Page 25 of A Love Most Fatal
Nate doesn’t speakwhen Leo arrives with two body bags. He remains silent as we deposit the dead men in said body bags, and still doesn’t speak when Leo and I haul them into the back of the car. He just stands, blood on his hands, which are limp at his sides, and has a haunted look to his eyes. By the time Tony and the other boys have arrived to clean up the rest of the scene, he still hasn’t spoken.
I told him he could go upstairs after Leo got there, only because he looked like he was about to vomit everywhere, but he stayed. He didn’t help, mostly just stared into the middle distance, but he didn’t try to run or call the police either, which is good. I think he’s in shock.
When it’s clear that the team doesn’t need any help with the rest of the cleanup, I lead Nate into his building and up the stairs to his apartment. Leo trails a flight behind us, quiet steps so Nate won’t hear.
Nate’s hands are shaking too much to get the key in the lock, so I take them and open the door before following him in. The dog appears and circles at our feet and on second look it really is perhaps the most hideous little dog I’ve ever seen. Nate drops hissuit jacket on the back of a chair, picks the ugly dog up and holds him to his chest before he begins a bit of quiet pacing.
His living room is small but cozy. There’s an old gray couch with the left cushion mostly sunk in, a multi-colored quilt that looks well-used, and a stack of DVDs on one side of the television. I also see a few candles, which is maybe why it smells so nice in here. Citrusy. There are some framed pictures on the wall, but not many. A Star Wars art print.
There’s also a baseball bat leaning against his coffee table, a small wooden one, and I would guess that’s Nate’s only form of a weapon in this apartment.
Nate stops his pacing and looks at me.
“That wasn’t a random attack,” he says, not a question.
“It wasn’t,” I agree.
“Are you an FBI agent?”
I purse my lips and shake my head.
“CIA?”
“No.”
“FDA?”
“Not that,” I say. Nate puts the dog back on the ground, and it sniffs at my heels for a moment, licks the top of my foot lightly, and settles next to me.
“Is it a secret?” Nate asks. “Like, are you undercover? Can you not tell me? Do I need to go into witness protection now?”
The smallest laugh escapes me at the absurdity of the idea. “No, you don’t have to go into witness protection. You’ll be fine.”
“So you are a spy? I won’t tell anyone. Promise.”
I open my mouth to lie to him, but close it before I can. Telling him I’m part of law enforcement might make him feel better, but it won’t keep him safe.
“Not exactly, no.”
“Did you know those guys were going to be here?”
“No,” I say, and it’s the truth. “I had no idea that would happen tonight.” I’d never seen those men before. Criminals, not from any of our circles, but Boston is a big city.
“Who were they?”
“I’m not sure.” I have a feeling I’ll be up through the night trying to answer that. I let a big breath fill my lungs and hold it for five seconds. “My job leads me to have some. . . enemies.”
“Enemies that want to kill you? What the hell kind of business are you running?”
I say nothing, though I do cross my arms and wait as he circles around the drain that is the truth about me. His brown hair is mussed from the scuffle, a patch hanging over his forehead. His eyes, previously so filled with light and humor, are wide and wary.
I remind myself that as uncomfortable as this evening must be for him, at least he’s still alive.
“Those men you called downstairs,” he nods towards the window. “They didn’t even question it. Does this shit happen often?”
I still say nothing, and it looks like he’s almost got it. It looks like the truth is at the front of his brain but he won’t let himself guess it.
His mouth falls open and he turns to me.