"No." She was prepared to be firm. It was the best solution, and yes, she realized it would disturb Tom, but she was determined to keep them safe. By force if needed. "No. I'm not. He said to call him, and we can meet him at the Spurs and Lace. Our names won't be on the register and I don't think anyone will think that he and you will be under the same roof."
"And there are reasons for that," Tom said, his voice still even. "Kyrie, he's working for the triad."
"No, he's not. He realized that they wanted to . . . kill you. And he came to me. He wanted me to save you."
"No. That might have been what he said. But he was just trying to find me, to—"
"Tom, I am not an idiot," Kyrie said, and saw something flicker in his eyes and for just a moment thought that Tom was going to tell her she was. But he didn't say anything, and she went on. "I saw what he was doing first, but he changed. He said that he didn't want you dead. He came to the Athens in the middle of the night, looking like the walking dead. And he begged me to help him."
"Kyrie. He's a lawyer. Lawyers lie. It's right in the contract."
She shook her head. "He wasn't lying."
"No? How not? What sign did he give you of his amazing turnaround, Kyrie? Tell me. Maybe it will convince me. I know the bastard far better than you do." He left the phone resting on his knees and crossed his arms on his chest, in a clear body-language sign that like hell he'd listen.
"If he shifts into a dragon in the car, I'm jumping out," Keith said, quietly, from the back.
Kyrie ignored Keith. "I know he's changed in his view of it, because he tried to convince me how bad you are."
Tom's eyes widened. "All right, Kyrie. I was the one who was hit on the head, but you seem to be the one affected by it. He's always said how bad I was."
"No," Kyrie said, and shook her head. "Not like this. He stopped just short of saying you botched your spelling bee in third grade. Your father, Tom, realized suddenly that he messed up big with you. And he's trying to justify it to himself by telling someone in increasingly more ridiculous terms how nasty a person you are."
Tom didn't answer. He was biting the corner of his lower lip.
"Look—I—" She stopped short of telling him she had done the same. Just. "I tend to do what he was doing, so I understand the process. Besides, when I told him you were safe, when Rafiel called, he went all slack. I've never seen someone so relieved."
"Okay, so maybe he didn't want me to die. Maybe he was relieved at that. Doesn't mean he won't change his mind again when he actually sees me."
"I don't think so," Kyrie said. "I don't think he will. And Tom, we could use his room. I'm indentured for the next six months, you can't have that much money. We'd have to get Rafiel to pay for it. I'd . . . I'd rather not." The last thing she wanted to tell Tom was that Rafiel had kissed her. Oh, Tom had no reason at all for jealousy, nor did she know if she had any interest in Tom's kissing her—Okay. So, she had to stop lying to herself, she thought again, looking at his face— Yeah, she wanted to kiss him. She just wasn't sure where it would go and that she wasn't sure if she wanted. But Tom had no reason for jealousy and she doubted he would have any, but she would still prefer not to tell him about it.
"Kyrie, I don't believe in big turnarounds. I don't believe people change that much."
Oh, she was going to hate to have to say this. "I don't believe it either, Tom, but . . . You're no longer a hard-core drug user who would steal cars for joyrides without a second thought, are you? So there must be change."
Tom's mouth dropped open. For a moment she thought he was going to ask her to stop the car so he could get out. His hand actually moved toward the door handle. And then he seemed to realize she wasn't insulting him. The meaning of her words seemed to actually penetrate through his thick head.
He took a deep breath and held the phone out to her. "You call Daddy Dearest."
It would have been easiest to tell him she was driving and couldn't, but Kyrie was aware of the victory this represented. So, instead, she pulled over into a vacant parking space on the side of Polk Street and grabbed the phone. Pulling Edward's number from her purse, she dialed.
The phone rang, and she asked for the room number from the bored-sounding receptionist. Then his bedroom phone rang. Once, twice, three, four times. She expected the message to come on, when the phone was picked up, and clearly dropped, and picked up again.
"Hello," a sleepy male voice said from the other side.