Adrian heads toward that living room and to the bar on the far side of it just beneath one of those winding stairwells. I draw a deep breath and follow him, noting the thick tan and cream rug beneath the couches, the fireplace that lines the entire center wall beneath the windows that don’t quite reach the concrete floor. The room is cozy, sitting on top of the ocean, or so the stunning view suggests. We’re higher than I thought. This place is expensive and I’m reminded of his overseas jobs for big money. I know his plan without even asking. I’ve heard enough to assume.
Kill Waters.
Leave the country.
Damn him, no.
I’m confused and angry and confused all over again. We have to talk about this, really talk. I hurry forward and sit on one of two stools at the concrete-finished bar, the counter smooth beneath my palms, where I steady my hands. Adrian immediately sets a glass in front of me. “That’s a peach whiskey. It’s smooth and goes down easily.”
He’s watching me, his eyes warm on my face. I reach for the glass and sip, the sweet flavor on my tongue welcome, the bite that follows not as intense as I expect. “It’s good,” I say, and I quickly sip again, bigger, deeper before I blurt, “I’m not going to drop the case.”
He arches his brow. “That’s been on your mind all these hours, hasn’t it?”
“Are you surprised?”
“No. It’s been on my mind, too.”
“I don’t know how you believe I could or would,” I say. “We both know Waters cannot walk free.”
“He might as well be free now. He’s behind bars, festering with anger, and using that anger to find ways to hunt down and kill his enemies. He’s not weak inside that prison. He might even be stronger. So, yes, I know he’d go free.”
“Free is free. At least he has some limitations now.”
“The only limitation that matters with him is life or death, baby. You have to know that.”
My eyes narrow. “What does that mean?” I ask, but I know. I know oh so well where he’s going with this.
“He has enemies out here. He has servants inside, servants who fear him. Let him go free, where his enemies who do not fear him can get to him.”
“You mean you?” I challenge.
“Whoever gets to him first.”
“You can’t kill him.”
He says nothing. He just stares at me.
“Adrian,” I press softly.
“He’s killed your witnesses. He’ll kill whoever he needs to kill to survive. He’ll kill you if I let him. And I won’t. I will do whatever is necessary to give you your life back. So, drop the case, Pri. Drop it and let me handle this.”
“That is not the right answer. No. That is not what you or I stand for.”
“He can get to us right now, but we can’t get to him. Some decisions are about survival.”
“Is this why we’re here instead of someplace else? For you to convince me to do things your way?”
His expression hardens, his voice with it. “That’s what you think, Pri?” His jaw flexes. His eyes burn with something that reads like anger. “Of course you do.” He says something in Spanish and then in English. “I need to make a phone call. Help yourself to whatever you want or need.” He leans in closer, over the bar. “What is mine is yours, Pri. What I do is for you. One day you’ll understand that.” And then to my surprise, he downs his drink, refills it, and walks up the stairs behind him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
PRI
What I do is for you.
One day you’ll understand that.
My God, it feels like he’s saying goodbye, like I might go to sleep and wake up with him gone, never to be seen again. The idea guts me, truly hurts me on the deepest of levels. He’s pushing me away, but these words don’t speak of a man who doesn’t love me. They speak of a man with a far more complicated agenda, a man who hates himself and what he’s become.
This idea that he has to be willing to die or give up everything to repent, and I believe that’s exactly where he’s at right now, has to end now.
I down a big swallow of my drink, and with the burn still in my throat, round the bar in a sweeping move that has me hurrying up the stairs. I arrive at the top landing just in time to capture a glimpse of Adrian entering a doorway. I pursue him, my heart thundering in my chest, but nerves have never stopped me from facing a challenge and they won’t stop me now.
I step into the doorway of a bedroom, with Adrian outside my visual range. An oversized but simple king-sized bed with a gray frame and cushioned headboard sits at the center wall. There are no pictures, no fancy furnishings. It’s a clean, sleek, room. And the simplicity is somehow so very Adrian—a simple man on the surface, with a complicated story. To the right I find Adrian, his back to me, one hand pressed to a floor-to-ceiling window, a low-lying cloud black and heavy with rain, hovering in the sky, dimming the room—his room, his sanctuary even more so than the apartment and I know he knew I’d follow him here.