He stopped, pivoted to face me. His upper lip curled, and I noticed the small cut bisecting it.
Courtesy of my fist, thank you very much.
“You have a filthy mouth. Such a shame too, because under the grit and street grime I think you’d be quite attractive.”
“Yeah, well, the feeling isn’t mutual, and there’s not a speck of grit on you. So let’s get to the point, shall we? Why are you here?”
He placed his hands on the back of the sofa where Carly usually slept, and the hairs on the back of my neck trembled. It felt like he was touching her. Me.
His smile widened as if he sensed my discomfort. “I’m pleased to hear you agreed to fight Friday night.”
“I didn’t realize I had much choice.”
“You don’t, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t expect you to make things difficult.” His long, blunt-tipped fingers pressed into the cushions. “That’s your usual stock and trade, isn’t it, Ms. Anderson?”
“Aww, that wounds me. From Mia to Ms. Anderson. Makes me feel like we’re not friends.”
His gaze cooled considerably, which was a minor feat since he’d been in serious competition with an ice block from the get. “We aren’t friends. You are a tool I will use to make money, like many such tools I’ve used before and will use again. But because I’m a very generous man, I’m prepared to offer you a sizeable sum as well, if you continue to be so agreeable.”
“Oh, are you now?” I pretended to study my nails. “Too bad it turns out that I’ve come into some money recently.”
“Is that so?”
“It’s so. So whatever you intend to toss my way, don’t bother. I don’t need your cash.”
“I imagine not, what with profiting from a young girl’s sorrow.”
My stomach clenched at the gleam in his eyes. I didn’t know what he was getting at, but judging from the curveballs he’d already tossed my way, I knew I should duck.
But I didn’t—couldn’t—because I’m me. And standing strong in the face of whatever baseball bat was heading for my face was the only safety I had.
“Meaning what, exactly?”
He picked up one of Carly’s bright pink throw pillows and caressed it in a way that made my already uneasy stomach roil even harder. He fingered the tassels as he looked at me from under his heavy dark brow. “Does the name Olivia Latimer mean anything to you?”
It took approximately one second for the name Olivia to pierce my consciousness again before I fumbled for a seat on the arm of the nearest chair. I bumped my hip into an end table on the way but barely felt it. “Olivia who?”
“Olivia Latimer. She’s a beautiful girl. Blonde, blue-eyed. Truly lovely. We made contact because we have similar aims, though our motives are quite different. I’ll admit, she needed more guidance than I expected and unfortunately, she’s not nearly as bloodthirsty as her father. She’s also a stubborn sort.” His mouth ticked upward. “You’d understand that, Mia, wouldn’t you?”
My mind was reeling, his words jumbling together into a knot I couldn’t untangle. At least not with him standing there, smiling.
“You see, your gain is her loss, and she’s had to live a much different life since you and her father met. More accurately, since her father took an inappropriate interest in you. Though who’s to say what is inappropriate?” He shifted toward me, his smile growing so slowly it was like watching a snake slither closer on the grass. It crept toward you millimeter by millimeter, until it struck. “Or who lured who?”
“Olivia was Darren’s daughter,” I whispered, shutting my eyes on the image that popped into my head with the force of an anvil.
A picture in an antique frame on a dresser, a girl in a white frilly dress. Her first Communion.
That’s my beautiful girl. She’s just a bit younger than you. I bet the two of you could be friends.
I’d blocked it out, as I’d blocked out so much else I couldn’t stand to remember. And now what I’d forgotten would make me bleed.
“Was. Is. Darren’s dead by your hand, but Olivia is very much alive.”
“She’s been calling me. It’s her. Or you. Or both of you.” My eyes blinked open. “The heavy bag in my office. She did that.”
“Now, now, accusations will help nothing. But what would help is to reach a détente of sorts, and all it will take is acquiescence on your part to do as I ask. If you don’t need the money, perhaps your pretty little sister might. She’s in school, isn’t she?” He set down the throw pillow and picked up the framed photo of Carly that sat on the end table, her arms full of cooking utensils as she grinned for the camera. It had been taken a few days after we’d moved into this apartment and she’d gotten to stock her own kitchen for the first time. “The International Culinary Institute. Is that right?”
The lump in my throat hardened until I couldn’t breathe past it, never mind speak. Carly. He would never get near my sister. I’d die first.