Target on Our Backs (Monster in His Eyes 3)

"Easily," he says. "They're not."

"I just... I don't even know what to say to you right now."

He laughs lightly, sitting back in his chair to regard me. "There's no point in taking most of it, Karissa. It's all unnecessary... it's just things. I started over from scratch once, and I'm more than happy to do it again."

"So, what, you'd just leave everything?"

"Not everything," he says. "I'd still consider taking you along."

"Funny." I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him. "What would we do with it all?"

"Whatever you want."

"What did you do with everything last time?"

"Burned it."

I scrunch my face up at that. "What a waste."

He shrugs. "We could toss it, or sell it, or donate it, or just leave it. I'm not planning to sell the house right now. It can all just stay where it is."

The thought of it all staying here, collecting dust, oddly makes a pang in my stomach start to grow. It's one thing to pick up our lives and relocate them elsewhere, somewhere far away from here… but it's another to just walk away without it all, to leave who we were behind.

"Look," he says, standing up and strolling toward me. "Say the house is on fire, and you've only got a minute to grab what's important to you. What's irreplaceable. What do you go for?"

"This sounds kind of philosophical," I point out. "You're not going to quiz me about this later, are you? Make me write a paper or something? If so, I'm totally gonna fail this. Can I phone a friend?"

A smile tugs his lips. "Just answer the question."

I think about it for a moment. What would I grab if I only had a minute? "Pictures. I don't have many, but I'd like to, you know, keep a few."

He nods. "Understandable."

"Killer," I say. "I'd want my dog."

His cheek twitches. "I'm not surprised."

"You... do you count?"

"No, I'll get myself out."

"Then that's it, I guess."

"Photos and the mutt," he says. "That's what we take along."

I scrunch up my nose at him. "What about you? What would you grab?"

"Nothing."

I look at him incredulously. "Nothing?"

"It's all replaceable," he says, stepping toward me, his hands finding my hips. Leaning down, he kisses me, softly, sweet little pecks.

"Except for me?" I murmur against his lips.

I can feel him smiling against my mouth. "Even you."

Rolling my eyes, playfully scoffing, I shove away from him when he says that, but he keeps a hold on me. Laughing, he gazes down at me, one of his hands drifting from my hip and skimming along my stomach. He presses his palm flat against my shirt, over my belly button, as his eyes shift that direction.

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to.

I can see the flit in his eyes, the spark, the restrained excitement. He's trying like hell not to get his hopes up. Naz isn't the kind of guy who lives his life in a cloud of optimism. He looks at the world and sees the darkness shrouding it. But light is peeking through the cracks in his armor, and it's warming some of that bitterness he's held onto.

"We should get going," he says quietly, "get this all over with so we can move on."

Frowning, I push away from Naz. "I'll get my shoes."

"Good."

"You should probably wear some shoes, too, this time."

"I'm already on it."

Ten minutes later, we've both got our shoes on, the two of us in the car, on the way to Manhattan. I've put it off as long as possible, but the time has come to go in and give my official statement about the attack with the cab. The lawyer told Naz if I didn't show up this afternoon, tomorrow they'd be at my door, prepared to escort me in.

That's the last thing I want.

The police station is busy when we get there. The lawyer is already waiting, a necessary formality, or so I'm told. They lead me back to the homicide division, to a small interrogation room, where Detective Jameson and Detective Andrews already wait.

"Mrs. Vitale," Jameson says, smiling in greeting as I sit down across from him, the lawyer right beside me. "I appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to come talk to us today. I know you've probably got more important things to do."

I almost tell him he's welcome, thinking he's genuine, when the lawyer clears his throat, chiming in. "Cut the passive aggressiveness, Jameson. She's here. Get on with it."

Jameson shrugs it off, turning to me. "Let's go over it again. What happened that day? Start with you getting in the cab."

"I got in the cab to go home, I wasn't really paying attention... we were driving for a while, and when I looked up, we were going the wrong direction."

I go through it, leaving out big chunks, but repeating exactly what I told them happened the day in the park. As soon as I finish, Jameson shakes his head, leaning back in the chair, as Andrews scoffs. "You're leaving something out."

"I'm not."

"It doesn't add up."

I go over it three more times. They've got me so flustered I almost slip up. The lawyer realizes it, I think, because when they start to hound me again, he speaks up. "She's told you what she knows. She's given you her statement. We're done."

Jameson reaches into his file and pulls out a blank piece of paper, sliding it across the table. He sets a pen on top of it. "Write it down."

I do.

I write it down.

My hand is cramping and my head is pounding by the time I'm done. I sign the paper, confirming it's all true, before walking out. Naz is sitting in the lobby, impatiently drumming his fingers on the arm of a chair.

He stands up as soon as he spots us.

He knows right away I'm upset. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just..."

I don't know exactly what's wrong.

I feel like I've been raked over some coals.

I want to cry.

Ugh, I'm so damn emotional.

"Typical Jameson and Andrews," the lawyer chimes in. "You know how they are."