Darla focuses on me, and I realize she likes imagining Locke dead. The last time I mentioned his death, she didn't seem relieved by the conversation. Now her eyes light up.
"How do you think he'll die?" she asks, crossing her arms so her hands will behave and not return to the spot I know she's still obsessing over.
"I suspect he'll end up with a shot to the head. Easiest way to kill a protected man is to get nowhere near him. I'd like to shoot him in the throat personally. Let him know for a minute how he's about to die before the end comes."
Darla sighs. "I don't know how to behave appropriately."
"Screw appropriate," I say softly. "I'm not behaving appropriately. Even knowing how upset you got from a peck on the forehead, I have an incredible urge to kiss you right now. I'm also very curious about what you're hiding under these sweats. Do you think it was appropriate for me to tell you any of that?"
Darla holds my gaze, and I don't know what's going through her head. She's an open book one minute and then a puzzle the next.
"Don't kiss me," she finally says.
"Ever?"
Darla gives me a little smile, saying nothing.
"I don't like rules," I say when she remains silent. "It's why I left the Navy. I'm not my dad or brother. I can't bow down to another man's rules. You shouldn't bow down either, no matter what Locke trained you to do."
"It's not easy. I'm all jumbled up in here," she says, tapping her head.
I take her hand and hold it gently. Darla wants to pull it away but doesn't.
"You will figure it out on your schedule. Don't let anyone pressure you. Not even me."
Darla smiles again. I like how her blue eyes lose their panic. Now she's studying my face as if I hold the secrets to her happiness.
"Do you plan to go to therapy today?"
"No. I feel too exposed to deal with her judgment."
"Is she a bitch?" I ask, leading her from the bathroom.
"No, but I don't feel comfortable during the sessions. Mostly, I feel like I need to lie to her."
I don't stop walking when I reach her bedroom door. My fingers latch onto the excess material on her sweat top and tug her out of the room. Darla hesitates at the doorway and again at the kitchen. She's doing her rabbit routine.
"I can't cook," I say, relieved Minka isn't around to spook Darla. "I only know how to make one thing, and I'll make that right now for you."
Darla settles into a chair at the kitchen table. Her eyes dart around the room, noticing the open shades. She next studies the front door while I keep talking.
"My mom taught me to make an omelet," I continue, leaning into the refrigerator. "Any vegetables you don't like?"
Darla remains silent and isn't paying attention when I glance back at her.
"I'll take that as a no."
"We have onions and tomatoes. I'll add lots of cheese."
Cutting the vegetables, I sense Darla moving and find her next to me.
"Are you still going to teach me to use a gun?"
"Yes, but not today."
"Where will you teach me? Is it loud there?"
"There's a shooting range at our office. It'll be the safest place for you to learn. The range isn't loud but shooting a weapon is."
"Okay."
I study her worried blue eyes and fight the urge to kiss her. Darla needs comfort, and I want to give it to her. Nothing makes sense in her head anymore. I realize how lost Darla is when she looks surprised to find me cooking.
"My mom taught me how to make omelets," I say again.
Darla smiles slightly, looking over the food. "I love omelets."
"Do you like lots of cheese?"
Her smile makes my chest hurt. More than anything, her happiness gives me a powerful urge to hunt down Locke and end his miserable life. The sooner that he's dead, the sooner Darla will smile like this for me again.
16
~~~
Troy
Solving the Puzzle
Darla makes sexy little moans of approval while eating the omelet. I could listen to her all day, but she goes silent after washing her plate. I watch her move soundless around the apartment and wish I could talk to her without worrying about my every word. I'm mentally bitching about my ridiculous problem when Darla retrieves a puzzle from a bag Shelley brought over the day before.
"I like puzzles," she says when I stare at her too long. "We worked on them every Sunday when I was growing up. I had to stop when Shelley had kids since they stole pieces and tried to eat them. Her cat still does."
Leaning against the couch near where she's sitting crossed legged on the floor, I watch her turn the hundreds of pieces face up. I have no interest in helping her put together a kittens frolicking in the grass puzzle. Instead, I watch her, admiring her every frazzled hair. I enjoy the way her lips break into a pout when she's confused about two puzzle pieces linking. I especially like the way she smiles when she matches up large sections.
Ten minutes after she begins, my phone purrs with the soft sounds of Sade. I spot Darla smiling at my ring tone. Minka thinks I'm a fool for having it, but I get the distinct impression Darla's view of me just improved.