Page 38 of The Hitman

“No to all of it,” she says with an energetic shrug, “but especially to the part where you leave me here. What if I’m not safe?”

“I told you I would contact security and have them keep an eye on you.”

“Will they kill a man for me?”

No. I don’t tell her that, because she already knows the answer. She seems like the type of woman who doesn’t ask questions unless she already knows the answer. They won’t kill a man for her; they might not even get to her in time if someone should show up here looking for me. But I would. And as I watch her watch me, I realize that she knows that as well. Of course, she does. I already have.

“If I leave here, you’ll be safe,” I tell her.

“How do you know that?”

“Because the man I killed was here to kill me.”

She rolls her eyes again. I’m becoming very attached to that movement.

“Duh,” she says. “I’m a boring American who works in public relations. No one is coming after me with a gun. But how do you know that they haven’t connected me to you? How do you know that when you leave here, they won’t ask someone at the front desk about you and find out about me?”

I purse my lips and squint my eyes at her in disbelief, because we both know that’s probably far-fetched, to say the least. Even if someone were to find out that she and I had spent time together, they could just as easily find out that I fucked the waitress yesterday and go after her. Either way, once I leave here, neither of them will know how to contact me, and only Zahra even knows my real name. She’ll be safer when I’m gone.

“That’s ridiculous,” I say.

“Maybe, but can you guarantee my safety when you’re gone?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. That’s why I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know me,” I tell her, incredulous. I grab the glass from her hand and walk back to the bar. I turn my back to her because what she’s suggesting is more than ridiculous and far more dangerous than her staying put. But I also don’t want to look her in the eye and let her know that I’m seriously considering it. When the glasses are half-full again, I turn back to her and freeze. I watch as she stands from the couch and unbuttons my coat. I watch it fall to the floor at her feet. Her dress is stained with small droplets of blood and streaks of dirt. Her feet are covered in dust from the vineyard. She looks small and fragile, but not broken. She’s looking at me with hard, determined eyes as if she’s decided what will happen and is waiting for me to catch up to her line of thinking.

In fact, I think that’s exactly what’s going through her mind. It’s written on her face.

“After I check your room, you’ll give me your dress and shoes, and I’ll get rid of them. No one will be able to tie you to me once I’m gone. I’m just a strange man you met at the pool. Nothing more.” Those last two words burn for some reason as they pass my lips.

“I was supposed to get married four days ago,” she admits.

“But you didn’t?” I ask. My fingers flex around the glasses in my hands.

“No.” Her eyes have become glassy with unshed tears.

I have to force myself to relax my hold on the glasses before I break them. I put them down carefully. “Why not?” I ask her.

“The night before our wedding, the paparazzi caught my fiancé heading into his hotel room with a stripper.”

“Cazzo,” I breathe. I’m furious.

“And my best friend met them there for a threesome. She was also my maid of honor.”

I want to grab my gun. I want to fly to wherever Zahra is from and find her ex-fiancé, her best friend, and the stripper. I want to kill them. I shouldn’t feel this way.

“Give me their names and addresses,” I tell her.

“You’re trying to scare me away,” she says accurately.

“Of course, I am. But I’m also being serious.”