“Yes,” he said. “That’s my point. You were always. You’re not giving up control. You’re grabbing control by the balls. You’re saying this is what you can have. Me, my pleasure, my body, and my heart.”
His words rang over me, clean and true and pure. Except for one small thing. “You’re wrong,” I said, then pressed my finger to his lips when he started to argue. “Not someone, Cole. You. You’re the only one I trust. The only one I could hand it all over to.”
I couldn’t read the expression on his face. “Why?”
“Because you matter,” I said, echoing the words he’d said to me. And then, as I watched the smile ease slowly across his face, I knew that not only were the words true, but they were the perfect thing to say.
thirteen
Since Cole’s cooking skills ranked somewhere below mine, we had coffee and frozen waffles for breakfast. They actually tasted pretty good, and I liked the domesticity of eating them in his well-lit kitchen, sharing the newspaper, and occasionally brushing hands just for the hell of it.
I even offered to clean up, since that required little more effort than loading the dishwasher and throwing away the empty cardboard Eggos carton.
I poured myself a fresh cup of coffee, then checked my phone. “I should get going,” I said. “I need to change before my shift starts at ten, and I want to go see my dad first.”
He looked up from the Business section. “No,” he said, and then went back to the paper.
I held out my spoon and knocked the top of the paper down again. “You want to say that again?”
“You heard me. No.”
“No¸” I repeated. “I hope you’re telling me that Glenn called and my shift doesn’t really start at ten. Because if you’re telling me I can’t go visit my father, I’m going to be more than a little ticked off.”
“You can’t go visit your father.”
I shoved back from the table and lunged to my feet. Cole thought he had a temper? Well, he hadn’t yet experienced mine.
“Sit down, Kat,” he said, his voice almost bored. “Sit and think. You know I’m right.”
“I want to see my father.”
“Do you really? Because every time you go there, you add to the risk that someone has learned the connection between you two. That they’re following you. That they’ll find him.”
I sat down. I wasn’t going to admit it out loud—not until he forced me to, anyway—but he was right.
“Ilya Muratti is not the kind of man you fuck around with. And I don’t care how careful you and your father have been over the years, Muratti has resources.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I’m just worried. I want to see him. Talk to him.”
“Then call him on the burner. Let him know we have a plan.”
“Do we have a plan?”
“We will,” he said. “And until we do, your dad doesn’t need to worry.”
“You’re good at this,” I said.
“I’ve had practice,” he said, then picked up his coffee cup.
“I believe that.” I got up to get the coffee carafe, then refilled both our mugs. “What exactly do you do? Other than forge Da Vinci manuscripts, I mean?”
“Let’s just say that I have my fingers in many and varied pies, and not all of them are legitimate.”
“Still?”
“Evan’s the only one who’s gone completely straight. He’s marrying a senator’s daughter. And there are other reasons. He gets as much thrill out of running a straight business as he does planning a heist or con.”
“And you?”
“The third degree, Ms. Laron? Should I frisk you for a wire?”
“Frisk me if you want, but I’m just curious.” I didn’t say that I wanted to know every little thing about him—even though that was absolutely true.
“I promise you I have the experience and the resources to help your dad. And I’m not squeamish. Whatever needs to be done to keep him safe, it will be. Okay?”
I nodded, because that did help. I still wanted to know about Cole’s background—what happened when he was a kid? How did he end up in the scared straight camp where he met Evan and Tyler?
But all that could wait. Right now, I needed to focus on my father. “So what is the plan for my dad?”
“I’m still considering the options. Give me a day to think. To talk with Evan and Tyler and—”
“Cole, no. I don’t want them thinking . . .” I trailed off with a shrug, not sure what it was I wanted to hide.
He reached for my hand and twined our fingers. “Everyone has secrets. I think the three of us know that better than anyone. Four,” he amended, “counting you, too.”
“Are we counting me?”
“Of course.”
I waited a beat. “Just keep me in the loop, Cole, okay? This is my dad we’re talking about. This plan you say you’ll have? I want to know what it is. Promise me,” I said. “Promise me you’ll tell me the plan.”
“I promise.”
I nodded, satisfied. Then I cocked my head and studied him. “You know, you didn’t seem as astounded by my revelation that I’m not a completely honest and upstanding citizen as I thought you would be.”
The look he shot me was laced with heat. “It’s not exactly a secret that you caught my eye. I’ve done a bit of poking around on you.”
“Really?” I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice.
“Really,” he acknowledged. “You’re good at covering your tracks. I couldn’t find a thing prior to you showing up in Chicago. And that was the most suspicious thing of all.”
“Hmmm,” I said, my voice all innocence.
“I guess that makes you like Aphrodite, born from the sea. Or at least from Lake Michigan.”
“Naked in a seashell? I don’t think so.”
“Katrina Laron,” he said, as if my name was a chocolate soufflé, light and airy on his tongue. “Who chose the name?”
I’d lived inside a cloak of self-preservation for so long that I almost protested that I didn’t know what he was talking about. But I remembered myself and answered the question. “I did. I picked Katrina because it’s close to my real name.”
“Which is?”
I smiled at him. “You should know.”
“Catalina?”
“My dad likes that island, too.”
“And Laron?”
“That one I picked because I liked the joke.”
“All right. I’ll bite. What’s the joke?”
“It’s usually a first name for a boy, and it’s French in origin. It means thief. I thought it was fitting.”
From his expression, it was clear he agreed.
I frowned, thinking of my name and identities and all the stuff that people did to hide—and all the other stuff that people could do to find them.
“Cole,” I began, but he silenced me with a simple touch of his hand.
“They can’t find you. Not easily. And even if they do, they won’t find your dad. Trust me, Catalina. It’s going to be okay.”
His words rang over me, clean and true and pure. Except for one small thing. “You’re wrong,” I said, then pressed my finger to his lips when he started to argue. “Not someone, Cole. You. You’re the only one I trust. The only one I could hand it all over to.”
I couldn’t read the expression on his face. “Why?”
“Because you matter,” I said, echoing the words he’d said to me. And then, as I watched the smile ease slowly across his face, I knew that not only were the words true, but they were the perfect thing to say.
thirteen
Since Cole’s cooking skills ranked somewhere below mine, we had coffee and frozen waffles for breakfast. They actually tasted pretty good, and I liked the domesticity of eating them in his well-lit kitchen, sharing the newspaper, and occasionally brushing hands just for the hell of it.
I even offered to clean up, since that required little more effort than loading the dishwasher and throwing away the empty cardboard Eggos carton.
I poured myself a fresh cup of coffee, then checked my phone. “I should get going,” I said. “I need to change before my shift starts at ten, and I want to go see my dad first.”
He looked up from the Business section. “No,” he said, and then went back to the paper.
I held out my spoon and knocked the top of the paper down again. “You want to say that again?”
“You heard me. No.”
“No¸” I repeated. “I hope you’re telling me that Glenn called and my shift doesn’t really start at ten. Because if you’re telling me I can’t go visit my father, I’m going to be more than a little ticked off.”
“You can’t go visit your father.”
I shoved back from the table and lunged to my feet. Cole thought he had a temper? Well, he hadn’t yet experienced mine.
“Sit down, Kat,” he said, his voice almost bored. “Sit and think. You know I’m right.”
“I want to see my father.”
“Do you really? Because every time you go there, you add to the risk that someone has learned the connection between you two. That they’re following you. That they’ll find him.”
I sat down. I wasn’t going to admit it out loud—not until he forced me to, anyway—but he was right.
“Ilya Muratti is not the kind of man you fuck around with. And I don’t care how careful you and your father have been over the years, Muratti has resources.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I’m just worried. I want to see him. Talk to him.”
“Then call him on the burner. Let him know we have a plan.”
“Do we have a plan?”
“We will,” he said. “And until we do, your dad doesn’t need to worry.”
“You’re good at this,” I said.
“I’ve had practice,” he said, then picked up his coffee cup.
“I believe that.” I got up to get the coffee carafe, then refilled both our mugs. “What exactly do you do? Other than forge Da Vinci manuscripts, I mean?”
“Let’s just say that I have my fingers in many and varied pies, and not all of them are legitimate.”
“Still?”
“Evan’s the only one who’s gone completely straight. He’s marrying a senator’s daughter. And there are other reasons. He gets as much thrill out of running a straight business as he does planning a heist or con.”
“And you?”
“The third degree, Ms. Laron? Should I frisk you for a wire?”
“Frisk me if you want, but I’m just curious.” I didn’t say that I wanted to know every little thing about him—even though that was absolutely true.
“I promise you I have the experience and the resources to help your dad. And I’m not squeamish. Whatever needs to be done to keep him safe, it will be. Okay?”
I nodded, because that did help. I still wanted to know about Cole’s background—what happened when he was a kid? How did he end up in the scared straight camp where he met Evan and Tyler?
But all that could wait. Right now, I needed to focus on my father. “So what is the plan for my dad?”
“I’m still considering the options. Give me a day to think. To talk with Evan and Tyler and—”
“Cole, no. I don’t want them thinking . . .” I trailed off with a shrug, not sure what it was I wanted to hide.
He reached for my hand and twined our fingers. “Everyone has secrets. I think the three of us know that better than anyone. Four,” he amended, “counting you, too.”
“Are we counting me?”
“Of course.”
I waited a beat. “Just keep me in the loop, Cole, okay? This is my dad we’re talking about. This plan you say you’ll have? I want to know what it is. Promise me,” I said. “Promise me you’ll tell me the plan.”
“I promise.”
I nodded, satisfied. Then I cocked my head and studied him. “You know, you didn’t seem as astounded by my revelation that I’m not a completely honest and upstanding citizen as I thought you would be.”
The look he shot me was laced with heat. “It’s not exactly a secret that you caught my eye. I’ve done a bit of poking around on you.”
“Really?” I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice.
“Really,” he acknowledged. “You’re good at covering your tracks. I couldn’t find a thing prior to you showing up in Chicago. And that was the most suspicious thing of all.”
“Hmmm,” I said, my voice all innocence.
“I guess that makes you like Aphrodite, born from the sea. Or at least from Lake Michigan.”
“Naked in a seashell? I don’t think so.”
“Katrina Laron,” he said, as if my name was a chocolate soufflé, light and airy on his tongue. “Who chose the name?”
I’d lived inside a cloak of self-preservation for so long that I almost protested that I didn’t know what he was talking about. But I remembered myself and answered the question. “I did. I picked Katrina because it’s close to my real name.”
“Which is?”
I smiled at him. “You should know.”
“Catalina?”
“My dad likes that island, too.”
“And Laron?”
“That one I picked because I liked the joke.”
“All right. I’ll bite. What’s the joke?”
“It’s usually a first name for a boy, and it’s French in origin. It means thief. I thought it was fitting.”
From his expression, it was clear he agreed.
I frowned, thinking of my name and identities and all the stuff that people did to hide—and all the other stuff that people could do to find them.
“Cole,” I began, but he silenced me with a simple touch of his hand.
“They can’t find you. Not easily. And even if they do, they won’t find your dad. Trust me, Catalina. It’s going to be okay.”
