Great Exploitations(7)

“It was late. We’d spent half the night working on a school project and the other half of the night—”

My glare stopped him mid-sentence.

He ran his fingers through his hair before continuing with a story that hopefully wouldn’t remind me of those nights we’d shared hitting the books before moving to the bed. Or whatever was close by. “We were laying there—I thought you were almost asleep—when you listed off nine numbers. You repeated them and told me if I ever lost you or if you ever lost me, I could find you no matter what. I knew your ‘code,’ so I could never lose you.”

I had to take a full two breaths before I could reply. “I said that?” After grabbing my Guinness, I took a long sip. Henry’d been right; I did want and need that beer. “Because it doesn’t sound like something I’d say. ‘You know my code?‘ Come on, that’s lame.”

Henry’s face formed a small smirk. “We’re computer nerds. We speak, dream, and code in lame.”

“Wow, so some girls bake their boyfriends a nice dinner, or give them half of some girly locket, or . . . give them a blow job, and I gave you my Social Security Number?” I gave my head a shake. Just because I couldn’t remember that night didn’t mean I didn’t believe Henry. I wouldn’t remember those more intimate memories—they had been the first to go.

Henry clasped his hands on the table and leaned forward. “I liked knowing your ‘code’ way better than some homemade dinner or locket. And if it’s any consolation, you gave me plenty of—”

Warning glare number two. That one was twice as potent as the first one, though.

“Sorry. The memory train kind of got away from me.”

Henry shifted in his seat. I wished I could be certain it was because of the glare I was still aiming his way rather than what he was replaying in his mind. Given that his cheeks were coloring, I guessed the latter was more likely.

“Speaking of your memory”—I raised my eyebrows—“you’re telling me that after this many years, you still remember those nine numbers? You remember ‘my code’?” No, I didn’t try to keep the sarcasm from my voice, and no, I didn’t feel badly for it.

Henry’s head tilted. “And you’re telling me that you’d expect me to forget something like that?”

“It’s not like I’m your wife—just the almost one—so yeah, I wouldn’t expect you to remember my Social Security Number after five years.” At least I withheld my wince. That was about the only thing I did right in that bitter, wrong-on-every-level answer. How many times did I have to remind myself that I was with Henry as an Eve, not as the other one?

Let’s see, I suppose I was at close to two thousand reminders, so maybe a couple thousand more times?

Henry flattened his palms on the tabletop and looked up at me. His expression gave away that he was as conflicted as I was angry. “Do you want to splash your beer in my face? Do you want to slap me or take a swing or get on the table and scream about what kind of a sorry excuse for a man I am?” A flash of pain crossed his face—one that didn’t flash away quickly. “Do you want to do and say all of the things you didn’t get a chance to before running out of that room that morning? Because”—he spread his arms wide—“I’m right here. I won’t stop you. I won’t hold a grudge. In fact, it might be something of a relief because I’m certain you can’t do anything worse to me than I’ve already done to myself.”

I highly doubt that. His tune would change when his entire empire crumbled down after I’d ripped apart the foundation. One day soon, Henry Callahan would realize he could do nothing worse to himself than what I’d already put into action.

Folding my hands in my lap, I gave him a conventional smile. “If I wanted to throw my beer in your face, or slap you, or scream at you, or have you castrated, I would have done so already.” Henry didn’t flinch. No, he kept his eyes locked on mine. “If I was here for payback, I wouldn’t have worn silk and stockings. I’m here for paperwork and paperwork only.”

Okay, so that was a lie. As far as payback went, I worked best in silk and stockings. Made the Errand quicker if I showed up in them instead of boxing gloves and a mouth guard. I just took my jabs and victories in other ways.

Henry handed me the pen then slid the stack of paperwork in front of me. “Paperwork and paperwork only. Got it.”

My proverbial eyebrow rose. We’ll see.

As I worked my way through the stack, signing this page and that page and five hundred other ones, I scanned each box. Henry really had filled them all in. His blocky, slightly slanted writing was impossible to mistake. He’d filled in my school history and personal information. For prior job experience, he’d only filled in one: Private Contractor. My breath caught in my throat for a moment when I saw that. I had to remind myself Henry meant private contracting in the tech industry, not in the illicit one I really was a part of.