"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 souffle, 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."
And, because it was Cole who was saying so, I believed him.
About ten minutes after I left his house, my phone rang.
I glanced at the display, saw that it was Cole, and felt the sweet flutter of anticipation in my chest.
I reached over and punched the button to answer the call on speaker. "Hey, stranger," I said. "It's been far too long."
"It has indeed," he agreed. "I need you to find a place to pull over."
I frowned at the serious tone in his voice. "Is everything okay?"
"As far as I'm concerned, everything's perfect," he said. "Including you."
"Oh. But then what--" I remembered my suggestion about phone sex. "Oh."
He laughed, the sound full of heat and wickedness, and I knew I was right.
I maneuvered into the parking lot of a nearby grocery store, then went around the back to the area where the deliveries are made and the employees park. That might, I thought, give me some privacy.
I'd expected the calls to come when I was home--if they came at all.
But I wasn't in the mood to argue. Not if Cole was giving my idea a chance.
And more than that, I was already turned on. Just the sound of his voice--just the thought that he wanted me, that he was thinking about touching me and fucking me--good god, I was wet already and my nipples were tight and hard and pressing almost painfully against the lace of my bra.
"Where are you?" he asked.
"In my car. Behind a grocery store. A long way from where any other cars are parked."
"No, you're not."
"No?"
"You're in a bedroom. The walls are painted red. There's a bed in the center of the room with an upholstered headboard and a white satin duvet. Can you see the room?"
"Yes. Is it your room?"
"No," he said. "But right now it's ours. Tell me what else is in the room."
"Um, candles," I said. "There's no light, but there are candles mounted in sconces on the walls. Some are simply in glass jars along the floor. The room is dim, and seems to flicker with the flames."
"I see it," he said. "And something else, too. Two things. Do you know what they are?"
I licked my lips. "Tell me."
"A trunk. Old-fashioned. Leather. You walk to it and open it."
"What do I see?" I asked, imagining the interior of the trunk.
"Toys," he said simply, in the kind of tone that brought to mind all sorts of erotic fantasies. "It's the one on top I'm interested in. Do you see it? There's a handle, almost like a stick wrapped in black leather. There are flails attached. Loose, thin strips of soft leather. Over a dozen of them."
"It's a flogger," I said, and heard the catch of excitement and fascination in my voice.
"Very good."
"I told you I'm not innocent," I said huskily.
"Have you ever used one?"
"No."
"Good," he said. "I want to be your first."
"Cole--" I stopped, unsure what I'd intended to say.
"Yes?"
"I--what else is in the room?"
"Just one other thing. A St. Andrew's cross. Do you know what that is?"
"Not really," I admitted.