Crossing Lines by Adrienne Giordano

12

At 6:30the following morning, Faith sat in the passenger seat as Shane pulled into the parking lot of an apartment complex that wasn't quite seedy, but far from luxury. The front of the building revealed crumbling bricks, dented gutters and white trim that had long since faded to a putty color.

Aside from the chipped paint, the arched entry doors would be considered charming. Now? It all seemed… worn.

Tired.

Kinda like her. And what a thought that was. After this was over, she’d start fresh somewhere. Find a new place to live. Maybe near a beach so she could sit in peace. Lake Michigan, in the short time she’d been in Chicago, had offered refuge. After work, she’d cop a squat on a bench and just breathe for a few minutes. She liked it.

A lot.

“Cool building.” Shane swung into a spot in the second row of the lot. “Too bad nobody's taking care of it.”

“I was just thinking that.”

She checked her notes on her phone. “We’re looking for One C.” She pointed to the third door on the right where a black number one and a C hung. “That one.”

A half-filled row of assigned parking spots lined the front of the building and a beat-up Nissan occupied 1C’s.

She snapped a picture of the license plate. “I'll send this to Sully. Maybe he can run it for us.”

“You should be careful with him.”

Now he wanted to start in with the Sully subject? She didn’t need the two of them to be best friends, but a resource was a resource. “I know you don't trust him, but he's all we've got at the agency right now.”

“And it didn't occur to you that besides us there are only three people who knew we were coming here?”

“You think Sully sent Brutus to follow us? “

He killed the engine and kept his gaze straight ahead. “Jonathan Sullivan has a history of selling out his supposed friends.”

She shifted sideways and lifted her chin, giving him her battle glare. “That’s your opinion. He helped me get out of Venezuela and away from Alfaro. Why sell me out now?”

Shane went back to watching the building. “Please. If it involved a promotion, he’d do it. Ask him how the hell Brutus found you.”

“I will not. Hypothetically, how do you know Dusty or Trevor didn't slip and tell someone where I was? I’m sure they still have government contacts.”

He snorted and the whole condescending sound of it ignited a blood rush that made her cheeks hot. “Don’t be an ass. I’m not accusing them. I’m pointing out that Sully isn’t the only one who knows my whereabouts.”

“All right,” he said, “I’ll play. They could have slipped. But that would make them the two most stupid men alive. Outing you puts them at risk and we've busted our asses staying under the radar. Highly unlikely.”

Her phone buzzed an incoming text. Sully. She held the phone up, gave Shane a sarcastic smile. “Sully is running that plate for us.”

“Oh. Goodie.” He went back to staring out the windshield. “Whoa. Heads up.”

The door to apartment 1C opened and a man wearing khakis, loafers and a button-down shirt under a blazer stepped outside.

“Look down,” Shane snapped.

They huddled together, heads tipped to the floor. “Maybe she got married,” Faith said.

“Or she moved.”

Faith snuck a peek. The man climbed into the Nissan and backed out of the parking space, paying them no mind as he left the lot.

“Follow him?” Shane asked.

She considered it for a few brief seconds, then shook her head. “I don't think so. If she got married or is living with that guy, she might still be inside. I say we wait.”

No activity.

Zero.

Had Faith not insisted on staying, Shane might have given up by now. They’d abandoned sitting in the parking lot three hours ago, opting for getting out of the car because — yeah, two strangers sitting in a parked car for hours wasn’t suspicious. They'd taken up hiding in a clump of trees at the back of the lot that still gave them a view of apartment 1C, but kept them out of sight.

This entire trip was a bust. And he was down a supremely sweet car.

He let out a frustrated grunt.

“Don’t get pissy,” Faith said. “You know how this goes. We’ve only been here a few hours. Maybe she works second shift and doesn’t leave until mid-afternoon.”

In which case, they’d be here for — he checked his watch — another five hours. Five hours in which Brutus, if Sully were double-crossing them, would show up, blow both their brains out and hightail it back to Venezuela on Alfaro’s private jet.

Done and done. Two birds. One stone.

Lucky Alfaro.

“We can’t sit here another five hours,” he said. “The cars probably all have parking permits. Ours doesn’t. It’s too risky.”

His stomach let out a rumble. Chow time. If he didn’t feed his system in the next hour, he’d have the mother of all sugar crashes. And he needed his mind and reflexes sharp.

“I need food,” he said.

She gawked at him. “Now?”

“We haven’t eaten yet. I’ll stay here while you do a food run. Or you stay here and I’ll go. I don’t care. In fact, see if you can park the car somewhere on the other side of these woods and double back. Less conspicuous.”

This time, she didn’t gawk, but the way she stared at him? All dull-eyed and with her lips slightly parted? She definitely thought he’d lost it.

“Shane, you’re killing me.”

“Nourishment-starved people running from an assassin isn’t exactly a great combo.”

The lack of an argument clued him in that she, even reluctantly, agreed.

He flashed a smile. “I’ll take a double-cheeseburger. A side salad with grilled chicken, if they have it. I need protein. And a couple of waters.”

He dug into his wallet, but she put a hand up.

“I’ve got it.”

Before she could stand, the sound of a car pulling into the lot drew their gazes beyond the trees.

The Nissan returning.

Of course. Just as Shane’s body might fail him.

“He’s back,” Faith said, the words rushing out.

They hunkered down, peering around the side of a giant oak. The man parked in the same spot, exited the vehicle and quickly scanned the lot, pausing in the direction of their rental.

Crap. Could he have made them? Or was the strange car tripping his radar?

Either way, it wasn’t good.

The dude gave up on the car, glanced around the lot again, surveying the trees.

“Look out,” Shane said. “He knows something is up.”

They huddled closer, but he could only make himself so small and this tree wasn’t nearly big enough to keep them both out of sight if someone came looking.

They waited a solid minute before Shane took another quick peek. “He’s gone. Car is still there so he must have gone inside.”

Snap.

Shane froze at what sounded like twigs breaking. He whipped his head around. Something was out there. Animal?

If so, a very large one. And that would make them well and truly fucked because he’d have to shoot it and draw all sorts of unwanted attention.

“Don’t move,” he mouthed.

Another twig snapped, closer this time. Shane pulled his weapon from the holster, holding it in the general direction of the sound. He eased out a breath and slid his gaze left to right, doing a visual sweep. Nothing.

But something was out there. His instincts roared, his skin buzzing like a loaded beehive. He fought the adrenaline rush, concentrated on the area dead ahead where the sound had come from.

Where are you?

A man’s head — the Nissan guy — shot up from behind a bush. In less than a second, he trained a gun trained on them. This guy was good. Fast and sneaky.

“Fuck,” Shane said, scrambling to his feet.

Shane never considered himself an egomaniac, but his radar ran hot 90 percent of the time, so someone sneaking up on him? Didn’t happen a lot. Which meant.

A professional.

The guy’s hair was short and dark, like Brutus’s the last time Shane had seen him, but the features were all wrong. No wide chin and thick nose.

“Drop that gun,” the guy said, his voice somehow . . . off.

The tone. Something about it didn’t quite jive.

Shane did as he was told and he and Faith held both their hands in front of them.

“We don’t want any trouble,” she said. “We’re looking for someone.”

“I see that,” the guy said. He stepped out of the bushes, coming closer, his steps light but swift. “Take your cap off,” he told Shane.

Slowly, Shane lifted his baseball cap. The one he’d bought at one of the rest stops along the way. The guy’s head craned forward, his gaze locked on Shane.

“Oh, my God. George?”

George.His cover name from Venezuela.

What.

The fuck?

Shane studied the guy’s features, looked straight into his eyes searching for something recognizable. Anything that might clue him in as to an identity. It could have been someone who knew Leslie, but how would he know Shane?

“Come with me,” the guy said.

“My ass,” Shane shot back. “We’re not going anywhere until you tell me who you are.”

If he worked for Brutus, they'd already be dead. The buzzing under Shane’s skin eased as the adrenaline rush subsided.

Whoever this guy was, he knew Shane. “How do you know me?”

“Who’s George?”

This from Faith, whose gaze bounced like a rubber ball between them.

The guy stepped closer, lowering his weapon. Good start. At least they weren't full of holes.

Now barely five feet away the guy halted. “It's me,” he said, his voice softening.

Beside him, Faith gasped. She clutched Shane’s forearm and squeezed, but kept her gaze on Nissan Guy. “Oh, my God,” she breathed. “You’re a woman. Are you Leslie?”

Shane did a double-take. What the hell was she talking about? The last time Shane had seen Leslie, she'd had a massive mane of red hair, enough makeup to rival any Hollywood actress and had been wearing a short black miniskirt and sky-high heels.

He swung his head back to the guy, his gaze shooting straight to his chest where the loose button-down gave away nothing.

The face though? Could it be? He thought back to Leslie's angular cheekbones and full, heavily lipsticked lips.

This guy's face was more filled out, but a few extra pounds could do that.

“It's me,” the guy whispered in that soft voice again. “We can't talk out here. Let's go into my apartment.”

“No way,” Shane muttered. He turned to Faith. “There's no way this is her.”

“Batman,” the guy said.

Shane's head snapped back. Holy shit.

“Huh,” Faith said, staring straight at him. “I see a trend here.”

She wasn't stupid. The codeword Dusty had given her was Beetlejuice and now the codeword this person had offered up was also a movie title.

Shane might have to change things up. Damn, he was slipping.

“It's me. Leslie. Now, please, let's go inside before someone sees us.”

Faith followed Possibly-Leslieand Shane through the front door of apartment 1C. Inside, the place was small and neat with a white leather sofa, upholstered gray side chair with funky geometric shapes, a metal coffee table and a widescreen TV mounted on the wall.

The opposite wall featured a contemporary print of a woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat. The rich blue background brought her back to a painting she’d spotted in a gallery in Spain a few years earlier. She’d been on an assignment and heading back to her hotel after a meal. A painting just inside the gallery’s doorway drew her inside where she’d fallen in love with the works of Manolo Valdes.

“It’s a Valdes print,” Possibly-Leslie said.

Faith nodded. “I thought so. I discovered his work a few years ago. I love the colors.”

“He’s a master. One day, I will own an original.”

Possibly-Leslie waved them to the sofa and she took the side chair. “It's me,” she told Shane.

He held his hand out, palm up. “Prove it. I need more than the codeword.”

“Ah, George. You always were so suspicious.”

Her voice was softer now, less gravelly, as if she’d given up trying to alter its tone. “When I was ready to leave Venezuela, you were kind enough to vouch for me with your government. After they were done with me, I was given a new identity — Stephanie Turnbull — and left at a Hampton Inn in Montgomery.”

“And what was your cover story?”

“I grew up in Louisville, Kentucky.” Her voice shifted again, this time easing into a sultry femme-fatale lilt. “My parents owned horses. Thoroughbreds. I went to Western Kentucky University and moved here to escape an abusive relationship. I'd be happy to show you the documents, but they’re locked in a safe deposit box. I felt it was safer to start over with a new identity that no one knew.”

Her lips lifted into a crooked smile. “Do you really not recognize me?”

Shane sat, clearly shellshocked that the woman they’d been looking for had so thoroughly disguised herself as a man.

“I can't believe it,” he said. “Take out your contacts. Then I'll know.”

She popped out a set of contacts revealing wide emerald-green eyes. Amazing eyes that transfixed Faith.

No wonder she wore contacts. Those peepers would be a dead giveaway.

“Jesus.” Breathy wonder filled Shane’s voice. “I knew you were good.”

Leslie smiled. “You always were a charmer.”

And something about the way she looked at him — heat — set Faith’s nerves on edge. Between the sultry voice and the intense green eyes locked on Shane, there was something there.

None of my business.

Whatever had gone on between them was long before Faith’s time. Besides, she and Shane had already established that this was a business arrangement. Anything more would be a suicide mission.

Faith pressed herself into the sofa, lifting her chin slightly. Even disguised as a man, Leslie Larshot was stunning. A woman who understood how to use her beauty.

Those haunting green eyes darted to Faith. “What is your name?”

Shane put up a hand. “Don't worry about it. She won't cause you any trouble. We need your help though. I’m not with the agency anymore. After you left Venezuela, I got burned. “Shane held his hands wide. “I've been living the same way you have.”

“It's lonely, isn't it?”

“It is.”

She faced Faith again. “I assume, since George has brought you here, you're somehow involved in whatever this mission is.”

George. How odd to hear someone call Shane by yet another alias. “Yes,” Faith said. She wouldn't be too forthcoming about her circumstances, but the quickest way to gain someone's trust was to give them a little something to nibble on. “We're trying to find Brutus. We think you can help us.”

“Brutus?” Leslie said. “Why would I do that? If he ever found me he’d torture me for days, maybe weeks, dragging it out slowly before allowing me to die.”

“That's why we need to find him,” Shane said. “So we can all be free.”

Leslie eyed him. “The only way we’ll be free is if that son of a bitch dies.”

“Exactly.”

Leslie threw her head back, letting out an enthusiastic laugh that filled the quiet room and reverberated off the walls. When neither Shane or Faith joined in, she sobered and faced Shane again. “George, you can't kill that man. You'd be a fool to reveal yourself.”

“I don't have a choice.” He glanced at Faith. “We don't have a choice. Like you, I've built a life. Not the one I ever intended, but it'll do. I’m not starting over. From the intel we've obtained, we believe he's in the States. We need him gone. For good.”

She dragged her gaze from Shane to Faith, studying her for a moment. “George still can't resist a damsel in distress. For him to risk coming here, you must be some piece of ass.”

Refusing to take the bait, Faith met the woman’s stare. “It’s all about sex with you, huh? This piece of ass killed Luca Alfaro. I gutted him and his buddy on the floor of a basement after they tried to rape me. Now, Alfaro wants my head. In this little game of can-you-top-me, whatever you've got, it doesn't beat eliminating the man's son. As for George, he may not be able to resist a damsel in distress, but he doesn't deserve to have a psychotic assassin on his doorstep because of me. Please give us both a break and tell us what you know about Brutus so we can get out of here and avoid any of us being discovered.”

Leslie offered another crooked smile. The “you’ve-got-me” one. “So, you’re the one? Brave soul, killing Luca.”

“Not that brave. I didn’t know who he was.”

“Still. It takes a strong woman to do that. What do you want to know?”

“We believe Brutus is in Chicago,” Shane said. “You traveled with him. Know the places he stays. His aliases. We need anything that will help us find him.”

“Chicago?” She lifted one shoulder. “I've never been there, but he likes luxury. Smaller, boutique hotels. Whatever is the finest in the city, that's where you'll find him. It's his one weakness. No. I’m sorry. His second. The first is his dinner habit.”

Oh, this sounded like something. “What habit?” Faith asked.

“Dinner is at 6:30. Every night.”

Shane shook his head. “Seriously?”

“Unbelievable, isn’t it. As careful as he is, he allows himself to be vulnerable for a meal and a good bed. He grew up in the slums with a blanket over concrete for a mattress. Some nights, dinner was his only meal. By 6:30 he’d be starving. As of two years ago, his body craved food at 6:30.”

“It’s a mental flaw,” Faith said. “Regardless of the time he eats lunch, his brain tells him he’s hungry. Fascinating.”

“Perhaps. When we were together, we had to be at a table and eating at precisely 6:30. And if they botched his order, he took it as a personal insult and let them know.”

Shane inched forward on the sofa. “What about aliases?”

“He has plenty. When he came to the States, he'd pretend to be royalty or a corporate heir. Once it was diamonds, another time textiles.”

“Do you remember any of the aliases?” Faith asked.

“Of course. I had to write them down, along with a brief history so I could keep them straight. I still have my notes. For leverage — bargaining, if you will — in case he finds me.”

“But you won't give them to us.”

Shane glanced over and shot her a warning glare. “We've surprised her. Let's give her a minute.”

“I don't need a minute.” Leslie leaned in, held a steady pointed finger at Faith. “I can see why the agency hired you.”

“We never said the agency hired her.”

“You didn't need to. My guess is she was a field operative trying to insinuate herself into Alfaro's world. Something went wrong and here we all are.”

She wasn't that far off, but Faith wouldn't confirm or deny. “It doesn't matter. What matters is the three of us are in the unenviable position of Alfaro wanting us dead. We can either sell each other out or work together and maybe get on with our lives.”

Leslie's gaze pinged between Shane and Faith, finally landing on Shane. “She's got a spine, this one.”

“She does. She wants the same thing we do. If you help us find Brutus, we all get our freedom.”