Crossing Lines by Adrienne Giordano
13
After meeting with Leslie,exchanging phone numbers and leaving her to consider whether she’d help them or not, Shane and Faith hit a drive-thru for food and spent the majority of the ride back to the motel in silence. Every second of it grated against his already shredded nerves.
In his opinion, silent women, particularly this woman who was never shy about speaking her mind, meant he was either A.) in trouble or B.) in trouble.
What the hell he might be in the doghouse about was beyond him.
“Thinking,” Faith said.
“About?”
“A number of things. Leslie living as a man. And if she’ll give us Brutus’s aliases. She was actually somewhat open for someone in her position.”
“I helped her.”
“I’m sure you did.”
Whoa. He pulled the car into a parking space around the back of the motel, killed the engine and looked over at her. “Excuse me?”
Ignoring his inquiry, she waved him from the car. “Let’s not make ourselves a giant target.”
Following her through the breezeway in the center of the building, he dug the room key from his pocket. “I have the key.”
She held hers in the air. “Got mine.”
He waited while she unlocked the door, the stiffness in her shoulders doing nothing to hide her pissiness. What the fuck?
Once inside, he cleared the room — no bad guys — then flipped the safety lock and leaned against the door, arms folded. “What was that crack you made in the car?”
She whipped around, mirroring his stance and crossing her arms. “Maybe you could have told me the two of you had been lovers?”
What now? He almost laughed. “Lovers? You think I screwed her?”
“Come on, Shane. Happens all the time. All I’m saying is that we’re partners in this. It would have been nice to know the relationship went beyond professional and, oh, you know, maybe she goes nuts or something because you broke her heart.”
Priceless.
Women. Funky creatures. “That’s what you’re worried about? That a relationship puts our mission at risk?”
“Of course.”
“Liar.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re so full of shit, Faith. You’re jealous.”
Did it make him an asshole that it amused him? Probably. But hell, it’d been so long since he’d cared it was almost a relief.
“You could have told me.”
She didn’t even try to deny it. Fascinating.
“I could have,” he said. “But it would have been a lie and I’ve been straight with you every step.”
“You—” She shook her head. “Please. With the way that woman looked at you? There’s something there.”
“No. There’s not. Think about it. She spent years with Alfaro, first as his mistress, then being groomed to do his wet work. He trusted her. She was tasked with keeping an eye on Brutus, who tended to go off-leash too often. Leslie Larshot knows how to play anyone with a dick. With me, she tried. When it didn’t get her anywhere, she gave up and saw me the way I saw her. As an asset. We had an understanding.”
“What understanding?”
“If she got into trouble, I’d help her. And vice versa.”
“How?”
“Her brother, Reynaldo, worked in the palace. Remember I told you an asset I had in the palace helped me when I got busted with Andres’s phone? It was Reynaldo. Leslie had told me he could be trusted. Without her and her brother, I’d have died that night. Instead, the SEALS got me out.”
She stood unmoving for a second and then her posture changed. All that stiffness sliding out of her shoulders. “That’s why you helped her. You owed her.”
“Yes. The relationship was professional. That’s it. And, so you know, if it had been more, I’d have told you before we left Chicago. I’m not gonna let you go into a situation blind. But, hey, next time, maybe you could ask before rolling with sarcasm and accusations.”
“Sarcasm is my weapon.”
Well, that he didn’t expect. His mind tripped back to the conversation in his apartment. To her mother walking out on her. Her grandmother dying. Being a loner because it was easier.
He took a step closer, focused on her eyes. “Why? Because you think no one loves you enough to stick around?” Her eyes snapped, but he continued before she could get a word in. “You blow shit up so the other person won’t have to.”
He’d figured her out.
In record time.
Not only had he determined her weak spot, he’d thrown it in front of her, laying it bare. A ball of heat shot into Faith’s chest and she threw her shoulders back.
All these years, she’d been dealing with her abandonment issues on her own, steering clear of getting too close, too emotionally wrapped up in relationships of any kind.
No one had ever called her on it. Not once.
“You don’t know me,” she said.
He shrugged like it was no big deal. Like he hadn’t just firebombed her.
“I know enough,” he said. “And I’m sure as hell not blind. I’ve been living undercover for two years, keeping people at a distance because everything and everyone jeopardizes my safety and Dusty and Trevor’s. With you, it’s different, but the same. We’re both too fucking terrified to let anyone see us. Really see us. And it makes you crazy that I pegged you.”
It was a damned shame his cover had been blown because he’d probably been an excellent operative. “God, you’re full of yourself.” She laughed and headed to the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower.”
“You do that. I’ll be here.”
She whirled back, ready to blast him. Ready to verbally rip him apart and shut this whole thing down. “What does that mean?”
“You got nowhere to run, Faith. Sooner or later, you’ll admit I’m right. You were jealous.”
Bastard.“That’s what this is about?” She waved her arms. “Then by all means, let’s settle it. Let’s give you the ego boost you seem to so desperately need. It’s like high school all over again, but hey, why not? You’re right, Shane. I’m jealous. I didn’t like the way she looked at you, that tone she took. There was an intimacy to it that made me feel . . .”
Ugh.Why bother. She swung back, headed to the bathroom.
“Not a chance,” he said.
Sensing him behind her, she quickened her pace, got to the bathroom and swung the door shut.
Her rotten luck that he had long legs that moved fast, catching her and wedging his enormous body in the doorway. Now she’d never get rid of him and the panic took hold. Ignore him.
That’s what she’d do. Turn to stone and straight up pretend he didn’t exist. Eventually, he’d give up and go away.
“It made you feel what?” he said. “Tell me.”
“Get out. I’m showering.”
“Tell me what you felt.”
She yanked on the shower faucet and whipped the crappy, half-torn curtain closed. God, the place was a shithole. “Get out.”
“Tell me.”
He wouldn’t leave? Fine. He could stay. Wouldn’t be the first time a man saw her naked. Besides, it might just be shocking enough to get him the hell out of her space.
Ignore the crazy woman taking her clothes off.
“Well, since you’re not leaving, I guess I’m showering in front of you.”
She toed out of her shoes, tore her socks off, kicked out of her pants, then ditched her shirt and bra.
Shane’s eyes bugged out. “Are you bonkers?”
“Ha! You have no idea how bonkers I am.”
She checked the water temperature, found it just shy of scalding and stepped in, snapping the curtain closed behind her.
“I know what you’re doing,” he said through the curtain. “I’m not leaving. Tell me what you felt. For fuck’s sake, just say it. You’ll feel better.”
Faith tipped her head back. A weak stream of hot water washed over her, but she’d need more than that to fix her problems. To feel better. Not only had she been alone her entire adult life, if she had to live on the run, she’d spend the rest of it on her own too.
And didn’t that sound peachy? No friends, no family. No intimacy of any sort. Living a constant lie.
Jesus, how did she get here?
She couldn’t do it anymore. Nope, nope, nope. Couldn’t keep pretending having no family or loved ones was reasonable and convincing herself that she was somehow self-protecting by not forming relationships.
What kind of crap had she been spewing to herself all this time? The lies, the emotional suppression, the self-talk about feeling empowered because she lacked any ties to family.
No more.
Done. Time to be honest. With herself and with Shane.
She whipped the curtain back and stood there, soaking wet and staring at him. Points to him for keeping his gaze above her shoulders.
“I’ve never had an emotionally intimate connection to a man. I’ve never looked at a man the way she looked at you. Like she knew what your body felt like on top of hers and she loved it. And the more I thought about it, it sent me spiraling down a rabbit hole thinking about all the things I’ve missed. Sitting there? I realized I want that and I might want it with you. God help us both. Happy now?”
She jerked the curtain closed again, only to have it reopened. “She doesn’t know what being in bed with me feels like.”
Leave it to a man to be so literal. Hot water continued to spray out of the ridiculous shower head. That showerhead? The CIA should use it as an interrogation device. Completely maddening. “God, Shane! That’s not the point.”
“Then what the fuck are we talking about?”
She might have to kill this man. “I thought she knew and that made me feel . . . alone. Which is totally normal for me. But, when you’re around, I like the companionship. I like that I have someone to talk to and bounce ideas off. Today, when I thought you and your asset had been lovers, it scared me. Today, for the first time with you, I felt adrift again. Like I was separated from you and I hated it.”
She spun back to the showerhead, lifted her face to the wimpy stream, ignoring the fatigue pressing in on her. This would be why she avoided emotional connections. The physical and mental exhaustion wrecked her. “Please, Shane. Just . . . go.”
He reached in, shut off the water — of course he did — and grabbed one of the crappy towels with the worn edges. When she got home — wherever the hell that wound up being — she’d buy herself the softest Turkish cotton towels she could find. He handed it over and she wrapped herself in it.
He stepped into the tub.
What the heck? “Um, what are you doing?”
He stayed silent, just looking at her with those crystal blue eyes that, no matter his mood, sparkled. Magic eyes that literally slayed her.
He waited for her to secure the towel, then stepped closer, reaching his arms out and drawing her close.
And, oh, God. Why was he hugging her? Try as she may, she couldn’t help flinching.
“I know that fear,” he said. “It’s different for me, but the same. I left everyone I love behind. All the people I call when something big happens. None of them are available to me. I’m terrified they’ll get hurt. Or worse. I brought danger to the people I love. I’m scared of that connection too.”
Different, but the same.What a mess. Two people, wildly opposite backgrounds and yet, both afraid to get attached.
Of all the people to fall for, Shane Quinn was probably the worst.
Epic disaster.
So why did being in his arms feel so safe?
She turned her head, pressing her cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt where his heart thumped in her ear.
“This is bad.”
“Really bad,” he said.
His phone rang.Leslie’s ringtone he’d assigned after she’d given him her number.
Talk about a sign from the universe.
Well, shit.
He pulled back from the hug and squeezed Faith’s arms. “I’m sorry. But that’s Leslie’s ringtone.”
“Answer it.”
Sliding the phone from his pocket, he poked the screen. “Hello?”
“It's me.”
The throaty, seductive voice. Leslie’s voice. A callback this soon might not be good news. Not that he'd blame her. Not only had they risked her cover by coming here, they wanted her to betray a psychotic serial killer. He wouldn’t blame her if she told him to shove it up his ass.
He stepped out of the tub, forcing himself to focus on the call. “Hey.”
“I’ll give you aliases that I know of.”
Yes! He spun back to Faith, giving her a thumbs-up.
“You helped me once,” Leslie said. “Saved me. This makes us even. But my brother—”
“Reynaldo? What about him?”
“He wants out. Can you help him?”
Jesus. How the hell was he supposed to pull that off? It wasn’t as if he could call Langley’s switchboard and ask for a favor.
Still wrapped in the towel, Faith stepped out of the tub and Shane followed her out of the bathroom. She stopped at the bed, standing beside it.
He brought his attention back to Leslie. “I’ll do whatever I can. No guarantees.”
“I’ll trust you.”
“Thank you. How do you want to do this?”
“It's done.”
“Come again?”
“Go to the front desk. There’s a bakery box — the Boston creams are my favorites — that was just delivered. Inside the box, you will find the list. And then you leave. Understand?”
She'd been here? Sure, he’d told her where they were staying, but he didn’t expect her to actually come here. “You—”
“No questions. Do you understand?”
He sure did. The more he talked, the longer he and Faith were in town, the more risk it created.
“Got it,” he said. “I know what I'm asking of you.”
“I know you do. As I said, consider the favor repaid and if you can assist Rey, I’m sure he’d be willing to help in whatever way needed.”
The line went dead. Boom. Over. He disconnected, tossed the phone beside him on the bed. His mind spun. The possibilities. Oh, man, the possibilities.
“That sounded promising,” Faith said.
“She's giving — correction, gave — us a list of aliases.”
Faith's mouth dropped open. “Wow. She's brave.”
“You don't know the half of it. I’ll explain when I get back.” He shoved his feet into his sneakers and jerked his thumb toward the door. “The list is in a box she had delivered. Unbelievable. If they find her . . .”
He shook it off. Neither of them needed him to finish that sentence. They both knew what Brutus was capable of.
“Stay here. I'm gonna grab that box.”
“We should get out of town. “
“I agree. You've got ’til I get back to finish showering. I'll call Dusty and Trev. See if one of them can meet us in Edingville after we drop off the rental.”
“Should we risk that?”
“No. But we shouldn't have risked this whole thing. And if they don't come get us we’re stuck with keeping the rental or public transportation. Depending on train and bus schedules, it could take us two days to get back to Chicago. And I’d rather not keep the rental. We’ll either have to return it or get charged a mind-blowing drop-off fee.”
“I agree, but I don't want Dusty and Trevor in danger either.”
“We'll leave it up to them. If they say no, no harm no foul. My guess? They won't say no.”
The list,fortunately or unfortunately, was plentiful. An hour into the ride, after various detours to ensure a tail — or two — didn’t exist, Faith sat in the passenger seat of the rental while Shane kept to the speed limit. Given their anticipation of returning to Chicago, his attempt to avoid getting pulled over might be killing him.
She checked her sideview mirror. The silver car that had pulled behind them miles back was still there. She’d keep her eye on it. She held up the handwritten list Leslie had left them. “There are thirty-one aliases on this list.”
“Those are the ones she had. There’s probably more. What about hotels?”
Wasn’t he just Mary Sunshine? Shaking her head, Faith skipped down the page. “Nothing specific for Chicago. She said he grew up poor. She left a note about the high-end, boutique places he likes. No big names. He’s all about the personal touch.”
Faith rested her head back and stared at the darkening road ahead. If the man spent his childhood in poverty, and now frequented only the finest hotels, they could form educated guesses about his habits.
She shifted sideways and faced Shane. “His appreciation of the finer things probably extends beyond hotels. We know from Darla’s shop that he's a snob about coffee. Why not restaurants? And cars and liquor.”
Shane checked his rearview and slid into the left lane to pass what might be the world’s slowest moving car.
“I’ll roll with that,” he said. “Check Michelin-rated restaurants in Chicago.”
Ah, yes. The Michelin Guide. A publication renowned for its rating system that, each year, sent talented chefs and restaurateurs into a state of euphoria if their establishment found its way to the coveted list.
Faith turned front again, scooping her phone from the door compartment and putting her thumbs to work searching for Michelin-rated restaurants in Chicago. And then what? She couldn't simply call the restaurant and read off a list of thirty-one names. Or could she?
The first link to pop up gave her a handy map of Michelin-rated restaurants downtown. “According to this article, there are twenty-one Michelin restaurants in Chicago. One three-star, a couple of twos and the rest ones.” She set the phone in her lap, conjured a cover story. “I’m the harried assistant. I think the reservation for my company’s annual board dinner was double-booked and,” she placed her hand over her mouth for added drama. “Oh, my goodness, there are thirty-one board members.”
Shane laughed at her antics. “You’re going to read a hostess all thirty-one names?”
“How else will I know if any of those supposed board members also made the reservation? At the prices they charge, there’s no way a Michelin restaurant wants a double-booking on such a large party.”
“True. They’d lose their ass. I’ll help with calls after we return the rental. The way Trevor drives, we’ll have a few hours to kill. That Boy Scout won’t go over the speed limit. I can’t blame him. Right now, I’m ready to blow my head off trying to stick to it.”
“I knew it was killing you. But don't complain. He dropped everything to pick us up. For that alone I’m grateful.”
She glanced in the side-view mirror. The silver car was gone. To make sure, she peered over her shoulder for a view of the entire roadway. With all the jumping on and off highways and rural roads Shane had done, if they had a tail they’d have spotted him by now.
She hoped. After the incident in the Challenger, her confidence in her observation skills was sorely lacking.
“The silver car,” Shane said. “It turned off at the last exit. I don't see anybody else back there.”
Satisfied they weren’t being tailed, Faith went back to researching the finest restaurants in Chicago. Then she'd start on a list of hotels.
If Brutus was in the city, she'd find him.