“Ms. Miles, I know much more than you’d think. I’ll explain it more once we’re gone.”
Suddenly, she walked briskly toward her bedroom. When Phil heard the door shut, he shook his head and followed. Though it was locked, the small key-like object rested predictably above the jamb. Entering the room, he found Patricia trying unsuccessfully to open the window. “It’s an old house,” he said calmly. “The windows have been painted too many times. Don’t be stupid. I’m not alone. Get the cash, some shoes, and a jacket.” He looked at his watch. “You now have one minute.”
“I’m not getting my money. If you’re going to kill me anyway, I’m not giving you my cash.”
“Fifty seconds, and I assure you, I don’t want or need your money. You will. Get it now.”
With ten seconds to spare, they stepped from the side door into the night air. “Lock the house,” Phil demanded.
She looked at him with the unspoken questions.
“It needs to look as if you’ve disappeared of your own volition. Locking the door is something you always do.”
Nodding, she placed the key in the lock; however, as she started to move toward the carport, Phil reached for her elbow and redirected her toward the driveway. “No, Ms. Miles, we have a ride.”
Taylor’s hand rested upon Phil’s shoulder pulling him from his thoughts and causing him to jump. As he turned he expected to see anger in her blue eyes; instead, it was sadness.
“Tell me. You need to talk.”
“Ms. Walters, I assure you—”
Taylor leaned back against the desk. “Don’t. I’m not asking you because I feel left out. I’m asking you because I see the anguish. I see you rubbing your neck and rolling your head from side to side. I’ve seen the way you watch the cameras and front gate. I know you come in here in the middle of the night and review footage.”
Phil started to protest. She had no right to spy on him. Yet before he could articulate the proper response, she continued talking.
“I know you take this job and this family personally.” Leaning forward, she said, “I get it. I know about your family.”
Phil’s shoulders snapped back. “I don’t have a family.”
“You’ve called the Rawlingses your family more than once. I know about your blood family.”
“Don’t!” His volume rose as he sprung from his chair. “Forget whatever you think you know. My private life isn’t open for discussion.”
Taylor stood taller. “We all get into this line of work for different reasons. I understand that you weren’t there for them.” She reached out and touched his chest. The warmth of her fingers radiated through the material, scorching his skin below. When Phil stepped back, Taylor went on, “You were thousands of miles away on a godforsaken tour.”
“Korea,” he said, swallowing any emotion. “I was stationed in South Korea. The eighties were a turbulent time. Kim Jong II was in power in North Korea; the tension was building between North Korea and the rest of the world. There were problems with Gorbachev…”
“You were a kid, in your twenties.”
Phil nodded. “I was supposed to go home. My father had this gun shop… But I got an offer to re-up. I never went home.”
Taylor nodded. “I know, and they died while you were away.”
“They didn’t die. They were murdered in their sleep by a kid who wanted to rob the store. The asshole had tried to rob it once before and only spent one night in jail. He used my father’s own gun to shoot them.” He shook his head. “My parents lived in an apartment above the shop.”
Why had he just said all of that? He hadn’t thought about that, not consciously, in years—decades. Taylor reached for his hand. He looked down at the foreign connection, thinking how warm and soft her skin felt against his.