A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(26)

He cleared his throat. “Miss Lane?”

She stopped marching toward the door. Her shoulders rose as she turned to him with an impatient expression.

“I, um,” he began, tapping his fingertips along the edge of the table, unused to showing gratitude, let alone feeling it. “Look I—I appreciate that,” Carter stammered, his eyes flitting around the room.

Miss Lane glanced at Jack, who appeared equally speechless. “Don’t worry about it. It was stupid of me to—”

“No,” he interrupted. “It wasn’t stupid. It was a good idea. I think …” Carter glanced at Jack for assistance.

“Wes,” Jack coaxed. “Are you saying you want Miss Lane to tutor you?”

Carter dropped his eyes to the table, reaching for the cigarettes.

“Well, okay,” Jack whispered. “Miss Lane?”

“So,” she said, taking a slow step toward the table. “We’re going to do this?”


“I said so, didn’t I?” Carter growled through a fog of smoke that curled into the air around him. A bemused look crossed Miss Lane’s face before she retook her seat.

Twenty minutes later and with her diary filled with the times and dates she and Carter were meeting, Miss Lane stood once again from the table and held her hand out to Jack.

He shook it enthusiastically. “Thank you, Katherine. We’ll talk more, I’m sure.”

“Absolutely,” she replied with a smile. “And call me Kat.” She glanced at Carter. “See you Monday.”

But Carter remained mute, unmoving. Still as a statue, he kept his eyes fixed on the door as it closed behind her. His pulse thundered in his ears while the sound of her name reverberated through his skull with each ferocious beat of his heart.

Katherine. Katherine. Katherine.

Once they were alone, Jack turned to him with a huge-ass smile on his face. “Wes, this is great!” He clapped his hands together. “This is really great, right? Wes?” Jack repeated, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Wes, are you—?”

“What did you call her?” Carter croaked. His airway squeezed, making him gasp. He pushed a slow hand to his chest where a tightness, the likes of which he’d never encountered, pulled taut and unforgiving.

“What?” Jack asked in confusion.

Carter’s eyes closed. He swallowed. “What did you call Miss Lane?”

Jack frowned. “I called her Katherine. Why?”

Katherine Lane. Katherine f*cking Lane.

As the world around him tilted, making the room swim horrifically, Carter dropped his head like a lead weight to his knees. His breath hitched and tripped over itself as it fought to get to his lungs.

It couldn’t be. There was no way.

No.

What were the odds?

The chance was minute.

He grabbed at his scalp in disbelief.

“It can’t be her.”

He pulled in as much air as he could, but it was useless. The walls were closing in while panic and disbelief gripped him mercilessly by the throat. He was choking.

Jack dropped to his knees in front of him. “Who, Wes?” he urged. “Wes, talk to me. Who are you talking about?” He grasped Carter’s shoulder.

“It can’t be,” Carter mumbled.

“Who? Miss Lane?”

“No,” Carter replied, vaguely aware of the alarm creeping into Jack’s voice. “She’s not Miss Lane, she’s— Oh f*ck.”

“Who?” Jack asked, tightening his grip on Carter’s shoulder.