I blinked at him, trying to wrap my head around both the word and the concept.
“I don’t like labels,” he continued, “but I think the idea is true. Whether you always would have been or whether what happened to you as a kid shifted something inside of you, it’s true now. It’s part of you. Someone takes, and you close up. But if you give yourself to someone, then you’ve not only freed yourself but given them the best gift possible: all of you.”
“You’re saying I relinquish control? I don’t think so. Even with you I was always—”
“Yes,” he said. “That’s my point. You were always. You’re not giving up control. You’re grabbing control by the balls. You’re saying this is what you can have. Me, my pleasure, my body, and my heart.”
His words rang over me, clean and true and pure. Except for one small thing. “You’re wrong,” I said, then pressed my finger to his lips when he started to argue. “Not someone, Cole. You. You’re the only one I trust. The only one I could hand it all over to.”
I couldn’t read the expression on his face. “Why?”
“Because you matter,” I said, echoing the words he’d said to me. And then, as I watched the smile ease slowly across his face, I knew that not only were the words true, but they were the perfect thing to say.
thirteen
Since Cole’s cooking skills ranked somewhere below mine, we had coffee and frozen waffles for breakfast. They actually tasted pretty good, and I liked the domesticity of eating them in his well-lit kitchen, sharing the newspaper, and occasionally brushing hands just for the hell of it.
I even offered to clean up, since that required little more effort than loading the dishwasher and throwing away the empty cardboard Eggos carton.
I poured myself a fresh cup of coffee, then checked my phone. “I should get going,” I said. “I need to change before my shift starts at ten, and I want to go see my dad first.”
He looked up from the Business section. “No,” he said, and then went back to the paper.
I held out my spoon and knocked the top of the paper down again. “You want to say that again?”
“You heard me. No.”
“No?” I repeated. “I hope you’re telling me that Glenn called and my shift doesn’t really start at ten. Because if you’re telling me I can’t go visit my father, I’m going to be more than a little ticked off.”
“You can’t go visit your father.”
I shoved back from the table and lunged to my feet. Cole thought he had a temper? Well, he hadn’t yet experienced mine.
“Sit down, Kat,” he said, his voice almost bored. “Sit and think. You know I’m right.”
“I want to see my father.”
“Do you really? Because every time you go there, you add to the risk that someone has learned the connection between you two. That they’re following you. That they’ll find him.”
I sat down. I wasn’t going to admit it out loud—not until he forced me to, anyway—but he was right.
“Ilya Muratti is not the kind of man you fuck around with. And I don’t care how careful you and your father have been over the years, Muratti has resources.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I’m just worried. I want to see him. Talk to him.”
“Then call him on the burner. Let him know we have a plan.”
“Do we have a plan?”
“We will,” he said. “And until we do, your dad doesn’t need to worry.”
“You’re good at this,” I said.
“I’ve had practice,” he said, then picked up his coffee cup.
“I believe that.” I got up to get the coffee carafe, then refilled both our mugs. “What exactly do you do? Other than forge Da Vinci manuscripts, I mean?”
“Let’s just say that I have my fingers in many and varied pies, and not all of them are legitimate.”
“Still?”
“Evan’s the only one who’s gone completely straight. He’s marrying a senator’s daughter. And there are other reasons. He gets as much thrill out of running a straight business as he does planning a heist or con.”