Last Hit(29)

“Did you eat?”

“I tried but lost my appetite.”

Halting, I turn and lift my gloved hand to her shoulder. “Tell me what has happened, or I will be tormented by my ignorance.”

She shakes her head and laughs lightly. “You are full of drama, Nick.”

Rising on her tiptoes, she kisses me. I sigh because her simple touch fills me with such pleasure. “I have eaten two sandwiches but would like coffee. Will you drink with me?”

“Of course.”

After we order our hot drinks at the Village Bean, Daisy confesses her worries. “I met Christine’s boyfriend today.”

“Da?”

“He called her piggy. Isn’t that terrible?”

“Da, terrible,” I reply uncertainly. Is it terrible? I wonder because I call Daisy kitten.

“It’s not same thing at all.” She somehow reads my mind. “And it’s not just his awful nickname for her, it’s how he treats her. He calls her names, says she’s fat, and . . . ,” she pauses and takes a deep breath. Leaning forward she whispers. “I think he’s not . . . nice to her.”

“How so?” I ask carefully so as not to misunderstand her. By her earnest expression and her very real distress, Daisy is concerned about something more than a man being unkind to a woman. At least I believe that to be true. “Should I talk to him? I will be pleased to share how a true man treats a woman.”

Daisy does not welcome my suggestion. She retreats to her side of the table, and the furrows between her eyes deepen. “No. I don’t think she or Saul would respond well to another stranger. Christine is still afraid around me and I’ve sat in her class for weeks now. What do you think I should do?”

I am stymied. My problems are solved by killing people. In the past, I have needed a good reason to kill someone. I have never killed a person because they are . . . not nice. But this is my Daisy and I would do whatever she asks of me.

I can kill this Saul, and Christine would be free of that worry, but now is a bad time for me to shoot someone. The police are watching the campus, and another shooting? I can investigate Saul but I don’t want to promise Daisy a resolution and not deliver. “There are some people who do not wish to have aid. They could be hanging from the edge of a bridge and would spit on your hand if you offered it.” She looks surprised, so I share with her an incident of my past. “Before—before us—I tried to warn a young boy who the Bratva had picked up that there was a different life he could lead. I offered him money but he refused. He said the Bratva was his last, best chance.”

“What happened?”

“He died, not five months later. He was delivering a package and failed to be discreet. After he was caught and released by the police, Sergei had another boy end him.”

“That’s terrible.” She looks a bit sick, and truthfully the memory is not a welcome one for me, either. “Couldn’t the other boy have said no?”

“That was not how it worked within the Bratva. I was lucky because I had no one, but those who had mothers, brothers, or sisters would do whatever Sergei or his sister ordered, because to not obey meant a thousand horrors were visited upon those you cared about.” I reach across the table and grab her hand, bringing it to my mouth. “I’d storm the gates of heaven and kill Angel Gabriel himself if it meant that no harm would come to you. If Saul is a bother to you, if he causes you one ounce of unease, then he breathes no more.”

“Oh, Nick. I’m not Sergei to demand those things of you.” She twists her hand to pat my face. “I’ll think of something else.”

Settling against the wooden slats of my chair, I shrug. “Offer her one of the empty units. Tell her we are having problems renting and that if we had a tenant perhaps we could attract more people.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea, Nick.”

“Da, this is good. Now I tell you about my hunt.”

“For the shooter?”

“Correct. He is an amateur. Not anyone that I know.”

“How can you tell?” She plays with a lock of her hair, and my attention wanders from her hair to her hand and down her lovely arm. It is hard to believe at times that I can sit in this cafe in this city with this amazing girl. How fortunate I am!

“He is sloppy. He left marks of his body, of his equipment. I do not know his purpose but he is not a professional.”

“Do you think he missed his target?”

“Yes or he is practicing? I do not know. I think I will do some research. I would like to look at the police report.”

“Nick,” she says reprovingly. She is whispering again. We should go home where we can talk freely. “You can’t hack into the police department. What if you’re caught?”