The Transporter

by Maverick, Liz

  “You don’t really like having me in your car, do you?” Cecily asked.

  “I don’t like having anyone in my car.” My car is a contained space that I control. She’s also my most loyal friend, my shelter from the storm, and I’m completely aware that sounds fucking crazy, so I sure as hell ain’t going to say that out loud.

  “What do you do?” she asked.

  “What did Dex tell you?”

  “He didn’t tell me anything except your first name. And that you’d be there when you were supposed to.”

  Good man. “That’s how I like it.”

  “This is going to be a long ride to New York City,” Cecily mumbled. She leaned back in the seat and blew a strand of hair off her face.

  Shane Sullivan was a mercenary who handled both freelance jobs on his own and team missions for the Hudson Kings. He was a transporter, to be precise. One of the benefits of being a middleman was supposed to be that there weren’t any complications. You don’t care what the story is at Point A and you don’t care what the story is at Point B. You’re simply transporting information, material, or people, and then you drive away and let the chips fall where they may.

  Taking on Cecily Keegan violated every code in his personal playbook. If he agreed with nothing else that came out of her mouth, he’d have to agree with this: Oh, yeah. It was definitely going to be a long, long ride.

  CHAPTER 3

  Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes it took for this guy to break the silence. “I drive around,” he said, completely out of the blue. Cecily had been playing absently with Bun-Bun’s ears, watching cows out the passenger side window while she processed the fact that she was really and truly on day one of a fresh start, when suddenly he said quietly as if they’d been having a conversation the whole time, “I drive around, I pick things up, I drop them off.”

  “What?” Cecily asked.

  “Point A to Point B. Fast.”

  Seriously? Was he joking? “So, you’re like . . . a pizza delivery guy,” Cecily said, deliberately trying to goad him into revealing, well, anything else at all. Something miraculous happened: the corner of his mouth quirked in the tiniest hint of a smile. “I think a piece of rust just fell off your face,” she said. That got her a whole lotta nothing.

  Cecily looked around. Clearly, no pizza had ever polluted the interior, practically gleaming with burled walnut and tan leather detailing. No scraps of paper, no junk food wrappers, no pens—not a single piece of litter. A black messenger bag sat in the well of the front passenger seat, buckles in place and locked. The computer screen in the dash was off. At least six phones were plugged into a custom charging station, their cords neatly wrapped. Two unopened bottles of water filled the beverage slots. The dedication to order made the pulverized dirt on the floor mat under the soles of his boots that much more jarring.

  Shane eased the car off the freeway and into a gas station. Cecily pulled on the handle, but the door was locked. Um, did he childproof me into the backseat? Not cool.

  “You stay in the car until I finish gassing up,” he said. “Then I escort you inside to hit the can, and we get something to eat.”

  Cecily’s eyes narrowed. Whoa, now. He didn’t even ask if she needed to use the bathroom. Or if she was hungry. He was ordering her around, and he wasn’t letting her out of his sight. Been there, done that. Done with that.

  “I’ll be back in five,” she said tightly, reaching to the front to pop the door lock. She pushed open her door and stepped toward the food court. How he moved that quickly, she had no idea, but before she could take one more step, she was already staring at the front of a T-shirt stretched across well-defined pecs, the top of her head not even reaching his chin.

  “I’m not gonna make you stop if I don’t have to,” he said, his voice low, a menacing growl around the edges. “Because that seems like a bad idea with your history. But my job is door-to-door service. I deliver the goods exactly as promised, exactly when promised, in exactly the format promised. So I call the shots until I deliver you to Dex. When I tell you to do something, you do it.”

  The goods? Like a package he’s delivering? Like one of James’s possessions? Thank you, no. “Look, like I said, I really, really appreciate the rescue, but I’m calling my own shots now.”

  “Dex requested you alive and in one piece,” Shane said. “I’m inclined to do these services for a brother, but let’s just say that I also take pride in my work.”

  “We’re out of the state. I saw when we crossed the border. I’m not in danger anymore,” she said with a shrug. Which was sort of a bullshit thing to say, because the only thing that made her feel like she wasn’t in danger anymore was Shane Sullivan’s six-foot-plus arrogant self, and she had a feeling it was going to stay that way until she was safely in New York with Dex.

  A muscle in his jaw throbbed; he slipped on his sunglasses. “I don’t give a goddamn where we are. When you got into my car, you became my problem and my responsibility.”

  That word problem hit so hard Cecily actually sucked in a quick breath. The wave of shame and embarrassment that followed was an all-too-familiar feeling. “I’m your problem?” she repeated grimly. “I see. Sorry this is such a nightmare for you.” Without another word, she got back into the car, shut the door, and focused on breathing deep with her arms pretzeled in front of her so he couldn’t see the trembling in her fingers.

  She watched Shane pump the gas, hating everything about him. Hating what a spectacle he was, with those ridiculously cool mirrored sunglasses hiding his thoughts, and how appallingly perfect his ass looked in those jeans. From this angle, she finally got a read on his tattoos and realized it was really just one, a series of ink lines winding around his left bicep, designed to look like his flesh was ripping open to reveal machinery—car parts?—underneath. Totally intimidating, totally hot. You suck for making me feel like I’m not good enough and small in every way, Cecily thought.

  But that wasn’t really true, was it? She’d made herself small. And besides, that was a James kind of thought. James aimed to cut her down, each and every time. Any nice things he ever said were just setups for building a high that he enjoyed cutting down to a low. This friend of her brother’s, Shane Sullivan, was a bossy, arrogant, scary-quiet, possibly quite deadly machine of some as yet undetermined kind, but it wasn’t the same. She didn’t know what it was, other than that it was annoying as hell, but it wasn’t the same as with James.

  Gas pumped and paid for, Shane got back in the driver’s seat and drove a short distance to a parking spot in view of the rest stop windows. He got out and scanned the rest of the parking lot; Cecily didn’t move. Shane opened the back door. “Let’s go.” Cecily still didn’t move. Shane inhaled and exhaled slowly and then stuck his face in the open V of the door. “I’m interpreting some signals here that maybe you’re kinda irritated with me.”

  Cecily rolled her eyes.

  “But the next rest stop is in forty-six miles, and I’m not in the habit of pulling over to the side of the road mid-delivery. So, to put it bluntly, you really oughta take a piss now, because if you’ve gotta do it between here and there, you’re gonna have to shoot in a soda can, and I’m a mite particular about my car.”

  He couldn’t be for real. How could someone so completely inappropriate be so . . . so . . . god, he was good-looking. Focus on the inappropriate, Cecily. “You are a caveman,” she breathed more than said, curling her lip in disgust.

  “You’re giving me too much credit,” Shane said. “Out of the car.”

  His massive build was like a total eclipse of the sun. He was bent down, his face right in hers; she should have felt claustrophobic. And the fact that she couldn’t focus on being pissed long enough to ignore the fact that that he smelled good pissed her off all over again.

  He tapped the roof gently, but his “Let’s go” was just another order.

  She got out and went around to the trunk. “My purse is in my suitcase.”

  He raised an eyebrow
. “Go wait by the door. I’ll bring it to you.” He didn’t open the trunk until she was standing on the curb next to the door leading to the fast-food court.

  And then he parked himself at a table, in line of sight of the bathroom door, and pointed his finger in a “go” sign.

  Double ugh.

  But “double ugh” was nothing compared with the infinite ugh Cecily felt staring into the restroom mirror after washing up. Ice-cold rest-stop water dripped down her arms as she stood frozen in front of her reflection. The cover-up on her bruise was useless under the garish lighting. It went very well with what had originally been a baby-blue T-shirt but was now a dirty blue-gray T-shirt. I look like a corpse. Shane didn’t say anything. Didn’t even bat an eyelash, but I look like a corpse.

  But, then, why would he say anything?

  Her makeup bag and hairbrush were still in her luggage, so there wasn’t much she could do other than wash her face and wipe off the half-moons of black eyeliner that had failed to defy gravity. An abandoned ponytail holder on the ledge below the mirror was tempting, but Cecily just couldn’t bring herself to go there, since it sat next to some other pretty dubious leftovers. At least most of it resembled known substances like chewed gum and toothpaste blobs, but still.

  Cecily grabbed some toilet paper off a roll and tackled the makeup. See now, any decent woman would have mentioned this. But Shane didn’t claim to be decent. And he was nothing if not all man.

  Not to mention, if Cecily hadn’t been so busy staring at his eyes in the rearview mirror, she might have noticed her own.

  It said good things about her attention to detail that after all this time staring, she could say with some authority that his eyes were not merely “dark” and “brown.” They were, in fact, dark and brown with a halo around the irises that registered as fire in the right light, and his lashes were long, something that looked particularly enticing alongside the rest of his badassery.

  It said bad things about her common sense.

  Ridiculous. About twenty hours prior, she’d sworn to have nothing to do with men ever again, and Shane Sullivan looked like capital-T Trouble in messy hair, fitted jeans, and tats, exactly the kind of guy she should stay away from. Of course, James was the epitome of clean-cut in his designer suit and trimmed crew cut. If the men who looked good were bad, then maybe the men who looked bad . . .

  Stop it! You’ve known him for two seconds. Are you going to make the mistake of falling for the first guy who’s even a little bit nice to you because you’re used to the other side of the coin?

  He’s not even that nice! Ugh, Cecily. Badass super-silent mystery-package-driving hotties are NOT the stuff of fresh starts. Remember all those articles warning you that women coming out of an abusive relationship sometimes jump into intimate situations too quickly? Yeah, I’m talking to you, Cecily. You no longer have permission to stare at his eyes in the mirror. You have lost your hottie eye-staring privileges. You have—

  “Cecily?”

  She froze at the sound of Shane’s voice. The bathroom door opened a crack. What? No-o-o-o. You can’t be serious. You are not coming in to the women’s bathroom to get me. You caveman piece of—

  “You been in there awhile. Just checking.”

  His eyes were on the floor, like she was some dainty Victorian lady who needed privacy because she might be changing into bloomers or something. His voice wasn’t impatient, just—oh, shit, he sounded—

  “Need somethin’?”

  He sounded that nice.

  CHAPTER 4

  She didn’t need anything, so while Cecily finished up, Shane cased the area and then made his way to the food counter and ordered a bunch of different meals plus soda and water. He took his receipt and stepped aside, staring blindly at the action in the deep fryer. I guess I am your problem, she’d said, her face drawn and the light completely gone from her eyes. He could still see her staring straight ahead, unmoving, just waiting while he pumped the gas. Way to go, asshole.

  For a minute it looked like total defeat. But then: “You are a caveman,” she’d said, her sweet cupid’s bow lips curled in disgust.

  Ha. She’s still got fire.

  The last time Shane delivered a person, it had taken sixteen hours including a ferry ride to Morocco. The guy hadn’t spoken more than two or three times, and he didn’t have duct tape over his mouth. Well, not for the European segment, anyway. The whole thing was so annoying Shane’d sworn to stick to cash and packages. That said, this was different. This was Cecily. Cecily Keegan. Formerly, just a little girl’s face in a picture on a desk. Now a woman sitting in his car, taking up space where there’d been nothing.

  His order came toward him on a plastic red tray accompanied by the smell of hot grease, just as Cecily came out of the bathroom and went to the table he’d originally chosen. He headed over and sat down across from her, selected a cheeseburger, popped the top off a water, and dug in.

  Cecily stared at the pile of food and then looked uncertainly at the ordering station.

  “You do get this is for two?” Shane asked.

  Her answer was a burst of laughter, the sound of spontaneous joy so intense Shane stopped chewing for a moment. If that’s what you get for giving a girl a sandwich, he wondered what you’d get for giving that same girl a—shut that shit down, man. Just shut that shit down. Dex’s sister, here.

  “I wasn’t sure,” she was saying, delicately peeling back a corner of each wrapper to peek inside.

  “Woman I used to see around,” Shane mumbled between bites, feeling a little shell-shocked and anxious to detour his thoughts. “Always said she wasn’t hungry—always ended up eating my food, so I was definitely always hungry. Lesson learned. Buy double whenever a chick says she’s not hungry.”

  “I don’t know whether to find that gross and presumptuous or amazingly generous,” Cecily said, choosing a grilled chicken sandwich.

  Knew it, Shane thought.

  “That said, I’m super hungry, so my conscience tells me to go with amazingly generous.”

  “You seriously thought I’d eat all this shit?”

  “You’re a big man. Your current girlfriend must have a healthy appetite.”

  Shane watched Cecily turn pink as soon as the words were out of her mouth, her eyes moving to make a show of focusing on the label she started ripping off the water bottle.

  “I don’t have a current girlfriend,” he heard himself say. WTF. Why the hell am I telling her personal deets? Less talk, more burger.

  She looked up then, her cheeks still pink. Cute as hell. Shane stuffed the second half of his cheeseburger into his mouth.

  Her eyes dropped to his mouth, his bulging cheeks, and she raised an eyebrow, shaking her head. But when she spoke, her voice was soft. “You are definitely a caveman, but I think it’s probably good Dex made you my caveman. I’m going to get home to my brother just fine, aren’t I?”

  Shane stopped chewing again, a lump in his throat that had nothing to do with food. Well, assuming no one gets to us before we get to the Armory in New York, yeah. And since you’re with me, it’s a reasonable assumption, so, again, yeah. He stared at her and swallowed. “Yeah, you’re gonna be fine with me.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. By the way, I’m happy to share the driving. I know how to drive stick.”

  Shane looked at her incredulously. She wasn’t joking. “You’re touching these keys over my cold, dead body.”

  This time, she was the one waiting for a punch line. Which she was never gonna get.

  Shane stared her down until she finally mumbled, “Oh. Um, I guess I’ll find another way to help.”

  It took her twice as long to finish her one sandwich as it did for him to finish two burgers. They ate in silence, Shane taking note of the subtle shift in Cecily’s demeanor that started about halfway through her meal. Looking out the window a lot. Wrinkling her forehead. Agitated. “What?” he asked.

  She paused, opened her mouth. Closed it. Paused again and then said,
“I need to ask you a favor, and I feel weird since technically all you’ve been doing is a series of favors, or maybe it’s the same favor that never ends.” She sighed, muttering, “I don’t know what’s worse.”

  “Spit it out, kid.”

  Another pause. “Kid.” Puts distance between us. She doesn’t like it.

  “I’d really like to call my brother.” Her voice started out normal but ended up bogged down with emotion. “James messed with my phone, and I don’t have enough to buy a disposable or have any cards these pay phones will accept. Could I—”

  “When did you last talk to him?” Shane asked.

  She shrugged and looked away.

  “Shit.” He pulled out his phone, dialed Dex, and handed the phone over.

  Cecily’s eyes widened. “Is he there? Hello?” She bit her lip and took a deep breath. “Is he . . . Dex? It’s me! Hi!” And there it is. That motherfucking smile that probably gets hung on the top rung of the gates of heaven when she’s not using it.

  Shane stared across the table as Cecily talked a blue streak, swiping at watery eyes, hunched over with her finger in her other ear to try to focus the sound.

  He made a “time out” signal with his hands. “I’ma grab some more napkins. You don’t move from this chair, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she said, and went back to the conversation.

  By the time he went back, figuring he’d given her enough privacy, she was looking up at him, holding out the phone as he walked back over.

  “He wants to talk to you,” she said. “I’m going to be right at that magazine rack over there.”

  Shane nodded and took the phone, his eyes glued to Cecily’s tiny frame, unable to stop himself from casing her sweet figure. “She sounds okay,” Dex said, on the other end.