Page 17 of Ravens
He winks, and I turn away, taking the extra box of bullets and heading out the door without looking back.
The diner is right where he said, so I step into a nearby alley and fish an old grocery bag out of the trash and wrap the box of bullets up. Inside the diner, I set my bagged bullets down and slide them across the table as I crawl into a booth against the wall that faces the street. The thought of food makes me feel ill, but I know I need to eat.
The waitress comes by, and I request a cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal. Both come quickly, and I eat slowly, sipping at the black coffee and letting it burn all the way down.
“Excuse me?” I motion to the waitress, who saunters over cheerfully.
“Yes?”
“A shot of whiskey too please, short and neat.”
“We don’t serve alcohol here, miss.”
“Right.”
She walks away, and I let my head fall back against the seat. It’s not like I was going to drink it . . . I just wanted to smellit. Something is wrong with me, I decide. I’ve officially lost my fucking marbles.I want to smell it?
Jesus fucking Christ, Tripoli, get your shit together, you pathetic penis pirate. The guy calls you a slut and threatens to fuck you like one, more or less does that, and you what? Think he hangs the damned moon? Wherever the hell he is, he’s got my fucking number, and he knows it. Talk about an easy mark. I need to get as far away from here as possible, as quickly as possible.
A rough throat clears, and I’d swear it had an accent.
Deflating, I let my eyes open to York sitting across from me. Appraising me, his brow furrows gently, and he leans back, his face smoothing out.
“I’m glad that you have no idea how to travel discreetly.” He tilts his head slightly to one side, and his eyes soften a fraction. “Are you all right?”
Other than a slight bruise on his cheekbone, he seems relatively unruffled. “I’ve been better.”
I watch with confused fascination as his hand reaches across the table for mine, but I pull away, letting my hands fall into my lap.
Raising an eyebrow, his gaze flicks up to mine. “How am I supposed to fall madly in love when you’re so standoffish?” He grins.
“So not the time for jokes.” I exhale and pick up my coffee.
The waitress stops off with a mug and a carafe, and once he nods, she pours him a coffee and continues down the row of booths.
“You’re alive.” He lifts the mug to his lips. “A win is a win, as they say.”
“As much to my surprise as yours, I’m sure.”
“Come now. I told you I don’t want you dead.”
“Not today,” I point out and take another drink. “How the hell did you find me?”
“As I said, you do not know how to travel discreetly.” He cocks a judgmental brow. “I saw them grab you and put you in the truck, so I stole a car. It didn’t take much to follow you after that. Diving onto a moving car tends to stick in people’s memory.” He sips his coffee.
It sounds so simple when he says it like that. I mean, it is simple, isn’t it? And if he can find me this easily, so can anyone else.
“A diner was on your list of likely stops?” I say critically.
“No, I was walking by and looked in the window.”
“How nice for you,” I simper and hunch over my coffee.
“It’s my fault,” he says plainly. “I should have woken you and gotten us out of there earlier.”
I stare at him, unable to comprehend this person admitting fault, this man admitting that he overlooked or underestimated something. I let it go, though, and take another mouthful of oatmeal.
“If you’ve found me, they will too.” I shift to the edge of the booth and signal the waitress for the bill. “They used you, you know? Waited to see which one of us you let live. Now they’re convinced I’ve turned.”
