But even I knew that gun-runners probably didn't sell off their merchandise one at a time. So if Chucky had just given Rafe one big gun, what could that mean?
It probably means there's someone he needs to kill, I thought. Still think he's not dangerous?
I thought about his eyes again. They looked like the eyes of someone who'd do whatever it took when it came to self-defense. Someone who may have crossed some lines in life that I'd never even encountered before.
But the eyes of a cold-blooded murderer? Someone who'd hurt a woman to get what he needed? No. I hadn't seen that in his eyes at all.
Or maybe I just hadn't wanted to.
I zipped the bag up again and stood up. As I turned around to go back to bed, I misjudged the distance in the darkness and my toe smacked against the bottom of the bed frame. Before I could stop myself, I let out a yelp of pain, losing my balance.
I reached out to steady myself and my hand found Rafe's shoulder, grabbing it tightly before realizing what it was. I yelped again and then clapped my hand over my mouth, embarrassed. I'd forgotten to listen for his breathing, and now he'd stood up and walked over to me without me hearing it. I wondered how long he'd been awake.
“You okay?” Rafe asked. His face was so close that I could feel his breath on my neck.
“Um, ow, yeah,” I said, my teeth clenched in pain. “Ow. Stubbed my toe. Hard. Ow, ow, ow.”
“Damn,” he replied. “I hate when that happens.”
My hand was still on his shoulder, and I turned to look at him. Our eyes met and I studied his again, looking for clues that would tell me who this man was. I saw a mixture of emotions in those eyes. Amusement. Concern. Exhaustion.
And desire.
I wondered what he saw in mine.
“Do you want me to get you some ice for that?” Rafe asked. Our faces were inches apart and now I could feel his breath on my lips. My face was hot, my stomach felt fluttery, and I felt myself getting wet.
It seemed crazy after the day I'd had, and I tried to tell myself that different people's bodies just react weirdly to stress. But deep down, I knew there was more to it than that. Just being so close to that beautifully-sculpted body with its broad shoulders made me want to lean against Rafe and feel his arms encircle me.
I had an urge to lean in closer. I wanted to know whether he'd kiss me if I did.
“No,” I whispered. “No ice. Thank you.”
We both stood there for a long moment before Rafe said, “You should probably try to get some more sleep. We'll have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow.”
I wanted to know what that meant, but I was too tired to ask any more questions. I wasn't even sure I could handle any more answers that night.
I took my hand off his shoulder and went back to bed. I waited to hear his breathing slow down again, but it didn't.
After a while, I drifted off.
Chapter 12
Jewel
I opened my eyes and saw a round black void staring back at me. There was a massive black gun just inches away from my face.
“Where is it?” a muffled voice whispered.
The barrel of the gun filled my entire field of vision. It seemed impossibly large, like a cannon. As I gazed helplessly down its cavernous maw, I was certain I could see the bullet at the back, poised, ready to spring forward with the squeeze of a trigger and bury itself in my body. I felt like I could even sense its eagerness to do what it was built for and pierce my flesh.
I desperately wished for Rafe to come charging through the door and stop this. Where was he?
“Where is it?” the voice demanded again.
I drew in a deep, trembling breath and spoke with lips numb from fear. “Please, I don't know what you want...”
The gun pulled back and my eyes went to the face of the man holding it. He was wearing a terrifying porcelain mask painted to resemble a jolly face with smiling red lips and rosy circles on the cheeks. The eyes that stared out from within the mask blazed with insane hatred. He had a bizarre three-pointed hat on with ribbons and bells dangling from it. When he moved, the bells jittered around without making a sound.
It was him. The monstrous gangster Rafe had told me about. Jester.
He'd found me.
Jester pressed the huge gun against my left knee. The hand that held the black gun looked like it was encased in solid gold. Behind Jester, I could see Angelo and the other gunman from the alley, leering at me. They had blood all over their suits and their faces were painted to resemble horrifying clowns. Maggot's bullet-riddled corpse was lying face-down at their feet, his blood and brains oozing into the carpet.
“You know what we want,” Jester's muffled voice insisted. “Tell us where it is.”
I suddenly noticed that I was naked, even though I thought I'd remembered going to bed with my clothes on. I stared at them helplessly, tears streaming down my face. Did I know what they wanted? Was it just that I couldn't remember? I was so confused. “Don't hurt me!” I begged. “I don't know!”
The gun in Jester's hand went off with an apocalyptic thunderclap, the muzzle flash reflecting dazzlingly against the golden hand that held it. Oddly, there was no pain, but I felt my kneecap explode into a thousand shards of bone. I looked down and saw that the gunshot had been powerful enough to detach my leg at the knee.
I started to scream. The door to the room opened and I looked over, hoping it was Rafe coming to save me. Instead, the old man from the next room stood in the doorway, shaking his head with a mixture of sadness and anger. “Told ya to keep that racket down,” he grumbled. “Now look at ya.”
The gun pressed against my right knee. “Where is it?” Jester asked, tilting his head to one side inquisitively. Before I could answer he pulled the trigger, blasting off my other leg, lighting up the whole room with another golden flash. I looked down at the stumps as they gushed blood onto the blanket.
“Might improve the look of it,” the old man said. “The smell, too, for that matter.” Chucky appeared behind him, nodding solemnly.
Jester pressed his gun against my left shoulder. “Where is it?”
“Milwaukee!” I blurted out. “They said you'd know where!”
Jester shook his head slowly and pulled the trigger again. Another thunderclap, accompanied by a golden blaze like sunlight. My shot-off arm was laying on the bed next to me, still twitching as it bled.
I shrieked Rafe's name at the top of my lungs, pleading for him to save me. Angelo laughed. “Rafe's right here for you, doll!” he said, nudging Maggot's body with his shoe. It flopped over onto its back and I saw that the dead face was Rafe's.
I felt something press hard against my right shoulder and yelped, waking up. Rafe had been nudging my shoulder, and when I cried out and sat up, he jumped back a bit. “Jesus! You okay?”
I looked down to make sure I was dressed and in one piece. “Yeah,” I said. “Just a nightmare. A bad one.”
Rafe nodded. “After everything you've been through so far, I ain't surprised,” he replied. “But hey, I've got some good news for you, at least. There's been no sign of any Mancusos, so it looks like they're not chasing us anymore. Since they've got no way of knowing who you are, it should be okay for you to head back to Chicago, as long as you keep a low profile.”
I couldn't believe it. “Oh my God. So it's really over? I'm safe?” I asked.
“You should be, yeah,” Rafe agreed.
I let out a long, shaky sigh of relief. “Good. My boss is probably wondering why I didn't show up for work today, but I can still smooth that over as long as I come in today.” Inwardly, I was already trying to invent a plausible-sounding excuse. I realized that this was probably the last thing that should have been on my mind, but I couldn't help it. This was my first job. If I got fired from it, I was worried that I'd never find a second one.
“A couple things, though,” Rafe added. “Don't tell the cops or anyone else what you saw. Don't even tell your close friends.”
“I, uh, don't really have any of those,” I said.
“Also, don't go to any bars or clubs, in case the Mancusos happen to be hanging out there,” Rafe continued. “I'd even stay out of fancy restaurants for a while, too. Especially Italian ones.”
I couldn't help but laugh at that. “I never go to bars or clubs,” I said. “They're not my thing. And I don't go to many fancy restaurants either, since I can't afford them.” Inwardly, I kicked myself. I was making myself sound like a completely boring person at best and a shut-in at worst.
Rafe smiled. It was the first genuine smile I'd seen on his face and I liked it a lot. Even though he looked young, the corners of his eyes crinkled a bit. I thought about our almost-kiss last night and felt myself blush. I had expected myself to come to my senses in the light of day and stop fantasizing about him. Instead, the fantasies kept spinning in my head—our bodies pressed together, his lips exploring mine.
I'd never had these kinds of thoughts before about someone I'd just met, and in the context of the gunshots and chases, they had initially seemed like bizarre symptoms of shock. But now that he'd told me the danger seemed to be over, looking into his brown eyes and feeling myself want him seemed perfectly natural.