Hit List(103)

Harley spoke each word slowly, carefully. “Is-he-one-of-yourlovers?” There was anger in each word now, the reasonable tone vanishing in the heat. “If I smell a lie on you I will kill him, Anita.”

“We had sex once, but out of respect for his wife’s wishes we’ve behaved since then. See, yes, and no, I wasn’t lying.” I tried to quiet my pulse, but couldn’t quite do it. I was telling the truth, but Harley seemed to want to hurt Lisandro, or maybe he just liked hurting people.

“His wife’s wishes, what does that mean?” He still had the gun barrel pressed to the back of Lisandro’s head. I did not want to have to watch his brains get blown out. I did not want to tell his wife and kids that I’d watched him die.

“It means that she told him that if he ever cheated on her again she’d leave him, and take the kids, or kill him, and me.”

He rubbed Lisandro’s hair with the tip of the gun, almost like he was petting him with it. “Do you think she meant that?”

“That she’d leave him and take their two kids? Yes.”

“No, Anita, the part about killing him and you. Did she mean that?”

I shrugged as far as I could with my hands bound behind my back. “I don’t know.”

He slid the barrel along the side of Lisandro’s face. “Oh, come, you must have an opinion of the woman.”

“I haven’t met her,” I said.

“Interesting,” he said, and slid the gun barrel underneath Lisandro’s chin. Lisandro jerked away, but Harley put the barrel more firmly under his chin, and forced his face up, until they could meet each other’s gaze. “Would your wife truly kill you both?”

Lisandro just glared at him.

“Oh, the gag, how silly of me, just nod. If you had sex with Anita again, would your wife kill you both?”

Lisandro just looked at him.

“Answer me, Lisandro.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know either,” I said.

Harley looked at me. “Don’t help him.”

“I’m just saying that most married couples I know say things in anger they don’t exactly mean, but I know she’ll take his kids. He coaches their soccer teams. He wouldn’t risk losing his kids.”

Harley used the gun barrel to force Lisandro’s head back farther so that the angle of his neck was painful. “Is that true, Lisandro? Do you value your family?”

This time Lisandro gave a tiny nod, as much as the angle of his neck would allow.

Harley moved the gun and let him put his head down. “And do you value your bodyguard, Anita?”

Lisandro flashed me his dark, angry eyes again. Again, we were both wondering which answer would help us, and which one would hurt the most.

“He’s my bodyguard; he’s good at his job. I value anyone who’s good at their job.” My words were calm, reasonable; the pulse in my neck didn’t agree, but I was afraid of what was going to happen next. I couldn’t find my calm on this one.

“Your words are those of an employer, but your fear is that for a friend. He is your lover, and your friend; yes?”

“I make friends easily,” I said.

Harley laughed then, and it was a good, full-chested deep chuckle. Under other circumstances it would have made me smile, at least, but with a gun in each hand, and Lisandro’s blood still fresh on the floor, the laugh was unnerving. It didn’t match what was happening. It’s never good when the bad guy’s reactions don’t match normal human emotions. It means there’s something wrong with them, and that they won’t react like you expect. They become a sociopathic wild card. The kind of wild card that can get people hurt, or dead.

“You make friends easily, so we’ve heard.” His voice still held that edge of humor. “Put Lisandro on the table.”

The three Harlequin carried him to the table. There was no blood trail from his wounded knee; it had already healed. They lifted him like a piece of luggage and laid him facedown on the table.

“Face up, please,” Harley said.

They flipped him over without a word or a hesitation. They never even exchanged a glance between them. What the hell was wrong with them? The Harlequin in the woods hadn’t been like this; they’d been like Harley, like the red tiger Harlequin. Why were these three different?

Harley holstered his guns and came to loom over me. He had to be around six feet tall and from the ground he looked bigger, but they always did. I could see that his eyes were a soft gray. He knelt and picked me up in his arms, gently. He cradled me against his chest. It made me tense, for no reason other than that the gentleness was like the laughter; it didn’t match.