A faint smile lifted the edges of his lips. "You nearly ready to go?"
"Yes," I lied. "Got to throw a couple of things in my bag and I'm done. Two weeks you say?"
"Tops, hopefully." His eyes ran over my lightweight, v-neck sweater and skinny jeans. He didn't look overly hopeful. Or, was he reminding me to pack tops? Or hoping that the stay would be short? My head pounded with the effort of basic thought.
"No problem." I took my coffee, detoured for a donut, and poked around until I found an apple cinnamon. I took it with me to my bedroom. Into the suitcase went two weeks’ worth of tees, jeans, a few smart separates that fashion magazines would call items that “mix and match,” a couple of dresses, spare shoes, and, of course, pajamas. Packing those made me pause and wonder where we might be staying, except I was too hung over to care. Leave the details to Solomon; I was just coming along for the snooping. After throwing in my makeup bag and hair stuff, I zipped the case, hoping that would do it.
"Leave your gun," Solomon ordered, his voice slicing clean through the receding thumping of my head. "You can't take it on base."
"No problem." It hadn't actually occurred to me to pack it. My gun mostly stayed in a locked drawer. It wasn't that I was afraid of using it, I was a pretty good shot, but I didn't usually need it. Instead, I got my rocks off shooting losers with my long-range camera, something I'd purloined from the office for a case, and never gotten around to returning. I packed a few other things—my notepad, my compact camera, my cell phone—two calls from someone called Jerkoff during the night, but no messages—and hoped Solomon had whatever else we'd need. "I'm ready," I told him as I dumped my things in the hall.
"I'll explain our cover in the car," he told me, bending to grab my bags before I could.
The anticipation was killing me. Checking my reflection for the last time in the mirror, I brushed the cinnamon sugar from my mouth, smoothed my hair and went outside to play the grown-up version of Let's Pretend. On the way down, I ripped a piece of paper from my notepad to write Lily a short note. I told her I was out of town, working with Solomon, in case I’d forgotten to mention it between shots one and ten, and that I would call her soon. I signed my name with a big kiss. Then I locked up and eased myself into Solomon's Lexus. I rolled down the window and leaned my head out like a dog so the cool air could wash over my face.
"You okay?" he asked, his hand lingering on the key in the ignition.
"Peachy."
"Sure about that?"
"Absolutely," I lied, because I absolutely wouldn't talk about Maddox with Solomon. Besides, I figured Solomon's idea of comfort talk wouldn't include cursing every man under the sun and singing, "I Will Survive." Instead, he would either offer to have him taken out, or, do the more predictable man response—change the subject quickly while pretending not to notice my cheeks growing hot as I tried to hold back the tears. And I would absolutely not be caught crying in Solomon’s presence. I pictured Delgado having a rough day. He wouldn't cry in front of the boss. He'd focus on the job. He'd nail his suspect, probably take him down a back alley and give him a knuckle sandwich if he felt a little worked up. Seeing as I was having trouble focusing on the clock in the dashboard, I figured I'd focus on silence.
Solomon let a half hour slide by, coincidentally, the time it took us to edge out of Montgomery, before talking again. "What's up?"
"Rough night," I said, deciding the easiest way to skirt around the truth was to keep within the realms of it. "I'm never touching tequila again."
"I've said that a few times."
I rolled my head against the headrest and studied him. "I can't imagine you drunk."
"It has been known to happen. Though not for a few years." He darted a glance at me and smiled. I smiled back.
"What happened? You answered the door to your boss, wearing a thong, and decided to change your ways?"
"No."
I shrugged. "Me neither."
Solomon smiled again, this time flashing his pearly whites.
"You said we're staying on base?" I pressed, changing the subject, wanting, needing something to focus on so I wouldn't have to think about the ache in the pit of my stomach.
"Yeah. Made sense. They have apartments for visiting personnel and families, and my friend swung it so that we can stay in one. It'll be easier for us to move around and get to know people on base if we're always there."
I focused on the important element of that. "We're staying in the same apartment?"
"Yes." Solomon replied as he slid a sideways glance at me. "Got a problem with that?"
I gulped. "No." Big problems! For one, I hadn't had a chance to cry my heart out—well, except for some snuffling sobs in the shower—and if that suddenly erupted, it could get embarrassing. On the other hand, it wouldn't be like we were joined at the hip. And maybe I wouldn't even need to cry. Maybe I would just wear myself out every day until I keeled over and fell asleep. And it probably made sense. We'd be able to talk about the case no matter the hour. I already knew Solomon could cook, which would be nice if I dared to ever face food again. "What's our cover?" I asked.
"I'll be working in the gym, doing a mixed martial arts course and circuit training for uniforms and civilians, as well as gym duty. It's open to both, so I should get a good cross section of people to talk to, including those who came into regular contact with Tate. Tate is our guy under arrest."
"Oh." I nodded. That made sense for Solomon. Since I was always last teammate to be picked in sports, and just about fainted after spin class, I didn't think I could pass as a gym ninja. Maybe I could make coffee or something? "What about me?"
Solomon mumbled something.
"Say what?"
"There's the base," he said, taking his hand off the wheel to point to the entrance. A large billboard announced Fort Charles.
"Oh, awesome. That was fast."
“Some time went by when you passed out.”
“I was resting my eyes!”
Solomon made a skeptical noise as he drove up to the guard shack, winding his window down, waiting for the guard to stick his head through.
"Names," he said, running his eyes over Solomon, then across to me. I smiled wanly back. He didn't return it.
"John Solomon and Lexi."
"Gr..." I started to add my surname, but Solomon placed his hand on my thigh while flashing his eyes at me, so I shut up. I had to try really hard not to swoon as the warmth of his hand seeped through my jeans. Instead, I wondered if maybe he'd given me a false name? I frowned as the guard passed a parking permit to us after checking our names against the list. If I were using a false surname, why did Solomon give his name? It was too much to think about, I decided, as I dropped my head against the headrest. I waited while Solomon double-checked exactly where our apartment was and the guard waved us through.
"Do I have a different name here?" I asked, but received no answer. Solomon followed the guard’s instructions and parked up in front of a small, squat, brick building. It wasn't unusual to adopt a different persona to get the job done, but it would be useful to know beforehand. Come to think of it, I still only had the basics of the case. "Um, hello," I cooed, but he was distracted as we parked, nodding to the man who peeled himself off the wall he appeared to be propping up. I scrambled to get out and follow Solomon as he crossed the narrow strip of grass, all long legs and lean hips—not that I was looking—and greeted the man.
"This is Ryan," said Solomon, turning to look over his shoulder as I approached. "He's the facilities manager and showing us the apartment. Mitch busy, huh?"
"You know it." Ryan gave me a broad smile that was bright, white teeth and tanned face as he shook my hand. "And this must be your wife."
"Oh, I, uh..." I stammered, looking to Solomon. Surely not?
No way.
What?
His wife!
"Yes," said Solomon, slinging an arm around my shoulders and giving me an unperturbed squeeze. "This is Lexi."
I blamed my h
angover big time for falling into that one without a clue. Me and tequila were so over. Instead of hyperventilating, I smiled weakly. As soon as Ryan's back was turned, I grinned sweetly at Solomon, raising my foot before stomping hard on his instep. I took no satisfaction in his surprised grunt, before stepping past him and following Ryan inside. After a couple of paces, Solomon caught up to me, flanking me all the way.
If I thought getting married minus wedding, cake, and honeymoon wasn’t a big enough surprise, then the one-bedroom apartment left me utterly speechless.
"It's kind of basic, but I think you'll manage," said Ryan after showing me the small, sparse kitchen with an eat-in nook, then the basic living room, the lemon-scented bathroom, and the single bedroom. I repeat. The single bedroom. I looked from it to Solomon, who remained in the living room, his hands on his hips. He raised an eyebrow. I looked at the couch. Jeez. One of us was going to be very uncomfortable for two weeks and it certainly wasn't going to be me.
"It'll be fine," said Solomon, steering Ryan towards the door.
"Call me if you need anything. Mitch said he’d try and come by later on, but you can probably find him holed up in his office if you want to catch him sooner."
I smiled feebly and gave Ryan an even more pathetic smile as he pulled the door shut behind him with a cheerful, departing wave.
Solomon turned to me, a touch apprehensively, I thought.
"Where do you plan on sleeping?" I asked, hardly daring to look at the bed.
"In bed," he said.
"And where do you think I'm sleeping?"
His eyebrows shifted upwards. "In bed?"
"Solomon!"
"I didn't think, okay? I could go and ask if there are any two beds available, but frankly, that will look weird; and I don't want to start any rumors that don't make me look good."
With his chagrined expression, I was tempted to give him the benefit of the doubt, except my head was starting to pound again and I felt my complexion turning green. The thought of sharing a bed with Solomon had briefly given me palpitations. They turned into pain when I thought about Maddox and the woman he was, no doubt, sharing a bed with. So instead, I gave a strangled cry of frustration, turned my back on Solomon and stomped away. I slammed the bedroom door and flopped face down on the bed like a particularly slobbish starfish. For a few long seconds, the room spun with the sudden movement, and it took all my willpower not to give the room a partially digested donut and coffee re-wallpapering.
I really hadn't thought this through at all. What the hell was I supposed to do for two weeks? Sharing this tiny apartment with my sexy-as-sin boss in my suddenly new, single state. As soon as the word “single” popped into my head with reference to me, a tear trickled down my cheek and I rubbed my face against the covers, the enormity of last night finally hitting me through the tequila haze. I gulped down a whimper.
Not only had my boyfriend been apparently avoiding me, but he also had a new woman and didn't even have the decency to tell me first, the jerk. And I just chanced to see them first hand. Maybe if Lily had told me she'd seen them, or if my brothers or sister, or anyone else had seen him, I could have explained it away; but not after witnessing the hand-on-thigh move and the overly familiar kisses with my own eyes. I couldn't explain those away at all.
I slipped my cell phone from my pocket and checked the display again. Three calls, but no messages. No txt spk explanation. No “I'm sorry” or “it isn't how it looks” or “she's my second cousin from out of town and my mom made me take her out.”
Nothing.
I guess that said it all. And he hadn't even dumped me. Well, the very least I could do was take the upper hand and execute that little ritual.
Squinting with one eye and with my hand propped on the mattress, I called up my messages. It took me a couple of goes, squinting the whole time, to type “Stop calling” then scroll for Maddox's number. After a couple of confusing passes, I remembered Lily and me giggling as we changed his name to Jerkoff. I also remembered working my way through half a box of man-sized tissues afterwards. I added Maddox's new, more appropriate moniker and hit “send.”
There. Done.
One of us could do the right thing and I was a lover, not a fighter. I wasn't going to fight for someone who didn't want me. We were over and I was single and hating every minute of it.
My situation reminded me suddenly of the time I was so hurt when my fiancé broke things off with a terse note that I ran away and joined the Army. Even though the military didn't work out either, ironically, here I was again, away from home and on an Army base. Except this time, I was with Solomon and no one was going to make me crawl through mud while trying to avoid gunshots. At least, not without getting a piece of my mind first.
A knock at the door made me draw one eye open. "What?"
"You okay?"
I garbled something into the pillow. Solomon could take his pick from “screw you” and “fine.” Evidently, he was a masochist, or a sadist, because he opened the door.
"What?" I said, my voice muffled by the pillow, but he didn't say anything or make to move in any further. Aware of how I looked, face down, and boneless as a squid, I shuffled onto my back and folded my arms across my stomach defensively.
"I'll take the couch," he said after a moment, and without reproach.
"Too right."
His voice grew dark. "Unless you invite me into bed; in which case, all bets are off."
"Are you ever going to stop trying to seduce me?" I mashed my lips together so I wouldn't smile, my usual response to Solomon getting flirty.
"No."
"Maybe I should just let you. You can get it out of your system and move on." I might have said that a touch too bitterly. Solomon arched an eyebrow. "Not now though," I told him. "I'm midway through the hangover of doom."
"You want me to issue a rain check?"
"There's no coupon for this."
"Shame. I hoped to score a two-for-one offer."
"Rearrange these words: Mind. Of the gutter. Out. Your. Get."
"I don't follow."
"You're being deliberately obtuse."
"Sex might cheer you up."
"I'm never having sex again. I'm becoming a nun."
"You're on an Army base with a couple thousand men who would see that as a challenge."
On the other hand, maybe I would rethink the nun situation. Perhaps rebound sex would help me get my mojo back. Only not with Solomon because Solomon was not a one-night-stand type of man. I suspect anyone who went there would at least go back for seconds. No, I was not going to think about that. Men and moi? No, thank you very much and goodbye.
"We've been undercover for ten minutes and you're already trying to get into my pants." I edged up on my elbows, although my stomach suggested lying flat would be a better idea. Never one to take advice, I ignored it. "Let me remind you, this is not real. We don't have to pretend to be married when we're alone. Maybe we're a couple who actually hates each other. Perhaps you're impotent. Or have halitosis. Maybe you snore like a truck."
Solomon’s eyes lit up. "I notice you're always perfect in our scenario."
I held up a silencing finger. "Yes, I am. I am also cross. You missed this key piece of undercover information on the drive over. And yesterday, too. Don’t think I didn’t notice."
"Yesterday you turned it down," Solomon pointed out, unhelpfully. I could hazard a guess that he was amused, but I didn't like to. It might make me want to hurt the pillow.
"Not the point. The point was you should have told me this was our cover."
"How come you changed your mind?" asked Solomon, switching tack.
"About what?"
"This. Yesterday you said no, then yes. What changed your mind?"
Yesterday afternoon I was thinking I didn't want to miss getting it on with Maddox when he got home. Yesterday night, armed with the knowledge Maddox was getting it on perfectly fine by himself, I wanted to get the hell out of Dodge to lick my wounds and S
olomon provided that opportunity.
"No reason," I said.
Solomon gave me a disbelieving look, then shrugged. "You don't have to look so worried." He held up his hands in surrender, then gave me jazz hands, which pushed a smile out of me. "And these are staying to themselves. You have a boyfriend. You've already made yourself clear where Maddox is concerned. You can tell him you'll be safe with me."
My smile dropped and I sucked in a painful breath. I wouldn't be telling Maddox anything of the sort. The next time I saw him, I would probably be screaming uncharitable things about where he could shove it and how far. For a moment, it crossed my mind to tell Solomon that Maddox and I were, as of a few minutes ago, over; but I stopped myself. Solomon might be a fine package of temptation, but I couldn't be bothered with fending him off when I was feeling fragile. Fragile made me do things that weren't normally a good idea, like running away and joining the Army. I wasn't going to add bedding my boss to the list of life’s oopsies. Especially since for once in my life, I actually liked my job. I was good at it. I liked the challenges, and the variables, and the new things I learned that made me a little better at it each day. So instead, I nodded and simply said, "Right."
"Sleep off your hangover. We've got work to do and I want you—" Solomon smiled rakishly, his emphasis on the word, “want”, "—sharp." He shut the door behind him, only for it to unclick and slide open a hair's width. For a while, I listened to him move around the apartment, exiting and entering, probably bringing up our bags, and then talking softly on the phone. I could hear the soft click of keys on his laptop through the opening.
When I woke up, it was late afternoon and I was wearing a wedding ring. Funnily enough, I never thought I'd start married life unconscious, but given my propensity to do stupid things when heartbroken, the only surprise was that it wasn't legal.
Chapter Three
Two cups of fresh orange juice and several scowls at Solomon later, I felt pretty human. Well, maybe not pretty, but definitely human.
Command Indecision (Lexi Graves Mysteries) Page 3
