Page 39 of All for her Forgiveness

"I know yours, Kennedy."

"If you really want me to accept your ride, let me see your ID."

"Are you serious?"

I cross my arms and say nothing until he takes his wallet out of the pocket of his suit jacket and shows me.

When he hands it to me, I take a picture with my phone and send it to Mr. Ernest.

"What did you do?"

"Don't worry, I didn't send your information to anyone, just the photo to a friend. If you kill me, he'll show it to the police. I watch detective shows, sir. They'll know where to start looking when they realize that on the night I disappeared, you were the last person to be with me."

He stares at me, incredulous, and then I have the feeling he would smile if he could, which I don't believe he can. Quickly, however, the expression closes. "Do you usually keep your word?"

"Yes."

"Well then, now that you've shown how stubborn you are, get in the car."

Rough. "Is there anyone else with you?"

"Just my driver. I need his help to bury you."

"I didn't find that funny," I lie because, deep down, I feel like laughing.

I almost groan in relief when the warmth inside the vehicle envelops my body. After greeting the driver, I quickly fasten my seatbelt and pretend not to notice that after entering and doing the same, the man, whom I now know is called Hades Kostanidis, is watching me.

"Were you going home?" he asks.

"Yes. Look, I appreciate the ride, but you don't need to take me all the way. Just drop me off at a bus stop."

"No. Tell me your address."

I finally turn to face him and see in his eyes that he won't give up.

Reluctantly, I give the address to the driver, although I'm sure that as soon as the car enters my neighborhood, he'll regret insisting on taking me.

"You're a foreigner," I say after the car starts moving through the streets of New Orleans. It will take at least half an hour to get to my house.

"I was born in Greece, but I've been between there and here since I can remember."

"You hardly have an accent."

"It only comes out when I'm angry."

"And does that happen frequently?"

"Has anyone ever told you you're nosy?"

"No, because I don't usually ask so many questions, but I've also never been saved three times by the same person."

"Saved you? Is that what I did?"

I was looking out the window, but I turn to look at him. "I don't understand."

He doesn't say anything. He looks out onto the street on the opposite side from where I am, and it takes me a moment before I finally understand what he meant.

"Did you think that thing with the manager . . . was a lovers' quarrel? He's married!"

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