Extreme Danger (McClouds & Friends #5)(115)

There was a trick to surviving it. You just had to not give a shit.

He’d mastered that trick with his father, though it had taken years of practice to get it right. But it was entirely a different proposition to do it with Becca.

They’d reached the room. He stood, passively, while Becca dug for her key in her tiny pink purse. He felt her soft hands at the small of his back, herding him into the big, comfortable room. It was still in wild disarray from the frantic speed with which they’d dressed when they arrived. They’d run late, on account of that transcendental blow job.

He sank down on to the bed, which was covered with discarded clothes. His back to her. His eyes fell on the ice bucket, the champagne.

God. He covered his eyes, gut churning. So much for that.

Becca waited a couple of minutes and then started in on him, an edge of frustration in her voice. “Nick? Do you want to tell me what the hell that was all about?”

“No,” he said.

She let out a sharp, angry sigh, and came around the bed, facing him. One high-heeled foot tapped with nervous energy, her hands were on hips, legs apart. Ready to give him hell. He braced himself.

“All right. I guess I phrased that wrong,” she said, her voice sharp with anger. “Let me try it again. Nick, what the hell was that all about?”

He tried to shrug, but his shoulders felt too heavy to lift. “It’s about facing reality.”

She stomped her foot. “Don’t you dare get cryptic and inscrutable on me, mister, or I’ll kick your ass.”

That jolted an unwilling smile out of him. “Get in line,” he said. “Take a number. The whole world wants to kick my ass. Why should you be any different?”

“Stop it,” she snapped. She gave his chest an angry shove. “Feeling sorry for yourself will not help. Now tell me what she was referring to, because I will not be left hanging while you glower and sulk. Out with it. Who’s this…what’s the name? Novak?”

He let out a careful, measured breath, and tightened all his muscles against the ache of impending loss. “Kurt Novak. He was a Zhoglo clone,” he said dully. “Hungarian mob family.”

He took a deep breath, sucked it up, and told her the whole sorry, miserable tale of how he’d f*cked Connor over left, right, and sideways in the Novak debacle.

He kept his head down for a while after. Unwilling to meet her eyes and face what he was sure would be there. She didn’t say a word.

Finally he couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. He looked up.

Becca’s angry, belligerent pose was gone. She gazed at him, her head cocked at a thoughtful angle. Faintly puzzled.

“Is that all?” she asked.

An ugly laugh ripped through his throat. “All? Fuck, isn’t that enough for you?”

“Not really,” she said. “I mean, yes, it’s a terrible story, and I’m so glad it turned out well, but I don’t see where your great sin was.”

“He was my friend,” he snarled.

“Well, of course,” she said. “So you made a mistake. It must have hurt you terribly, and I’m very sorry for that, but it turned out well in the end, so what’s the big—”

“People are dead and rotting in the ground because of my mistakes!”

She flinched at the violence in his tone. “Are you talking about that other thing now?” she asked, her voice cautious. “That cop in the Ukraine who died because of the security leak? The one whose daughter disappeared? Um…Nick? You were not the security leak.”

He shot to his feet, and headed towards the door. “Fuck,” he hissed. “There’s a reason why I don’t have conversations like this—”

“Oh, no. No way.” She darted between him and the door. “Don’t you dare storm off in a huff before I’ve made my point. In the Novak thing, you were deceived. In the Ukraine thing, you were betrayed. Deceiving, betraying, those things are sins, and they are hateful and evil, yes, no question about it. Being deceived, being betrayed, these are mistakes, Nick. These are bad breaks. Big, big difference!”

“No, there isn’t!” he yelled. “I should have known better! I should have figured it out, and—”

“Well, you’re not God! Too bad!” she yelled back. “And neither are any of the rest of us! Get the hell over it! I’m sick of your histrionics!”

“Don’t try to put a sparkly positive spin on this, babe.” His voice was low and vicious. “What counts are results. You have to draw your ultimate conclusions from results. That’s called facing reality.”

She stubbornly shook her head. “Strike out ‘sparkly positive spin,’ and replace it with ‘the voice of sweet reason.’ Besides, nobody around here seems to hold it against you, except for that bitch Tam. And you yourself, of course.”

He made a derisive sound. “Oh, yeah. You can bet they haven’t forgotten it for one instant, sweetheart.”

“Nick. News flash.” Her tone was sarcastic. “They invite you to their weddings. Hello? People do not invite people they don’t like to their weddings, unless you’re talking about rich uncles with oil wells. Weddings are expensive, they’re personal, they’re important. So face reality, OK? Your friends care about you. Deal with it!”