Chapter 30 - Willing and Able

Deira rolled down the window of the truck. It didn't help. She smelled of sweat and smoke. Gage had remained quiet. They had little left to say.

When he pulled into the alley behind his house, she got out. She did a perimeter sweep while he parked, nodding to him when he joined her. As soon as he opened the door, she took the bag he had packed and headed for the bathroom. She had not worn gloves, and her hands were beginning to itch, adding to her desperate desire for a shower.

"Did you want to eat first?" he asked.

"Residue," she answered and disappeared down the hall.

He checked his service. Nicky had left a message for him to call immediately. He rummaged through the refrigerator and cabinets, set the water to boil, and checked his computer. She had emailed, too. It was not like her to be this jumpy. As much as he would love to annoy her by making her wait, this was not the time. He picked up the phone and dialed, mentally calculating the time it would take to make dinner.

She picked up on the first ring. That was not like her, either.

"About fucking time."

"I told you I would call you back when arrangements had been made."

"So is everything set?"

"As much as it can be on a shortened schedule." He let his irritation bleed through.

"So when do we move?"

"Tomorrow night."

"So soon?" She could not hide her panic.

"You said we should move quickly." He could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. "Is there a problem? You assured me you were ready."

"No problem. Now that I know when, I can set up my end of things. I'll check in with you in the morning. Or you call me." She was flustered. "Whichever you prefer."

"If you encounter any difficulties, call. I will do the same. If everything is going smoothly, we should not need to talk until the job begins."

"Yeah, okay." She hung up.

He set down the phone and closed his eyes. She was up to something. He could feel it the way some people know they're going to get sick well before the first sniffle. There were a thousand ways she could set him up, and a million reasons for her to do so, but he did not think she was trying to eliminate him. She needed him to finish the job. Afterwards, he would deal with whatever trap she had set for him. He hoped fervently he would not have to kill her.

He was cooking when Deira came into the kitchen, still toweling dry her hair. For the first time since the night they had met, she wore a skirt. It softened her, made her look younger.

"I like this style on you," he said.

"You should. These were the only two things in the bag that were clean."

"There was not much choice," he said, then flinched inwardly.

"Don't you hate it when that happens?" Her smile contrasted with the bitter edge in her voice.

"You can do laundry after dinner. It is almost ready."

She draped the towel over a chair, knowing it would make him twitch. She wasn't disappointed. She almost felt bad about tweaking him. Almost. She set the table. When he put a wine glass by her plate, she picked it up and returned it to the cabinet. As she closed the doors, the towel hit her in the back of the head.

"Hamper," he said and proceeded to serve dinner.

She returned the towel to the bathroom, then joined him at the table. The food had a complex, delicate flavor, delicious, as always. She would miss dinners with him. She pushed the plate away and leaned back, looking around the kitchen. It wasn't home, but it was as close as she'd had in a while.

"So this is it," she said.

He looked up at her, puzzled.

"This is the last supper," she elaborated.

"I hope you are not planning to betray me. That never works out well."

"Thirty pieces of silver pales in comparison to the payout for the job." She looked him in the eye. "And you're closer to the anti-Christ than Jesus."

"At best, I am a low-level demon. I am hardly capable of destroying worlds."

"I suppose that depends on whose world it is."

"Destroying Cavuto's world is the goal, yes?"

"Then I guess I'm as much a demon as you are."

"Not quite."

"Why is it there are so few female demons, anyway? You never hear about them."

"Perhaps because they refused to be confined to hell." He looked at her pointedly.

She smiled and went to do laundry. He had packed everything she would have chosen, except the clothes she wore. She had been surprised to find the skirt.

When she got back upstairs, the kitchen was pristine. Gage was not there. She wandered into the living room. The door to his office stood open. He sat with his back to her, staring at his computer. She had expected him to be looking at the recon pictures. A family photo filled the screen. A much younger Gage stood, smiling, his arm draped over the shoulder of a slighter man. To the side, a tall woman with severe features held a toddler.

"My brother," he said, looking over his shoulder at her. "His wife, Irina, and Katya. It was her third birthday. We had gone on a picnic after church."

"How old were you?" she asked.

"Twenty-three. I had recently graduated college. I thought I knew everything." He smiled at that. "We had gotten our first business loan that week, so we could expand. Life was as normal as it could be. I had not killed anyone in eight years, and no one had tried to kill me."

"How long was it before that changed?" She forced herself to ask.

"Three months." The smile faded.

"What happened?"

"I was late for work. You would think it would not matter, but Karol was particular about such things. I cut through an alley and was attacked." He was lost in memory. "I killed the man. Threw him into the side of a building, then broke his neck. I stepped over his body and walked away. I was ten minutes late for work. Two hours later, I sealed the biggest deal we had ever made. I don't remember doing it." He clicked the mouse and the picture disappeared.

"Did it bother you?"

"Yes. I would like to know what I said."

"I meant killing the guy in the alley."

"No. Killing was... is natural for me. I had allowed myself to forget. The adrenaline rush reminded me. It was like turning on the light in a dark room. I like it better when I can see."

"So you kept doing it."

"I simply remembered how and honed my skills so I would not forget again. The business aspect of it came later."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because there are some things you should not forget and many you will not be able to. No matter what happens tomorrow night, you will never be the same."

"You still want me to back out." Her voice was flat.

"No. I want you to know the price you will pay."

"I paid in advance," she said and turned away.

"That is what I used to think," he said softly. He closed the computer, locked the office, and went to find her.

She stood in the hallway, right hand on the banister, looking up the stairs. As he approached, she turned to him. Her eyes looked beyond him, to a place he recognized but could not go. He no longer doubted the story about her sister. Death was the only currency that could buy that look.

He stopped, giving her a chance to focus. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

"This has all been too much," she said. "And it isn't over yet."

"Soon." He tried to soothe her.

"And never."

"That is how this sort of thing works."

"Death or unhealthy relationships?" She glanced up the stairs.

"Both."

"I'm leaving town when this is over." She met his gaze.

"It would be best." It sounded harder than he had wanted.

"Where am I sleeping?" Weariness crept into her voice.

"Wherever you want. I will switch your laundry. You should go to bed."

"I don't know what I want." She shook her head as she walked up the stairs. He wondered what she was saying no to.

When he got upstairs, his room was dark. A light came from Katya's room. He sighed. That, too, was probably for the best. He did not bother turning on his light. At least he would not have to sleep clothed. It would have been a polite fiction in any case.

He lay awake, staring at the patterns made by the streetlight filtering through his shades. Faint lines crossed the walls and were absorbed by the floor. He liked the room, the house, his routine. It would be difficult to leave.

Shadow fell on shadow. He turned his head. She had stepped into the room and stopped, silent.

"Make a choice, Deira."

"What if it's the wrong one?"

"You will discover it is wrong. Then you make another choice. It is the only way to live."

As she approached, he took the gun from under the pillow and put it in the drawer of the nightstand. He lay back as she got into bed. He put his hands under his head, then went still. She moved closer and laid her head on his chest. He put his arm around her, fingers playing in her hair. She sighed and relaxed against him. Moments later, they were both asleep.

He awoke when she cried out. She curled up, shaking. He reached for her, but she shied away. Pushing up on one elbow, he realized she still slept. He could not hear what she muttered, but the shaking gave way to thrashing. He caressed her back, shushing her. She relaxed under his touch, moving closer. He inhaled the scent of her hair, her neck. She sighed.

"Nightmare," she mumbled.

"I know."

"It's been so long. I thought they were gone," she whispered. "I always felt so safe with you."

It was a strange thing to hear. He had never been told he made someone feel safe. He put his arm over her, hand flat on the bed.

"You are safe tonight," he said.

"As much as I'll ever be." She stroked his arm, settling her back against his chest. He wondered if she could feel his heart pounding. He slowed his breathing, willing his body to relax. It did not work.

"This is the part where you make love to me," she murmured. He complied.

Five a.m. He was beginning to hate his internal clock. Deira lay curled up beside him. He wanted to memorize the feel of her skin under his hands, the softness of her curls tangling in his fingers, the fine trembling of her body when he stroked her, to take one last opportunity to lose himself in her. He closed his eyes, listening to her steady breathing. He let her sleep.

She had admitted they had no future. He was glad she had realized it. Liar. After tonight, his wish for her would be fulfilled. She could have a normal life, without people like him complicating it. He wondered if he could let her. He slipped out of bed, got dressed, and went downstairs.

Deira woke up and stretched. She turned her head, looking for Gage. She rubbed her eyes and got up. Her bag sat on the chair, clothes neatly folded on top of it. The sound of weights clanking filtered in from the next room.

"Idiot." She shook her head and got dressed.