Page 38 of Killer Bones

“Anything else that happens will be irregular, impromptu?—”

“Big word, for a hitman.”

His glare is scary, but only a little. “I’m making a list, like Santa, of your naughtiness.”

Now, my heart is aching for our lost future. Our future. Am I extrapolating far beyond what is real? Who cares. With teeth, fingers, and claws I will cling to my fantasy of what could have been between the two of us until my last breath leaves my body.

I guess I don’t really believe I will live past tomorrow. There is clearly something about to happen at this meeting that he has no or little control over.

He hasn’t said what it is, but the signs are obvious.

When he finds my story on his laptop and starts reading from it, stopping now and then to make suggestions, it feels so odd. So right and yet so odd. He’s my perfect storyteller with a deep masculine voice that jellifies my bones—and the other sexier parts of me. I want to stay here listening to him forever. His breathing and voice are a background hymn, his hands on me a sacrament. His serenity, and the feel of his body, are my blessing.

I could lie against him and listen to his voice, forever.

And ever.

And ever.

I close my eyes.

15

Izzy

“Wake up.” Someone is shaking me and, within seconds, I know it’s Him. Last night, I fell asleep on Adelmo.

I stretch and find I’m curled up with my head and half my body on his stomach. Looking up through the blur of sleep, I catch him gazing down at me. A quizzical expression rides him, his mouth taut.

And I remember. Today is when I die.

I scramble up and prop myself on my hands, bring my sleep-tortured body into some sort of order.

“It’s soon?” My smile is weak and surely reeks of my knowledge of my oncoming doom.

“There is no food, but get some water, tidy up. They opened the door and said ten minutes, tops, before we leave. Keep your dress on.”

I wince, imagining him, or someone else, ripping it off me. I’m sure to be violated if any of this goes wrong, and it will go wrong. The odds are bad. I brace myself and get to my feet. He’s grabbed my hand, and he climbs up and stands with me then cups my face. The tenderness he’s showing is heart-breaking.

“Why?” I ask. I think, no, I know that he gets the reason behind the question.

Why now? Why us? Why couldn’t we have met some other time, some other place?

“I don’t know.” His swallow is stark. The man is nervous. That can’t be normal for him. “I have a word for you. When you hear it, drop to the floor or get as low as you can. Run for the nearest exit, if you can, or stick to the periphery of the room. It’s ‘shrike’. Got that?”

“Okay. Shrike.” I stare at him, sinking into his light-gray eyes. “Periphery…that’s another big word.”

“Yes.” My joke goes wide. “Just do it. I am going to do everything I can to keep you alive, Izzy.”

He squeezes my hand. My next breath is shaky and excruciating.

The march of time has brought me to this day, and I cannot reverse it, no matter what I do or think. I can only withstand the blows, the pain, the awfulness that is to come.

“Sure. I will do that, and…” I look down and heave in a breath then meet his gaze again. “Thank you.”

“Forgive me for whatever I might do, for it will not be my choice.”

“I will. I do.” I bite back a laugh at what sounds like a marriage vow. “I’ll go get a drink.”