Leather & Lark (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #2) (6)
“Works for me, Blunder Barbie,” my wet-suited Dark Knight snaps. I catch the cadence of an accent despite his attempt to hide it, though I can’t place its origin.
“Don’t drown, Budget Batman. What would Rhode Island do without your exemplary customer service skills and your empathetic medical diagnoses?”
The new guy snorts as I cross my arms and engage in a staring contest with Batman that feels about six years long. He finally relents and shoves my holstered gun at his sidekick with strict instructions to not give it to me. Then he turns on his heel with a huff and stalks toward his car to retrieve his scuba gear.
The new guy and I watch in silence as our disgruntled companion checks his tanks, hauls the gear to the shore, exchanges boots for flippers, and descends into the black water.
“I’m Conor,” my new companion says, not taking his eyes from the lake as he extends a hand in my direction.
“Badass Barbie,” I reply, accepting the handshake. “Also known as Harley Quinn, here for one night only.”
“I figured. Cool makeup.”
“Thanks. Not sure your friend would agree. Is he always such a dick?”
“Most of the time. Yes.”
“Great.”
“Usually he’s more of a piss-taking, button-pushing kind of dick. Tonight he’s just more of a dick-dick.”
“Multifaceted in his ability to be a dick. Good to know.”
Conor snickers and passes me the gun, but he holds it until I meet his eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Cross my heart.”
“And if anyone gives you trouble, shoot them,” Conor says. I nod and he relinquishes his hold on the weapon. I pull it from his grasp with a slow and careful hand. With a final, assessing look, he turns to stride away down the deserted road.
“What about if it’s your friend who gives me trouble?” I call after him.
“Definitely shoot him. Just aim for the kneecaps. The rest of him might still be useful.”
I smile and slip the gun into my bag before I turn my attention to the lake. I can see the soft glow from a waterproof flashlight beneath the rippling surface. It’s not long before the sound of an engine approaches and a tow truck pulls up to my Escalade. Conor works efficiently to get it hooked up, and as soon as he finishes, he heads to the shore to wait for his companion.
It’s only a few moments after that when a body rises to the surface, followed by my disgruntled Dark Knight.
My heart rate spikes as he spits out his regulator and folds an arm around the corpse to tow it to shore. I find myself fiddling with the strap of my bag as I watch his progress. In this brief meeting, the scrutiny in his eyes has been like a brand on my skin. Even now, though I can’t track his gaze from this distance in the night, I can still feel it carving me up, a slice from an unseen blade.
Why should I care how he looks at me? What he thinks? He knows nothing about me or what this is or why it had to be done. He doesn’t know about the promise I have to keep.
“He’s a fucking stranger,” I tell myself out loud when my thoughts just aren’t enough. “After tonight, you’ll never see him again.”
I take a few steps forward to watch as Conor helps to heave the body ashore while Batman climbs out of the water to ditch his gear on the rocks. When he’s done, they hoist Merrick’s corpse into their arms, Conor grabbing hold of the limp legs while Batman takes the arms. With a few grunts and minor stumbles, they make it to the road, dropping the body at my feet.
For a long moment, there’s only the sound of their panting breaths.
The two men watch me. I watch them back. A thick curtain of silence descends. It’s as though they’re waiting for me to break out in a song and dance routine, but I’ve forgotten all the lyrics. I can’t remember this choreography or what I’m supposed to do.
Conor’s head tilts, and the epiphany strikes me in the face.
I press a hand over my heart and gesture toward the body sprawled across the road.
“Oh … my God … that’s so horrible … what have I done …”
More silence. An owl hoots from the shadows of the forest.
“Such a tragedy …” I continue as I dab at my dry eyelashes. “So sad … I will never forgive myself.”
“Feckin’ Christ Jesus,” Batman whisper-growls. “Typical.”
“Excuse me?”
“Typical,” he says again, striding forward to stare down at me. “You’re somebody’s perfect little princess who gives literally no shits about some innocent guy who got caught in your path of destruction.”
The protest I start making about Merrick’s “innocence” is lost as Conor slides a hand across Batman’s chest in an attempt to diffuse him. “Hey man, come on—”
“Always depending on someone to come and clean up your feckin’ messes for you,” Batman continues, growling his way through Conor’s wary protests, his accent surfacing once again. “Sailing through life with barely a mark, no matter who gets in your way.”
I surge forward and eliminate the distance between us, stopping so close that I can smell the sweet mint of his breath above the scent of the lake water. My expression is nothing short of lethal as I glare into his masked face. “Would this be a good time to remind you that I am your client? Or later? This is your job, remember?”