“We?”
“Damn!” He lets out a resigned sigh. “See? You’re not the only one with a tongue that slips.”
Wildly entertained, I send him a low-lashed gaze. “So, you’re a member of an ancient chivalric order, huh?”
He neither confirms nor denies that.
I put a hand to my heart in a theatrical gesture. “That’s just so cool! What did you say your order was called?”
“I didn’t.”
“Chivalric…” I pinch my chin. “Does that make you a knight?”
“Indeed, it does.”
“As in,SirDarrel Vlovsky?
“Correct.”
“Wouldn’t someone calledSirDarrel Vlovsky,who’snot agangster, contract killer or spy, have left a trace of himself on the Internet?”
He just stares at me.
“Because,” I continue, “I spent hours scouring it and got nothing.”
“I don’t know what to say, Stella.”
My eyes drill into his. “The truth, maybe? Who are you?”
“Darrel Vlovsky, a knight.”
I sit back on my haunches. “You want me to trust you, but you don’t trust me with your true identity.”
“None of what I told you was untrue.”
“All right,” I say, deflated. “I give up for now. Let’s get back to our undertaking.”
“Yes, let’s.”
“This tattoo is a more likely candidate for the mark my mother mentioned in the video than your unexceptional birthmark.”
He nods. “Want to take a picture before we rebandage it?”
“Absolutely!”
I snap four or five photos from various angles, including long shots that allow me to catch his torso and his face. I might be giving myself away doing that, but the temptation is too strong. For the last one, I move the camera so close it’s practically touching Darrel’s arm.
“Digital zoom is never as good as a real closeup,” I offer by way of an explanation.
I’m dying to approach the phone just another notch so that the back of my hand would touch his biceps. But I don’t dare. He’s no greenhorn. He’ll see through my tack, if he hasn’t already. I set my phone aside. Rebandaging his arm will offer a more natural opportunity to touch him.
“That’s too tight,” he says as I begin. “Also, be sure to overlap the layers by about half of the bandage width, like your mom did.”
“Sorry.” I resume my slow spiral motion, wrapping snugly, but not too tight. As I move up, I let my fingertips brush the bare skin of his arm whenever the tiniest opportunity presents itself. Every touch fills my soul with excitement. He may realize what I’m doing, but I don’t think I care at this point.
After I’m done, and the pin is back in place securing the end, I stand up. “Ready to show me the other tattoo?”
“Yes.”