by J. Kenner
I’m definitely not batting a thousand.
Eliza stands and pulls me into a hug. “I’m sorry about Tony. Do you want to stay for dinner? Quince’ll be home in a couple of hours. We could have spaghetti and watch some ridiculous action movie with spies, and you two can spend the entire show complaining about how it’s not realistic at all.”
“Wow. It’s like you know us so well. But no. I need to get home.”
“Call if you need me. Any time.”
“I know,” I say, then hug her tight again. “Listen, El,” I begin as we break apart.
“Yeah?”
I wave the words away. “Nothing.” I want to ask how long it took before she knew that Quince was the guy for her, but I already know the answer. She knew within minutes of meeting him in a London park.
It had been true insta-love. Until he fucked up, anyway. But at least he fixed it.
I’m not sure if what I’m feeling is love or lust or something else entirely. But I know it hurts.
And I haven’t got a clue how to fix it.
Chapter Eighteen
I’d biked from my bungalow to Quince and Eliza’s Santa Monica condo, and by the time I’ve cycled back home, the physical exertion and sunshine have cleared my head a bit, if not completely lifted my mood.
The bottom line is that I withheld stuff from Tony. The SOC’s interest in The Serpent. My interest in Tony’s father.
I didn’t tell him any of that because I’ve never trusted anyone except Eliza.
I guess Tony doesn’t really trust either. God knows he didn’t trust me. And our mutual lack of trust is hardly the basis of a relationship. Hell, I’m not sure it’s a basis for anything.
The thought depresses me more than it should. Especially since it’s better this way. Even though this way means that he’s undoubtedly out of my life forever.
Thoughts of Tony and the island—the good, the very good, and the bad—spin in my mind in time with the cadence of my pedals, and it’s a relief when I finally get home. I store my bike in my tiny garage, then head straight for the shower. I’m just toweling off when the doorbell rings. I reach automatically for my phone to check the camera feed, then remember I tossed it on the kitchen table when I entered.
I tell myself it couldn’t possibly be Tony, though I really hope it is. Since I don’t want to admit to that hope—not even to myself—I pull on a pair of grungy sweatpants and an ancient Dave Matthews Band concert Tee. The print is almost unreadable and the collar is ripped. If this outfit doesn’t convey that I’m completely blasé about who is at my door, nothing will.
I call out that I’m coming as I hurry in that direction, still in bare feet. Most important of all, I’m refusing to acknowledge the tingle of anticipation. It’s not like me, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s an inconvenient and unremarkable anomaly.
I reach the door, check the small, eye-level monitor, and feel my entire body sag with disappointment.
I take a second to regroup, then plaster on a smile as I open the door to Winston, who’s standing casually on my door step in jeans and a button-down he’s tucked in over a white T-shirt.
“Get in here,” I hiss, then follow that up with, “Are you insane,” once he’s inside and the door is closed behind him. “What if someone saw you?”
“Let them look. You’re SSA now, remember? And I’m here on official business.”
I relax, then drag my fingers through my hair as I head back to the kitchen. “Right. Sorry. Today’s been a bitch, and yesterday was worse. Whiskey?” I ask as he takes a seat at one of the stools that surround the kitchen island.
“Got any beer?”
“I have the real deal,” I tell him, then pull out a Guinness. “Not that watered down piss that you drink.”
“Whiskey,” he amends. “Neat.”
I pour one for each of us, then lean against the counter by the sink. “So what’s going on? Did Ryan pair us for a mission?” I could handle that. Winston’s low key and perpetually cool—until he’s not. He’s the kind of guy no one sees coming. Like Liam Neeson in Taken. All slow and easy at the beginning—maybe even a little nerdy and unsure—and then a total bad ass when it counts.
“Yeah, that was a bit of bullshit. I’m not here about anything to do with the SSA. But,” he adds, holding up a finger before I can ream him a new one, “you are new, and it makes sense I’d come welcome you. We can pretend I brought this whiskey.” He takes another sip. “I’ve got damn good taste.”
“Come on, man. Whatever this is, can we do it later. I had a shit day. I want to go to bed and wake up in another decade.”
“Seagrave told me what happened.”
I cross my arms over my chest and frown. “And you’re here why? I’ve already been debriefed. Time to move on.” I’d gone straight from the airport to the SOC and told my former boss everything. Well, everything relevant. Seagrave wasn’t thrilled that The Serpent was dead, but under the circumstances, he had to concede that I’d done the right thing.
“Give it up, Emma. You don’t have to constantly play the bad ass. I’ve known you too long.”
“I am a bad ass. It’s not a role. And I just mean that it’s over. It’s done. Moving on might require an official debrief but it doesn’t need two hours on a couch for psychoanalysis. Not with the department shrink and not even with a well-meaning friend.”
“At least you acknowledge I’m well-meaning.” He finishes off his whiskey, then pulls a pack of gum out and pops a stick in his mouth. He told me once that he’d never smoked until he had to start for an undercover job. He ended up addicted to the stuff. Now, when he feels the urge, he chews spearmint gum.
I guess my less than sunshiny personality is triggering a craving. Probably not my finest hour.
“I’m just making sure you’re okay. And since we’re now both gainfully employed by the same entity, I can do that. We can let our love run free. Cue the violins. No more hiding in the closet.”
I have to fight a smile as I say, “Don’t be funny. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Seriously, he told me about the mission. The girl. Tony.”
I stiffen. “What did he tell you about Tony?”
“Just that The Serpent made you out to look dirty.” He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have bolted. From what Quince and Liam say, Antonio Sanchez isn’t the kind of guy that would believe that. Not after he spent time working with you.”
“You didn’t see his face.”
He hesitates, then nods. “Fair enough. In that case, you doing okay with that?”
I shrug. “Nothing to be okay with. We got the job done. It was a one-time thing. I was on loan-out by order of Damien Stark. Or hadn’t you heard?” It’s only when I hear the harshness in my voice that I realize just how irritated I am. Damien Stark got me into this. He’s the reason I was on that damn island, and if he’d never tossed my name in the hat, my heart wouldn’t be bruised.
“In other words,” Winston says, “you’re not okay.”
“Dammit, the mission went south. Am I supposed to be doing a celebratory jig?” I finish off my whiskey and pour another. I start to refill his glass, but he puts his hand over it. “Not a good mix with the spearmint.”
“Remind me to never start smoking,” I say dryly, making him laugh.
“I get why you’re frustrated,” he says, clearly not talking about cigarettes. “But the outcome was solid. The Serpent’s dead, just like you wanted. And there won’t be any official blowback.”
“Are you finished?”
“Yeah,” he says.
I come around the island to stand beside him. “Thanks. I’m glad we went through hell together back then.” I manage a crooked smile. “It’s nice to know I’ve got someone here watching out for me.”
“You’ve always been there for me.”
His words are simple, but I can hear the sadness. I almost tell him how sorry I am about everything that went down all those years ago. But I stay silent. He already knows
all of that.
“Mostly I’m glad you signed on the dotted line,” he continues. “The SSA’s a good organization. It’s starting to feel like home to me.”
“I’m glad,” I tell him. “Do you want to stay for a while? Hang out and watch a movie or something?”
“Nah. I’m supposed to swing by Leah’s.”
“Mission?”
He shakes his head. “Broken dishwasher. But she promised she’d order pizza for dinner, so I figured it was a fair trade.”
I walk with him to the door, and when he pulls it open, there’s Tony’s Land Rover parked right across the street. With Tony himself sitting behind the wheel.
I force myself to ignore him despite the way my body’s tightening and tiny moths are starting to awaken in my belly. I stretch up to kiss Winston on his scruffy cheek. “Thanks for coming by. Seriously. It means a lot.”
“Want me to bend you over and kiss you properly?”
I grimace. “I forget that the reason you were Sheriff of that podunk county wasn’t just because of that sexy Texas drawl. You’ve got brains, too.”
“So no movie finale kiss? Damn.”
“Funny man.”
He chuckles, apparently agreeing with my assessment. “Listen, do me a favor. I get that you’re pissed at him, but don’t kill him. You can’t imagine the paperwork when you kill a fellow SSA agent.”
“He hasn’t signed on, remember?”
Winston’s grin reaches all the way to his eyes. “In that case, do your worst.”
I shake my head, amused, as he walks to his Ford Pickup. I wave as he drives off, then shift my attention to Tony, silently daring him to say something, get out of the car, anything.
Nothing.
So I go back inside, close my door, and head back to the kitchen to find my phone.
Chapter Nineteen
Tony didn’t know what the hell he was doing.
Or, rather, he did know. He was acting like a confused teenager, too scared to go talk to the pretty girl because she might slam the door in his face.
Odds were good that’s exactly what would happen. Hell, she’d done that much in spirit if not in action when she’d kissed Winston goodbye, stared right at Tony, and then gone back inside without so much as a wave.
And here he was, still sitting behind the wheel, debating whether he should stay or go, like he’d been transported into a damn song by The Clash.
Fuck. Tomorrow would have been better. He knew her flight had gotten in late last night. He should give her a day to chill.
He’d taken the late flight, arriving in LA just a few hours ago. He’d come straight here from the airport. Honestly, he’d probably fare a lot better if he showered before trying to talk to her.
Not that he’d decided what to say. Maybe he’d fucked up. But it had been a fucked up situation, and she’d bolted. Hard-as-nails Emma Tucker with her killer marksmanship and license to kill had turned and run and hadn’t looked back.
His fingers ached, and he realized he was clenching the steering wheel so hard he’d probably leave an impression. Apparently, he was still pissed, repeatedly telling himself he needed to be calm when he talked to her.
So, yeah. Better to go home, shower, and try again tomorrow.
He was about to put the vehicle in drive when, somebody rapped on his window.
He turned his head and found himself staring at a skinny torso in a yellow jersey. The kid bent down, revealing sun-streaked blond hair and just a smattering of acne.
He rolled down the window, and the teen gave him an awkward smile. “Um, you’re Tony, right?”
“That depends on who’s asking.”
“I—um—Greg,” the kid said, pointing to the name stitched on the Jersey. “I don’t get many deliveries to cars. Here you go.” And he held up a white bag with the logo of a popular local hamburger joint printed on the side. “So, enjoy your burger and fries. Oh, and—” He bent over and pulled a large cup up from below Tony’s line of sight. Presumably an ice chest. “Almost forgot the shake.”
“Do I pay?” Tony tried to keep the amusement out of his voice.
“Nah. Done online. The tip, too. Nice. So thanks.”
“Wasn’t me. But you’re welcome.”
The kid shrugged. “Guess someone’s looking out for you.”
“Yeah,” Tony said. “You could say that.”
He leaned back in the seat, leaving the window down as he opened the bag and pulled out a fry. It was like a bite of crispy heaven, and he followed it up with a swallow of frozen nirvana. “So today it is,” he said to his reflection in the rearview mirror.
He grabbed the shake and the bag, rolled up the window, then killed the engine. He got out of the Land Rover and walked across the street, clicking the remote to lock the car as he went.
When he reached Emma’s door, he rang the bell. He’d done this before, under slightly similar circumstances. Only then she’d been more annoyed at Damien than at him.
He was prepared for her to ignore the bell. Or to speak through the intercom and tell him to get lost.
He wasn’t prepared for the shock to his system when she opened the door. She’d pulled her hair up into a messy ponytail. Her T-shirt had a ripped collar and had been washed so many times the band logo looked like little more than a shadow. As for the sweatpants, they looked to be at least two sizes too large, and were tied low on her hips. She looked like someone settling in for a day of heavy cleaning.
Mostly, though, she looked absolutely stunning.
He started to speak, realized his mouth and throat were completely dry, and had to start all over again. As he struggled, she just stood there, her arms crossed over her chest, saying nothing.
“Can we talk?”
“No.” She took a step back and started to close the door. He toed his way into the space, determined not to cringe under her wrath of God stare.
“Thanks for the burger. I would have liked cheese, but the fries and the shake made up for that oversight.”
“It wasn’t an oversight.” Her arms stayed crossed, but she tilted her head. She did that a lot when she was amused.
“No?”
“I didn’t think you deserved cheese.”
“Would have to be a pretty serious crime to deprive someone of cheese. Maybe something that rises to the level of, oh, skipping out on a guy without a backward glance and leaving orders with the resort staff that she doesn’t want to see him or be on the same plane off the island with him. Considering the paramedics found me with a dead resort guest, your instructions didn’t exactly foster a calm and soothing manner in the way the resort staff treated me.”
“And yet here you are.”
He shrugged. That was true enough. “You bolted,” he said flatly. “You didn’t say a word to me. You just bolted.”
“And say what? Gee, it was fun fucking you. Too bad you really believed that I was working with that slimy sack of shit.”
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t you dare deny it,” she snapped. “I saw your face. That slithering prick implied that I’d slept with him—flat out stated I worked for his boss—and you weren’t sure. For a moment there, you actually believed him.”
“Bullshit.”
She stared him down. He congratulated himself on not cowering. She had one hell of an intimidating stare. “Go on.”
“I didn’t react because I believed him. Maybe I considered it only to dismiss it, and maybe that showed on my face. But you don’t get to judge me on that. I’m allowed to hear an accusation and weigh it and then decide whether it’s true based on the evidence or my gut or goddamn tarot cards. And who the hell are you to talk? I saw your face when I told you I wanted to be partners, remember? Wasn’t exactly the reaction I’d been hoping for.”
“Tony—”
He held up a hand to cut her off, but he’d heard the hint of an apology in her voice and knew that he’d made his point. “I don’t think this is about me. I think it’s about u
s.”
She cocked her head, wary, but said nothing.
“I think in that moment you realized the same thing I did.”
She swallowed. “What’s that?”
“That you’re not the kind of person who can get tied down. That we felt too much and moved too fast.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. Everything he was saying was true—he hated it—but it was true. “I thought I’d go after The Serpent once we left the island. I truly believed that I’d take him out and then, poof, I’d have a happy normal life with a steady paycheck, a permanent address, and a woman by my side.”
She shifted her weight, but she never stopped looking at him.
“But that’s not happening. And what I realized on that island is that I was a fool to ever think it would. I think you realized the same thing. You don’t really believe I’m dirty, but you do regret the things we said. So do I.” That last part was technically true, but only because he couldn’t be with her no matter how he felt. And the real truth was that he felt too goddamn much.
“So you’re claiming island fever? The lust of the tropics?”
He heard the edge in her voice and forced himself not to wince. Instead, he walked through the entryway and took a seat on her sofa. When she didn’t tell him to get the hell out, he figured that was progress. “I told you how I felt about you, and I meant it.” He swallowed as he met her eyes. “This isn’t about what I feel. It’s about who I am.”
She settled into the opposite end of the sofa. “And who’s that?”
“Someone who can’t add a relationship into the mix. Or a steady job.” He cupped his hands behind his neck, trying to ease some of the tension. “I’m not signing on to SSA after all.”
Her forehead creased. “Because of me? That’s insane. I’m a big girl. And you’re not an idiot. Stark Security’s a great place for you to land, just like you said. You’ve made it your mission to kill The Serpent, and once he was dead, you intended to plant some roots. That’s what you told me. And now he’s dead. So you’re welcome.”
He grimaced. “I would have liked to have taken that shot, but under the circumstances, I can’t really complain.”
