Don't Break This Kiss (Top Shelf Romance Book 5)

by Jessica Hawkins

  “I’m supposed to love it through a window?”

  “Exactly,” he says, eyes still closed. “You’ll watch a stupid amount of television, eat a dazzling array of delivery cuisine, and catch up on your R and R.”

  “Speaking of which, I need a holster for my gun. Preferably something that doesn’t interfere with the lines of my new look.”

  A heavy sigh. “Can you at least give me a few hours while we’re in the air to reconcile myself to my fiancée being permanently armed? Just to pretend I have a choice in the matter before I eventually give in?”

  “All right. Thank you.”

  “Try and relax. We’re safe for a little while,” he says. “It’s not like anyone is going to blow us out of the sky.”

  “You know, it hadn’t even occurred to me that was a possibility until you said it just now.”

  “Oops.”

  “How do you get used to people wanting to kill you all the time?”

  His brows lift slightly. “Well…usually it’s not all the time. But yeah, it’s not easy.”

  “No kidding.” I rub at my chest with the heel of my hand. “I feel like I’m constantly on the verge of having a heart attack.”

  “And it’s all my fault. I dragged you into this mess and I’m sorry.” His face is deadly serious. “You’re going to be fine, Betty. I’m going to make sure you’re fine.”

  I attempt a smile, but it doesn’t quite work. It’s a delicate balance, blaming him for this situation, while still being glad he’s here beside me to help deal with things.

  Thom picks up my hand, lacing his fingers with mine. Without asking or anything. And I let him. That’s the kick of it—I just let him. Not because I need comfort. Hell no. But it seems only polite after he agreed to give me a gun. One of the flimsiest and oddest pretexts for letting a guy hold my hand ever. I should take a stand and insist on a little space between us. Affectionate gestures like this just confuse things. My speech should probably also include a request for him to remain fully clothed in my presence.

  But I digress. We both need to be focusing on staying alive as opposed to sorting out the eternal mystery that is our relationship. I don’t want to die. I also don’t want him to die. And killers are on our trail. Before I can attempt to extract myself, however, his hold slightly tightens while his breathing evens out. He’s either fast asleep or on his way there.

  I can’t disturb him now. No. I’ll just have to hold his hand.

  Chapter 5

  “You’re trying too hard.”

  “What?” I pause, caught somewhere between a swagger and a dash as we cross the tarmac. My hair is being blown apart by a wind cold enough to chap a snowman’s ass. But my outfit remains fabulous just the same.

  “Relax,” says Thom, steering me toward a parking lot. “Car’s over here.”

  “You said two rich assholes hitting New York. I’m just trying to live up to the designer suit and everything.” And the gun. It’s a slight weight to the side beneath my jacket, nestled against my boob, and sticking into my side. The power to take a person’s life is sitting right there. Or at least the power to seriously inconvenience them and quite possibly cause immense pain. Only I don’t mention the gun because Thom’s probably still not happy about me having it.

  Like mine, his face is also partly covered by sunglasses, and he keeps his head angled down. Probably insufficient for throwing off facial-recognition-type software stuff. But he obviously doesn’t believe the government is the threat. Still, it never occurred to me how thoroughly security cameras have infiltrated our lives. Of course, I never tried to avoid them before.

  “Best way not to attract attention is to not act suspicious.” His hand hovers at my lower back, ready to move me if the need arises. “Or like you’re someone important that everyone should notice. Rich folk get killed the same as poor people.”

  “Okay. Sorry. I got carried away.”

  “Remember, you’re on a missing persons list. We do not need any attention. Just try and act natural.”

  “There’s nothing natural about wearing five-inch heels,” I scoff.

  The side of his mouth quirks.

  Bear is stowing the jet or whatever it is you do with those things when they’re not in use. I thought I had an idea of what my life with and without Thom would be like. But it’s all changing so fast I can barely keep up. I’d thought maybe I’d feel better once I was away from stifling safe houses and creepy cabins in the woods and back in public, among people again. But instead it turns out that being out in the open sucks. Paranoia is once again running rife, the back of my neck itching with the feel of being in somebody’s crosshairs. Thom moves us at a good pace, though we’re definitely not running for cover. Guess it means we’re okay for now.

  He draws a fob out of his pocket and the lights of a new black sedan flash once. I’m ushered into the passenger side while he moves around the front of the car to take the driver’s seat.

  “Are we waiting for Bear?” I ask, doing up my seat belt.

  “He’ll catch up with us later. There’s a cell in the glove compartment—do you mind getting it out?” The engine purrs to life and we’re on our way, out of the parking lot and onto the streets in a built-up industrial-looking area.

  “Sure.”

  “It’s not locked. I need you to key in some contacts for me, please.”

  My thumbs move over the screen.

  “Contact one, ready?” he asks.

  “Go for it.”

  He rattles off a string of numbers. “Now text to them the word report. Just that. Nothing else.”

  “Done.”

  The exact same process is repeated no less than nine times, with Thom reciting the numbers off the top of his head. Me remembering my own number is a minor miracle. But he has no problem, never hesitating, never getting a digit wrong. Again, the question of how intensive his training was and what it covered makes me wonder. I know he’s dangerous. I also know he says he’s on my side. I think I trust him. But none of this really helps answer the fundamental question: Who the hell have I been sleeping with?

  “Contact two says Fox is clear,” I report. “I take it that’s your hacker doing checks to see if there’s any online trace of backstabbing and murder?”

  The skin tightens around his eyes. “Yeah.”

  “Hey, you gave me the cell.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re just not used to me being all up in your business.”

  His lips flatline. “I don’t want you in any more danger than you already are.”

  Another alert flashes across the screen. “Contact one says ‘The Thornbrook.’ What is that, a hotel or something?”

  “Yeah. Upscale. Good security.” He’s frowning, so maybe The Thornbrook isn’t our new safe house, but something else entirely.

  “How are you going to get inside?” I ask. “I assume that’s what you need to do.”

  He takes his time answering, gaze switching from the road to me and back again. “The less you know, the better. I’ll think of something.”

  “So you’re not going to tell me who you’re going to meet there either, huh?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  I set the cell in my lap, thinking deep thoughts. It’s way too late to keep me safe by keeping me in the dark. The man is an idiot. So what if I’m constantly terrified and freaked out over all of this? I need to know what we’re dealing with so I can be better prepared. Already, people have tried to blow me up, interrogate me, and I’ve been in my first gunfight. Fact is, the sooner he sorts out this mess, the better. So I can tell my friends and family that I’m okay. Get back to my normal life and find out if I still have a job. Put all of this crazy behind me. No idea if this will mean saying goodbye to Thom. No idea how I even feel about that. Probably best to deal with one impossible situation at a time.

  “You’re checking all of your work pals out via the hacker you hired since they’re the most obvious suspects and there’s a high probabi
lity of this being an inside job,” I say, putting all of the pieces together inside my head. “You said earlier that Bear was the first to be cleared by our new hacker friend. I assume Fox is the second. No bad guys outed among the group so far. So no leads on that front.”

  A big loud nothing from Thom. Meaning I’m probably on the right track.

  “You said something to Badger about having trouble getting a message through to the bosses. Guess they either don’t want to be caught up in this, or they’re the ones responsible.”

  A muscle pops in the side of his jaw.

  “You’re going to make contact with one of them, aren’t you? One of the bosses?”

  “How did you figure that out?” he growls. “Did another text come in?”

  “No.” I raise my chin. “I used my brain.”

  He glances at me.

  “Also, I watch thrillers and spy movies. I know stuff,” I say. “And I manage a successful, high-volume inner-city florist with a multimillion-dollar turnover. Every day I deal with impossible deadlines and frantic brides. I organize things and solve problems. Well, I used to, before I became a fugitive. Point being, I’m not stupid.”

  “Betty, I know you’re not stupid. But these people are dangerous.”

  “Everything right now is dangerous,” I say. The man is seriously unhappy. I almost feel bad for him since he’s only trying to protect me. When he holds out a hand, I pass him the cell without further comment.

  For the longest moment, he says nothing. “You’re right. I need to find out what’s going on with the bosses, learn what they know.”

  I nod.

  “Sorry. I’m not used to sharing this sort of stuff with anyone. Even with Bear and Fox, it’s a need-to-know policy.”

  “You didn’t share it with me. I guessed.” I turn to watch the pedestrians out braving the bad weather. “Why did you crush your cell before we left California? Why not just kill the SIM like you usually do?”

  “Someone could have been tracking us through a program loaded onto the cell. It’s not easy to do and they probably would’ve had to physically access the phone sometime in the past to do it. So we ditched it. Wasn’t worth the risk.”

  Outside, the traffic thickens as we draw closer to the city. The daylight turns into little more than haze this late in the afternoon, streetlights glowing in the wet conditions. We circle a block twice before finding a place to park. Thank goodness for the thick coat and leather gloves. As awesome as it is, a designer handbag is no defense against the cold.

  Thom leads me over to the sidewalk, keeping his body between mine and the street. Constantly surveying the area, we head toward an old brick building three stories high. Nothing fancy or anything, though it does seem clean and well-maintained. The elevator smells vaguely of Thai food and makes a few suspicious mechanical-type groaning noises as we ride up.

  He stops at a door on the top floor in the corner position, unlocks it, and turns off the alarm. “In you go.”

  “Does this place belong to you or the zoo?”

  “Me. Wait here a moment, please.” He ducks his head into several small rooms, scanning them quickly. “We’re fine. Come on through.”

  An exposed brick wall runs the length of the loft-type space. First I see a small walk-in closet, a small, clean white bathroom, followed by the main open area. There’s a clean white kitchen, a large bed made up with sheets and blankets, a wooden table with two stools by the window, and a two-seater sofa and TV hanging on the wall.

  “Cozy,” I say, hanging my coat over the back of a chair. I place my handbag and gloves on top of the table. It seems wrong to invade the space with stuff, given the perfect minimal look of the place, but that’s life. The apartment has a lot in common with the ranch safe house back in California. No pictures. No personal belongings. At least, none I can see.

  Thom just shrugs. “Not somewhere I spend much time.”

  “Where do you spend your time?”

  “When I’m not working, I’m home with you.” He empties his pockets onto the table. The car fob, the new cell, his gun and spare magazine…you know, the usual. “Guess we’re going to need a new place to live.”

  No comment from me.

  “I’ve got a few properties around L.A. you can take a look at. See which one you like best. Or we can get something new, though I’d prefer to avoid any large financial transfers if possible. Makes it harder to stay off people’s radars.”

  “How many places do you own exactly, and what is your bank account balance?”

  “My job pays okay.” He cracks his neck. “And in this line of work, it’s wise to have a few safe houses.”

  “In case your cover gets blown.”

  “That’s right. I stop by each of them now and then, collect any mail and check on security. Make sure nothing has been tampered with and see to any basic maintenance.”

  “Your world is interesting, I’ll give it that.” I rub at the back of my own neck, trying to relieve the bunched-up muscles. Stress always winds me up tight. And I don’t think I’ve ever been as stressed as I am these days. Even being a florist on Valentine’s or Mother’s Day has nothing on running for your life. On being hunted.

  “Let me,” says Thom, standing in front of me. Much closer than necessary.

  “You don’t need to—”

  “I know I don’t need to. But I want to.” Strong fingers dig into my sore muscles, turning me into mush. Then he makes a disgruntled noise and undoes the buttons on the front of my suit jacket. His hands are sure, certain of my submission. His warm palms skim over the knit shirt, slide the jacket off my shoulders and down my arms before placing it on the table. My gun and holster are next and Thom does not look sorry to see them gone. “That’s better.”

  I’m not so sure. The sensible part of my brain suggests I need all the armor I can get when it comes to this man. Though it feels good, the kneading pressure of his hands. It also feels a whole lot like seduction.

  Warning bells once again ring inside my head. “What are you doing?”

  “Working on the knots in your neck. What are you doing besides overthinking everything?”

  “You’d like it if I just stopped using my brain and didn’t ask questions, wouldn’t you?”

  The edge of his lips quirk up. “Now that you mention it, it would make things simpler.”

  “Ha. Keep dreaming. Speaking of overthinking things, how are you going to get the bosses to help you?”

  A sigh.

  “I’m serious. What’s the plan?”

  “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  “Not a chance.” I gave him my very best fake smile. The one that’s so blatantly obvious it’s like a slap across the face. Never say sarcasm can’t be a superpower. “I know all about your bullshit now, sweetheart. May as well answer my questions because there’s no way I’m just going to go along quietly with whatever you want. Consider us partners in this whole staying-alive thing.”

  “Well, that sucks. Though I must say, you’re particularly hot when you’re being all stubborn and demanding, telling me off like that.”

  I look to heaven. “Just answer the question.”

  “There’s a few ways to go about obtaining someone’s assistance or compliance in a situation,” he says. “Start by trying to appeal to their principles or feelings of patriotism. I know you haven’t seen much of it so far, but the zoo actually does a lot of good in the world. If neither of those work, then you move on to their ego. Sometimes it takes a mix of all three. Last resort is usually blackmail or threat, because once you try that, there’s no putting it back in the box. The key is finding an incentive that hooks them on a personal level. Even if you’re paying them, they need to feel emotionally invested so there’s less chance they’ll turn on you. Especially if you need them to act against their own interests or just not do what’s easiest for them. People are lazy as all hell, and ninety-nine percent of the time, they’ll choose the path of least resistance.”

/>   “But you’re not going to be paying them.”

  He shakes his head. “No. These people have the sort of wealth that makes billionaires look low-key.”

  “And standing back and letting you all get killed would be easier for them.”

  “Absolutely. No one’s irreplaceable,” he says, voice matter-of-fact. “I imagine they’re pretty busy covering their own hides right about now.”

  “You need to convince them to come out and play.” It makes sense. Whoever these people are, they obviously have serious power and resources. But maybe we can still get out of this without anyone else dying. If we can get them to help us.

  “I’d rather convince you to play with me.”

  “This is serious.”

  “I’m being very serious, Elizabeth.”

  “No, you’re not, Thomas.”

  “Gonna have to respectfully disagree with you there,” he says. “After all, I answered your question. Don’t I get a reward?”

  “You get the warm, fuzzy feeling that comes with telling your fiancée the truth for a change.”

  His eyes light up. “My fiancée, is it? That means we’re still together. We’re going to get married and have babies and drive a minivan and live in a—”

  “Wait. No.”

  “You said it.” He grins. “There’s no taking it back now.”

  “Oh my God, what are you? Eight?”

  “Thirty-four.”

  “You lied about your age too? Holy shit. Is there anything you didn’t lie to me about?”

  The mirth disappears from his face. “I wasn’t lying when I said I love you.”

  “That seems ironic. Seeing as it’s the one thing you told me that I’d definitely worked out was a lie.”

  “Let me convince you.”

  “Prioritize, please,” I snap. “People are trying to kill us. There are bigger things to focus on here.”

  “Yeah. But what if we died without having makeup sex? That’d be a tragedy.”

  Give me strength. “A tragedy, huh?”

  “Absolutely. But I’ve got to say, I do like how instead of giving in to panic, you’re trying to figure things out.”