Page 56
He smirks. “Grab a glass. Cabinet left of the fridge.”
I walk into the kitchen and open the cabinet to find a line of glasses inside, all different shapes and sizes. I grab the largest one and make my way over to him.
Milo holds out the bottle, and I take it.
“Thank you,” I answer as I pour a large amount into the glass. I chug down at least half of it before coming back up for air and finding him staring up at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
I wipe my lips and turn around to pace around his living room. “So, remember that thing you said about not coming into my life and messing it up?” I ask.
He holds up his hands. “I swear, I meant every word of it at the time.”
I laugh, feeling the burn of alcohol in my throat. “Well, thank you,” I say. “Life is good and messed up now, but we’re alive, so…”
He nods. “You’re welcome.”
“I do have some questions, though.”
“I figured you would.” He leans back. “Fire away.”
“If you don’t work for the mob, then how did you know they were coming to my house to kill me?”
Milo squints. “Because… I work for the mob and they told me they were coming to your house to kill you.”
I frown. “Did you kill Martin Wells?”
“No!”
“Keep your voice down. She’s sleeping.”
He presses his lips together. “No,” he whispers. “I really didn’t kill him. I just run a taco truck. They pass drugs and money through it. They pay me for the convenience. That’s it.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
I believe him. Fuck me.
I gesture to the desk. “What’s with the passports?”
He hesitates, bouncing his ankle off the floor. “I still dabble in a little identity theft.”
I scoff. “A little identity theft?”
“It’s just a hobby. A nostalgic reminder of a simpler time. Like a security blanket.”
“That’s an ironic way to look at it.”
“It is not lost on me, no.”
I tilt my head. “You realize I’m a cop, right?”
“And I’m hoping saving your life gets me a free pass.” He raises his thumbs and smiles to lighten the mood.
I down the rest of my glass. “I’ll think about it,” I say, slightly swaying.
