The warehouse was a cavern of rot. The air tasted like damp concrete and old salt. Adrian led her to a small office upstairs that still had most of its windows, though they were coated in a layer of grime so thick it looked like grey paint. There was a desk, two chairs that looked like they'd been rescued from a dumpster, and a pile of old tarps in the corner.
Adrian didn't look at her. He started checking the perimeter, his movements mechanical. He pulled a laptop from a hidden floorboard and started tapping.
"You have a plan for this, too?" Lena asked. She sat on one of the chairs, keeping the bag with Barnaby at her feet. She hadn't let the cat out. The room felt too open, too dangerous.
"Cassin is coming here," Adrian said. He didn't look up from the screen. "He thinks I have the records. I sent a ping from a burner phone ten minutes ago. He'll be here by sundown."
"You're using me as bait."
"I'm using the situation." He stopped typing and looked at her. His eyes were red-rimmed. "If I give him the records, he lets us walk. That's the deal I'm going to offer."
"But you don't have the records. You told me Julian hid them."
"I know where they are now," he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, tarnished key. "Julian didn't hide them in a locker or a basement. He hid them in the one place Cassin would never look because it was too sentimental. He put the drive inside the collar of the cat."
Lena looked down at the gym bag. Her heart did a weird, painful flip. "Barnaby?"
"The 'stray' that showed up at your door two weeks after the funeral? That wasn't an accident, Lena. Julian had a guy deliver him. The cat is the vault."
Lena felt a wave of nausea. Everything was a lie. Even the cat. "So why are we here? If you have the key—if you have the cat—why didn't you just take the drive and go? Why bring me into this?"
Adrian stood up and walked over to the window. He stared out at the dark water. "Because I wanted to kill him. I spent three years planning how I'd take Cassin down. I wanted to see his face when I showed him the records and then put a bullet in him. That was the justice I wanted for myself. For what he made me become."
Internal thoughts are fragmented. He's choosing. Revenge or us. But there is no 'us'. There's just a guy who let my brother die and a girl who's a walking target. Justice? He doesn't know what that word means. He just wants to feel better about being a murderer.
"But if I do that," Adrian continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, "you don't get out. If I start a war here, the crossfire will take you. Cassin doesn't leave witnesses."
"So give him the cat. Give him the drive and let's go."
"If I give him the drive, he wins. He stays in power. He keeps killing people like Julian. He keeps using girls like you." Adrian turned around. He looked like he was vibrating. "I have to choose, Lena. I can have my revenge, or I can get you to the border. I can't do both."
"Why does it matter to you?" Lena stood up. She felt a hot, bubbling anger rising in her chest. "You didn't care about Julian's life. Why do you care about mine? Is it the eyes? Do I still look enough like him to make you feel guilty?"
Adrian took a step toward her. He looked like he wanted to touch her, but he kept his hands at his sides. "It's not guilt. I thought it was, but it's not. It's... it's the only thing I've done in ten years that didn't feel like a job. Helping you. Watching you sleep. It made me remember that I wasn't just a machine."
"You are a machine," she said, her voice cold. "You're a machine that's broken. You don't get to use me to fix yourself. If you want justice, go get it. But don't you dare pretend you're doing it for me."
The silence in the room was brittle. Outside, the first of the black SUVs rolled into the lot, its tires crunching on the gravel. The sound was like a bone breaking.
Adrian reached for his gun. He looked at the gym bag, then at her. He looked like a man standing on the edge of a roof, wondering if the fall would kill him or if he'd just keep falling forever.
"The drive is in the collar," he said, handing her a small knife. "Take it. If things go bad, you run for the pier. There's a boat tied to the third pylon. The keys are under the seat. Don't wait for me."
"Adrian—"
"I'm going to go talk to him," he said. He didn't look at her. He walked toward the door, his posture returning to that stiff, mahogany stillness. "Just stay down. And for god's sake, keep the cat quiet."
He left the room. Lena sat on the floor, the knife heavy in her hand. She looked at the bag. She could hear the heavy thud of car doors closing outside. She could hear the sound of men's voices, low and jagged.
She had to choose, too. She could take the drive and run, leaving Adrian to the justice he wanted so badly. Or she could stay and see if there was anything left of the man who had held her in the rain.
She unzipped the bag. Barnaby looked up at her, his yellow eyes wide and unblinking. She felt the leather of his collar. There was a small, hard lump stitched into the lining.
Justice was a heavy thing. But as she heard the first gunshot ring out from the floor below, she realized that love was a lot heavier.