No. I really don’t think it would.
Closing my eyes, I reach into the file marked Molly. It’s nowhere near full yet, but I’m hoping I’ll find something, anything, about Lucas that might be a weakness.
If she’s got anything of that nature, I don’t find it. Lucas is strong and he’s mean. He’s not even all that stupid, just not half as smart as he thinks he is. Or half as good-looking.
Why, out of the ten people I’ve hosted, couldn’t at least one of them have been into martial arts or some sort of self-defense?
Haven’t checked Myron’s file . . .
I stomp that thought down and grind it under my heel. Nothing like panic to get you thinking of all possible ways to make a bad situation worse.
Okay. Deep breaths. Since I can’t overpower him, I’ll have to outwit him. He’s vain. If I flatter him, he’ll believe I’m interested. He thinks every woman is interested.
I’m well aware that anything Lucas tells me will probably be a lie, and there’s no way I’m bartering any favors for information. But . . . playing along, stalling for a bit, getting him off guard, might not be a bad idea.
Assuming I can do it. Assuming I don’t just start shrieking the minute he shows up.
When I hear the footsteps in the hall, the hand on the doorknob, I sit down—on the stool near the kitchen. Because there’s no way in hell I’m going to be sitting on that bed when he walks in.
Relax. You don’t have to smile, but you can’t act like a scared little girl. This is a business negotiation.
I try to get a look at the hallway when the door opens. It’s dimly lit, like it was last night when the nurse left. Lucas closes the door behind him and stands near the closet for a minute, surveying the room.
“What’s with all the apples? You plannin’ to bake me a pie?”
“No oven, no microwave.” I pick up one of the larger apples. Abner played baseball in high school and spent many hours playing fetch with his dogs. I can picture cocking my arm and letting it fly, but I can’t picture what happens next. I somehow doubt that an apple upside the head would do much more than make Lucas angry.
So I toss it to him instead.
He catches it, then parks on the edge of the bed as he takes a large bite. “So, tell me, Anna. How you liking your stay so far?”
“I’ve seen better,” I say with a shrug. “And you know my name. If we’re going to . . . make any sort of deal . . . maybe you should start by returning the favor?”
“Most people just call me Lucas.” He gives me a sly smile. “Molly used to call me daddy sometimes, since her old man bailed before she could even walk.”
That’s a lie—not the part about Molly’s dad bailing, but the daddy bit, since she never called him anything other than Lucas. He’s clearly trying to rile me up, to see how much I know about Molly. How much I know about what he did. But I’m not taking the bait.
“Only things I know about Molly are what I read in her diary and what she told me in the few days we were at the same shelter. And that was years ago. She didn’t mention a dad or anyone named Lucas. Just Pa and Mimmy. And her Pa was a cheap bastard, wouldn’t even cough up a few hundred bucks for the info I gave him. If I hadn’t apologized to him, I’d have ended up back in juvie. Deo too, most likely.”
I make myself look at him as I speak. I don’t think he’s believing any of it. If he’s on more than chauffeur terms with Dacia, he probably knows everything I’ve said is a lie anyway. But it’s hard to tell if he’s even listening. His eyes keep breaking away from my face and traveling south.
“You said you had information about Deo.”
He nods. “I do. But I need a better idea of what you’re offering up for trade. Maybe you could come over here and let me take that sweater off.”
I give him a tiny smile, like I’m considering his proposal. Force my eyes to take a leisurely sightseeing tour of his body, the way he keeps doing with mine. I linger on his wrist—no bracelet, so he must have used a badge or something to open the door. He wasn’t holding it when he walked in, but I don’t see it. Back pocket?
“Maybe we could . . . compromise?” I pull my sweater slowly over my head and toss it on the ground. I’m still in a camisole and jeans, but I’ve never felt less clothed in my life.
He gives me an appreciative nod. “A step in the right direction.”
I smile again. “So . . . is Deo here? In this same building?”
The question seems to piss him off. “What makes you think our . . . transaction . . . is going to be tit for tat? If you’ll pardon the joke. Your little boyfriend might get turned on by strip poker, but I ain’t got time for games.”