I dump some milk in a pan. My mom made warm milk for me when I was a kid, and it always made me feel better. I’m at a loss as to what to do for Natalie. Sabrina comes over with a small bottle in her hand.
“Put a little almond extract in it.”
I give her a tight smile, and she shakes two small drops into the pan.
“Is she going to be okay?”
“Yes. I don’t know when or how, but I do know that she is strong. She’s gone through a lot and made tremendous progress. Coming here, away from her home, was a lot to ask of her.” My fist tightens around the handle of the pan, but there’s no pain there. I turn to Kaga. He sees what I need immediately. I turn off the burner and pour the mixture into a mug, which I hand to Sabrina.
“Sabrina, why don’t you go upstairs and sit with Natalie,” he says.
“What are you two going to do?” she asks skeptically.
“I have some information that might be helpful to your brother.”
We don’t exchange a word as we walk into the cellar.
“Do you want to change?”
I look down at my jeans and T-shirt and shake my head.
“Very well, let’s go.”
In the cellar we enter a padded room the staff and I use to train. Kaga shrugs off his thousand-dollar suit coat and his expensive shirt. He slips off his shoes and crouches. It’s not a fair fight. It wouldn’t have been even if I had two regular legs and arms, because Kaga has been fighting since he could stand. I’m faster with a gun and probably better with a knife, but in hand-to-hand combat, there are few people who could ever beat him. Because of that, he is the perfect person for me to spar with. And I need pain and punishment before I can go back up and face Natalie. These are blows she should be landing; this is pain that she should inflict. Kaga does it for her. For forty-five minutes, he spins, strikes, and jabs.
And I take it because it’s only a fraction of the suffering I deserve. Kaga calls a halt.
“We’re not done yet,” I snarl and spring forward.
He glides away. “Yes, we are. I have no intention of receiving another blow.”
I notice with some grim satisfaction that I managed to land a punch on his upper cheek, which is bruising.
“Your sister will think that we’ve had yet another disagreement about her.”
I pull my shirt off and wipe my sweaty face with it. “You know, Kaga, you’re so hell-bent on having her. I’m not gonna stand in your way. But if you think for one minute she’s going to accept the life that you can give her, then you’re not as smart as I think you are.” I shrug the shirt back on. “And if you hurt her, we’re done. I will always choose my sister over you.”
He nods his head, almost a bow, to acknowledge the rightness of my statement. Family honor means everything to Kaga, which is why he’s in the bind he’s in now.
“I vacillate back and forth,” he admits, “between wanting everything and wanting just one thing.”
“Make up your mind before you go ruining people’s lives.”
He takes the hit, absorbs it like none of the physical blows I was able to land. And I’m almost regretful, but this is my sister. And I fear that whatever future she might have with Kaga will be too painful for her big heart to endure.
Back in my office I exchange my sweaty clothes for clean ones and ask for another report, ready to go to Western Union.
“I offered a signed Cobras jersey and the owner coughed the information up immediately. One of the frequent customers of the pizzeria is Daphne Marshall. She’s an editor at Brook Myles. There was a dog that ran out into the street and got hit by a car. It lay in the street for some time, so finally someone from the restaurant went and picked it up. They were going to throw it away, but Daphne objected. She said that the dog should have a funeral and that she would pay for it. She asked them to box it up in some dry ice and said that she would send a driver for it.”
“Daphne Marshall?” I repeat dumbly.
“That’s what they said. I ran some preliminary information. No criminal record, but she’s in debt up to her earlobes. Credit cards maxed out and one month behind in her rent. She lives in a complex downtown.”
“Shit, I thought for sure it was a dude,” Zachs says.
“Thanks. I’ll take it from here.” I’m not sure how I’m going to break it to Natalie that the person who has been tormenting her for the last few weeks, who has been instrumental in destroying the progress that she’s made in conquering her anxiety, is her closest friend and editor. I can’t even fathom why.
Natalie has the answers, and she deserves to know what I’ve discovered. I don’t even think she’s ready to hear it. Knowing who the perpetrator is, though, makes it easy enough to shadow her to make sure no other harm comes to Natalie. “I want a tail on her twenty-four/seven. She doesn’t take a shit without us knowing.”
Mike nods and Zachs trails behind. “Are you sure it’s not a guy?” he asks in disbelief. He had been so convinced it was a man. His notion of females as the weaker, milder gender is taking a blow.
I’d laugh if the situation weren’t so fucking tragic.
With a heavy heart, I climb the stairs. In the bedroom, I find Natalie packing. Sabrina is gone and the almond milk lies untouched on the end table.
“What’s going on?”
She draws in a shaky breath and then turns to me. “I should go home,” she says. “I don’t belong here. I’ve embarrassed myself enough. I called Dr. Terrance. He said to take two diazepam and go home.”
“This is your home.” I fold my arms across my chest and stand in the doorway, blocking her way.
“Then I called Dr. Crist and he told me the same thing. To go home.”
“Your home is here,” I repeat.
Her eyes fill with tears, but she swallows hard, fighting them back. “It’s not.”
I push away from the door so I can gather her into my arms. “Natalie, I love you. You love me. This is your home. I want you here with me.”
Her lips tremble and her face scrunches up as she tries to keep the tears in her eyes from falling. “I’m embarrassed and ashamed and maybe I shouldn’t feel that way, but I do. I want to be able to lick my wounds in peace.”
“I’ll leave then, just for tonight, but don’t go.” She’s shaking and feels slight and frail. I don’t want to let her go. Not now. Not ever. “Listen, sweetheart. I know who is doing this to you and I can make it stop.”
“You can? You can magically make all my anxiety go away?” She twists out of my grip and zips her suitcase closed. “With your penis or what? You are so well adjusted. You’ve conquered all your demons and now go around saving others. Well, you can’t save me. I’m a mess. I know this. But I just want to be a mess by myself.”
The shame and anguish in her voice is killing me. “You don’t have to go this alone.”
“You know agoraphobia isn’t fear of the outdoors or crowds. It’s the fear of having a panic attack in public and not being able to do a damn thing about it. It’s literally fear of fear itself. That’s why even in my own home sometimes I have a hard time with change. When I first moved in, I stayed in the bedroom. Sometimes I slept in the bathroom because it was the smallest room in my house and I figured if I passed out, pissed myself, or vomited, I’d just have to reach up and turn the shower on. I can’t do that here. There’s too much space. It’s just all too much. I can’t stay here.” She shuts her eyes and the water leaks out. I wipe her tears away with my thumbs and when I place my lips against hers and she opens in response, I feel like the crisis is momentarily averted. I taste salty tears and infuse as much love and tenderness into the kiss as possible.
I brush her hair back. “You’re stronger than you know. This too shall pass.”
It is the wrong thing to say. She gasps and breaks away. Bending down, she grabs her suitcase. It swings around and hits me in the knee joint and I fold, like a stupid house of cards.