The Collector (33 page)

In the window glass, Lila saw the reflection now, the stunning face, the black rain of hair. She nodded.

“Good. We should talk, you and I. My associate has a car, just around the corner.”

“You killed your associate.”

“There's always more of that kind. He was . . . unsatisfactory. Knowing that, you should take care to be satisfactory. We'll walk to the car, just two friends enjoying a summer day.”

“I don't have what you're looking for.”

“We'll talk. I have a quiet place.” The woman put an arm firmly around Lila's waist, as if they were the best of friends, or lovers. The knife pressed a deadly reminder into her side.

“I just looked out the window.” Stay calm, Lila ordered herself. They were on the street in broad daylight. There had to be something she could do. “I didn't even know Oliver Archer.”

“Yet you went to his funeral.”

“For his brother.”

“And the brother you know very well. It can all be a simple thing, an easy thing. The brother gives me what was promised, and all is satisfied.”

Lila scanned faces as they walked. Look at me! her mind shouted. Call the police.

Everyone passed by, in a hurry to get somewhere else.

“Why do you do this? Why do you kill?”

“Why do you sit in other people's houses?” Jai glanced down, smiled. “It's what we do, our living. There are many commendations on your website. We're good at what we do.”

“So it's just a job.”

“There's an American expression. It's not a job, it's an adventure. My employer pays well, and expects superior work. I give him superior work. My associate must circle the block, I think. New York, so busy, so much movement. I like it. We have that in common, I think. And we travel for our work. Much in common. If we have a good talk, you can go back, buy that pretty dress in the shop window.”

“If we don't?”

“Then I do my job. You understand responsibility to an employer.”

“I wouldn't kill for one. The police have your face. You can't—”

The knife dug a little deeper, brought a sharp sting. “I don't see the police, do you?”

“I don't see your associate either.”

Jai smiled. “Patience.”

Lila spotted Trench Coat Man stomping in their direction. She could use him, she thought. Use that simmering rage, that fuck-you attitude. She'd just need to time it perfectly, then—

At that moment, Earl Grey popped his head out of the corner of Lila's bag, gave a happy here-I-am yip.

It was only a moment, the jolt of surprise, the slight loosening of the hold, but Lila seized it.

She shoved, putting her back into it so Jai skidded backward a step. And Lila plowed her balled fist into that stunning face. Off balance, Jai went down on her ass on the sidewalk.

Lila ran.

First it was blindly, full panic, ears ringing, heart thudding. She risked one quick glance back, saw the woman pushing aside a man who had stopped to help her up.

She's wearing heels, Lila thought, and felt a little spurt of hope through the panic. Vanity would cost her.

She sprinted, gripping her bag and the dog that had burrowed back inside tight. Too far to double back to Julie and the gallery, and she'd need to cross the street to get to Ash's loft.

But the bakery. Luke's bakery.

She ran another block, full out, dodging pedestrians, shoving through them and ignoring the curses when they didn't part way for her. With her breath heaving, her legs singing, she careened around the corner and burst through the door of Baker's Dozen.

People stopped, stared over their peach pie or kiwi tart, but she kept running, straight around the counter where one of the staff called after her, and back into a huge kitchen smelling of yeast and sugar.

A burly man with scruff covering most of his round face stopped in the act of piping rosettes on the edges of a three-layer cake. “Lady, you can't be back here.”

“Luke.” She managed to wheeze in a breath. “I need Luke.”

“Another one.” A woman with purple hair pulled a baking dish of brownies out of an oven. Chocolate dripped through the air.

But something in Lila's face got through. The woman set aside the tray, dragged over a stool.

“You better sit down. I'll get him.”

Lila pulled in another breath, shot a hand in her purse for her phone, and felt a trembling Earl Grey. “Oh, baby, I'm sorry.”

“You can't have that thing in here!” The cake artist dropped his piping tool as his voice rose two full octaves. “What is that thing? Get it out of the kitchen.”

“I'm sorry. Emergency.” Lila pressed the shaking dog against her breast, reached back in her purse for her phone.

Before she could dial 911, Luke barreled up the stairs.

“What happened? Where's Julie?”

“Gallery. She's fine. She had a knife.”

“Julie?”

“No. The Asian woman. She had a knife. I had to run. I don't know if she saw me come in here. I didn't look back. Or there was a car. I don't know.”

“Sit.” Luke literally picked her up, put her on the stool. “Simon, get her some water.”

“Boss, she's got an animal. We can't have animals in the kitchen.”

“He's a teacup poodle.” Lila only snuggled the dog tighter. “His name is Earl Grey, and he saved my life. He saved my life,” she repeated, looking back at Luke. “We need to call the police. And Ashton.”

“I'll take care of it. Drink this now.”

“I'm okay. I just panicked a little. I haven't run that far that fast since track and field in high school.” She gulped down water. “Can I get a bowl? I need to give Earl Grey some water. He's pretty shaken up, too.”

“Get her a bowl,” Luke ordered.

“Boss!”

“A bowl, goddamn it. I'm going to take you to Ash, and we'll call the cops. You can tell us what happened.”

“Okay.” She took the bowl Simon reluctantly offered.

“That ain't no dog,” he muttered.

“He's my hero.”

“Well, he ain't no— Lady, you're bleeding.”

“I—” Panic reared back when she looked down, saw the blood on her shirt. She yanked up the hem, then shuddered in relief. “She just poked me with the knife a couple times. It's just a scratch.”

“Hallie, the first aid kit.”

“It's nothing, really—except now I've got this little hole in my good white shirt, and the bloodstain.”

“Here, lady, I'll water the dog.”

“I scared him when I ran.” Lila looked up into Simon's eyes, saw the softness come into them. “It's Lila. I mean, I'm Lila. This is Earl Grey.” Carefully, she handed the dog and the bowl to Simon.

“I'm just going to clean this,” Luke told her, his voice, his hands gentle as a mother's soothing a frightened child. “I'm just going to clean and bandage it.”

“Okay, okay. I'm going to call Detective Fine. Ask if they can meet me at Ash's. He's expecting me. I'm late.”

She felt drifty, she realized. Once the adrenaline leaked away, her body felt just a little too light. She appreciated Luke's arm around her shoulders on the short walk to Ash's loft. Without it anchoring her, she felt she might float up and away.

He'd been so calm and gentle in the bakery, and now felt as sturdy as a tree that would stand up to any storm.

Of course Julie loved him.

“You're her tree.”

“I'm what?”

“You're Julie's tree. With good, deep roots.”

“Okay.” He kept that sturdy arm around her, and used a gentle hand, rubbing her arm to soothe and calm.

She saw Ash running toward them, bolting toward them, almost blurry with it.

She felt him gather her up, right off the sidewalk.

“I'm fine,” she heard herself say.

“I need to go check on Julie,” Luke said. “I need to make sure she's okay.”

“Go. I've got her.”

“I can walk. This is silly. I ran for three blocks. About. I can walk.”

“Not right now. I should've waited for you. Or come for you.”

“Stop it.” But since she didn't have the energy to argue, she let her head rest on his shoulder while he carried her up and into his loft.

He carried her straight to a sofa. “Let me see where she hurt you.”

“Luke already fussed with it. She grazed me, that's all. She just wanted to scare me, which she did. She really did. But that's all she did, and she didn't get what she wanted. Bitch ruined my shirt.”

“Lila.”

When he lowered his forehead to hers, she let out a long sigh, and felt the light-headed sensation pass.

Rooted again, she realized. She wouldn't float away because he held on to her.

“Earl Grey scores again.”

“What?”

“He poked out of my bag, startled her. I was timing it to use Trench Coat Man, but Earl Grey was better. Who expects to see a dog poke out of a purse, especially when you're focused on abducting someone in broad daylight? He startled her, and I shoved her, then I punched her and knocked her on her ass. And I ran. She was wearing heels, which tells me she's vain and overconfident. She underestimated me, which makes her another kind of bitch. I have to get up.”

She pushed off the couch, scooping the dog out of her purse,
and paced up and down the floor with him as she might with a fretful baby.

The anger came now, such a relief. Anger and insult bubbled up and boiled the lingering fear away.

“She didn't think I'd give her any trouble. She figured I'd just go along with her, trembling and weak and
stupid
. She comes at me in the middle of the morning in the middle of Chelsea, and doesn't expect me to fight back?”

She spun on her heel, paced back. Eyes firing, her face no longer pale but flushed with righteous fury.

“For God's sake, I'm the daughter of a lieutenant colonel of the United States Army, retired. I may not know kung fu, but I know basic self-defense. I know how to handle a weapon. I know how to handle myself. She's the one who landed on her ass. Who's the bitch now?”

“She cut you.”

“She
taunted
me.” The panic, the mild shock, the shakes, all gathered together to re-form into that sheer, boiling rage. “‘We're going to have a little talk,' she says in her snotty, superior voice. And if it's not satisfactory, well, she'll just have to do her job. Which is killing people. She wanted me shaking and crying and begging like Oliver's poor girlfriend. Well, she didn't get it, did she? She may have ruined my best white shirt, but she's going to think of
me
every time she looks in the mirror or sits down for the next couple days.”

He crossed to her, then just stood with his hands in his pockets. “Finished yet?”

“Nearly. Where's Luke?”

“He went to check on Julie.”

“That's good, except now she's going to be upset and worried.” Glancing down, she saw Earl Grey was asleep with his head on her breast. “All this drama wiped him out.”

She went to her purse, took out his little blanket to spread on a section of the couch, then tucked him in for a nap.

“I was going to do just what I did—shove her and run. But I would've needed a trip to the ER and stitches. She'd have given me more than a poke with the knife. But Earl Grey gave me just that instant, just enough, so I could do it, and not get hurt. I'm taking him to the pet store and getting him whatever he wants.”

“How will you know what he wants?”

“We have a psychic bond now. It's almost a Jedi thing.” More settled, she sat on the arm of the couch, watching over the dog as she looked at Ash.

“I'm pretty good at reading people. I observe—I always have. I've always been the outsider—the new kid in town always is. So you learn, or I did, to watch, to gauge, to get a read. And I'm pretty good at it. Whatever I had told her, if she'd gotten me to that private place she told me she had for our talk, she'd have killed me when she was done with me. She'd have enjoyed it. It's her skill and her vocation.”

“I'll give her the Fabergé, and we'll be done with it.”

“It won't be enough, not for her. That's what I'm telling you. It might be enough for her employer, and she does have one, she mentioned one. But it's not going to be enough for her, especially not now.”

She rose, went to him, ready now, she realized, to be held, to hold. “She has flawless skin. Up close, her face is just breathtaking, and her skin's perfect, but there's something wrong with her eyes.
In
her eyes,” Lila corrected. “I have this character in my books. She's feral, whether in human form or wolf. I imagined her eyes like this woman's.”

“Sasha.”

“Yes.” She nearly laughed. “You really did read it. I knew what she was when I looked in her eyes today. She's a killer. It's not just what she does. It's what she is. Feral, and for her the moon's always full.”

She let out a breath, coldly calm now. “Ash, we could give her the Fabergé tied up in a ribbon, and she'd still kill me, and you, and anyone who got in the way of that. She needs it, the way you need to paint and I need to write. Maybe more than that.”

“I need you safe, more than that.”

“Then we have to finish it, because until we do, until she's in prison, neither of us will be safe. Believe me, Ash. I saw it in her eyes.”

“I believe you. Believe me when I say until she's in prison, you don't go out alone. Don't argue,” he snapped before she could. “The next time she won't underestimate you.”

It irritated, hampered, but it rang true. “You have a point there.”

“What did you mean you can handle a weapon?”

“I'm an army brat,” she reminded him. “My father taught me how to handle a gun, how to shoot. Maybe I haven't done either in five or six years, but I could if I needed to. And I can box a little—more, I know basic and effective self-defense. Some jerk tried to mug me about a month after I moved to New York. I kicked his balls into his throat. They've probably yet to fully descend.”