“Nana the Great?”
“My great-grandmother,” I said. “She came from Jamaica on the Windrush right after the war, and then married an Englishman and settled in Southwark. She came to live with us after her husband died, and she taught Mum all the island recipes she learned as a little girl. You’ve never known a tougher or more loving household than one run by Jamaican women,” I sucked on my teeth at the memory of the trouble I could get into for putting even one ounce of sass in my voice with my mother. “When Mum would yell, Nana would pat her knee for me to sit on, put a fritter on my plate, and then have another go at me for causing trouble.”
Shane laughed softly, and the sound soothed the deep ache of missing my Nana, her wide lap, and her island cooking. “They were the best of friends, and my mum mourns Nana the Great to this day. We all do.”
We ran in silence for a few hundred feet before Shane spoke again. “I love the easy way you talk about your family.”
The fact that it was remarkable to her in any way made me sad for her. It also made me curious as hell, but I knew better than to open that conversational minefield. If she wanted to tell me, she’d have to do the talking. I shut my mouth against the questions that burned my tongue, and instead, I kept my comment general. “I have an easy relationship with them most of the time. Doesn’t mean they don’t drive me crazy on occasion, but my mum and Kendra are the only ones left who knew me before I got so respectable.”
“Oh, is that what you are?” She laughed and gave me an exaggerated once-over look. I really liked this woman’s laugh, and I wanted to make it happen often.
“You should see me in a suit—” I began, but she cut me off.
“I have seen you in a suit, but respectable isn’t the word I would choose for how you look in it.” There was a playful smirk growing in her voice, and it sounded good on her. “Especially when you wear that canvas bag slung over your shoulder.”
“What’s wrong with my satchel? I love that satchel. I traded my last night’s stay in a hotel room in Benin to a Croatian photojournalist for it,” I protested.
Her eyebrows rose. “A Croatian— in Benin? Where did you stay?”
“I slept at the train station,” I said.
“You traded a hotel room for a train station bench and a canvas bag?” I couldn’t quite tell if it was actual outrage in her voice.
“Have you ever really looked at a photojournalist’s satchel? It’s like the roll-top desk of satchels. It has a sleeve, a pouch, or a pocket for everything you can imagine, as well as things you never thought you’d need. Truly, it’s a marvel of design and engineering in waxed canvas and leather.”
She laughed again, and I didn’t even mind that she was laughing at me. “You sound like you’re in love.”
“More like a deep, abiding appreciation with perhaps a little passion thrown in.”
“Passion … for a bag.” She played up the skepticism, and her expression was adorable.
I sighed dramatically. “Lacking the luggage lust gene – you have no idea what you’re missing.”
She snorted a laugh, and I think I fell a little bit in love with her for that utterly ridiculous sound. “Luggage lust? That’s a thing?”
We passed one of the art installations along the trail, and the breeze had stilled in the park. “It is but one form of the more prevalent leather lust, a close cousin to shoe and boot lust, and distantly related to old-fashioned shaving brush lust. Of course it can’t hold a candle to wristwatch lust, or even fine linen lust, but it certainly has its devotees.”
She was laughing in earnest now, and my lust-filled heart thumped hard. It wasn’t the only thing hard, which, as any man knows, is indescribably uncomfortable while running.
There was a water fountain nearby, and I slowed. “I’m just going to get some water. Should we turn around, or are you determined to make me pay for the excess male pride that won’t let me quit until you do?”
She matched my pace, and we veered toward the water. She filled the water bowl below the fountain for Oscar before drinking herself. The brief pause gave me much needed adjustment and lust-suppression time, but it also allowed for face-to-face contact, which threatened to undermine all of my newly restored self-control. Shane was a truly beautiful woman who was all the more intriguing – if somewhat infuriating – for her very private nature. The women of my family all believed that secrets were just lies waiting to happen, and problems were to be aired out like musty rooms with the dust covers ripped off for everyone to see the state of your furniture.
She smiled at me, an echo of her earlier laughter. “I might have a little boot lust.”
I chuckled. “You might? I’ve seen your boots – a different pair every day I’ve known you. My favorites are the custom riding boots you wore the night we first saw each other.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You noticed my boots?”
“I notice everything about you.”
I made the mistake of looking at her lips then. We were both still breathing hard from the run, and I automatically moved closer to see better in the darkness. Her eyes were on mine, and I felt rather than saw her gaze as she licked the sweat from her mouth.
Exactly one second before mine crashed into hers.
21
Shane
“Long, slow, wet kisses that last three days. See? I told you Bull Durham could be relevant.” – Shane, P.I.
Liquid heat. That’s all I was – the sum total of my being. I was on fire and melting from the inside out. Gabriel’s hands burned my face where he held me, his lips singed and his tongue teased mine.
My heart slammed in my chest, and I gasped as I tore myself back from him. “I …” I faltered, because I didn’t know what came next.
“Shane …” Gabriel groaned, in his deep voice with the accent that made the breath catch. He pressed the heel of one hand against his forehead, and then after too many heartbeats pounded my ribs, he met my eyes.
“I’ll see you home,” he said.
Did that mean he would come in? Take off his shoes? Maybe the rest of his clothes? Oscar would eat his underwear for sure, he’d be weirded out by the stump of my leg, and then, if he actually spent the night – and that was a big if – he’d remember how different our lives are, how screwed up I am, and he’d duck out while I was in the shower. Then Van wouldn’t let me go up, the check from Cipher Systems would have a stop payment put on it, and someone would accidentally leak my address to Quimby, who would wait for me outside my building with his gun.
“Don’t,” he said, slashing through my thoughts like a knife through a shower curtain. I looked at him like a deer in headlights.
“Don’t go wherever you’re going right now,” he said. His voice had gentled, and I felt like a skittish horse being coaxed into a stall where the door would clang shut behind me.
“I’m not—”
“You are. Whatever you just made up about that …” He inhaled sharply, and his voice dropped even lower. “About kissing me,” his voice had reached caressing tones, and I shivered with want, or possibly fear. “Just don’t.”
He met my eyes directly, and his hands went to my upper arms. “I want you far too much to stand out here on the Lakefront Trail and kiss you like that. I need some time to think about what the hell I’m doing, and I suspect you do too. I do not—” he emphasized the word so I couldn’t mistake his meaning, “regret one moment of kissing you, nor do I wish myself anyplace other than right here next to you where I can see and hear and occasionally touch you as I attempt to make some sort of sense in my own brain.”
I leaned down to scratch Oscar’s ears. He had sprawled, panting, on the grass at my feet, and it gave me a moment to school my expression. I spoke to Oscar. “Let’s go.”
He lumbered to his feet with a grunt, and I carefully avoided Gabriel’s gaze as I turned back toward the trail.
Gabriel stopped me with one hand on my arm, which he slowly moved up to my cheek. I couldn’t avoid his eyes w
hen he touched me like that, and the intensity of his look made me want to run? Throw myself at him? Hide?
And then he smiled. It was a tentative thing, almost as though he could wipe it off at the slightest hint it was unwelcome, but it did fluttery things to my insides. “Race you back,” he said, and just like that, the smile turned into a diabolical smirk, and I could see twelve-year-old Gabriel daring me to run.
So I did.
I didn’t bother with the mental gymnastics I knew were inevitable and would quite likely wake me up at 3 a.m. I just put feet to pavement and ran. Oscar was at a full sprint next to me, his tongue lolling happily as he flew down the trail. I pushed myself to the limit of my speed, and when I hit the wall of pain, I broke through it and kept going. I ran like I was falling – a controlled, forward free-fall, and by the last mile, I had left gravity behind and was in a state of euphoric weightlessness that I’ve only ever experienced at the end of long distance races.
Gabriel stayed by my side and seemed to be as silent, determined, and focused on the run as I was. We didn’t stop until we reached the front door of our building, and once inside, we both bent over double to catch our breath.
“That … was … insane,” he gasped.
I grinned at him. “Yep.”
He laughed. “You have amazing endurance.”
I pushed sweaty hair off my face and unclipped Oscar’s leash. “Except in the mornings – I’m terrible at them, so I’ll be into the office by ten, if that’s okay?”
Gabriel held my gaze a long moment as he seemed to realize we’d be parting ways in the lobby, and then he finally nodded. “Your badge will be at the front desk. I typically work in the third-floor conference room where the Nespresso machine is, so I’ll see you whenever you get in.”
I smiled at the man with proper caffeination priorities. “Thank you, Gabriel.” Then I looked down at my hound and said, “Come.” It was all he needed to hear. He bounded up the staircase, and I smiled one last time at Gabriel before I followed my dog home.
22
Shane
“When you wear black clothes and someone asks whose funeral it is, look around the room and tell them you haven’t decided yet.” – Shane, P.I.
As I suspected, I spent the hour between 3 and 4 a.m. awake and mentally spinning on the electric attraction between Gabriel and myself, which had an unfortunate alternating current effect – positive vs. negative –that made restful sleep impossible.
So, rather than exhaust myself failing to sleep, I sat up, turned on the light, and pulled my computer onto my lap. By 8 a.m. I had a fairly comprehensive file on Alex Karpov and a more in-depth financial one on Quimby. I also had a fairly decent idea that the political group using ADDATA’s tech was a front for Karpov’s own radically conservative leanings.
I was feeling pretty black-ops when I got dressed, so I chose black skinny jeans, a black t-shirt with a fairly subtle Star Wars Rebel Alliance symbol on the front in gunmetal gray, and black pointy-toed boots. As a nod to the fact that I was going to an office, I wore a long, lightweight jacket that hit me about mid-thigh and looked a little like a Victorian man’s frock coat. It was not a particularly feminine outfit, but it suited my need for personal control and had an effect similar to armor in making me feel invulnerable.
I gave Oscar a quick walk to the park, texted Jorge that my hound would welcome his company today should he choose to bestow it, then shoved my laptop and the hard drive with all the Quimby files into my briefcase and locked the door behind me.
I stopped at the Armenian market for an almond börek to go, teased Mr. Basmian about the state of his fruit display, then made the 9:17 train to downtown.
It was a minute before ten when I walked into the Cipher Security building, and I was almost disappointed that Van wasn’t at the front desk to snarl at me. A friendly guy named Stan handed me a badge that he said would work on the door locks.
“Dan O’Malley said to find him if you need an office, otherwise you’re free to work in any open space in the building.”
My disbelief must have shown on my face, because Stan continued. “Don’t worry. He can find you if he needs to.” He leaned in like he was imparting something top secret. “O’Malley’s a little scary that way.”
“Good to know,” I said, in what I hoped was a neutral tone.
I might have accidentally taken a half-step back in the direction of the front doors when Van Hayden walked in. “Hey Stan, don’t believe anything she says unless it comes with coffee,” he said as he headed for the elevator.
Stan turned laughing eyes to me, and I couldn’t help the smile that accompanied my dramatic sigh. “Pull one over on him one time,” I said, indicating Van, “and the only way back through the door comes with four sugars.”
Stan grinned and leaned forward with another secret whisper. “You’re going to fit right in here.”
Van held the elevator for me and pushed the third-floor button when I stepped in. “Good morning, Van.”
He grumbled at me, but there was a hint of a smile under the gruffness. “Made anyone cry yet today, Shane?”
“Not yet, but it’s still early.”
When the elevator stopped at the third floor, I turned as I got off just in time to see Van throw me a half-smile salute. It did more to quell the nerves than even Stan’s teasing had.
Gabriel didn’t meet me at the elevator, which either meant he hadn’t been warned about my arrival, or he was letting me walk in like I already belonged. I got a couple of curious glances from people as I made my way to the conference room, but no one stopped me … or called security, so I had that going for me.
Gabriel sat alone at the long conference table, a computer and a cup of coffee in front of him, and a steaming coffee at the place where I’d been seated the day before. So he had been warned, but chose not to make a thing of my arrival.
“Good morning,” I said as I set my bag on a chair and pulled out my computer. I was going for a purely professional tone and kept my eyes focused on what I was doing until I sat down.
Then I made the mistake of looking into his eyes, and I couldn’t look away.
Gabriel held my gaze with an expression that felt warm and inviting. He seemed to notice everything about me in one sweeping look, and he seemed to like what he saw.
“Nice t-shirt,” he said with a smile, his eyes never leaving mine. “Rebelling already?”
My own smile was an involuntary response to his. “I didn’t figure you for a Star Wars nerd.”
“Original three only. I actually still have a VHS copy that proves Han shot first,” he said proudly.
I gaped. “No you don’t!”
“A 1982 rental video from my cousin’s shop.”
“Have you digitized it?” I knew how rare the original videotape release of Star Wars was because Sparky had been on the hunt for one with matching serial numbers since I’d known him.
Gabriel shook his head, clearly amused that I understood the significance. “It’s PAL, and I only have access to NTSC machines here.”
“Will you let me borrow it? I have a friend with all the electronic toys who can probably do it.”
His eyes were laughing, even as his mouth only smirked. “Why would you go to the trouble of helping me digitize a VHS tape that’s older than you and has probably degraded to the point of unwatchability?”
I smiled and shook my head. “You know the answer just as well as I do. Han shot first. That’s a crucial fact that no amount of CGI can change. He starts out as the profiteer without a conscience who preemptively shoots Greedo, and then turns into a guy willing to sacrifice himself for people he loves. He’s the one character who really, fundamentally changes. That’s why Han is the romantic lead of the movie.”
I couldn’t tell if I’d shocked, horrified, or amused Gabriel, so I busied myself with my computer rather than look at him.
“I have questions,” he finally said. I looked up to see a smirk punctuated by laughing eyes.
I arched an eyebrow in response.
“Star Wars isn’t a romance. How is Han the romantic lead?”
I rolled my eyes. “Everything’s a romance. Every good story worth telling has a romantic element – it’s what makes us want to watch them, want to be them. You can’t possibly tell me you had little boy aspirations of growing up to be Luke? Everyone wanted to be Han. I wanted to be Han, although Leia was pretty badass despite the breakfast bun hair.”
Gabriel watched me with something more than amusement, and it disconcerted me, especially after what had happened the night before.
“So, I think I probably figured out which political group Karpov is connected to,” I said, in the non-sequitur of the century.
Gabriel stood suddenly, as though he had just remembered an appointment. “Come. I promised Greene I’d introduce you when you got in.” He held his hand out for me to take in a gesture I’d always associated with Victorian gentlemen. I was perfectly capable of standing up from my seat without help, but I wanted to touch him again, for no other reason than that I would be touching him.
So I took a sip of the coffee he’d made me, then took his hand and stood. His gaze held mine for a long moment before he let go of my hand and indicated that I should precede him through the door.
“What can you tell me about your hacker before I meet him?” I asked as we stepped into the elevator. He waited until the doors closed before he answered.
“There’s a rumor that he invented bitcoin.”
I snorted my derision, but Gabriel’s expression didn’t change.
“You’re serious?” I asked.
He shrugged. “For a guy who plays chess against Google, I’d say it’s not outside the realm of possibility.”
“Why does he want to meet me?” I asked, suddenly nervous.
Code of Conduct (Cipher Security Book 1) Page 12
