Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(111)

Berta is sweet. She’s a thirty-eight-year-old single woman who inherited the family diner and has been struggling to find good evening-shift help after a string of disastrous attempts. I don’t completely trust her not to snoop, but my gun and my knapsack are hidden inside a vent, so I figure I’m fine.

And now I’m twenty-one-year-old Katie Ford from Ohio. I have a golden-brown chin-length bob, violet eyes, and I wear only light makeup. I have an ordinary family back home who is proud of me for graduating with a Humanities degree from Ohio State and who fully supports me while I experience life in the South. And I had my wallet stolen. That’s why I have no social security number or other identification. Temporarily, of course.

I even went to church with Berta last Sunday morning.

I’m a new person. A good person who does good things.

Who hides her silent agony well.

“Here’s your Philly steak sandwich, Stanley. Careful, it’s hot.” I set the plate down on the table in front of the regular—a forty-something-year-old hog farmer with orange hair and green suspenders who comes in at six forty-five every night and orders the exact same thing. I think he has a thing for Berta.

A lot of the customers here are regulars. It’s nice. They make a point of saying hello, and that makes me feel not quite so alone.

“Hey, Katie!”

I turn around to find Will, Berta’s nephew, hovering behind me with that goofy grin of his. “What are you doing after work tonight?”

“Oh, probably just heading home. I’m tired.” I fake a yawn, knowing I can’t make up an elaborate story with Berta on guard. She’s hopeful that we’ll start dating, promising that he may act like a hooligan but he’s a good boy who could use a girl like me in his life, instead of those “floozies” he keeps bringing in here.

There’s nothing wrong with him, honestly.

Other than the fact that he’s not him.

Just the thought now brings a painful lump to my throat.

“All right. Well, if you change your mind, my friend is having a party tonight out on Copper Mill Road. Live band . . . kegs . . . You should come.” His eyes shift down to my chest—only accentuated by the fitted “Becker’s” T-shirt—before meeting my gaze and knowing he got caught. At least he has the decency to blush.

“Thanks, Will. I’ll keep that in mind.” I watch him as he makes his way over to join a group of his college friends at a booth. And it reminds me that I’m supposed to be in New York right now, attending Tisch, living my dream. Not serving burgers and sodas at a diner in Alabama.

Pining over a man I unintentionally fell in love with.

With a deep, calming exhale, I begin clearing a table of its dishes. Katie Ford from Ohio never enrolled at Tisch. She never stripped for a living. She never met a man named Cain.

And she also never dealt drugs, nor will she ever. I can’t let that silver lining disappear within the suffocating black cloud.

A round of laughter erupts from Will’s table as one of the girls playfully flicks his ear, the movement revealing a purple streak on the underside of her hair.

I smile at the bittersweet memory it triggers.

I wonder how Ginger’s doing. I wonder if Katie Ford has any hope of ever making a friend like her. I’ve already reconciled myself to the fact that she’ll never find a man like Cain.

I wonder what he’s doing at this very moment. If he’s out in the club or hidden in his office.

If he’s thinking about me.

If he misses me.

Or if he has already moved on.





chapter forty-five


■ ■ ■

CAIN

It took Sam Arnoni exactly twenty-five days to find me.

“He’s asking for you,” Nate announces from my office entrance as John and I watch the tall man in a charcoal-colored suit over the monitor. I knew it was him the second I laid eyes on him. Dan left his files for me with the requirement that they stay locked in my safe at all times. I gladly followed instruction, except for that one picture of Charlie, of course. That one, I folded up and tucked into my pocket, to pull out whenever I felt the need.

Turns out I feel the need at least forty times a day.

I memorized every detail about the man who turned his own stepdaughter into a drug trafficker. I know all about his many businesses. I know his approximate weight, height, birth city. I could describe the family crest tattooed to his chest if I had to.

Yes, Sam Arnoni is my enemy and I like to know everything about my enemy.

“Okay, I’m on my way,” I tell Nate, adding, “Keep the girls away from him.” I turn to John, who decided to extend his stay in Miami and turn it into a vacation. Apparently his vacation means watching from the shadows to see if anyone’s tailing me.

“You want me to call Dan?”

“No,” I answer quickly. Not until I decide what to do. “I need to know where I can find this guy at all times.”

“I’m on it.” Wheeling up the extra chair to the computer, he pans to the video feeds from the parking lot and begins rewinding. I assume it’s to locate Sam’s car. “You go wine and dine that scumbag.”

“Thanks, John. And be careful.”

“You too, Cain.” There’s a hint of something in John’s voice now that I can’t decipher. I wonder if he’s thinking about the last time he got involved in one of these situations with me. He must be wondering what I’m planning now. How far I’m willing to go to protect Charlie.