Move the Sun (Signal Bend #1)(25)

“What?” Isaac knew he was about to get some advice. Usually he took counsel well from those he’d tasked with giving it—Showdown first and foremost. But he was off his game these past few days and already feeling pissed before he’d even heard what Show had to say.

“I know how you feel about Mac. I do, too. He’s shit I scrape off my boot. But I think we need to bring him into the fold. If this Ellis guy is as big a player as you say, we can’t have Mac Evans gettin’ a friend like that. Goin’ hard like we did today, that’s the wrong play with him. We gotta work with him, make him our friend.”

“Or we could just end him.” Show huffed a laugh, but Isaac wasn’t kidding.

When Show realized it, he shook his head. “Brother, you know that’s not how we operate. That’s last resort, and it’s high profile. He’s known beyond our scope. He’s a simple little *, though; we can distract him with shiny things. Let’s bring him into the fold.”

Isaac knew Show was right. He was silent for a couple of minutes, brooding. Finally, he nodded.

When they went back out to the party, Gwen made her way right to him. But he didn’t want Gwen. He knew what he wanted, and he’d had his fill today of not getting what he wanted.

He left the clubhouse and mounted his bike.

oOo

When he pulled up to Lilli’s house, light was shining through the sliding glass door. She was awake, then. He’d expected as much; it wasn’t even 11:30 yet, and she didn’t strike him as an early sleeper. He dismounted and walked toward the deck. As he neared the steps, the door slid open, and Lilli was on the deck, wearing a pair of cotton boxers slung low across her hips and a little tank top. There was a lot of belly exposed between them. Isaac would have been distracted by all that firm, lovely skin, except that she was holding a handgun and pointing it at his head.

Shocked but calm, he stopped at the foot of the steps and raised his hands in front of his chest, palms out. “I’ve had warmer greetings, must say. From you, even.”

Even though his hands were up, she kept the gun aimed. “What the f*ck are you doing here now?”

Yeah, he was having a shit week, no doubt. He hadn’t thought this through, apparently. He figured he’d drop in for a f*ck. He couldn’t get this woman out of his head. He was alert that she could be trouble, and he was working on the problem of her, yes, but it was more than that. She was in his head and his senses, like a phantom following him everywhere.

“Just came for a visit, Sport. I swear. Just bein’ friendly.”

She pulled the gun up, and he dropped his hands. “You come to my house this morning and threaten me, then you show up in full dark and want to be friendly? Are you drunk?”

He took one step up. When she didn’t put the gun back on him, he came the rest of the way onto the deck. “I wish I was. You got no idea. I’m just here ‘cuz I want to see you. And I didn’t threaten you this morning. I just told you the score.” He crossed the deck and stood before her. She decocked the gun—f*ck, she’d really been ready to shoot that damn thing—and stepped back into the house. He followed and pulled the door closed.

“You hold that like you know what you’re doing. That’s no purse pistol.” It was a Sig Sauer P220.

Show and Havoc carried the same sidearm. Another piece to the Lilli puzzle: she knew her way around a handgun. Not exactly a mark in the “harmless” column.

She set the gun on the kitchen counter. Then she opened a cabinet and pulled a bottle of good tequila and two shot glasses down. As she was pouring, she asked, “Why are you here, Isaac?” She handed him a glass.

Maybe the night was taking a turn for the better. He took it from her, and they drank together. “You don’t do the lime and salt thing, huh?”

“Not unless I’m looking for attention at a bar—and that hardly ever happens. You haven’t answered my question.” She poured two more shots.

“Yeah, I have. I’m really here just to see you.” They tossed the next shots back. Lilli regarded him steadily, then turned to the fridge and pulled two bottles of beer out. She handed him one, and gestured with hers toward the living room.

She sat on the ugly brown couch, and he sat next to her. He stretched his arm across the back, his hand near her head. She gave it a suspicious glance but didn’t make him move it.

Isaac finished his beer in three long swallows and set the bottle on the coffee table. He was feeling a little more mellow than he had for awhile. He needed a break from his busy head. There was a book open, face down, on the table. It wasn’t in English. He picked it up: La Nausée, by Jean-Paul Sartre. He didn’t know the book, but he knew the author.

“You read Sartre? In French? And Dante in Italian? How many languages do you speak?”

She considered him over her beer bottle as she drank. When she pulled the bottle from her lips, her eyes stayed locked on his. He didn’t look away. Finally, she answered, “Including English? Eight.”

That was a truth. He knew it. It just sounded true. He tried to decide whether she had a tell, or whether he was using some kind of intuition, or whether he was just f*cking delusional and he had no idea when she was telling the truth.

He counted off on his fingers, thumb first: “English, Italian, and French. What are the other five?” She shook her head. He leaned toward her, vexed. She was gorgeous. He felt compelled by her somehow. He wanted her secrets out from between them. “Why is that a secret, Lilli? What is it you’re hiding?” She turned to put her own bottle down, and he reached out and grabbed her ponytail, yanking her back. He wanted a f*cking answer.