next to Jared’s comforting warmth, she wryly reflected on the fact that she would take murderous goons and the threat of jail over falling in love any day. She was the thief, but Jared had effortlessly lifted her heart and taken it for himself. His sleight of hand had been so superb, she had never seen it coming.
She sat up and looked around his bedroom. There was plenty of light from the moon and she observed a single man’s clutter, a man who worked long hours and cared little for keeping up with the laundry.
Despite the mess, his bedroom was comfortable and inviting. And big. Plenty of room for two.
She shook her head at her foolishness. Jared was beyond marvelous, with a healer’s comforting touch and a comedian’s wit, but he would eventually leave her, as everyone did. Does. It wasn’t a bad thing, it was just the nature of things, of men, of family. She knew once you grew to depend on someone, they would immediately leave you to an orphanage or the streets.
Worst of all were the foster families, the ones who didn’t have to care for you, who were paid by the state to feed you, but then pretended they did care, right before they shipped you back to the state home.
She had sworn by the age of ten never again to fall into the trap of caring and for the most part had kept that promise to herself. There had been a few slips, of course, but the lesson, hard learned, sometimes had to be reinforced.
She eased from the bed and Jared never stirred, though he muttered unhappily in his sleep and his hand sought her. She tucked the blankets beneath his chin, marveling at how boyish and charming he appeared even in sleep. She hated to leave him, this warm, comfortable room, this place. And because she hated it so much, she made herself get dressed and get the hell out.
Once on the street, she paused for a moment, observing pre-dawn traffic and wondering what to do now. Her attitude toward Carlotti had always been re-active, not pro-active: she never went looking for trouble, but when it found her she defended herself. That, she belatedly realized, was not the way to handle the Carlotti situation. The more time she spent with Jared, the more foolish her thoughts became.
She couldn’t quit bodyguarding, couldn’t walk out of Jared’s life and leave him on his own until the situation resolved itself. Good doctor Jared would become shortly a Mob prisoner, then a cadaver. So how best to complete her service and get out of Jared’s life?
Pro-active, she reminded herself, buttoning her jacket against the early morning chill. Find Carlotti. It wouldn’t be difficult. Find him and kill him. Now. Before one more day went by. And then get out of Jared’s life… before he hurts you… while there was still time. She had never killed anyone—that sort of thing was never necessary during her hacks—but she figured Carlotti was an excellent place to start.
Given a choice between taking an irrevocable step toward corruption and keeping Jared safe…no contest.
Okay. One of Carlotti’s girls was living at Mag’s pross house. Mag owed her several favors. It was a good place to start.
Kara stepped down from the curb to flag the cab at the end of the block.
* * * * *
“I don’t know if he’s here for sure ,” the prostitute repeated nervously. The woman’s street name was Krystal (“That’s with a ‘K’, sugarbumps.”) and while she claimed to be not yet drinking age, Kara put her at mid-to-late twenties. Of course, Krystal-with-a-K could be right. The street was tough on faces and the average pross had a shelf life slightly longer than yogurt. “And I don’t know why we had to come here now . I told you, if he comes , it won’t be ‘til suppertime .”
Krystal slung her purse over one bony hip and glared at Kara. She was a tall woman, underweight and twitchy, with a long, narrow face and a gleaming gaze that watched avidly for disaster. The woman had observed a child slip and fall down hard enough to
She sat up and looked around his bedroom. There was plenty of light from the moon and she observed a single man’s clutter, a man who worked long hours and cared little for keeping up with the laundry.
Despite the mess, his bedroom was comfortable and inviting. And big. Plenty of room for two.
She shook her head at her foolishness. Jared was beyond marvelous, with a healer’s comforting touch and a comedian’s wit, but he would eventually leave her, as everyone did. Does. It wasn’t a bad thing, it was just the nature of things, of men, of family. She knew once you grew to depend on someone, they would immediately leave you to an orphanage or the streets.
Worst of all were the foster families, the ones who didn’t have to care for you, who were paid by the state to feed you, but then pretended they did care, right before they shipped you back to the state home.
She had sworn by the age of ten never again to fall into the trap of caring and for the most part had kept that promise to herself. There had been a few slips, of course, but the lesson, hard learned, sometimes had to be reinforced.
She eased from the bed and Jared never stirred, though he muttered unhappily in his sleep and his hand sought her. She tucked the blankets beneath his chin, marveling at how boyish and charming he appeared even in sleep. She hated to leave him, this warm, comfortable room, this place. And because she hated it so much, she made herself get dressed and get the hell out.
Once on the street, she paused for a moment, observing pre-dawn traffic and wondering what to do now. Her attitude toward Carlotti had always been re-active, not pro-active: she never went looking for trouble, but when it found her she defended herself. That, she belatedly realized, was not the way to handle the Carlotti situation. The more time she spent with Jared, the more foolish her thoughts became.
She couldn’t quit bodyguarding, couldn’t walk out of Jared’s life and leave him on his own until the situation resolved itself. Good doctor Jared would become shortly a Mob prisoner, then a cadaver. So how best to complete her service and get out of Jared’s life?
Pro-active, she reminded herself, buttoning her jacket against the early morning chill. Find Carlotti. It wouldn’t be difficult. Find him and kill him. Now. Before one more day went by. And then get out of Jared’s life… before he hurts you… while there was still time. She had never killed anyone—that sort of thing was never necessary during her hacks—but she figured Carlotti was an excellent place to start.
Given a choice between taking an irrevocable step toward corruption and keeping Jared safe…no contest.
Okay. One of Carlotti’s girls was living at Mag’s pross house. Mag owed her several favors. It was a good place to start.
Kara stepped down from the curb to flag the cab at the end of the block.
* * * * *
“I don’t know if he’s here for sure ,” the prostitute repeated nervously. The woman’s street name was Krystal (“That’s with a ‘K’, sugarbumps.”) and while she claimed to be not yet drinking age, Kara put her at mid-to-late twenties. Of course, Krystal-with-a-K could be right. The street was tough on faces and the average pross had a shelf life slightly longer than yogurt. “And I don’t know why we had to come here now . I told you, if he comes , it won’t be ‘til suppertime .”
Krystal slung her purse over one bony hip and glared at Kara. She was a tall woman, underweight and twitchy, with a long, narrow face and a gleaming gaze that watched avidly for disaster. The woman had observed a child slip and fall down hard enough to
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