“Professionals don’t leave their weapons behind. Especially not ones this expensive or well cared for. Even the stupidest hitman alive doesn’t leave behind casings. Too many ways for the cops—or other interested parties—to piece together a trail. So why, Lena Haywood, would someone try to kill you and leave the evidence behind?”
My knees wobble. Memories of last night flash before my eyes. The gun shots. The tearing sensation above my hip, a bullet wound. Rem telling me in this very room that someone tried to kill me. That all feels like a fever dream.
This feels very, very real.
My ass is on the floor before I know it. Pain bursts in my side at the impact and I fold in on myself, clutching my stomach.
Rem crouches in front of me but doesn’t touch. The gun he was holding is out of sight, but there’s no hiding from what he’s saying. “That weapon is expensive. Precise. Accurate. So was the person firing it. Trained snipers love their weapons, take care of them. The gun is an extension of them, something they can use with as much ease as a part of their own body. To leave it behind to be found tells me the shooter is sending a message.”
“A message?” I push the words through clattering teeth.
Rem ducks his head to catch my eyes, holds them. “A message that says if they wanted you dead, you’d be dead. No matter if I was there last night or not. A message that says they were more than capable of killing you but chose not to. That you’re lucky to be alive. But that luck won’t last long. Not without me.”
Life and death. Good luck and bad. A phantom assassin or the man in front of me, so calmly talking about me getting shot.
“You,you—” I push off the ground, moving around Rem toward the bedroom door before he can stop me. “You say all this, and I’m just supposed to believe you? You’re telling me I’mlucky you were there, lucky you saved me? But you still haven’t told mewhyyou were there in the first place. You want me to believe everything you’re telling me on blind faith? Do you honestly think I’m that stupid, that naive?” I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s insane. This is insane.
“I’m leaving.” I grab the doorknob. “Whatever mind-fuck this is, it’s over. Tell whoever is on the other side to let me out.”
“You’re not dressed.”
Fuck. “I don’t care.” And I don’t. I’d rather be outside half naked in winter than in here with this man and that gun. “Out. Now.”
“No.”
Rem’s hand covers mine on the knob. If I wasn’t so furious I’d appreciate how gorgeous the tattoos look snaking out from under his shirt cuff. “You can’t lock me in here. I’ll call the cops.” God, how am I only thinking about that now?!
“Oh, with what? Telepathy? You don’t have a phone.”
Double fuck.I don’t. I must’ve left it at my apartment. I whip around, fully prepared to smack the gloating grin off his face. But he’s not smiling. He’s not even angry. Instead, Rem looks frustrated…and inexplicably worried.
Not that I care. “Give me yours.”
“And have a log of my phone number in police records? Not a fucking chance.”
If I didn’t already know that I was in deep with dangerous people, Rem’s answer confirms it. I can’t stop the question before it comes out, no matter how reckless it is. “Whoareyou?”
Rem looks me dead in the eyes. I watch, fascinated, as the armor he’s been wearing drops away. There’s no pretense, no threat. Every other part of him radiates the possibility of danger, but his eyes say he’ll tell me the truth. I don’t even want to think about why.
“I told you, my name is Rem.”
“Rem what?”
“Rem Cosenza.”
“And who is that?”
If his eyes have promised to tell the truth, the following silence is answer enough. That is something I don’t get to know.
Fine, I don’t want to know anyway. It’s not like I’m going to see him again. “What were you doing in my apartment?”
“My job.”
His job!?“And what is that?”
He’s still holding my hand where I’m gripping the doorknob. His thumb is sliding across the inside of my wrist. Over and over, a repetitive stroke I’ve only just become aware of. Maybe because my pulse pounds in frustration when he answers, “For now, it’s keeping you alive. That’s all you need to know.”
So much for honesty. “That’s not good enough.”