Death by Denim by Linda Gerber Page B

things over with my mom. I edged closer to the door to eavesdrop. I’ll give Caraday this much, she was one hell of a smooth talker. She had my mom placated inside of ten minutes, without directly lying. She assured Mom that she understood her concerns and conceded that if she had a daughter, she would probably want to be as careful. Once Mom had calmed down, they moved on to more talk about the forensic evidence they had gathered from Lévêque’s body. That I didn’t want to hear.
    I wandered back to the window and stared out over the rooftops. Shadows stretched long in the late afternoon sunlight, softened by the haze of heat as if filtered through a lens.
    “You hungry?”
    I jumped and turned around to find Ryan standing behind me, offering a baguette sandwich. I shook my head. Despite my earlier hunger, all that talk about Lévêque’s death had ruined my appetite.
    “Take it.” Ryan pushed it toward me. “You should always eat when you can. You never know—”
    “Not you, too.”
    “What?”
    “The mantras. That’s all I ever hear from my mom. Eat when you can, sleep when you can, never jump into a conveniently waiting taxi . . .”
    “She’s teaching you well.” He took my hand and slapped the sandwich into it. “Eat.”
    I sighed and took a bite to appease him. Bread and cheese never tasted better. I didn’t stop until I had eaten the whole thing. “There,” I said. “Are you happy?”
    His mouth twisted into a smile. “Very.”
    “Did you know him well?”
    His smile faded. “Who, Lévêque? No, I worked with him only a few times.”
    “So why are you here?”
    “The same reason you are.”
    “Why is that?”
    “To end this thing.”
    “Ah.” I turned away from him and stared out the window again. I didn’t know what to say to that. I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell Ryan what Caraday and I had talked about. I hugged my arms. “You know what? I’m kind of tired. Can you tell my mom I’m going to lie down for a while?”
    “Sure.” He turned to leave the room.
    “And Ryan? Thanks for the sandwich.”
    His smile returned. “You got it. Sweet dreams.”
    I curled up on the end of the sofa and I really did try to sleep. Mom should have been pleased that I was following her advice. I’d take whatever sleep I could get because once Caraday told me what she had planned, I knew it probably would be my last sleep for a long, long time.
    The problem was, I was powerless to quiet the debate raging in my head. Past experience had taught me not to trust anyone and here I was considering going against my mom and putting my life in the hands of someone I didn’t know. Caraday did appear to be very much involved with the investigation of Lévêque’s murder, and it looked like my mom trusted her, but I’d learned long ago that appearances were not always what they seemed.
    The biggest factor pushing me toward Caraday’s plan was the fact that it was exactly what my mom would have done if I had been any other pawn, and not her daughter. By her own—albeit reluctant—admission, she had dangled Seth in front of The Mole’s minions when they freed Seth’s dad, and the operation had been a success. Apparently, this was a page right out of my mom’s playbook. And now that the opportunity had come to use it against The Mole, she was allowing her emotions to cloud her judgment.
    Well, I couldn’t do that. I wanted my life back. And I wanted Seth to have his. The Mole had to be stopped, and if it took me squirming on the hook to catch him, that’s what I would do.
    I screwed my eyes shut tight and counted backward. Not from one hundred. Oh, no. My mind was much too distracted for that. I started at five hundred. I think I got down to about twenty-three before I drifted off.
    When I awoke, the sky outside had turned a dusky purple. I scrubbed my hands over my eyes and tried to remember what I had dreamed. If I had dreamed. I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that I woke with a feeling of urgency. I