“You can’t hurt me. My parents did that. Especially my mother. She prepared me for any pain a woman might dole out during my life. Don’t worry about me. Do you have an exit plan?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
I do, then look over to see his reaction. He looks like he swallowed a salty grapefruit.
“What? What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Your plan is a disaster.”
“Oh. Sorry. Do you have a better one?”
“I always have a better one. Duh.” Connor reaches into the back pocket of his pants and produces a key. An ancient-lookingmetal one that opens a cellar or something similar. “It’s not a dungeon key, don’t worry.”
“I thought of a cellar, not a dungeon.”
He shrugs. “Just goes to show that you think like a normal person, and I don’t. You’re wrong, however. This is a key to a house on sovereign land that’s fiercely protected. It’s controlled territory; nobody gets through once the protection money has been paid. You can live there. Comfortably. Nobody will touch you. But this protection comes at a price for you.”
“What is it?” I’m not sure I’m ready to pay the price.
“I want to see Hanna for each and every one of her birthdays.”
I cry me a river. I can’t see where I’m driving, and I’m wiping my eyes, but more tears come. I should pull over, but I can’t. We’re in the traffic jam downtown near the hospital anyway, so we’re not driving too fast. “That’s all you want?”
“Yeah. Those are my terms.”
“Is it just Hanna that you want to see?”
He nods. “Don’t make this harder on yourself.”
I take his advice and don’t ask questions with answers that might hurt me. “And your uncle won’t look for me?”
“He’ll look for you, but if he finds you, he’ll stay away. He only wants Daniel Pembroke, and your parents told me where to look for him.”
I step on the brakes. “My parents? You know my parents?”
“Yeah. I visited them.”
“When?”
“Yesterday, while I was gone.” Cars honk, trying to get me to move. I stare at Connor’s profile. It’s a perfect profile. Long, straight nose, pouty lips, hard jawline.
He side-eyes me. “If someone comes at me raging because you’re stopped like this…” He lifts his guns.
“Right. Right.”
“Thank you for contributing to my sanity in a positive way,” he says.
“Are you joking?”
“I’m always joking. Forever the clown.”
I park underground in the doctors’ parking lot because Pete’s car has a permit.
“How are my parents?”
“They’re good.”