“It’s fine if you do. I just . . . It seems . . .”
“It seems what?” I prod gently, enjoying the residue of pleasure that’s still softening my muscles.
“It doesn’t seem to reflect you. Like, I don’t see things that make me think of you, ya know? Is that weird?”
It’s my turn to shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t really pay much attention to décor.”
She turns the nervous attention of her fingers to my ribs, tracing each one, starting from just beneath my arm. “What about this place or what piece of furniture or what knickknack says something about you? About the real Jasper?”
She’s clever, trying to get to know me this way. As someone who most often employs deceptive, devious or covert means to get information that people wouldn’t normally divulge, I can appreciate it. Her method doesn’t surprise me. She’s an intelligent woman with a curious mind. I like that about her. What does surprise me is the ease with which I decide to tell her what she wants to know. It comes with a pang of guilt and melancholy, though. I know why I’m going to take advantage of the first person I’ve felt close to in a long time and tell her some personal things about myself. It’s because she won’t be a threat to me. She can’t be.
“There’s a white china dish in the master bathroom. Right beside the sink. I see it every time I wash my hands, brush my teeth, whatever. It was my mother’s. Since I was a little kid, she kept her hair ties in it. When I take the lid off, it makes the whole room smell like her.”
Muse’s voice is hushed, tentative when she asks, “Is she . . . is she gone?”
“She might as well be.”
I don’t know why I even give her that answer. I know she won’t be satisfied with it. Muse is the type of person who wants to know everything about the people in her life. What they love and hate, why they do the things they do. What makes them tick. She’s that much like her father.
“So she’s not dead?”
For about a tenth of a second, I ask myself if I really want to do this. Let someone in. Take the risk. But then I remind myself that there’s no risk at all. And for whatever reason, that bothers me more than if there was.
“No, she’s very much alive.”
“But you don’t see her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“She thinks I’m dead.”
Muse lifts her head off my arm and her hand stills. “Dead? Why?”
“Because I wanted her to think I’m dead.”
“But why on earth would you do that to her? To yourself?”
“Because she’s better off not knowing what I am. This way, she got to mourn the boy I used to be. That’s better than hating the man I’ve become.”
Muse’s gasp is soft, but I still hear it. It’s like a slap in the dark. “But why? What’s so wrong with the man you’ve become?”
“He’s too much like my father.”
“In what way?”
“In every way. He’s cold and heartless. Ruthless. He destroys everything he touches. She wouldn’t be proud of what I’ve become, so I let her keep the boy she loved. Besides, it’s safer for her this way. To the world, her son is dead. There would be nothing for anyone to gain by hurting her.”
“I don’t . . . I don’t understand. You’re a bounty hunter. Why would people be after your mother?”
I open my eyes and roll my head to face Muse. Her eyes are dark in the low light, dark and confused. “The people I hunt don’t want to be found. And they certainly don’t want to be found by me.”
I see the wheels turning behind her narrowed gaze. I see the exact moment she begins to process what I might mean. Her eyes go from slim slits to wide, stunned orbs. “What are you saying, Jasper?”
“Probably just what you think I’m saying. I’m saying that I do the things few other people have the stomach for.”
She sits up straighter, pulling the sheet over her naked torso, like she’s suddenly uncomfortable. But not with her nudity. More with our intimacy. And I can see why. Most people abhor what I am when they get an inkling of it.
“Wait. Dad said that he knew you’d bring me, that he knew they’d send you. What does that mean? That meeting you was no accident? That you were sent to . . . to . . .”
I shouldn’t hedge. I should lay out the cold, hard truth for her, but something in me can’t stand seeing the look of hurt and disgust on her face.
“I knew him. Quite well, actually. They knew if anyone could find him, it would be me.”
“So you weren’t going to—”