Disruptor (7 page)

They didn’t hesitate to kill. The murder rate
in Lincoln Heights was crazy high. And that was just the bodies
that were found.

Why would she want an address in Lincoln
Heights checked out? Just how much trouble was she in? Because if
she was in that neighborhood, she was definitely in trouble.

It might not be the kind of trouble his money
could sweep away.

Even if he could help her, was he obligated?
Yes, she’d saved his life, but did that mean he was obligated to
possibly risk his? If she was in trouble with the Russian mob, her
life was in danger and if he helped her, his would be too.

Driving usually helped soothe his nerves but
not tonight. He went past crumbling tenements, trash can fires,
groups of kids huddled together on corners and in alleys. Girls in
cheap vinyl and tottering heels catcalled him at red lights, hoping
to score a rich john in a fancy car. Liquor stores and strip clubs
and corner dealers. Thumping music and angry shouts and sparkling
laughter. There was plenty of life here, it just scared the hell
out of him. It made him ashamed to admit it, even just to
himself.

When his lawyer called about changing his
community service to a safer location, Kevin almost accepted. He’d
never been so badly hurt before, his pride and his sense of
security, and yes, his manhood, so thoroughly ground down into
almost nothing. Being saved by a woman wasn’t the source of his
shame. It was his inability to protect himself that shamed him.
He’d barely been able to fight back. No amount of reminding himself
how many attackers there had been did any good. He still
felt…useless. Incapable. In truth, he’d never felt more like the
worthless playboy everyone saw him as. And he hated that.

Kevin didn’t want to add feeling like a
coward to all that, so he’d told the lawyer he would continue his
service at the shelter. Now as he considered how far to go to help
the woman who’d saved his life, he thought maybe he was a coward
after all.

Shit. He would keep an eye on the phone,
check the shelter again tomorrow. For now, he would go home. He
cued up some house music on the sound system and headed north.

Until he got to a turn-off that would take
him into Lincoln Heights. He idled at the stop sign, considering
things. Before he could talk himself out of it, he checked the GPS
map on his phone and headed for the address she’d given him.

Just a quick drive-by. Surely she wouldn’t be
anywhere around the place.

When he saw the flames reaching into the
night sky, he knew instinctively that was the place. He turned onto
the correct street and sure enough, there it was – a brownstone on
fire at the far end of the street, spitting orange and red high
into the sky and filling the area with thick black smoke. There was
no sign of any kind of first responders, no neighbors milled in the
street.

Someone walked out of the smoke that hung
like a curtain around the house. Kevin slammed on the breaks. It
was her. Jesus, she was trashed. Covered in blood and soot, clothes
torn, dark hair flying like a pirate flag in the wind. She stumbled
into the street and looked like if she didn’t sit down soon she was
going to fall down.

Taking care not to hit her, Kevin pulled up,
leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

She stared for a long moment. He thought he
was going to have to remind her of who he was when she climbed into
the car and shut the door. “No hospital. Promise me.”

Kevin may have been rich and spoiled but he’d
been in his share of trouble before. Kicked out of private school,
juvenile arrests that cost the family money and favors to make go
away. Gossip fodder and too many lovers and flunking classes in
college because he couldn’t be bothered to get up before noon.
Parties and drinking and fast cars and faster women and stupid
stunts. Community service for a drunk and disorderly charge that
his brother refused to take care of. Kevin had a long and colorful
history of personal idiocy and reckless behavior.

But when this mysterious woman climbed into
his car, he knew he was about to find out what
real
trouble
looked like.

Dani stood under the hot water, let it blast
her neck and shoulders and all the knots collected in the muscles
there. Her first shower, upon arriving, had been to clean off the
blood and soot and grime. Afterward, she’d fallen into the guest
room’s bed and slept better than she had in no telling how long.
Maybe ever. She woke stiff and sore from the fighting, so she used
that to justify a second shower to herself. Being clean, not having
to rush, using products that smelled good enough to eat, wrapping
her body in a huge fluffy towel with another just for her hair – it
was absolute bliss.

She stepped out of the bathroom, thankfully
covered by the biggest, softest towel she’d ever used, right as
Kevin Moynihan opened the guest room door.

“Oh, sorry.” He kept his gaze on her face. “I
knocked but there was no answer.” He had two department store
shopping bags in one hand and a newspaper under the other arm.
“I’ve got some things for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He drew his eyebrows together, his expression
uncertain. “Your clothes were in bad shape. Covered in blood. I
felt it best they be destroyed, so I threw them into the building
incinerator.”

She gaped at him, incredulous. “You destroyed
my stuff?”

Kevin came further into the room and set the
bags on the bed then held out the newspaper. She glanced down at it
then back up at him. He nodded. Blowing out a breath, she took the
paper and unfolded it.

Front page, below the fold. Several
paragraphs of not much of anything but she read them all. The
Russians weren’t cooperating with police, which didn’t surprise
her. Cops were speculating it had to do with a turf war but had no
clues leading to any suspects. There was no hint in the story that
all that damage had been done by one lone woman.

“Like I said, I thought it best to destroy
your clothes.” Kevin studied her, his blue eyes just as vivid
behind a pair of glasses as without.

He had destroyed evidence. He’d made himself
an accomplice. God. So she’d helped this guy, that didn’t mean he
owed her anything. Much less putting himself on the line like that.
She crumpled the newspaper and pushed it at him. “I never should
have gotten in your car.”

“You needed help.” He put the paper on a
table by the window.

“What I need is to leave.”

“No, I think you should stay.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“You’re exhausted. You were hurt last night.
I don’t know how you’re even alive, but I’ll save those questions
for later.”

Oh, shit. He’d be getting precisely zero
answers.

“Some of them survived,” he said. “They may
have seen your face. They’ll be looking for you.”

“Which is exactly why I need to get out of
here. You don’t want to get caught up in something like this.”

“No, I don’t. But you need help. Do you have
any other friends you can go to?”

He had her there. She could only do so much
alone. Besides, she was tired of having to choose between starving
or stealing.

“Stay for a day, maybe two. Get some rest.
You’re covered in bruises.” He gestured at her arms, mottled with
purple. “Just hang out here and take it easy.”

A day, maybe two. They’d be looking for her
in the South Side. This swank penthouse was half a city away. Hell,
it might as well have been on the moon, as much as it had in common
with Lincoln Heights and Cabrini. She pointed at the bags on the
bed. “I’m guessing that’s clothes.” He nodded. She lifted her chin
to indicate the door. “I’ve stood around in a towel long enough.
Could you go so I can get dressed?”

“Of course.” He strode to the door then
stopped. “Would you like breakfast or lunch?”

“Surprise me.”

He smiled, and for a half-second her knees
threatened to buckle. “I will,” he said then left, closing the door
behind him.

A day. Two at the most. A guy like that
didn’t need her kind of trouble coming down on his pretty head.

The shopping bags were full. Casual stuff:
jeans, cargo pants, a mix of t-shirts and long sleeve tops. Mostly
dark colors like black, gray, navy blue. Stuff she might choose for
herself, but the quality was like nothing she’d ever worn. He must
have dropped a few hundred dollars on these two bags, at least.

Then she examined the underwear and upped her
estimate of the cost. Every piece was exquisite, bore no labels,
and was a stunning shade of dark red. She’d never seen anything
like it outside of magazine ads.

Dani selected what to wear, dressed then
dried her hair. Combing it out took a few minutes. She was on her
way out the door when she realized there were no shoes in either
bag. No shoes so she couldn’t leave too soon – so the guy had great
taste in clothes and a bit of a passive aggressive streak.

The big, airy penthouse had two floors. She
descended to the lower level, checking everything out. The place
was clean and modern and masculine without being overbearing about
it. The living room was split into two sections, one with furniture
centered around a huge television and the other with seating
grouped together for conversation. The walls were divided between
shelves full of books and white space with framed abstract art in
the center. Opposite, floor to ceiling glass looking out over a
balcony and a magnificent view of the city skyline.

Dani examined both the books on the shelves
and the art on the walls. Most of the books were non-fiction,
volumes on art, music, and history. She didn’t know what to make of
the abstract paintings. The largest piece was at least four feet
across and three feet long, a white canvas full of brilliant blues
and greens in geometric shapes accented with looping spirals.

The lab hadn’t been all experiments and
tests. Once Dr. Hurd took over and conditions became more humane,
classes became part of the routine. Dani’s own education had been
patchy at best before, but those classes had filled in everything
she’d missed and then some. The arts and humanities had not been
skimped over simply because of the nature of the lab’s mission. Dr.
Hurd had seen to that.

Dani carefully searched the painting for a
signature. There was something in the bottom right corner that
might have been the artist’s initials but it was so stylized she
couldn’t quite make it out.

Kevin approached and stood by her side. “What
do you think?”

“It’s like a Kandinsky but it’s not a
Kandinsky.” She shrugged then crossed her arms over her front.
“Some other abstract artist, I guess.”

He said nothing. From the corner of her eye
she caught the faint smile on his face, the understated glow of
pride. She peered at the initials again.

“You painted this,” she said.

Kevin placed a finger over his lips. “Don’t
tell anybody. They think I only took art classes for the nude
models.” He winked. “I hope you’re hungry. I decided on
brunch.”

“Right about now I’d eat roadkill.”

“Hopefully my cooking’s better than that.” He
raised an arm to guide her. “This way.”

The dining room was as spacious as the rest
of the rooms, and like the living room had a floor to ceiling view
of the city. The glass must have been polarized because the
sunshine added warmth and golden light but no painful glare. A
large rectangular table pushed against the glass on the right side
of the room served as a desk, with a laptop and various books and
notepads and other supplies scattered about its shiny black
surface.

To the far left sat a circular bistro table
with wrought iron chairs. Not far from that was a bar that
connected to the kitchen, laden with food. Kevin handed her a heavy
black plate. “Caprese quiche. Prosciutto wrapped asparagus. Croque
monsieur. Fresh fruit. Croissants. Your choice of traditional
Mimosa or raspberry Bellini.”

Maybe he was trying to impress her. It kind
of worked. Dani wasn’t entirely sure what a couple of the dishes
were but everything looked and smelled good, so she piled her plate
high and took a seat at the table. They ate in silence, Dani going
back for seconds while he made coffee.

Finally full, she pushed her plate away and
rested her elbows on the table. “So when do you start asking me
questions?”

Kevin set two steaming cups on the table and
returned to his seat. “I’m ready when you are.”

“You know I won’t answer everything. I
probably won’t answer much at all.” The food had been amazing and
the coffee smelled divine as well. She looked out at the view
instead of at him, more than a little unsure of herself in such
surroundings.

“How about we start with something simple.
What can I call you?”

She liked that. He didn’t ask for her name,
he asked what he could call her. Maybe that was why she told him
the truth. “Dani. My name is Dani.”

Understanding filled his eyes. He offered his
hand. “My name is Kevin.”

They shook hands. He held onto hers for a
beat longer than strictly necessary, but there was nothing
possessive or domineering in his grip. He wasn’t trying to assert
control, or test her, or any other kind of dickish hypermasculine
move. It was like he just wanted to keep touching her for a moment
longer. So she allowed it, and realized that it wasn’t bad at all,
being touched by this man.

He let go and sipped his coffee. “Thank you
for helping me that night outside the shelter. You saved my
life.”

“You’re welcome.” She didn’t know what else
to say.

“I do have a lot of questions, but we need to
talk about last night first. If I’m going to help you, I’d like to
know what happened. I think I deserve that much.”

“You’ve already helped me, and I appreciate
that. But I need to leave.”