Page 80 of Shark Bait

I kick my feet again. “Happy to hear that.”

He pauses shaving. “Leaving prints everywhere, I see.” He shakes his head. “There’s lollipops in the drawer next to your left leg.”

I open it and spot at least a hundred lollipops, all neatly arranged by color. “Did I ever ask you what’s your favorite flavor?”

“Sour apple. Yours?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

“Lollipop thief,” he says.

I pick up the green lollipop and close the drawer. Shark takes a while shaving his entire body in the shower. He does it twice over, and once done, he towels off and steps out, grabbing a clean towel near him. He wraps it around his waist.

“Boooo.” I give him a thumbs-down.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave?”

“You did.”

“And?”

“I’m staying.”

“Fine, but only five minutes, and don’t talk.”

I gesture to lock my lips.

Shark towels off, then stands in the closet, his back to me. There’s Europe’s finest ass. I’m sure of it. Because he knows I’m looking, he flexes his ass cheeks. I giggle and kick my feet again.

Shark pulls on heavy black pants and a black T-shirt, then grabs a ski mask and tucks it in his pocket. Black socks and boots and a thick plastic watch are next before he moves toward picking out his ropes, chains, and cuffs.

“Very vanilla,” I whisper.

“I also have gags,” he says, dangling a ball gag. I’m sure he’s reminding me of my promise of silence. Next, he opens the drawer with the lollipops and lifts the bottom. Under it is a medicine drawer, from which Shark picks up a suturing kit with a curved needle.

“Do you think you’ll get hurt?” I ask.

“The kit isn’t for me.” He slams the drawer and looks up. I gasp at the emptiness in his gaze. Gone is the man I know who looks at me like I’m his only light, and in his place is the man I once met on the deck of the yacht. He’s devoid of emotions, of his entire personality.

“It’s best if you leave now,” he says.

“Okay, but Shark?—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Ouch. “What should I call you?”

“Nothing. I don’t have a name.”

An hour later, I’m upstairs in the living space next to the kitchen, thinking up all the things I want to say to him before he leaves, when I hear the unmistakable sound of a helicopter landing somewhere nearby. On the roof?

I walk outside and catch sight of two male figures moving down the hallway in the main house. I hurry to catch up with them. How in the world did Shark get past me when I’ve been babysitting the hatch the entire time?

Damn it, is there another exit? There’s another exit from his weapon depository, or he slipped past me somehow. Duh, this is a professional hitman we’re talking about here.

I rush into the house and hear boots hitting the steps upstairs. I’ve never been up there, but I’m climbing now. They’re so much faster, and I’m pregnant and have to take care I don’t slip, so I can’t really rush after them.

I call after him. “Shark! Wait up.”