Elastic Heart (5 page)

My car was actually near the restaurant; I hadn’t thought it was smart to park near
his
house when doing reconnaissance. So, I only needed to walk about a block and half to find my car parked along the street, but I wasn’t about to lead Law to my getaway vehicle—cough, old Honda, cough. 

I looked around. It was probably about three in the morning. Since I’d started working the night shift, I was getting good at recognizing the time of night. Sort of how people learn to tell what time of day it is, I’d started to understand the night.

“All right, well, you can go now,” I said, gesturing to Law. “It’s about to blizzard, anyway. You can tell by the way the nimbostratus is forming.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. I worked at a meteorology lab and my grunt work was identifying clouds and cloud patterns to store in a national database to help predict weather patterns. A toddler could do it.

Law narrowed his eyes. “How do you know that?”

Fuck it, it’s not like I’ll see the bastard after tonight.
“I work in a meteorology lab. If I didn’t know that I’d be pretty piss poor at my job, don’cha think?”

“A peace and conflict student working in a lab?” Law’s disbelief was evident.

I rubbed my nose, ready to end the night. “I’m not studying peace. Or conflict.”

Law took a step closer. “What?”

“I’m not studying peace. Or conflict,” I repeated, folding my arms and taking a step back as Law inched nearer.

“Why would you lie?” I shrugged at his question. Did it matter? If Law stuck to his word, I wouldn’t see him after the night. I’d agreed to the dinner just to get the man off my lawn and out of my life. I honestly didn’t expect him to find out about my white lie. Chalk it up to
in vino veritas,
or
in whiskey veritas.

Law stepped even closer to me. Instinctively, I stepped back again—into a wall. I glanced hurriedly around, looking at the brick and cement walls that pinned me. How had we ended up in an alley? I supposed it wasn’t really an alley; Utah doesn’t have many “alleys”. Chalk it up to the Mormons: they may have their problems, but they know how to keep a street clean—on the outside, at least.

I swiveled my head to the right and could see some lone people walking down the street. Downtown wasn’t much of a metropolis past ten o’clock. Things started closing at ten and everything was closed by twelve. It was three in the morning so any people up now were getting ready for the day, not ending the night like Law and me. Law took another step closer and I surreptitiously reached for the gun in my purse.

“I just wanted to know why you would lie.” Law took two steps back. “I don’t like lying.” There was now considerable distance between us. I breathed, unaware that I had been holding my breath, and took my hand away from my purse. I scoffed at his words.

“I’m beginning to hate that,” Law said.

“What?” I asked, scoffing again. “I just find it utterly laughable that
you
don’t like lying.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

I yawned, preferring to divert the conversation rather than confront Law. “It’s getting late, and I have work tomorrow—today, I guess.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“Nope.” I nearly scoffed again but thought better of it. “No thanks.”

“I’m not about to let you drive in the state you’re in.”
The state I’m in?
I’d had two drinks and they’d since settled, thankyouverymuch.

I rolled my eyes to the side and smiled acidly. “Let’s get this straight, Law: you don’t tell me what to do, what to think, what to wear, how to act, or anything else, got it? If you’re looking for some girl to boss around and make you feel like a man, you’ve picked the wrong one. Maybe you heard my story and thought I was damaged and could be groomed easily, I don’t know, but you picked the wrong target.” I coughed, feeling drained. It had taken every ounce of emotional energy I had left to make that speech.

I was fearful. Fearful that I
was
an easy target, that after what had happened to me, men
could
groom me. Part of me was beginning to think the reason Law was being so inquisitive in my life was because he had figured out who I was and thought I was an easy target. I hadn’t yet told him my name for that very reason. Still… I hoped Law wouldn’t question me or my speech, that he would just take it at face value and fuck off.

Law took another step back, his face a mix of emotions. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” I hadn’t expected that.

“I wasn’t trying to groom you, or shit, I don’t know. I uh…think I should go.” Law rubbed a hand through his dark blond hair.

I grabbed his arm. “Why did you follow me out of the coffee shop? Why have you
been
following me?”

His eyes snapped to mine, so fierce they were almost shining yellow. “I’ve seen that face before.”

“My face?” I froze. My fears were materializing. He thought I was an easy target. I was becoming a Nami smoothie, ground up and sucked up.

“One of complete terror and isolation. It’s the face a victim gets when she sees her attacker. ”

I sucked in a breath, snapping out of my whirling thoughts. “How the fuck do you know that?”

“My line of work is…unique,” Law replied, ever the inscrutable one.

I scoffed. I was starting to believe him; how dumb of me. “Your line of
work
?”

He eyed me incredulously and repeated my words, almost annoyed. “Yes, my line of
work.
”

“As a fucking political puppet?” I couldn’t help my response. I wasn’t a seasoned liar—unlike the company I kept—so it was hard to keep my tongue in check.

Law craned his neck to the side, eyeing me with confusion. “What are you talking about?”

I fingered my gun again, in case things were about to get ugly. “I know what you do, okay? I know who you work for and I know why you’re out with me. Stop pretending.” I pushed my gun against my purse, so the outline was visible. “And just so you don’t get any funny ideas.”

He eyed my gun, less than impressed. “What are you talking about?”

“You have your reasons for needing the drug stopped,” I repeated the words Law had said to
him
icily. His face went ashen, just for a moment, before he narrowed his eyes on me.

“What have you gotten yourself into?” Law asked.

I shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

By the time our conversation lulled, the sun was coming up, and people were walking by. We were still in the alley. I had one hand keeping him at a distance and the other on my gun. We had gotten nowhere. I didn’t believe him one bit but then why, why, why…

Why was there a sliver of hope nestled like a shard of glass inside my heart, telling me that he might be for real?

Because what was all that stuff about “his line of work”?

And why did he seem so confused when I called him a political puppet?

In the end I came to no conclusion about Law either way. He could have been evil incarnate, or he could have just been a regular asshole—an asshole who pays the tab, opens the door for me, and offers to drive me home.

But still an asshole.

An asshole I let drive me home.

I told myself it was because if
he
was going to try and slither his way back into my life, then I was going to do it first. I was going to go black ops, rogue, whatever the name, and slither my way right back. I would understand everything about
him
and ruin him from the inside out.

My fear, though, was that none of that was true. My fear was that I was weak, tired, and a little drunk, and that I let Law give me a ride home because my feet hurt. My fear was that I was not a rogue, that I was just plain old Nami DeGrace.

When we reached my apartment, Law tried to open my door for me.

“I can open my own goddamn door,” I growled.

“I was being a gentleman.” I scoffed at that, shoving the key into the lock and slamming the door open so it ricocheted against the wall. Raskolnikov, hearing the loud noise, jumped from wherever he had been laying his lazy ass and proceed to bark and hop all around us.

“Raskolnikov. No,” I said, the lack of enthusiasm evident. I walked past Raskol-the-jumping-bean and placed my keys on the table. A small, nearly microscopic part of me was smiling at Raskol’s guard dog attempts. He was tiny, but he was mighty.

“Could you say something, please?” Law asked. “He’s biting my leg.” I turned around to see Raskol using Law’s pant leg as a chew toy.

“Oh, bad boy, Raskolnikov. Don’t. So bad.” I shrugged and continued, “I guess he won’t listen to me. Sorry. Maybe you should go.”

Law glared before bending down and picking Raskol up. Instantly Raskolnikov went from an angry chomping monster to a happy licking beast. He gave Law a furious kiss on the cheek.

“I think he likes me,” Law said before setting him back on the floor. Raskol proceeded to run around the room about fifty times.

“Traitor,” I muttered as he passed me on his sixtieth lap. Turning back to Law I stated, “He’s just lulling you into complacency before he strikes.”

Law raised an eyebrow. “He’s very scary. What’s his name?”

“Raskolnikov. Raskol for short.”

“Like rascal?” Law asked, quirking an eyebrow as Raskol zoomed by.

“No, like Raskol. What the fuck did I just say?” I was getting sick of playing nice with the could-be-vile sycophant. I didn’t want to spend time deciphering his true intentions. He’d had a meal with
him
; that was all the proof I needed that Law was no good. Why had I nearly forgotten that? It was long past time he left, and since Raskol had done a poor job of getting him to go, it was my turn.

“I think it’s time you get the fuck out of my apartment,” I snapped.

“What is your problem?” Law asked, walking farther inside. “I’ve been nothing but nice to you, even after you punched me in the face and told me to fuck off!”

“Yeah, apparently you can’t take a hint.” I reeled. “I know who you work for so stop pretending!” Law took another step and I shoved his chest. Like hitting an oak, it did nothing to sway him.

Law eyed me and my hands, confusion marring his stupidly perfect features. “I work for myself.”

I laughed. Maybe the liquor
had
affected me, or maybe I was drunk on anger. I’d known I shouldn’t get drunk. It was easy to take advantage of a drunk person, but the liquor calmed my mind. It erased the memories that surfaced like dead limbs. My words were coming much easier now, too. It felt like they were slipping from my mouth like water down an iceberg.

“Stop acting like you don’t know who I am!” As I backed away from him, I tripped over my couch. I fell onto the floor, Raskol’s dog bed bracing my landing. “Even if I could believe you don’t work for
him
—which I don’t—you know who I am!”

“A crazy lady?” Law asked, taking a step toward me. He offered his hand to help me up, but I smacked it away.

A little wobbly, I stood up without his help. Counting off the names people had called me on my fingers, I spat them back at him: “Whore, slut, liar!”

Law opened and closed his mouth. For a moment he wasn’t a handsome albeit dirty prick, he was a fish out of water. Eventually he asked, “Who do you think I work for?”

I’d had it with him. I’d had it with the deception and games he was clearly playing. Whatever sick, twisted ending
he
had planned for me, I wanted it to happen now. I wasn’t prepared, but I was sure I would never be prepared. You can try as you might to prepare for an earthquake or a tsunami, but the fact of the matter is, it’s still devastating when it hits.

I opened my mouth and prepared for my earth to be rocked. “Mitch Morris!”

“As in Senator Mitch Morris?” Law asked.

My fist was clenched at my side and my other hand felt empty. My .22 was about a foot away, nestled in the purse I’d dropped angrily to the ground. I wanted to lunge for it, but that would be too obvious. Still, I felt so exposed and helpless. I’d laid all my cards on the table and now I was without any extra chips. I really didn’t know what to expect from Law.

I was sure he was working for Morris. Sure that Morris had hired him to do
something
with me. Kill me? Maybe. At least Morris wanted me silenced, of that I was pretty certain. Still, I wasn’t sure how much Morris had told Law. Perhaps Law had no idea what Morris had done to me.

I nodded in response to Law’s question, waiting for the incredulity and hate to flow. Six months before, when the rape was still fresh and I was still naive enough to think people would believe me, I had learned the hard way that most didn’t respond well to finding out their beloved senator and prominent church leader was a rapist. Instead they chose to believe I was a whore. A slut. A liar.

“Wait…” Law took a step away from me. I was used to that too. It was as if after finding out what had happened to me, I became tainted. Plagued. Like my terrible “lies” would spread to them too. “A couple of months ago there was a news story—”

“About an intern who tried to smear Morris. Called him a rapist but turned out she was an alcoholic whore? A slut. A liar. Yeah. That’s me. Nami DeGrace.” Only it wasn’t me. After the rape kit, I went to the media. They laughed in my face.