Page 10 of Icy Heart, Empty Chest
He shook his head vehemently. “I’ll only tell you the reason if you get it back. That’s my deal. You’ll get your retainer, I’ll ignore any illegal or immoral things you do. Just get it back.” Desperation laced his tone, punctuating his words.
The guilt started to creep up slowly but surely.
I opened my mouth to dispute his terms but I had to know. “When was it stolen?”
“A few days ago.”
Oh fuck. Oh fuck me.
“If I tell you what I know right now, do you promise not to shoot me?” I winced.
His eyes narrowed. “Do you think so poorly of me that you think I’d harm you? Cora, what do you know?”
“I’m just trying to avoid retribution,” I added, chagrined.
“Cora,” he ground out, voice steely. “Tell me what you know.”
I felt shaky and embarrassed. “I know there was a heart that ended up on the market. I made a deal with the witch, got it to my fence for distribution.”
His face was a maelstrom of sorrow and rage, or what I assumed he passed as
such.
I rushed on. “Let’s get the obvious out of the way first. I had no idea it was yours
and the witch didn’t identify you. Second, you opened yourself up to a whole ration of bullshit by doing that. Third...” I paused and closed my eyes. “I’m not sure I will be able to get it back.”
“Why not?” His tone was pure ice.
“Because the buyer was an oncologist at the children’s cancer center downtown.” He looked at me in a state of genuine horror. I winced, feeling extremely uncomfortable.
“The moment,” he emphasized, “he cuts into it, I am dead.”
“I know.” I ground my teeth together. “I’m aware.”
He sat back, looking like a shell of his former self. “Cora. You need to get it back.”
I felt a bit stunned; I wasn’t used to pleading from him.
“Would you believe I thought I was actually doing some good in the world?” That humorless laugh again. “Yes, actually, but there are other venues for that.” I squirmed again. “Again, I will reiterate, I had no idea who owned it.”
“I know but it doesn’t make it better.”
“For what it’s worth, I am truly sorry.” Those words were hard to come these days from me.
“Help me fix this.” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand. His hands were clenched, white knuckled.
“OK.” Any professional integrity, destroyed. I didn’t really have a choice though. I picked up the sandwich glumly. “Can I ask you something?”
He crossed his arms, “Aside from my motivations, sure.”
I took a bite and swallowed. “What can you feel?”
He gave me a wary look. “So you know?”
I nodded.
He sighed. “I was numb for a really long time which was OK for a while. The bad
