Livia was so awash in joy and relief that his lie about wanting her to have a friend didn’t even bother her. He didn’t want her to have a friend. He just thought that on balance he would have to accept it. And it was interesting that Malcolm seemed to have talked more about the health aspects than about the fighting. Had he sensed Mr. Lone might not like the latter?
“I’m trusting Malcolm,” Mr. Lone said. “Do you see how important trust is?”
Livia nodded. “Yes.”
He glanced down the hallway, then back at her. “But there are different kinds of trust. I trust Malcolm as my employee. You might trust him as a teacher. But our trust is different. The way we know each other is different. Do I need to remind you that what we share with each other, we don’t share with anyone else? Because no one would believe you if you tried to tell them about us. It’s too special, no one else would even understand it. Not to mention it would be dangerous for Nason.”
Livia no longer knew what to think about Nason. Maybe Mr. Lone knew where she was. Maybe he was lying. Either way, he wasn’t going to tell her. So she tried not to think about it, pinning her hopes instead on Rick.
“I know,” she said. “I don’t tell anyone.”
“You won’t tell anyone.”
She hated the way her English deteriorated when she talked to him. But she shook it off and said, “I won’t tell.”
He nodded. “Then you can do the jiu-jitsu. Right after school, and home no later than five thirty.”
She suppressed the triumph she felt. “Yes, no later than five thirty. And Saturday and Sunday mornings, too.” Anticipating his objection, she said, “And if my grades go down, I cut back. I will cut back”
“If your grades go down, you’ll stop. I want to see straight A’s, just like last semester.”
“All right.”
He looked at her suspiciously, as though he sensed a missing part, something she was hiding.
Mrs. Lone called from downstairs, “I’m heading to bridge club. Back in a few hours.”
The front door closed. A flush crept into Mr. Lone’s face. He glanced at the bathroom, then back to Livia.
She clenched her jaw and stood, then walked to the bathroom, his footsteps close behind her.
While it went on, she tried as always to think of something else, to project herself somewhere else. This time, she focused on how one day, she might use jiu-jitsu the way Sean had.
Of course, Sean had warned Eric. Had given him a chance. She would never do that. She would break the arm right away.
To start with.
29—NOW
For the rest of the day, while she worked at tracking down other potential victims of her Sea-Tac rapist, Livia kept tabs on Masnick’s phone via the modified Gossamer. It showed up at Saltwater Park at Richmond Beach that very evening. She’d been right—Masnick might have been in love with Jardin, but that didn’t mean he was faithful to her. She confirmed there were no other Hammerhead phones in the vicinity. Good. No backup meant he didn’t suspect anything. No friends meant he wasn’t planning a gang rape. No, Masnick just wanted to get to know his new neighbor a little better. And maybe get lucky afterward.
She used an alligator-clip sheath to secure the Vaari, her favorite fixed-blade knife, in the side pocket of a pair of cargo pants, slid the Glock into a bellyband holster, pulled on an oversized fleece, and rode out in the Jeep.
There were clouds overhead when she got there, but it was clear in the west, the sky streaked with pink, and as she walked down to the beach, the last of the sun was slipping below the horizon. A dozen or so people strolled at the water’s edge, some of them with dogs, and the sounds of conversation and an occasional bark were mostly swallowed up by the vast openness of Puget Sound. She sat on a bench overlooking the scene, concealed the Glock beneath her thigh, and waited.
The pink in the sky was just past its peak and it was growing dark when Masnick came walking along the path to her left. He saw her and waved.
“Hey,” he said as he got closer. “I was hoping I might run into you. Mind if I take a load off?”
“Please,” she said, gesturing to the space next to her.
Masnick sat, then looked around. “Where’s your pooch?”
She looked at him. “The truth is, Mike, there is no pooch.”
He frowned. “No pooch? Why’d you tell me there was?”
“I guess that was a bit of what you might call subterfuge. To get you to meet me someplace private. I didn’t think you’d want anyone to overhear what we have to discuss.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Jenny Jardin. You know, Weed Tyler’s wife.”
He blanched. “What the fuck is this?”
“Relax, Mike. I’m on your side. Assuming you’re on mine.”
“I’m not on anybody’s side. I want to know what the fuck you want, Suzy or whatever the hell your name is.”
“It’s Livia. Livia Lone. Seattle PD.” She pulled her badge from inside the fleece.