After we've finished lying to each other, Marx returns to his seat and puts on headphones. I slide my phone from my pocket and casually type a message to Rafael back in Houston.
"Find everything you can on Marx Hearton. Consider him a hostile."
I allow Marx to settle into his usual routine before I change seats and join Minka.
"How do you think the biter from the hotel found us?" I ask her.
"Someone told him. Duh." When I frown at her tone, she frowns back at me. "Give up. I'm not losing this staring contest."
"What's wrong with you?"
"I don't like flying."
"I'm sorry."
Minka grudgingly smiles. "Troy always teases me for being a wuss. Thank you for being nice."
"I'm getting better at faking compassion."
"Lying to protect my feelings is the kindest thing anyone's ever done for me."
"That's sad."
"I know, so what's up?"
I type on my phone how Marx gives me a bad feeling. After reading the message, Minka nods.
"Young people always give me a bad feeling."
"Rafael is checking up on him. I don't know why we didn't think to do that before."
"Because he's a fifteen-year-old hipster dork."
"I know you're attempting humor, but I don't understand half of what you just said."
Minka lifts an eyebrow. "You know English without actually knowing it, right?"
"If the hipster is feeding the cult info, we can assume they'll attack again soon."
"If they want to kill Brad, it shouldn't be too hard. I think we've passed the point of worrying about warning shots."
Thinking back to the man in the hotel, I nod. "I don't care how many we bury. This ends with every one of them dead or in prison."
"Prison sounds like testifying in court. I think if I put my hand on the Bible, a fire might break out."
"I'm fine with dead."
Minka smiles but remains edgy for the rest of the flight. I sit next to her silently for the final two hours. She watches videos while I read books. My mind is on Brad, though.
Feeling him even several seats away, I lean into the aisle so I can catch a glimpse of the top of his blond head. Even such a small thing soothes me, but my chest hurts remembering the expression on his face last night.
23
Saskia
Motherly Affections
The Sloane house feels different now. The hominess I once enjoyed makes me feel like an interloper. Why am I still here? I might as well switch with Minka and let her be the on-site operator. Had I truly expected a lust-based relationship with Brad to become something more?
Troy kept watch over the house during our trip, so we find it untouched upon our return. After unpacking, I walk the perimeter because I don't know what else to do with myself now that I'm avoiding Brad for real.
Is he avoiding me? He's certainly keeping his distance. I linger near the kitchen when I see him getting a snack. He sees me too and smiles tightly before walking out a side door with the dogs. I don't know what else I expected when I shared my past. This is how it was always going to end.
Ruth remains in the kitchen, cutting vegetables for dinner. I know she isn't keen on me, and I'm not sure why I care anymore. I do, though, so I stand near the island.
"What are you making?" I ask, stepping closer.
"Sweet potato and carrot casserole," she says gruffly before glancing at me. Our gazes meet for a second or two. "Why don't you help me?"
I take the knife she hands me and begin slicing the carrots.
"You have nice knife skills," she murmurs.
"You have no idea."
Ruth smiles at me. "I didn't like you much when you first showed up here. Probably didn't hide the fact either. I'm wary of new people especially ones I can’t read well."
"I hadn't noticed."
"You lie better than I do."
I grudgingly smile while finishing with another two carrots. Taking the ones I've chopped, Ruth adds them to her pot.
"In your line of work," Ruth says without looking at me, "I would think hiding in plain sight is an asset rather than a negative."
"Yes."
"So maybe I was wrong about you."
Remaining silent, I fear I'll say something that might make her change her mind. Ruth stops working on her sweet potatoes and takes my shoulders so I'll look at her. Her gray eyes study me, and I feel like a naughty child under her gaze.
"Just promise me one thing," she says, still holding my shoulders, "You won't play with my boy. You won't use him for money or because you think it's fun to twist up a man's heart. Brad is a grown man, but he isn't jaded like most men his age. If you hurt him, I'll find a way to hurt you."
Rather than finding her threat silly, I want her to trust me. Ruth raised Brad and cared for him when he was scared and sick. She kept him safe all these years. Kept him sane too. Many men turned mean after suffering like Brad had with the cult freaks.
"Do you promise you aren't planning to hurt my son?" Ruth asks.