"What the fuck is taking so long? You should have been back days ago."
I pace the small front porch, chewing a nail.
"There were some complications," I vaguely explain.
"What kind of complications?" Her tone is venomous.
"Nothing I couldn't handle." Yeah, right. I am in so over my head I am looking up into nothing but black water.
"Is it done, at least?"
I rip the tip of my nail right off with my teeth as I answer. "No."
"Fuck! Stevie!" she shouts. "Why the fuck not?"
"I told you, there were complications," I reiterate.
"Stevie, I told you not to fuck this job up. I warned you-"
"Yes, I remember, I was there," I toss out flatly, peeking into the house on the lookout for Baz. "Who wants him gone?" I get right down to business.
"What the fuck does it matter?"
"Because I want to know."
"You don't need to know. What you need to do is put a bullet in his fucking head and come home," she manages to snap, sneer, and order all at once. "That's your job. That is what you are there to do. I don't want a pissed-off client. And he will be pissed off. Do you hear me, Stevie? You know what that means."
Yeah, yeah. Threats upon threats upon threats upon threats. My head will be served up on a silver platter if I fail. Yada, yada. I'm familiar with the consequences.
"Who is he?" I press again, and I literally feel Regina's hostility vibrate through the phone.
"It doesn't fucking matter." She speaks slowly, threateningly.
Fuck, this is getting me nowhere. Stubborn bitch is never going to tell me. I have to change up my strategy. If I want to find out who wants Baz dead, I am going to have to go back east and find out myself. I hope he won't mind pretending to be dead for just a little while.
"Fine. I'll be home soon. I'll call you from the plane."
"The clock is ticking, Stevie." I roll my eyes. "Oh. One more thing. Your stupid fucking OB got our phone numbers mixed up again. You're overdue for your BC shot. So, I suggest you keep your legs closed while you're gone." Click.
I petrify right where I stand as my stomach drops. Motherfuckingshit.
I inhale a deep, cleansing breath, drawing on the purity of the Colorado air. One shit show at a time.
Right now, I have to deal with Baz. As I step back inside the house, I come to find Baz standing at the table, my bag wide open, the .22 in one hand and the silencer in the other.
I pause as I inspect the puzzled look on his face, my heartbeat intensifying.
"Baz?" I say his name calmly, non-threateningly. This is not the way I envisioned this happening. I was hoping to ease into the fact that I'm packing.
Baz flicks his eyes up at me as I take a step toward him, the floor creaking below my feet. The way he looks at me is chilling, my blood freezing right in my veins.
"Did you come here to kill me, Stevie?" He doesn't pull any punches. Gotta respect him for that.
"Baz, please just put the gun down and let me explain." I pray he can hear the sincerity in my voice. His jaw ticks as he lifts his hand and opens fire. I take cover, diving behind the kitchen island as he shoots up his entire house.
"Baz! Stop!" I curl into a ball as glass shatters all around me. Fuck. "I thought you didn't like violence!" I yell over the flying rounds.
"I don't! But I'm not opposed to using it when someone is trying to kill me!"
The chamber suddenly clicks. He's out.
"I don't want to kill you!" Anymore.
"Nice fucking try. You've been lying since the moment I met you!" He sounds pissed. Who can blame him?
I glance up at the counter as I hear the floor creak. A few feet away sits a set of kitchen knives and Baz's keys.
I could end this right now. All it would take is a few fast moves, and I could send a paring knife flying into Baz's heart. He would never see it coming. It would be over lightning quick.
I screw my eyes shut, sick from the thought. I need to make a life-altering decision, and I need to make it right now. The floor squeaks again, and I dart out from behind the island, Baz in my peripheral vision. I grab the keys then fly out the front door.
"I'm sorry," I whisper as I hop into the truck and speed away, leaving Baz, and any chance we had, behind.
SHIT UP TO my eyeballs does not even begin to describe the situation I'm in.
I stand in front of Regina's office door rocking back and forth on my heels. I'm procrastinating.
She verbally castrated me when I told her the job was a fail. I knew this moment was coming. The minute I decided I wasn't going to kill Baz, I knew I was going to have to face the music eventually. And I knew the tune was going to be the death march.
I finally knock on the door. Like Baz said, you can't avoid talking about the inevitable.