Page 41 of Liar's Heart
She hugs me back. “Not after you two barely made it in the door before trying to fuck each other’s brains out.” She holds me out at arm’s length. “I’ll be staying at my own house and praying I still can’t hear the two of you from there, thanks. At least for tonight. Tomorrow might be different.”
I beam a smile at her. “Best of luck to you, then. Is everything all set for tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” she confirms. “I’ve had everything pulled and set aside for Mrs. Arnoult’s appointment in the morning. Mimosas and breakfast pastries have been ordered, and the showing room’s been set up. All you have to worry about is being your charming self and doing the paperwork after.”
Len hates paperwork in all its forms. I’m not surprised at all that she’s already taken care of everything else. She’d much rather have something to physically do and push all of the contracts, orders, and invoices off on me. “Done,” I say. “And just to remind you, I have to leave by two thirty. Then back here after my appointment for dinner.”
I decided to cram in a doctor's appointment on this trip. It's annoying, but not as annoying as trying to find a new clinic in Fallenford. I was able to take care of my annual eye exam and next dental appointment before the wedding, but I ran out of time to fit my annual gynecologist visit in. Luckily, they were able to work me in tomorrow, and I can put off potentially shopping for a new doctor for another year.
“Oh, this meeting better be over before then,” Len assures. “I can only handle Deborah Arnoult once a year for a few hours max. If I have to kick her out the door with you, I will. When are we, uh, having this talk?” She looks between Ender and me, addressing the question to us both.
“Roman is coming in tomorrow mid-morning,” Ender answers. “So, dinner all together, then talk?”
“Works for me,” Len agrees. “First official cadre meeting. Can’t wait. And as much as I’d love to stay and catch up, I’m gonna head out. Fridge is stocked, and I sent everyone home for the day, so you two lovebirds have this whole place to yourselves. Please, for the love of me, get all of the really wild shit out of your systems tonight.” She leans in and kisses me on the cheek, which I return. “Love you, babe. See you bright and early.”
“Can’t wait, boo.”
She turns to head for the kitchen, probably where she parked since there’s a less formal entrance there. Before she hits the hallway, she throws over her shoulder, “Have fun with the butt sex!” before disappearing from view.
Ender and I stare at each other for a moment, listening to Len’s retreating steps until I hear her car engine turn over outside. He looks stunned but amused. “So that’s Len” is the only response I have to sum up that encounter.
His smile turns positively goofy. “Ro is so incredibly fucked.”
Date night officially started two hours ago, and I’m still clueless as to what we’re doing. Ender said all I needed to do was show up and wear something comfortable that I could move in, and he’d take care of the rest. So I have no idea if we’re going on a hike or if he took my murder suggestion toheart, and we’re picking up a future corpse and heading back to my basement. He didn’t say to pick clothes that I don’t mind burning, though, so murder is unlikely. He approved my go-to outfit of all-black leggings, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and boots, so that narrows it down… not even a little bit. Neither did his outfit of black tactical pants, a dark-gray Henley shirt, and black boots.
But sure. It’s not murder.
I have been enjoying the mystery, though, and I think Ender’s been having fun planning a surprise, so whatever it is we end up doing, I’ve enjoyed the experience so far. Even if all we’ve done is grab dinner at home, then drive for an hour now. I don’t recognize where we are, so I’m contemplating breaking down and asking where the fuck we’re going.
I’m about to give in when he pulls into a parking lot in front of what looks to be a warehouse. He puts the car in park and turns it off. I scan the area and don’t see anyone, no foot or vehicle traffic. The sun’s mostly set, the sky moving from orange to purple now, with chemtrails disrupting the gradient. Streetlights are starting to come on, but the lot is still mostly shadowed. I turn to Ender, opening my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off. “It’s not murder.”
I shut my mouth and wait for further explanation, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he gets out and walks around to open my door for me. Taking my hand, he leads us to a nondescript metal door. If it weren’t for the little red light glowing in the darkness, I would have missed the key card scanner on the wall entirely. To my surprise, Ender pulls a blank, white key card out of his pocket and scans it. The lock whirs and disengages, the light turns green, and he opens the door and ushers me inside.
We enter a lobby. The room isn’t very big, maybe only big enough for six adults to comfortably fit in without touching. It’s clinically sterile—gray walls and linoleum floors that are only accessorized by one door to my right, a camera mountedin the top left corner, and overhead fluorescent lights that make hiding impossible.
Ender closes the door behind him, and I hear the lock whir closed again. Pocketing the key card, he steps up next to me, faces the camera, and waits. A speaker clicks, and then a male voice is piped into the room. “Code, please?”
Ender rattles off a set of numbers and letters that is so long and random that I have no idea how he committed it to memory. The voice replies, “Thank you. Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair,” before I hear the door behind me unlock with a click.
Ender takes my hand to pull me through the next door, and I have to blink through the second abrupt lighting change in such a short amount of time. This room is also a lobby but doesn’t resemble the first one in any way. This one looks like it belongs in a fancy restaurant or really quiet nightclub. It’s all dark, plush furnishings, conversational seating, and softer lighting. The room is empty save for the two of us, and I don’t hear the din of people talking or the cacophony of a restaurant kitchen. No music. No smells of food or sweat or booze. I think my fleeting hope that this is some kind of sex club can officially go out the window unless we’re the only two patrons here.
But what ishere?
I’ve been so busy trying to figure out what this place is that I absolutely failed to mark the exits past the door we came through, so I don’t see the man who enters from a hallway to our left until he’s already in the room with us. He looks right at home in his surroundings, wearing a bespoke navy suit accented with black shoes, belt, and shirt. He skipped a tie and left the top two buttons of his shirt undone, a detail directly in conflict with the champagne-gold pocket square in his jacket pocket. He's tall with an athletic build, the cut of his clothes accentuating the muscles underneath. But he doesn't look like an enforcer of any kind, especially withthose neatly manicured nails on uncalloused hands and a straight, never-broken nose. His blond hair is combed back and neat, his clothes unwrinkled even though it's evening, so either he freshened up recently or he keeps nighttime hours. Walking over to us, he breaks out in a grin and says, “Ender fucking Sinclair.”
They meet and execute that distinctly male handshake-to-hug-to-backslap maneuver in greeting. Ender's smiling. His posture’s at ease as he lets this man into his guard. “Good to see you too, Theo.”
They pull apart, and Theo turns to me, hand extended. “You must be Mrs. Sinclair.”
I take his hand and shake it. “Merrick. Please.”
His smile widens. “Pleasure to meet you, Merrick. Theo Walsh. I trust your husband has told you nothing about me?”
Unable to resist his charm, I return his smile and say, “So you do know my husband.”
That earns me a barked laugh from the man. “Theo and I are old friends from college, turned business associates,” Ender explains.
“Are you a client of Ender's?” I ask.
