“Hah. Fourteen and sixteen.”
Rain shook his head. It was hard to believe it was that long ago.
He sighed. “What do you want me to do?”
“Whatever it takes to keep Maya safe.”
“Look, I don’t know what that would entail, but I can’t even get there until—”
“I have a Gulfstream waiting for you right now. Check the secure site.”
“Wait a second.”
He muted the phone and looked at Delilah. “Remember you once told me that my attachment to the finer things—good jazz, good coffee, good whisky—was a substitute? A salve for my lack of attachment to people?”
She didn’t respond, which made him think this might be the right approach.
“You said, ‘If you live only for yourself, dying is an especially scary proposition.’ You know, at the time, I resisted the notion. I did. Dismissed it as sentiment. But now I see you were right.”
Still she didn’t respond. Okay, maybe he was using the wrong approach.
“If I were in trouble,” he said, “and I needed you, you’d be there, wouldn’t you?”
She glared at him. “You ask as though this is some kind of hypothetical.”
Okay, the other approach was better.
“No, you’re right. It’s not. You have been. I know. And you know it’s the same in the other direction. But . . . I can’t say no to this. I don’t have many people. I never thought I was going to have any, didn’t think I needed any, but somehow I wound up with these few. And I want my time with you, and my peace with you, and everything we have together. Our life together. But if something happens to one of these people, and I could have prevented it and didn’t, I’m not going to have any peace.”
“And if you try to help, and something happens to you, what peace will I have?”
He looked at her. He loved her. He really did. It was so improbable. So precious.
And so fragile.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said.
She shook her head. Started to say something. Shook her head again.
Finally, she sighed. “Tell him you’re coming.”
He looked at her, not knowing how to respond.
“And that I’m coming with you, you idiot.”
He felt a surge of love, and gratitude, and relief. “Delilah—”
“And tell him that if he gets you killed? I’m going to kill him.”
chapter
thirty-nine
LIVIA
Livia hoped no one was trying to reach her. After what had happened at the Four Seasons, her unavailability wouldn’t look good. But if she checked in, there might be questions she wasn’t ready to answer. She decided to hold off.
Carl had used fake credentials to get a room at the Motel 6 in Issaquah, about twenty minutes east of Seattle. Livia had recommended the place because it was outside the city and the rooms had exterior doors, which would allow the six of them to file in without having to go past a front desk. They’d driven separately—Manus and Larison in the van; the rest in Livia’s Jeep. Hamilton was badly freaked out, and being with Diaz, an adversary but at least a familiar face, seemed to be reassuring her somewhat. The two of them were sitting next to each other now on one of the double beds, across from Livia and Carl. Manus had pulled over a chair and sat perpendicular so he could read lips. And Larison was keeping watch through the curtains.
“I don’t understand,” Hamilton said, even though Livia had already explained. “I didn’t do anything. I don’t know anything.”