“If? And what things do you really need?”
“I didn’t mean if, and I guess nothing. I have nothing.”
“Now you do have things,” I assure her. “And a paycheck that will be regular. They’ll use you for other jobs.”
“I don’t want them to feel obligated to pay me because of you. That’s not how I need, or want, to operate my life.”
“I didn’t tell him to pay you. Let me see the check.” She grabs it and hands it to me. I open it and look inside before setting it back down. “That’s our standard consulting fee, and it’s exactly what they’d offer someone else. The Walker men are good men. They don’t screw people. They do what’s right.” I hand her back the check.
“It’s ten thousand dollars. That’s standard?”
“They’re billing the client, and if your role grows, they’ll pay you additional fees.”
“I don’t even have my Ph.D.”
“You have more experience than any of us with serial killers and we’re all pretty damn experienced. That’s the thing about Walker. We run a deep pool of experience and when we come up short, we fix it. We win. Turns out, we fix it and win with you this time.”
“About that.” She reaches for her own file and opens it, digging through it to find her new driver’s license. “This and the money. You know I could leave.”
“I’ve asked you before, and I’ll ask you now: Is that what you want?”
“No. I don’t want to leave here. Not as long as you’re here, but am I being selfish? Because I want to be here with you? Because it feels good and safe to have you and your people around me?”
“No. You are not.”
“If anyone dies because of me, I will never forgive myself.”
I stand up and take her hand. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” I lead her back up the stairs and down the hallway to the left and I don’t stop until I’m at the locked door at the end. I key in a code there and look at her. “5571,” I say. “Got it?”
“Got it.”
I open the door and lead her inside, where there is a long wooden table facing us with chairs on either side. I point at the walls left and right. “Both have nearly invisible panels built in that lower and open. If you know they are there, you can see them.” I motion to the one on the left and lead her across the wooden floor. I drag a finger down a small line in the wall. “That’s the seam.”
“It’s nearly impossible to see. This really opens?”
“It really opens.” I move to the center of the wall and point down. “Step on the seam in the wood that is at the exact center of the wall. It’s a sensitive pressure point. You touch it, it responds.” I lower my foot and tap it. The wall folds down, as if we’ve opened a suitcase lid, to display my collection of small firearms.
“What is all of this?”
“Every member of the Walker crew has a collection of weapons that could supply at least a half dozen of our staff if ever needed.”
“Is all of this legal?”
“Every last bit of it.”
“Then why hide it?”
“This is no different than the caution I gave you with the mace. Anything you can use to hurt someone, they can use to hurt you. Protect it. Protect yourself.” I remove two small firearms from the shelf that I know will be suitable for her and motion behind us. We move to the table and I round it to sit facing the wall, and at my prodding she claims the seat across from me. I settle the weapons between us, resting side-by-side on the wooden surface. “What do you know about guns?”
“Nothing except the idea of holding something that can kill someone is rather intimidating.”
“It is to most people but knowledge and hands-on experience eases that feeling, as does the peace of mind, in knowing you can protect yourself.”
“I want to learn,” she says. “What’s the difference in the two guns?”
“This is a Ruger LCR Revolver,” I say, indicating the weapon on the left. “Small, light, and it’s going to have a small kickback when you fire, which you should be able to handle with ease. It’s the best choice for you now, until you learn to how to handle a semi-automatic.”
“Why is this my best choice now?”
“You don’t have to load a magazine, which can be intimidating and make you freeze up if you have to reload. And you don’t have to cock the gun under pressure. You’ll just point and shoot.” I open the cylinder. “This is where your bullets go, but we’re not going to load it right now.” I close the cylinder. “It’s basically point and shoot, but it’s not as easy to hit a target as you think. We’re going to work on hand position and target practice. Once you master the revolver, we’ll move to a semi-automatic.”
“Why use the semi-automatic over the revolver?”
“Semi-automatic weapons will recoil, or punch back, less. The triggers are easier to manipulate. The sights are usually much bigger and better. They’re prone to less malfunctions and failure than the average revolver. And most importantly, semi-autos have two to three times the ammo capacity of a revolver of equal size and weight. That means you can keep shooting if you need to.”
“Then shouldn’t I just jump straight to whatever this other gun is?”
“Sig Sauer PS238,” I say. “And no. I’ve heard women say that a handgun is like a pair of shoes. It has to fit right and while I agree with that statement, what’s more important to me is that handling it becomes as second nature as holding a pen in your hand to write. You need to be able to load fast and aim correctly. If you take a bad shot, or hesitate with the recoil, while you’re recovering, the weapon can be taken from you.”
“Now I’m intimidated.”
“You won’t be. We’ll practice and practice until you don’t even have to think to handle the weapon. Until you are so confident, and skilled, that if someone comes at you, you have a bullet with their name on it.”
“You mean a bullet with Devin Marks’s name on it.”
“You’re learning to protect yourself because it’s smart. Because that skill erases a fear you don’t want to live with the rest of your life. Because you’re now one of the Walker staff and that is a mandatory part of working with us. As for Devin Marks, he’s mine. I have a bullet in my gun with his name on it. You can count on it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Sierra
Asher and I spend the next few hours in the gun room, working on my skills, among other things. Once he feels that I’ve mastered the basics of a classroom revolver lesson, we move on to the semi-automatic. He teaches me how to load the semi-automatic and has me practice with blank bullets until my hand randomly hurts and forces a break. In between that practice, we eat Funyuns and drink beer, and he drills me about the details of my new identity to ensure I don’t slip up in public, the very existence of Kelli Vincent driving me to replay Devin’s plot to kill me in my head. In turn, I become more and more motivated to protect myself, to start learning how to handle a gun like the way a pro like Asher can handle a gun.
Eventually Asher grabs his computer and starts researching Ju-Ju’s past and the results at least present options his file does not offer. “We have a long list of schoolmates, and neighbors, even co-workers of Ju-Ju’s father to try to connect with now,” he announces after about an hour of work. “Our best bet is to plan a roundtable with the team tomorrow and all of us start making calls. You can dissect the information as we get it in.”
“Sounds good,” I say, trying to load again, only to have my hand freeze up, and I growl. “I don’t understand how I’m getting worse at this.” I set the weapon down. “I should be getting better.”
“Your hand is tired,” Asher says, glancing at his watch. “And it’s late for Sunday shopping anyway. We need to get to a store to buy you a purse that you can carry that in.”
My gaze catches on his watch, an Omega with a thick silver biker-style look with a wide black leather band. It’s stylish, about seven
grand, and it fits him. It also reminds me of the past I want behind me. “Sierra?”
I blink and look up at Asher. “Yes?”
“Why are you staring at my watch?” he asks, his arm resting on the table near my hand.
“I like it. It’s very you.” I reach out and cover his arm with my hand. “Like the tattoos. They fit you.” I stroke the image of a skull that wears a scarf and looks like a pirate. “A Navy pirate?” I ask.
“Yes.” He covers my hand on his arm with his hand. “Why were you staring at my watch, Sierra?”
“It’s not important.”
“It is to me, so humor me.”
“The Beast had me buy Omega watches for his inner circle last Christmas. An extravagant gift meant to win their loyalty. That’s what he does, Asher. He buys people or he threatens them. Or he kills them like he wants to kill me.”
Asher stares at me for several beats, his lashes half veiled, and pulls his arm back and starts to unbuckle his watch. I cover it with my hand. “What are you doing?”
“We’re getting rid of him in every way.”
“He doesn’t get that much control. Keep the watch, Asher. I really do like it on you. I want it to be about you. It is about you. The only reason that man is on my mind is because he’s dangerous, and I don’t even have the evidence to prove it. I left it in Texas. Okay?”
“No,” he says. “It’s not okay, but it’s going to be.” He leans over the table, cups my neck and kisses me, a deep, drugging kiss before he says, “Let’s get out of here.” He stands up. “Leave the weapons out for now. One or both will be on your person once we get that purse. There’s a Bloomingdale’s not far from here.”
I stand up and study him, certain that Bloomingdale’s and purses is not what’s on his mind. I see that in his face. I feel it in his energy. I open my mouth to ask where that confession over the watch has taken him, but his cellphone rings. He pulls it from his pocket and glances at the screen. “Blake,” he tells me and motions to the file laying on the table. “Grab your new ID.”
I flip through the file and snap up my driver’s license and stare down at the girl named Kelli Vincent who looks like me. The person I have to become if I let Devin Marks win. I stick the ID in my pocket and head out of the room and hunt down my purse and phone. Asher heads on downstairs, and I snatch my purse from the bathroom and follow him, but I don’t hear a word he’s saying to Blake. I’m thinking about Kelli Vincent, the girl with The Beast in the mirror, who has to find a way to break that glass.
***
A few minutes later, Asher and I step onto the street and he settles his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to him, our hips aligned. We walk at a decent speed, trying to hit the stores before they close, but still tucked in close, steps paced together, and I wonder if I ever walked a sidewalk with Devin in this way. If I did, I can’t even remember it, and that’s probably because it wasn’t like this. I didn’t feel safe. I didn’t feel warm all over despite an early evening chill, signaling that late October is finally here. “What did Blake say?” I ask, since they literally didn’t hang up until a few moments ago, even talking through the struggle of bad elevator service.
“Kara got into your apartment,” he says. “So far Ju-Ju is at home and hasn’t left.”
“What about Terrance? He could be helping Ju-Ju? Or someone else, even?”
“You think that someone might be helping Ju-Ju with the actual murders? Not just feeding him information they think is related to his drug deals?”
“The Son of Sam insisted he was part of a cult. He even named the members, but waited until they died. I could name other examples. So do I think it’s possible? Yes.”
“If that’s the case, Terrance would be an obvious target. Or someone from another bar. He has no other communications. He’s a loner. But I told Blake about the work we’ve done on Ju-Ju. We’re going to meet at the office at ten tomorrow. Luke and Jacob will be there as well.”
“Who will be watching Ju-Ju?” I ask.
“Chance, our new guy, is proving stealthy. He’s going to follow Ju-Ju, while Rick, another newer recruit, is watching Terrance.”
“Kara will be watching for anyone suspicious, not just Ju-Ju, right?”
“She’s sharp and smart, but so is Blake, and that man would die for her. No one is getting to her. Of that, I’m certain. Like no one is getting to you, Sierra.” He kisses my head, and I swear, I feel a squeeze in my heart. I’m falling for this man. I’m leaning on him. I trust him and I didn’t think I could ever trust again. But just as he’s protecting me I need to protect him. I’m just not sure how to do that. I’m not sure I haven’t already ensured I can’t do that.
We head down into the subway and soon we’re on a nearly empty train and sitting at the end of a bench. “Kara wants you to call her,” Asher says. “Why don’t you let me put her number and about half a dozen others in your phone.”
I pull it from my purse. “Why does Kara want me to call her?”
“Blake didn’t say.” He keys in her number and tags it with her name before adding several more. “Okay,” he says when he’s done. “You have me, Luke, his wife, Julie, Kara, Blake, Royce, and his wife, Lauren.” He glances at me. “I’m still going. You have Jacob, who you will meet tomorrow, and Kyle and Myla. They are gone now, but Kyle and I are close.”
“Which is why you want to tell him about Alvarez.”
“Which is why Blake and I have to have that conversation, and preferably tonight. As for the numbers I’ve put in your phone, consider these people your safe inner circle now. I trust them with my life and that means yours. Memorize them. If you get separated from me and you can’t reach me, then you call them.”
“In what order?”
“Luke first,” he says, “but any of the brothers after him.”
“Luke first because he’s your SEAL brother?”
“Yes. Exactly. I know him and how he thinks better than anyone else on our team.” The train stops and we exit, hand in hand. I’m getting used to my hand in his. I’m getting used to his gorgeous tattoos. I’m getting used to his kisses.
We climb the stairs and exit to the street, and it’s not long until we’re in the handbag section of Bloomingdale’s with Asher giving me instructions on what we’re looking for. “Pick something you like, but you to be able to wear it crossbody. That way it is always attached to your hip. You want it to be small enough that it doesn’t impede you if you have to move quickly. You want it to have easy access to the weapon, with a top slit, but it needs to zip. That way no one can reach inside and grab the gun.”
“Don’t I need a permit to carry?” I ask as we start to look around.
“Yes,” Asher says. “But that requires you go to the Sherriff’s office. You aren’t getting one now. We don’t want that kind of attention.”
That response is oddly comforting. He gets it. Law enforcement is a problem for me, for us, now.
A pretty redhead stops in front of us. “Can I help you find something?”
“Yes,” Asher says, and if he notices how truly stunning she is, he doesn’t show it at all. “We need a bag this size.” He holds up a small bag. “But it needs to zip at the top and be large enough for a handgun.”
I gape at him for repeating what he’s just told me, including the part about the gun, but the woman is unfazed. “I know the perfect bag.” She turns and starts walking.
“Did you really just tell her we need a bag for a gun?”
“Would you rather me say an umbrella?”
“Smart-ass,” I chide. “And yes. Maybe.”
“She’s a carrier.”
“How do you know?”
He winks. “I get gun mojo off of people.” He takes my hand. “Come on.” We hurry forward and meet the gun-carrying redheaded store clerk at the Prada counter. “This is the Quilted Bowler Crossbody Bag,” she says, holding up a purse. “It has a zipper and a spacious interior that will hold a small handgun. And it’s a steal at
just under $1,800. The Paradigm tote matches it well, if you ever need more space. It’s two thousand and you can fit a small computer inside right along with the smaller purse.”
“We’ll take them both,” Asher says and then looks at me. “If you like them.”
“I do, but—”
“We’ll take them,” Asher repeats.
The woman lights up. “Excellent.” She motions to a register. “Let’s head that direction.” She grabs both bags and starts walking.
I, in turn, grab Asher’s arm. “Four thousand dollars for purses?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“It’s too much.”
“The bags work. You like them. We can get something else later in the week if you want.”
“No. I don’t. Asher—”
He kisses me. “I like buying you things. Another first for me. Don’t make that a bad thing.”
The way he says it, the roughness of his voice, the sincerity, undoes me. With Devin, everything was about his power and control. With Asher, it is something far different that I can’t even name, but I also can’t argue. “Thank you.”
His eyes warm. “You’re here. That’s all I need.”
Just like that, my heart squeezes again, and once again his fingers are linked with mine and we’re headed to the register. After Asher has paid, and I’ve stuffed my temporary purse and the new smaller Prada inside the larger bag, which has a strap I use crossbody, we leave the store. We step outside into the chill of the now murky darkness outdoors, the stars covered by clouds. We start walking and a block down the street, with Asher by my side, and his arm back around my shoulders, I have a sudden realization. For the first time in nine months, I’ve forgotten to look over that shoulder. I’m far from out of danger, and yet, this man is the right kind of Beast. The kind everyone else should fear. The kind that makes Devin Marks quake in his shoes. Good versus evil. Asher versus Devin.
No.
Me versus The Beast.