“You know the code?” I ask, hoping to God he doesn’t know the significance of the code.
He smiles down at me, and I can’t work out if it’s a knowing look or not. “The motherfucker was sensible this time, but you’d think he would be a little bit more creative.”
I cough a little, thinking just how creative Jesse can be when he reaches that zero. Wonderfully creative, in fact. Mind-blowingly creative. I need to run that bath, but as the doors of the elevator open, I uncharitably remember that it’s early and Cathy is more than likely still faffing around the penthouse.
Letting us in, I immediately head to the kitchen and dump my bag on the island, but I find no Cathy, so I set off upstairs in search of her, set on relieving her for the rest of the day.
“Ava, girl.” John’s thundering footsteps come after me. “Let me check.”
“John, really?” I stop and let him pass.
“Peace of mind,” he rumbles. “Quit with the complaining.”
I let him open and close doors while I prop myself up against the glass bannister, arms folded across my chest, patiently waiting. There is no way I should be whining about this, given our surprise visitor this morning.
“All clear,” he grunts once he’s done.
I watch him stomp off downstairs. “No Cathy?” I ask his back.
“No Cathy,” he confirms, heading for the penthouse phone system, but his mobile starts ringing before he makes it to the landline. “Yes?” he grunts, detouring into the kitchen. “We’re here now. Cathy’s already left, but I’ll stay until you arrive.” His voice is getting quieter as the distance between us grows, but I know he’s talking to Jesse. “Blue door, needs painting,” John says on a purposed hush. I can still hear perfectly, though. That’s the disadvantage to having such a low, rumbling voice. He may sound menacing, but he can’t whisper for shit. “Lansdowne Crescent. I can’t be sure. I only got a glimpse, but if it’s not her, then she has a doppelgänger.”
I’m walking toward John’s voice. His attempt to keep this from my earshot, coupled with the mention of Ruth Quinn’s address and the fact that John obviously recognizes her, makes me need to see his face to gauge his expression. I know it’s not going to be good, not when he’s talking to Jesse, which means Jesse knows Ruth Quinn. My blood is running colder the nearer I get to John’s low, hushed tone.
“There’s no one there?” John’s pacing the kitchen at the far end. “Ruth Quinn. I already told you. I know my eyesight isn’t as good as it used to be, but I’d put my life on it. You need to call the police, not go looking for her, you crazy motherfucker.”
My blood is ice and my body frozen in place as I watch John turn slowly and register my presence. He might be black, but he has definitely just paled. “Who is she?” I ask him.
His huge chest expands and he reaches up to take his glasses off. I wish he had left them on because the rare sight of his eyes has just confirmed my fears. They are worried, and the big guy doesn’t do worried. “Jesse, you need to get your arse back here. Leave it for the police to deal with,” John’s says, and I hear Jesse’s angry yell down the phone.
“Who is she?” I grate, my breathing starting to accelerate. I’m anxious and panicking, but I don’t know what about.
John sighs, defeated, yet he still doesn’t answer, instead turning his back on me. “It’s too late. She’s standing right here. You’d better come home.”
I hear an angry yell, and I think I catch the sound of something hitting something, like a fist on a front door—a worn, blue front door. I can feel my patience fraying. My lack of knowledge in something I should know about is reheating my frozen veins fast.
John hands me the phone, and I don’t delay swiping it from his hand. “Who is she?” I remain calm and clear, but if I don’t get an answer, then I’ll be raging very quickly. And it’ll be the blood-pressure-raising kind of furious.
He’s heaving down the phone, his purposeful, thumping footsteps evident in the background. “I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean?” I’m shouting. He didn’t answer, not satisfactorily. He knows who Ruth Quinn is.
“I’m on my way home. We’ll talk.”
“No, tell me!”
“Ava, I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure it’s her.” The screeching of tires makes me wince. “I’ll explain when I can sit you down.”
“I’m not going to like this, am I?” I don’t know why I’m asking. Even the big guy looks all concerned by what’s transpiring.