“And you?”
“The third degree, Ms. Laron? Should I frisk you for a wire?”
“Frisk me if you want, but I’m just curious.” I didn’t say that I wanted to know every little thing about him—even though that was absolutely true.
“I promise you I have the experience and the resources to help your dad. And I’m not squeamish. Whatever needs to be done to keep him safe, it will be. Okay?”
I nodded, because that did help. I still wanted to know about Cole’s background—what happened when he was a kid? How did he end up in the scared straight camp where he met Evan and Tyler?
But all that could wait. Right now, I needed to focus on my father. “So what is the plan for my dad?”
“I’m still considering the options. Give me a day to think. To talk with Evan and Tyler and—”
“Cole, no. I don’t want them thinking . . .” I trailed off with a shrug, not sure what it was I wanted to hide.
He reached for my hand and twined our fingers. “Everyone has secrets. I think the three of us know that better than anyone. Four,” he amended, “counting you, too.”
“Are we counting me?”
“Of course.”
I waited a beat. “Just keep me in the loop, Cole, okay? This is my dad we’re talking about. This plan you say you’ll have? I want to know what it is. Promise me,” I said. “Promise me you’ll tell me the plan.”
“I promise.”
I nodded, satisfied. Then I cocked my head and studied him. “You know, you didn’t seem as astounded by my revelation that I’m not a completely honest and upstanding citizen as I thought you would be.”
The look he shot me was laced with heat. “It’s not exactly a secret that you caught my eye. I’ve done a bit of poking around on you.”
“Really?” I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice.
“Really,” he acknowledged. “You’re good at covering your tracks. I couldn’t find a thing prior to you showing up in Chicago. And that was the most suspicious thing of all.”
“Hmmm,” I said, my voice all innocence.
“I guess that makes you like Aphrodite, born from the sea. Or at least from Lake Michigan.”
“Naked in a seashell? I don’t think so.”
“Katrina Laron,” he said, as if my name was a chocolate soufflé, light and airy on his tongue. “Who chose the name?”
I’d lived inside a cloak of self-preservation for so long that I almost protested that I didn’t know what he was talking about. But I remembered myself and answered the question. “I did. I picked Katrina because it’s close to my real name.”
“Which is?”
I smiled at him. “You should know.”
“Catalina?”
“My dad likes that island, too.”
“And Laron?”
“That one I picked because I liked the joke.”
“All right. I’ll bite. What’s the joke?”
“It’s usually a first name for a boy, and it’s French in origin. It means thief. I thought it was fitting.”
From his expression, it was clear he agreed.
I frowned, thinking of my name and identities and all the stuff that people did to hide—and all the other stuff that people could do to find them.
“Cole,” I began, but he silenced me with a simple touch of his hand.
“They can’t find you. Not easily. And even if they do, they won’t find your dad. Trust me, Catalina. It’s going to be okay.”
And, because it was Cole who was saying so, I believed him.
About ten minutes after I left his house, my phone rang.
I glanced at the display, saw that it was Cole, and felt the sweet flutter of anticipation in my chest.
I reached over and punched the button to answer the call on speaker. “Hey, stranger,” I said. “It’s been far too long.”
“It has indeed,” he agreed. “I need you to find a place to pull over.”
I frowned at the serious tone in his voice. “Is everything okay?”
“As far as I’m concerned, everything’s perfect,” he said. “Including you.”