Death Angel

"Who do you want?"

"I don’t care," she said listlessly. If she expressed a preference at all, Rafael would wonder why; even asking whom she didn’t want would trigger his suspicions, so it was safer to let him choose the person he wanted. She’d deal with it regardless. "I guess I’ll look at some things online this morning, and if I feel better later on I’ll go to the library."

"You do that." He kissed her again, this time on the forehead. "I don’t know what time I’ll be back, so eat without me, okay?"

"Okay." Perfect. Eating without him wasn’t unusual. They usually shared breakfast, which she wouldn’t have to do today because she’d overslept and was late, but most of the time she ate her other meals alone. She’d never been a big part of his life, she realized; how could she have deluded herself that she was anything more to him than convenient sex? She was easily replaced, easily forgotten-and easily bartered.

That was about to change. By the time she was finished, Rafael would never forget her.

Satisfied that he’d weathered the threatened upheaval to his domestic arrangement, Rafael gave her another hug and kiss and strolled out. Drea blew out a huge breath, her legs going weak with relief. Maintaining her act, schooling her every expression and word, had never been a problem, but now it took real effort and she felt the strain. In her head she could hear a clock ticking, warning her that she couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

Still, she played it safe, because he might look in on her again before he left the penthouse. She turned on her television, put it on a shopping channel with the sound turned very low, and curled up in a chair with a cashmere throw pulled over her legs. Then she waited, closing her eyes and straining her ears for the sound of the door closing. She’d have muted the television if she’d been certain Rafael wouldn’t reenter her room, but until he actually left she had to assume he would. How much of her life had she wasted doing this, setting the stage and making certain every detail was perfect, on the off-chance he might notice?

This time it paid off. He opened the door without knocking. Drea opened her eyes as he crossed the room, and to her astonishment saw he had a cup of coffee in his hand. "I brought your coffee," he said. "It’ll help your throat."

Impatience roiled inside her, made her want to clench her teeth, but she stopped herself just in time. He’d notice the motion of her jaw muscles, and he’d know she was putting on an act. God in Heaven, would he just leave? He must have some worm in his brain, to be acting like this.

"That’s so sweet," she said, and coughed some more as she took the cup from him. "Thank you."

"Cream and three sugars, right?"

"Right." No, it was two sugars and skim milk, which told her how much attention he’d paid. Now she’d have to skip her morning toast to make up for these extra calories. She sipped the too-sweet, too-rich brew, and smiled at him. "Perfect."

A faint blush tinged his high cheekbones, and it was all she could do not to gape at him. Rafael Salinas, blushing? The world as she knew it must have ended, and she’d been too damn busy being traded around like a whore to have noticed.

She let her head rest against the back of the chair, and sighed as if she felt really miserable. Maybe the bastard would take the hint and leave her alone. She had to be careful not to overdo it, though, or he’d be strong-arming some doctor to check her over. She also didn’t want him checking on her all day long. He never had before, but today was a day for firsts.

"Call me if you need me," he said.

"I will."

He was clearly torn, wanting to go about his business but at the same time not wanting to leave her. For once, she was out of ideas. She just wanted him to go, and couldn’t think of any maneuver that would steer him out the door, so she curled deeper into the chair and closed her eyes; that way, at least, she wouldn’t have to look at him.

But, wonder of wonders, either that worked or he couldn’t think of any more reasons to delay. She heard him leave her bedroom, then the rumble of masculine voices, and finally the blessed sound she’d been waiting for: the closing of the main door. She could still hear the television in the parlor, and an occasional comment as the two men he’d left behind settled down to watch some sports on the tube.

She resisted the urge to peek and see who Rafael had chosen to babysit her. She was supposed to be sick, and lying down; she didn’t want to make anyone suspicious by bouncing out of the bedroom as soon as the door had closed behind Rafael. Her timing didn’t have to be down to the minute, but she wanted to leave Rafael as little time to react as possible.

There were plenty of things she could do to get ready, though. She tiptoed over to the door and turned the lock in the doorknob. Locks like that were flimsy and wouldn’t slow down any of Rafael’s men for more than a few seconds, but she felt safer having that little bit of warning.

Going to the closet, she pulled out a large leather tote. First into it went one of her few pairs of flat-heeled shoes. Once she managed to slip away from her babysitter, she’d have to do some fast walking, and the four-and five-inch heels she preferred might be glamorous but they were hell to walk in.

One thing that worried her was that she didn’t know how much influence Rafael had in specific areas. Cameras were everywhere in this city, recording people in stores, walking down the sidewalk, getting on a subway. Everything that went on in a bank was definitely recorded, but she felt safer about that because Rafael didn’t know about her safe-deposit box, or which bank she had used. But if he had any pull with the city, the traffic engineers, or the cops, he might be able to get access to recordings and be able to track her movements. That was a chance she’d have to take, because if dematerializing was a learnable skill, she hadn’t yet found the class that taught it.