Chapter 4

The next morning, Ethan texted me saying he wanted to check out downtown.

We went to a mall in the city center, browsed for a while, then I suggested getting coffee.

When I was ordering, my hands kept shaking.

When I came back with the tray, Ethan was looking at his phone. Seeing me approach, he immediately put it down.

"Careful, it's hot."

He took his cup.

I noticed how he held it.

Thumb and middle finger gripping the sides, the other three fingers suspended in air.

My heart sank.

Dad had mentioned that experienced shooters habitually keep their index finger suspended independently, ready to pull a trigger.

We sat for over an hour, making small talk.

He kept talking about getting married in the future, buying a house, having kids—so earnestly.

If this had been before yesterday, I would have felt happy.

But now, I just felt a chill down my spine.

When we parted ways, Ethan asked, "What did your parents think of me? Did I do anything wrong?"

"They liked you. Don't overthink it."

"That's good." He touched my head. "Next weekend I'll pick you up and we'll go look at houses."

"Okay."

He turned and walked into the subway station.

I clutched the glass I'd secretly hidden in my bag.

When I got home, Dad was waiting in the living room.

I handed him the glass.

He put on gloves and held the glass under the lamp to examine it.

On the glass surface were three clear fingerprints.

"That's enough," Dad said.

He placed the glass in an evidence bag, took photos, and sent them to Jack.

"Fingerprint comparison takes time. Fastest result is tonight."

I said, "Dad, if he really is a fugitive..."

"What do you want to say?"

"I want to say, he was good to me..."

"Good to you?"

Dad finished my sentence.

"Claire, people capable of those kinds of things are a hundred times better at treating you well than ordinary people."

"Because they know that only by completely fooling you will you never question who they really are."

At five in the afternoon, Jack called.

Dad answered, listened for a few moments, and his expression changed.

"Okay, I understand."

He hung up and looked at me.

"It's a match."

"The fingerprints recovered from the 2017 Southwest gun incident scene are identical to Ethan's."

"So he..."

"His current identity is fake. No one knows his real name. The suspect from that case only had a codename: Scorpion."

Scorpion.

The man I'd been dating for eight months had the codename Scorpion.

Dad stood up and walked to the window.

"Jack already reported it. Following protocol, tonight or tomorrow, someone will come take him in."

"What should I do now?"

"I'll call him," Dad said. "Tell him I want to take him out for a meal, have a proper talk."

"He's your boyfriend right now. He won't refuse."

I looked at my dad.

This fifty-nine-year-old man, standing straight as a tree.

Mom came out of the kitchen, still wearing her apron.

"You two need to stop."

Her voice trembled slightly, but her expression was steady.

"As a mother, I don't want to get involved in this. But there's one thing."

She looked at me.

"You've been dating him for eight months. Has he ever done anything inappropriate to you?"

I thought about it.

No.

Not once.

He always stopped at the right moment, always respected my wishes, always stopped before I felt uncomfortable.

Now that I thought about it.

He knew he couldn't leave any evidence.

Dad glanced at me and picked up the phone, dialing Ethan's number.

"Hello, Ethan, I'd like to take you out for dinner, tonight if you're available?"

Something was said on the other end.

Dad laughed. "Drink with you? I've never been afraid of anyone."

After a few more words, he hung up.

"He'll be here at seven."

The clock on the wall pointed to six-forty.

I stood on the balcony looking down.

On the street below, people came and went.

That black sedan—when did it park there?

I didn't know. But the front end was pointed directly at the building entrance.

Two people sat inside. I couldn't see their faces.

Jack's people were already here.

At five minutes to seven, the doorbell rang.

Dad went to answer it.

I stood at the end of the hallway and saw Ethan standing at the door, holding two more bags.

He'd changed into a dark jacket, his hair fixed with gel, looking particularly sharp.

"Sir, I brought you some good liquor."

Dad smiled and took the bags, stepping aside to let him in.

As Ethan was changing his shoes, his movement paused.

He'd seen those two figures on the balcony.

His smile was different from all his previous smiles.

"Claire, are you and your dad hiding something from me?"

Cold sweat covered my back.