Her Name Is Knight(Nena Knight #1)(58)

Playing with fire, that’s why, is what her mum would say.

Perhaps Nena was.

Or perhaps she just wanted to be a normal woman for once. Go on a lunch date in the middle of Cort’s workday with him in his business suit and talk about nothing and everything, all at the same time. She wanted to know him, and he her. First, she needed to know who she was—beyond being a killer. And she couldn’t help wondering if the woman currently on her first lunch date was the woman she might have been.

“Earth to Nena.”

She blinked away her surprise, forcing herself to return to the present, where Cort was smiling at her, and the server—Janice—was waiting with a knowing smile. Pen and paper at the ready.

“I’d be daydreaming, too, if I was sitting across from a man like that,” Janice said conspiratorially.

Her boldness flushed Nena’s cheeks with heat and made Cort look away sheepishly, as if women ogling him was new to him.

“And he’s in a suit too. Ummph,” Janice continued, swinging her long dark ponytail. Nena wondered how she could see through those extralong eyelashes. She wanted to touch them. Janice laughed at her patrons’ unease. “What are ya having?”

When Janice finally left with her inappropriate comments and their order, Nena allowed herself to relax. She was too aware of Cort’s eyes on her. They sat quietly because she didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t a job, and she was out of her element when it came to this stuff.

He said, “You’re a mystery, you know that?”

“My mum says the same thing quite a bit,” she replied, amused.

He squinted. “But I’m betting there’s a story behind it. A reason for your distance and caution when you’re around me.” He sat back in his seat, throwing an arm across the top of the bench.

“Story?”

“Yeah,” he said encouragingly. “Who are you?”

She opened her hands as if she didn’t know what to say. “Nena Knight. I explained about my family and where I’m from. There’s not much more story than that.”

They paused when Janice returned with a tray heaped with their orders. Nena’s usual of bacon cheeseburger, onion rings, and Coke—milkshake to go. Cort had decided on a grilled chicken club with fries and a Sprite. Nena judged his choice of a sandwich over a juicy burger.

“But there is a whole history I want to learn about.”

Now she knew where Georgia got her chattering from. She swallowed her bite. “Like what?”

His eyes widened as if he might have offended her. “No. I don’t mean to pry. It’s the lawyer in me, I guess. Always questioning. I’m sorry. I just . . .” He shrugged, shaking his head. “I like you is all. I just want to get to know you.”

She needed to ease up. Cort was being truthful. His questions weren’t coming from a place of suspicion. He was truly interested in knowing who she was.

“You’re very intuitive,” she said, looking at him from beneath her eyelashes. “At reading people.”

“You forgot what I do for a living?” He laughed, making her feel good inside.

She pursed her lips again. “Have you returned to Haiti?”

He shook his head. “Not since Peach was a baby. I send money every month as every good Haitian does, but I haven’t made it back like I should.”

“My parents do the same.”

“Where to?” he asked slyly.

She raised an eyebrow at him. He was slick, trying to get her to talk. He gave her a sheepish grin.

She said, “I’m adopted, but my mum is also from Ghana, and my dad is from Senegal.”

He gesticulated with his hands. Go on.

She let out a sigh, resigned to the fact Cort wouldn’t let up until she opened up, and even more, that she wanted him to know about her.

“My mum found me living on the street, and they took me in. Been with them ever since.” Nena looked intently at her plate of food. “They saved my life.”

“They sound like great people.”

“They are lovely. And that is all you’re getting for now.”

“Well, all right then,” Cort said, laughing again as he dipped a fry in ketchup and popped it in his mouth. “You’re the boss.”

He grinned at her.

“Naturally,” she replied, and before she realized what she was doing, Nena was grinning right back.





44


BEFORE


The last time I had a night of uninterrupted sleep eludes me. So does the last time I slept without fear of harm, of being ripped out of whatever passed for sleep at someone’s whim. Without the fear of death or recapture. Up until tonight, the idea of peaceful sleep has been unfathomable.

But when I fall asleep in Delphine’s hotel room, on her lavish bed, which makes me feel I am sleeping on clouds, I sleep like the dead. I sleep so deeply I dream of my family, hoping they are at peace. In my dreams, Papa tells me to sleep, rest, let my traumatized mind and battered body recuperate.

When I wake, Delphine is fully dressed and on the phone, giving instructions in that take-charge tone I heard the night before. She notices I am awake, smiles at me, then turns back to her phone call. There is an important message in her actions. She is showing me there is trust. But I am not so trusting and again consider fleeing. I wonder if someone has found my nest and has taken it as their own in the short while I have been gone. Then I wonder about the men I killed the night before. Were they found? Did the Cleaners take them? Will the authorities come for me next? Is the woman on the phone with the police now, planning my capture?