They weren't my friends. They didn't care about me, though Jacob was so good at acting I struggled to remind myself.
Following him up the stairs, I eyed the hard edges of his broad shoulders. It was possible—too possible—that they were leading me on. But, it'd be a lot of work to go this far just to pretend they were looking for my target. If they were tricking me, I guess I'd find out soon.
The story about Culver being dissolved in acid haunted my memory. No mistakes, no loose ends. That was what Kite had been telling me. I understood him, loud and clear.
If they ever got their hands on my incriminating note, they'd be able to safely erase me.
Just like they'd done to Culver.
As long as it's after I get my revenge...
They can do whatever they want to me. I don't care.
I know, I'm crazy—but that had to be obvious by now.
“Here we are,” Jacob said, stepping into a new hallway. The doors all looked the same. I'd never guess who lived behind each one. “Home sweet home.” Turning his key, the entrance swung open.
Kite's apartment had impressed me with the size and the view. Jacob's had all those things, but beyond that, it was clean. Hell, it was spotless. He had a home worthy of Martha Stewart.
Like last night, I was forced to shove my preconceptions aside. “It's beautiful.”
“Thank you,” he chuckled. Waving me in, he shut the door and headed towards the wide kitchen. On the counter, a bowl of fresh apples had my mouth filling with saliva. He caught my hungry stare. The corner of his smile became a charming smirk. “Have one, they're delicious.”
The fruit was heavy in my palm, the skin waxy. Taking a bite, I wiped the sweet liquid from my chin. “This is amazing, thank you!”
“It's nothing.” He showed me his back, digging in the fridge. It was one of those models you could splay with two arms. I was a little disappointed when he tugged just the right door open. Why have a giant fridge if you didn't get to show it off?
I had eaten most of the apple when he set a glass of water in front of me. “You're a much better host than Kite,” I said. “Very polite.”
Leaning on the other side of the counter, Jacob seemed pleased. “I like to entertain.”
Now there was a thought: The Contract Killer Fine Dining and Design Show. I'd watch it, I mused. He'd get at least two seasons, just because of his good looks.
Eyeing him sideways, judging the shape of his torso in the places his dress shirt stretched across, I figured his body had to be decent, too.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, and even though he spoke softly, his voice stampeded through my brain.
Standing taller, I lifted the apple core. “Wondering where to chuck this,” I said.
Jacob's pretty eyes—I'd never seen such a shade of blue—didn't waver. “Marina, you don't need to lie to me.”
Tiny ripples clawed up my spine. I keep forgetting who I'm dealing with. “Why do you think I'm lying?”
His lips formed an immaculate straight line. “You were smiling too much to be thinking about the trash.”
“You shouldn't stare,” I said, dangling the apple. “Guess you're not so polite.”
“Believe me.” I felt an itch of warning—a deathly energy—but Jacob's face never changed. “I'm being very polite with you. Would you like me to stop?”
There is something so paralyzing about a quiet danger. While Kite had been a million screaming crows and saw-blades, Jacob was a crocodile under the surface of a lake. Even when he'd had a gun aimed at me last night, I'd sensed nothing but his muted patience.
When Jacob let his tiny threat, so stupidly subtle and unexpected, ooze from his smiling lips... I was stunned. The chewed apple fell from my fingers towards the floor.
Jacob's fist closed around it, catching it in midair.
I couldn't blink—I just gaped down at his hand where it hung inches from me, his body partially bent over the counter top. I was... very grateful there was something solid between us. Seeing him move, though, I understood it wouldn't be enough to stop him.
Fuck. A locked door might not be enough.
“You're fast.” The words escaped me in a rush of air.
“I am,” he agreed.
He smelled like aftershave and mint. We were near enough that if he'd had any stubble, I could have counted each hair. Instead, I just noticed the tiny lines and plum color under his eyes. “Did... did you have a rough night?” I stuttered.
Pulling away, he shot me a suspicious stare. Opening the trash with his foot, he dropped the mangled fruit inside. “Nice attention to details. Is that how you tracked Kite down?”
I lifted a hand, flexed it. “No, it was his tattoos. I asked around until someone recognized who they belonged to.”
Chuckling, Jacob shook his head. “Of course. He should have worn gloves that day.”