Jock nodded and grabbed a jewelry box off the table beside him and took off the lid. The bare bulb hanging from the ceiling in the van reflected off the diamonds of her necklace. They hadn’t gone cheap, figuring someone like Darren could spot counterfeit jewels. Wren and Marisol had searched for a while to find a necklace that would be suitable for the dress and that could hide a camera lens.
He rolled it in his palm and pointed to a small black square on the back that was paper thin. “Camera and mic are here, and it’s waterproof.”
She had no idea why it would need to be waterproof, but she figured Jock had thought of everything. She took the necklace from him and looked at it from the front, twisting and turning it, but unable to detect the hidden camera. The job was impeccable. She handed Jock the necklace and leaned forward with her neck pushed toward him. He watched her warily, and she nodded to him. “I want to try it on and make sure it fits and looks okay with the alterations.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked, but he ordered her to turn around. His movements were quick as the heavy weight of the necklace settled against her throat. There was a fiddling at the nape of her neck. “Done,” he announced, and she raised her fingers to touch the stones.
“Looks great, Duck,” Erick said from his seat in the van.
“It’s gonna look so bomb with that fire dress we picked out.” Marisol sat on the tailgate, one leg propped up while the other swung. “You’ll have Darren kissing your feet.”
Marisol grinned at her, and Wren smiled back even as anxiety raced over her skin like angry fire ants.
Dade joined Marisol at the bank of the van, his arms crossed over his chest. He cocked his head, gaze riveted on Wren’s neck. “Look around. I want to see how it moves.” She turned her head from side to side, looked down and up. The necklace didn’t move from what she could tell, but she’d need a mirror to be sure. She held her hands out to the sides. “Okay?”
Dade made a begrudgingly impressed face. “Good work there, Jock.”
With his unknown accent, it came out more Shoke. Wren knew there was animosity between Dade and Roarke, but she trusted Dade. She didn’t trust him to save her skin over his own, but she trusted him to do everything he could before it got to that point. When they’d worked together, he’d told her, in no uncertain terms, that he preferred to work alone and that he put his life first. She respected him for that. At least he was honest rather than leading her into false security and stabbing her in the back.
“Wren.” She turned at the sound of Erick’s voice, which still wasn’t quite normal. “If anything happens, things go south, and you need out, say duck. And no matter what, we’ll get you out.” She pursed her lips, and he pointed at her. “I’m serious, and if you act like you won’t pull the trigger to save your skin, we’re not sending you.”
“Safe word is duck, I got it.” She glanced around as the crew minus its leader watched her. “We done here? I need to go get ready.”
As Jock unclasped the necklace for her and placed it back in the box, she thought about all the reasons she’d have to say the safe word. Would Darren try to sexually assault her? Would he take her somewhere other than the restaurant? Would he hurt her? By the time she’d shoved the jewelry box into her book bag and said her good-byes, she was shaking so hard that she feared she’d crash her bike.
Before leaving, she retreated to the bathroom. Once the door was shut behind her, she crouched down, not giving a fuck if her clothes touched the dirty floor, and took several heaving breaths. She’d never had a panic attack before, but she imagined she was feeling a pretty close cousin of one. Her heart beat in her ears like a base drum, and her throat felt like it was the diameter of a pin head. If the positions were different and this was Marisol—would she face it all with a smirk and sass? Wren couldn’t imagine confident Marisol would be deep breathing in a bathroom.
But she wasn’t Marisol. She was Wren. And she’d be okay. She just had to keep breathing and get through this. She needed time in private to come apart a little bit because that was the only way she could fit herself all back together. Once she left here, she was on the job. It was all business—a pretty dress and face full of makeup and game on.
Her hacker name—Seocheon—was taken from Korean mythology. The Seocheon fields were positioned at the border of this life and the afterlife, and flowers there held all kinds of powers, from bringing people back to life to destroying an entire army. Wren had always been fascinated by the story of Hallakgungi, the mythical deity who protected the realm. Wren’s floral tattoos were a nod to the myth, and a glance at the colorful ink on her arms centered her.
She stood up, splashed cold water on her face, and took a look in the mirror. She pushed aside her anger over Roarke’s absence and focused on what came next. This was her show now.
* * *
Lacy’s apartment was on U Street NW and a little upscale for Wren’s taste. She’d stocked it to look as lived in as possible. Now Wren tottered around the wood floors on three-inch stilettos, which was an Olympic event, especially with the silver straps digging into her skin. She was going to have blisters on top of blisters on top of welts. She used to be able to get around much better in heels, but she was out of practice—now she preferred her motorcycle boots.
As Lacy, she was decked out with diamond stud earrings, a set of bangles on her left wrist, and—of course—the necklace. The dress fit her curves like it had been made for her. Which it kind of was. On top of all her other talents, Marisol could sew. And so she’d made some slight alterations, which sent this dress from pretty to gorgeous.
Her face was full beat—smoky eye, red lip, and false eyelashes so long that they were obscene. She’d left herself a lot of time to get ready, but now she stood in the living room with an hour to kill. She didn’t want to sit down and wrinkle the dress or even touch her face for fear of messing up her makeup. Her tattoos were hidden with cover-up, and it was always odd to look in the mirror and see herself uninked.
Her stomach growled. With her nerves, Wren hadn’t eaten all day. Going into this on an empty stomach was probably a bad idea. Her blood sugar was dropping already—she could feel it. What if she ate and smudged her lipstick or got something stuck in her teeth? This was why she didn’t date, but if she did, she sure as hell wouldn’t go through all this trouble.
She made a whining sound as the doorbell rang. She frowned because, if that was Darren, then he was hella early. She walked to the door and stared into the peephole.
A dark head was bent, and it lifted until she looked right into the eyes of Roarke Brennan.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Wren took his breath away.
When she opened the door, all oxygen fled Roarke’s body. It was a struggle to keep his face neutral, to not show that he was actually gasping for air at the sight of Wren Lee in all of her red dress glory.
The fabric fit her like a glove, skimming over her ample tits and full hips. The diamonds in her ears and on her neck sparkled. Her hair lay over one shoulder in soft waves. She looked like a million bucks. Nah, scratch that. She looked priceless. The only thing he mourned was that she’d covered up all her tattoos. They were too distinguishable for Darren to see.
Wren’s weight shifted. “Hey.”
His gaze shot to her face, to her black-lined eyes and rosy cheeks and perfect lips. He swallowed. “Hey.”
She braced a hand on the door, the multitude of bracelets sliding down her arm to rest with a clink. “You took some time out of your errands to come give me a pep talk?”
She was going for sarcasm, but he heard enough real hurt in her voice. She must have thought he hadn’t planned to see her before the date. Oh, he’d planned on it. He just hadn’t wanted to do it in front of everyone else.
He gestured inside her apartment. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” She backed up a step in heels so high that he couldn’t comprehend how she stayed vertical.
He shut the door behind him and faced her. The front
door of her apartment led right into the living room. There was a couch with some pillows and a fluffy blanket set on an area rug. Along the wall was a TV on a stand with some cords and a few video games spilling out of the open cabinet.
It was clean and smelled a little like cookies, and he wondered if she’d made some or if the scent was from a candle. “You’ve done a good job making this place look like a permanent home.”
“Thanks.” She sighed. “I don’t even keep a lot of my stuff at my real apartment—Erick has most of it. I try not to get too attached to any specific place since I know I’ll have to move.” She made as if to tug her lip into her mouth with her teeth and stopped herself. “Ugh, lipstick,” she muttered.
He pulled a black jewelry box out of his leather coat pocket. “Sorry I missed you at HQ earlier, but I wanted to get you this.”
She eyed the box before taking it from him with fingers tipped with pink nails. She kept her gaze on him as she flipped open the lid, deep brown eyes studying his face. His hands itched to reach out to her, to feel those soft lavender waves lying on her shoulder and to run his fingers along the soft curve of her elbow. To smudge the cover-up she’d rubbed into her skin and reveal her colorful tattoos underneath.
She finally glanced down, and when she saw what was inside, she sucked in a breath. With the tip of her finger, she stroked the teardrop diamond earrings and slowly lifted her head and cocked it to the side.
“Marisol told me where you bought the necklace,” he explained. “So I went and got you the matching earrings.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“I know I didn’t, but I wanted to so…” He shrugged, unsure what else to say. He took the box from her and pulled out an earring. He gestured to her ear. “Want me to help you put them on?”
It was a lame excuse to get closer, to get his hands on her, but she didn’t protest, only nodded. Of course, this was stupid. This was the exact opposite of what he told himself he’d do. But knowing she was going on this date, he wanted something on her that was from him. His claim. It was fucking crazy, but that didn’t stop him from taking a step toward her.
The front of his jeans brushed the side of her hip. He inhaled as he leaned in. She must have dabbed perfume behind her ear because the floral scent was intoxicating. He took out the diamond studs she had in her ears already and placed them in the box. “Remember when Erick and I took you to get your ears pierced?”
She laughed. “My earlobes were so small that the technician had a hard time with the piercing gun.”
“You sat so still though.” He slipped in an earring. “And we took you for smoothies and soft pretzels.”
“It was a good day,” she said softly.
He moved to her other ear and slipped in the new earring. He couldn’t resist taking a moment to run his fingers down the rim of her ear. Except he didn’t stop there. His fingers continued down the curve of her neck, and when her eyes slid shut and her lips parted on a gasp, he closed his hand around the back of her neck.
Her body swayed into his, her hip connecting with his groin and sending a jolt of heat up his spine. He leaned his forehead onto her temple, indulging in her scent, the warmth of her body, and the way the fabric felt under his hand where it rested on her other hip. “Promise me you’ll be smart,” he said into her ear. “Don’t be reckless or the hero. It’s still early in the mission, and we need you. I need you.”
He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until a hand cupped his cheek. Wren turned to face him, and their gazes locked. “I promise,” she said.
He thought she’d say more, and it was on the tip of his tongue to make promises back to her, ones he didn’t think he was capable of keeping. But then something that sounded like a rumble reached his ears, and he pulled back and frowned at her.
Her cheeks pinked as she touched her stomach. “I’m starving.”
He glanced at his watch. She still had about forty-five minutes before Darren arrived. See, he could be useful. He rubbed his hands together and took a step back. “Then I’ll feed you.” He turned on his heel and walked toward the kitchen. “Do you have food here?”
“A little. But what if I get something on my dress?” She protested as she followed him. “And I already put on my lipstick and lip liner and…”
He reached the refrigerator and opened it. “We’ll put a bib on you if we need to. But as long as I’m breathing, you’re not meeting that dickhead without something to eat.”
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
He straightened up, holding a clementine, and kicked the fridge shut. He could feel Wren’s gaze on him as he found a plate and began peeling the fruit. “It is a big deal. You need your strength and your brain firing on all cylinders. That’s not gonna happen if you’re hungry.” He needed to do this as much as she needed to eat. He felt useful taking care of Wren, and he’d do it despite her protests.
When he had all the pieces separated, he picked up one and held it near her mouth. Her lips were the same color as her dress, and he wondered how women pulled off magic like that. “Open up.”
She raised her perfectly arched eyebrows at him. “Excuse me?”
“Open. I place this on your tongue. You chew, swallow, and you won’t be hungry. It’s a simple human function.”
She reached for the piece of fruit. “I can feed my—”
He held it out of her reach. “I’ll feed you. That way I can make sure your lipstick stays on and nothing gets on your dress.”
Her eyes narrowed, but finally she slumped against the counter. “Fine.”
“Open and stick your tongue out.”
She complied, and in that moment, when she parted her red lips and stuck out her pink tongue between white teeth, he realized he’d made a grave mistake.
He’d honest to God been trying to fill the woman’s belly, to care for her. In his complete lack of romantic prowess, he’d underestimated how erotic it was to feed a woman by hand. He wanted to delete the entire last five minutes, but he was committed now, and so was she.
Wren looked up at him with those liquid eyes and long lashes. He shifted as heat raced down his spine and flooded his groin. He would not get wood standing in Wren’s kitchen before she went on a date—no matter how fake—with another man. As much as he wanted to cover those red lips with his own, taste that mouth and stroke his tongue over hers, that wasn’t going to make her any less hungry. Focus on the job, Roarke.
With one hand cupped below the other to catch any stray juice, he carefully placed the orange slice of clementine on her tongue and withdrew his fingers. “’Kay.” The one word was a croak.
The situation in his jeans wasn’t getting any damn better as Wren began to chew and swallow. He watched her throat work and had to look away. He glanced down at the plate. He had to do this, like, eight more times? Fuck his life.
But he did it. One at a time, he fed her the clementine until all that was left on the plate was one lone piece along with the peel. He reached for the last piece, but she grabbed it before he did. “Open up,” she said with a grin.
He shook his head. “Not hungry.”
She pouted, her bottom lip poking out. “Come on.”
Heat raged throughout his body at the sight of her slim fingers holding the fruit in front of his face. “I’m not wearing lipstick. I can feed myself.”
She blinked, and for a minute, a streak of uncertainty crossed her face. “Please?” Her voice shook a little. “Let me think about this moment while I have to pretend to be interested in that jackwagon.”
Why were they doing this to themselves? The thought of her on another man’s arm, a man like fucking Darren Saltner, made him see red. He wished he could get out of viewing and listening to the damn date, but there was no way. If she had to live through it, he could, too.
He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. When her fingers got close, he curled the end to tickle her thumb, unable to help himself from getting a taste. She laughed softly. Then
he bent at the knees and leaned his head back so she could drop the slice in.
She did, her eyes sparkling, like this simple act was the best part of her day. Hell, maybe it was. It was the best part of his damn year. Maybe decade. He chewed, and the juicy clementine burst in his mouth.
She bared her teeth. “All clear?”
Somehow he managed to answer her. “Yep, all clear.”
She reached out, her thumb swiping the corner of his mouth. “Bit of juice there.”
The urge to kiss her, fuck up that red lipstick so it was all over him, all over her, hit him like a shot. “Wren—”
The alarm on his watch beeped, his warning to get the hell out of the apartment before Darren arrived. “Fuck.” He silenced it and took a moment to get himself under control. This sick feeling in his gut before a mission was new, but it was because this one involved Wren. They had backup plans upon backup plans, and over his dead body would he let anything happen to her. He met her gaze with as much confidence as he could pack into a grin. “Guess it’s go time.”
“Thanks,” she said, fondling an earring. “I love these. And thanks for making sure I have something for my stomach to work on.”
“Sure. Hope you at least get a good meal out of this.”
Her cheeks colored. “I totally staked out the menu, and you bet I’m getting market price everything.”
He laughed. “That’s my girl.” He dropped a kiss onto her forehead, reluctant to let her go but knowing he had to. He jogged to the window along her back wall and threw it open. Swinging a leg out, he paused half in and half out and glanced back inside. Her hand was on the back of her neck, where his had been earlier. With her other hand, she waved. He gave her a wave back before slamming the window shut and descending the fire escape stairs with his heart in his throat.
* * *
Why was that clementine the best clementine she’d ever had in her life? Wren had already had half the crate and none of them had tasted as good as the slices direct from Roarke’s fingertips.
Zero Hour Page 9
