“Really?” he asked.
“Yep. You’ve got that hot nerd thing happening.”
“Hot nerd? Isn’t that an oxymoron?”
“What did you just call me?” Josie teased.
She placed a kiss on his lips and hopped over, heading to the bathroom. Tristan shook his head in disbelief, loving how she always had a way of surprising him. Marking his page, he placed the book on the nightstand and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind.
He’d been up since dawn, his thoughts reeling. Josie was in danger, and he needed to know why. He couldn’t believe that he let her talk him into staying three extra days. This time could be better spent assuring her safety.
She emerged from the bathroom and instantly he understood exactly how she’d persuaded him. Her mere presence sang to him, called to his weaknesses. Josie was beautiful with her tousled hair and endless legs standing at the foot of his bed. It had been awhile since he’d wanted to share his life with anyone, but here she was and Tristan cherished the sight of her.
Mort stepped into the shower and let the water run over his face. He leaned his forehead against the cool tile and grinned, still excited about yesterday’s find. He had sat outside Josie Banks’s North Park apartment the previous day waiting to catch a glimpse of her. He couldn’t wait to lay eyes on her, if for nothing else than to confirm that she did exist. He stared at the building with loathing, begging it to reveal her.
Finally she’d come trotting down the steps with a large bag slung over her shoulder. She was a dark and brooding beauty compared to the teen girl in the photo he’d memorized.
She was small, an easy target for someone like himself. But she hadn’t been alone. The guy by her side was young, probably her age. His arms were covered in tattoos. His smile for the girl was easily recognizable as one of affection.
Mort had snapped a few photos of the couple and watched as they disappeared down the block. He grinned sinisterly at the idea of being rid of her. Hell, killing her would probably be doing her a favor. After all the shit she’d been through, she might even welcome him like an angel of mercy. He’d never spent this much time and effort on a job and felt a bit put off that he’d become so attached to the girl. Not that he wouldn’t carry out his mission, but it would definitely feel different from every other kill.
Stepping out of the shower, he dried off and swiped at the mirror. His speckled, foggy reflection stared back. But he wasn’t sure what he saw there. He seemed changed in a way.
After getting dressed, he forwarded the photos of Josie to Moloney, confirming that he’d found her. Adrenaline pumped furiously through his veins as he beat his fist against the wall in triumph.
All he had left to do was case the place for a couple of days to determine if she had any kind of schedule. He would set his internal clock in sync with hers, trying to connect them in any way possible.
It was always best to make the kill out in public, away from the home. It seemed less personal that way. Though he knew that murder, in any location, was personal. There was always a bigger chance for witnesses out in the open, but Mort never worried. In all his years in the business, he’d perfected the art of being invisible when needed.
Just as Mort walked out the door, his phone buzzed. He checked the ID and smiled.
“You saw the photos?” he asked calmly.
“There’s been a change in plans,” Moloney’s voice sneered. “Don’t kill her. Bring the girl to me alive.” Mort froze, his heart beating against his chest. The silence grew longer between the men. He hated being taken by surprise. It rarely happened. “Is there a problem?” Moloney asked.
“No problem.”
“Good. Ticktock.”
14. Revolution
The movement of one celestial body as it orbits another.
Tristan and Josie sat in the beer garden at New Orleans Creole Cafe. It was a charming place nestled in historic Old Town. Tristan sipped an Abita Turbodog while Josie fought the urge to pull the marker from her bag and tag the seat of her chair. It had been awhile since she’d thrown up a significant piece, and the urge to do so scratched at her.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Tristan asked.
“Going out writing. It’s been awhile.”
Tristan frowned and set his bottle down on the table.
“I hate that you do that,” he said, staring past her.
“I know. It’s not dangerous like you think. I’ve never gotten caught.”
“‘In a closed society where everybody’s guilty, the only crime is getting caught.’”
“Hmm. Who said that?” she asked.
“Hunter S. Thompson. A man so avant-garde that his suicide note was published in Rolling Stone.”
“Wow.”
“I read this book called Engaging Art. It was commissioned as a study, but it’s an interesting read. It talks about how art participation, of any kind, in today’s society will encourage future generations to do so.”
“See? I’m encouraging future generations,” Josie said.
“Encouraging what, though? Vandalism? It also discusses people’s motivations behind their own artistic expression. So what’s your motivation?”
“I don’t know, Tristan. I like the idea that there are permanent parts of me out there. It’s like being able to communicate without having to say anything. You know?”
Tristan nodded and finished off his beer.
“You’re talented. You always have been. You could express that talent in other ways, legal ways. If they catch you, they can link every piece you’ve ever done.”
“Don’t worry so much. It’ll be hard to connect all my work since I changed my writing name a few months ago. I used to sign everything JayBee.”
“And now?” he asked.
Josie looked away, a smile stretching across her lips.
“Bundy.”
Tristan laughed and slid his arm around her shoulders.
“Josie!” Monica called out when she spotted the couple.
She ignored Josie’s groan as they stood to greet her. Monica could barely contain her excitement. She wanted to wrap Josie in a hug and thank her for giving their relationship a chance, but she knew that personal boundaries should not be crossed. Instead, she offered a nervous wave.
“Sorry I’m late. I got held up at the office. I swear, I have to file paperwork every time I take a bathroom break. We like to kill trees apparently. Anyway, you two look great.”
“Thanks,” Tristan answered, though it sounded more like a question.
He took a few seconds to process Monica. Their last meeting had been brief, but he could tell she was what his mother called high-spirited.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Josie asked, scanning the sidewalk.
“Ugh,” Monica grunted. “He can’t make it. Work again. Some big real estate buyout mumbo jumbo. I don’t know. I guess it’s better to be busy, right? Job security and all.”
As much as she hadn’t been looking forward to a date with Monica, Josie had a decent time. It sucked that Rob had to work late. Josie was curious about any man who could tame the unstoppable force of nature known as Monica Templeton. Expectedly, Tristan was a pro at making Monica feel included and comfortable. She rambled on and on about nothing in particular. With Tristan there, Josie found it easier to keep her eye rolling and huffing to a minimum.
Dinner was casual, and after two glasses of wine, Josie found herself less annoyed and more entertained by Monica’s effervescent personality. Tristan didn’t seem to be fazed by her dramatic flair in the least. He was kind and engaging and as charming as ever.
“Well, thanks for a lovely evening,” Monica said.
Josie snorted at her formal statement. Tristan nudged her with his elbow.