Chapter 2 - The Anatomy of Shadows
Evelyn did not move toward the plush leather armchair. To her, sitting meant sinking into a space where she could not run, where her back would be turned to half the room.
Julian observed this without comment. He walked toward the wet bar, poured a glass of still water, and set it on the low marble table near the center sofa. Then he sat down on the far end of the sofa, leaving eight feet of open space between them.
"You don't have to drink it," Julian said, resting his elbows on his knees. "You don't have to talk, either. But Gabriel is going to bring a doctor up here in twenty minutes. A woman. She doesn't report to Moretti, and she doesn't report to the police."
Evelyn's eyes flicked to him for the first time. They were dark, large, and rimmed with red exhaustion. "Why?" she rasped.
"Because you're bleeding onto my floor," Julian replied matter-of-factly, pointing down with his chin.
She looked down at her feet. She hadn't noticed that her right shoe had split along the seam, and a dark stain had soaked through her thin cotton socket. The pain had been there for hours, but her nervous system had pushed it so far down that her brain had simply stopped processing it.
"Vincent thought you would trade the harbor terminals for me," she murmured. "He thought I was important enough to hurt, but cheap enough to give away."
"Vincent is an idiot who mistakes cruelty for strategy," Julian said. "He thinks because he keeps six city councilmen in his pocket, he understands how power works in this city. He sent you here expecting me to use you as leverage, or worse, to keep you as a domestic hostage. He wants me distracted."
"Are you going to send me back?"
"I don't refund garbage," Julian said dryly. "And I don't give gifts back to men who hit women to make up for their own operational failures."
Gabriel re-entered the living room through the hallway door, carrying a clean white blanket and a tray with tea and broth. He set them down on the table next to the water, his movements smooth, unhurried, and entirely non-threatening. For a man who stood six-foot-three and carried a military sidearm under his armpit, he moved with remarkable softness.
"Doctor Vance is downstairs in the private medical elevator, boss," Gabriel said quietly. "And Moretti's men just called their captain. They're heading back to the docks."
"Let them," Julian said. "Tell the boys at the perimeter to double the watch on the lower levels. Vincent will realize by midnight that his little psychological trick failed. He'll want to see if my security has holes."
Gabriel nodded and withdrew without another word.
Evelyn looked at the blanket. She looked at the steam rising from the bowl of broth. Her hands trembled so violently that she had to press her palms flat against her thighs to keep them quiet.
"I have information," she said suddenly, her voice tightening with a sudden, desperate urge to make herself useful. "I worked in his private accounting office in Brooklyn before... before he locked me in the basement. I know the shell accounts he uses for the dock pay-offs. I know the names of the customs inspectors on Pier 42."
Julian looked at her for a long moment. He didn't look excited; he didn't look like a man who had just received a winning lottery ticket.
"Keep it," Julian said.
May you like
Evelyn blinked. "What?"
"Keep your information," he repeated, leaning back against the cushions. "I don't accept currency from victims to buy their shelter. You aren't my informant, Evelyn. You're a guest who got dragged through a sewer on her way here. Eat your broth."
