How was this woman managing to affect me?
I stared more deeply, searching her eyes for some answer. I found none, but the longer I looked at her, stared into the inky darkness of her eyes, saw the way her long lashes swept against her cheeks when she blinked, the stronger the feeling got.
Then I realized, in just these few moments, I had come to like it.
Insanity, but still the truth.
But no matter what I felt or how little I understood it, I didn’t have the time to examine my reaction to her. I finally broke her gaze.
“You are Milan?” I asked after I had rummaged through her glove compartment and read her registration.
She nodded.
“I’m Priest,” I said, uncertain why I was offering my name.
She quirked her brow and then finally nodded curtly, so I continued.
“Milan,” I said as softly as I could as I again reached up and grasped her chin. “This is a bad day for you, and I want to keep it from getting any worse. I need to make a couple stops, and then you’re free to go. I just need you to drive. Can you do that for me, Milan? Just stay calm and drive.”
She blinked, and then nodded.
I dropped my hand, and my fingers trembled and tingled with the memory of her skin against mine.
“Okay. Go to this address,” I said.
Five
Priest
“Just drive normally. Easy, like this is an ordinary day,” I said.
The woman’s, Milan’s, nostrils flared with a sharp exhale of breath that was half snort, half chuckle, low but still audible. She sounded skeptical, but to her credit that was exactly what she did, somehow managing to keep her composure and drive to my home.
“Make a left here. Go slow enough to let me see, but not so slow you draw attention.”
She looked over at me sharply. “So, slow, but not too slow.”
“Exactly,” I replied, though I didn’t turn to look at her. I’d heard her sarcasm, but right now I was focused on taking in what I could.
Nothing was out of place, my quiet, sleepy neighborhood as it should have been. A cat ran across the street and then bounded out of sight, and I heard dogs barking in the distance.
But there was nothing else, and I looked around the street searching for something, anything.
I found nothing.
Everything was normal, as it always was, the people tucked in for the night.
I shifted my body to face forward and then turned my head to Milan. “Speed up and head toward the freeway,” I said.
She glanced at me quickly and looked away, but then complied, pressing the gas.
I kept watch out of the rearview mirror, past my house and the others, watching until the neighborhood was gone. I noticed then that she was shifting in her seat, eyes furtively landing on me and then shifting away. Though I didn’t know this woman at all, she didn’t strike me as the sort who fidgeted. Something was on her mind, but I didn’t care. I had other things to worry about.
“Was there—never mind,” she said after another round of fidgeting and furtive glances.
“Ask your question,” I said, again dropping my gaze to look at her and ignoring the fact that not ten seconds ago, I’d mentally affirmed that I didn’t care.
She shifted her eyes to me quickly and just as quickly looked back, though I didn’t miss that flash of the brown, nor the way my heart seemed to beat a little harder when her eyes connected with mine. I ignored them both, though, and waited.
“Was there a problem?” she asked. “Everything looks quiet.”
“Too quiet.”
“Oh,” she said, though I couldn’t tell if that was her way of saying she understood or her chance to end the conversation.
Then Milan went silent, leaving me with my thoughts.
It probably didn’t make sense to her, the concept of too quiet. Fuck, none of this probably made sense to her, but I was more on edge now than I had been before.
Someone had either attempted to kill Vasile Petran at his wedding or used the event to take out one of his guests. No matter what the intention, there would be questions and there would be punishment.
My place should have been swarming with people either looking to question me or wanting to hold me responsible. I’d never gone to great lengths to hide where I resided, and had never felt the need to. My home would be the first place anyone looked, but I knew I could handle any trouble, and living in the open was practically a dare to those who wished to try to do their worst.
That no one had tried yet only heightened the truth that I was not to be fucked with.
So that my home was, on the surface at least, completely undisturbed told me that there was something beyond the usual at play here. An attempt to take out the head of a Romanian mob clan would inspire all manner of talk. That it had happened and there was absolute silence, no one attempting to reach out to me, was cause for concern.