself. I think there's beauty in that."

Her lower lip caught between her teeth. "Maybe…" She seemed to hang on the word. "Maybe we should watch it."

Snorting, I pushed back to my feet. "Sure. You can download it on your phone, then stand outside my cell and I'll watch it over your shoulder."

She stayed crouched, still holding the movie. "I mean right now."

I froze halfway through a step toward the door and peered down at the top of her head. "Why? You want to make sure it's actually a movie and not a disc storing all my criminal secrets?"

"No, I just—" She abruptly stood, avoiding my eyes. "Never mind."

She started to set the DVD case on the TV stand, but I caught her wrist. "Are you serious? You want to watch Casablanca right now? Here in my apartment?"

She muttered something, her cheeks tinged with pink.

"Sorry?"

"I said we don't need to rush back to the precinct." She half-heartedly tugged her wrist away, but I didn't let go. "It's already late, and the investigation won't resume until morning. It might be a while before you can rebuild your collection, so… so why not enjoy it one more time?"

I let her withdraw her arm from beneath my hand. She glanced up warily and seemed surprised to find me staring back with equal wariness.

"What?" she huffed defensively. "It was just an idea."

"I…" Shaking my head, I admitted the truth. "I can't tell if you're tricking me."

"Tricking you?"

"Yeah. You know, getting me all excited about an illegal movie night, waiting for the opening credits, then slapping on the cuffs and dragging me out amidst your nefarious laughter."

She blinked twice—then rolled those big brown eyes so forcefully her head tipped back. She slapped the DVD case against my chest.

"Put the movie on, Kit."

With that, she swept over to the sofa, dropped onto the cushions, and folded her arms expectantly.

Holy shit. She was serious.

A hesitant smile pulled at my lips. "Should I make some popcorn?"

Two and a half minutes later, I sat beside her with a big bowl of popcorn balanced on one hand and the remote in my other hand. She plucked a fluffy, buttery bit of popcorn out and tossed it in her mouth.

I tried not to stare.

The opening narration played, and my unease slid away as the screen filled with a slowly spinning black-and-white globe, the camera focusing on North Africa.

"When was this made?" she asked, scooping more popcorn from the bowl.

"1942. It's a movie set in the middle of World War II, filmed and released in the middle of World War II. They shot it five months after Pearl Harbor."

She made a quiet noise of interest and settled back to watch. We finished the popcorn and I slid the bowl onto the end table. As I shifted back to my spot, the cushions dipped. My arm brushed hers, but she didn't look away from the television.

I resisted the urge to provide commentary, letting the movie pull her in, but when the crowd in Rick's bar began to sing "La Marseillaise" to drown out a group of Nazi soldiers performing a German anthem, I couldn't help myself.

Leaning toward her, our arms pressed together, I whispered, "Watch the extras who are singing."

She squinted at the screen. "Is that woman crying?"

"A bunch of the extras were war refugees. They escaped Nazi persecution in Europe, ran away to America, and ended up singing about it in Casablanca. This was real for them."

"Wow," she said softly.

By the time we got to the climactic scene between Rick and Ilsa in the rain at the airport, I was in full Bogart mode, quoting his best lines alongside him. Lienna's gaze flicked between me and the TV, the corners of her mouth twitching with each line I delivered.

At just the right moment, following Bogart's cue, I touched my fingers to her chin and in my best melodramatic baritone murmured, "Here's lookin' at you, kid."

For a single heartbeat, she stared at me with wide eyes—then burst into laughter and swatted my hand away. "You made me miss it!"

"Whoops." Grinning, I grabbed the remote to back the movie up. "I promise not to distract you—for the next thirty seconds."

She laughed again, adding one of her patented eye rolls. Her amusement cracked her defensive agent mask, giving me a better look at the woman hidden beneath it—and gotta be honest here, I kind of thought I might like the person I saw.

That unfortunate feeling would probably bite me in the ass sooner or later.