Nena passed the container of grated cheese. “I had a very bad experience with Chinese food.” She glanced up at him, again transfixed with a spatula in hand. “Cortland, sit and eat?”
“Call him Cort.”
He sent Georgia a warning stare and said, “Or Cortland. Whichever is fine.” He ignored Georgia’s look of incredulity.
Georgia reached for the remote control and turned the TV on. She flipped through the Guide channel until something caught her eye. “Look, Dad, Jaws. Just in time.”
“Peach, maybe Jaws isn’t Nena’s type of movie.”
“I love Jaws,” Nena said between mouthfuls. “It’s one of my favorites. Love Pet Sematary too.”
“She’s a keeper,” Georgia deadpanned.
“Peach,” Cort admonished, with a mixture of embarrassment and horror at her inappropriateness.
Nena’s mouth quirked, taking a delicate bite. They ate in silence as the movie’s ominous theme music played in the background.
“What do you do?” Cort asked, sitting back from his nearly empty plate. Nena waved away his offer of wine. No Chinese, no alcohol.
“I’m an assassin,” Nena replied simply, with a bland expression to match.
Georgia erupted in a coughing fit, choking on her food. Her fork clattered to her plate. Her eyes bugged, watering as she tried to take in air. Her dad jumped up, nearly knocking over his chair to reach her. She waved him away.
“I’m okay,” she wheezed, reaching for her sweet tea and taking deep gulps.
He hovered above his seat, ready to aid his daughter should she need it.
“Are you well?” Nena asked, an amused glint in her eyes as she watched Georgia choke.
She nodded, giving both a thumbs-up and a pointed look of her own at Nena. Her dad finally took his seat.
“That’s a good one, Nena,” Georgia said, one last cough forcing its way out. “Assassin. Ha ha.” She looked anything but amused.
“Definitely not something one hears every day. Hope you’re good at it,” Cort said, playing along with the joke.
Nena returned her attention to him, studying him with a hint of a smile. There was a time when smiling had come so easy to her, until there had no longer been reason to.
“I am the best,” she answered. When she caught Georgia’s wild-terror-filled expression, Nena pivoted. “We’re a family business. My parents deal with trade and commercial real estate. My sister and I oversee our American operations.”
“You’re from the UK? If I’m placing your accent correctly? And a little something else.”
A quick nod. “Born in Ghana and grew up in the UK. Have you ever visited either?”
He shook his head.
“Dad and my mom backpacked through Europe in college,” Georgia informed her.
He nodded, sipping from his glass. “It was a great experience. I hope to return one day.”
“Maybe one day, you might.” Nena looked at him, her head angled.
“Maybe,” he said modestly.
Not for the first time, she found herself enjoying the way Cortland—Cort—looked at her, like she was desirable, more than a commodity or someone’s pet or a killer.
She’d never seen herself with a man in any romantic capacity. Usually shied away from their attention. But with Cort, she didn’t mind so much. Curious.
She asked for the restroom.
“Down the hall, to the left,” Cort replied. “Want me to show you?”
She didn’t. She demurred and excused herself, walking down the hall as if she were on tour in a museum. She studied the photos of Cort and Georgia, always happy, laughing, in various places and at various ages in Georgia’s life. She saw the photo of Georgia’s mom sitting on a white bench in a park, floppy hat and book in hand—a beautiful honey-toned woman with a smile like Georgia’s staring straight into Nena’s soul as if to say, Protect them. They’re yours now.
Nena had nearly blown up this family’s world, leaving Georgia with nothing. A pang not dissimilar to guilt nicked at her, and she pried herself away from the photo. The door to Cort’s room was open. It was immaculate, not a paper or dirty sock in sight. The bed was made. Impressive.
Nena quickly moved down the hall, passing Georgia’s door—slightly ajar—and then another room. Looked to be both a guest room and office? She checked the hall in case either had come looking for her, but Georgia and Cort were in a highly energetic conversation. She went in, going for the desk by the bay window. She gave it a cursory look. Not much and hard to see in the dark with only the light from the hall to guide her. She couldn’t risk turning on any lights here. But she spied something on the floor next to the desk chair. Cort’s attaché, maybe? She went to it, finding it open with a manila folder peeking out. She looked at the door again while synchronously pulling the file out. She took out her cell, turned the flashlight on, directing it to the pages. Quickly she rifled through. Nothing she knew and nothing that jumped out at her. The last page was stamped EVIDENCE. It was a photocopy of a business card reading The Lotus Flower.